P.S.
Art by Kim Salac
February 25, 2021
There is an urban legend that, as a boy, George Washington damaged his father’s prized cherry tree with a hatchet. Upset, George’s father confronted him directly. As the story goes, young George replied, “I cannot tell a lie.” He confessed to chopping the tree.
Each time I hear that story, I picture the cherry tree in the front yard of my childhood home. Situated in the corner of a busy garden, the tree grew with me through the years. And, as they fell, its dainty petals graced the
Art by Kim Salac
November 20, 2020
As this year’s November calendar page curls toward a smudged and wrinkled 26th square, I’m reminded of Thanksgiving day. With a continued pandemic preventing many of the traditions that seem to define this Day of Overeating, I’ve found myself fondly considering the holiday’s less celebrated routines.
In my family, for example, it’s tradition to bake pumpkin pie from the same recipe each year. The final product is a pie rich in the warmth of cloves and cinnamon, with a flaky homemade
Art by Kim Salac
October 29, 2020
Sometimes, life ebbs and flows. The “yay”s have their time, and the “uh oh”s steadily creep in uninvited. Other times, though, life flies out of nowhere, lands on your windshield, and cracks it down the center.
Last week, I left home for Charlottesville. It was a misty morning, but with a synchronous class on the horizon, I put my trust in fog lights and the warmth of daybreak, then went on my way. I moved steadily through a thick haze, past blurry creek beds speckled with reds and
Art by Kim Salac
October 15, 2020
Do you talk to yourself? I do, every day. If I had a text conversation with my own mind, it’d always be at the top of my iMessage list. I’d never thought about it, really, until the idea of the internal monologue began making headlines and, subsequently, making its way into many of my (
Art by Kim Salac
October 01, 2020
When someone asks, “How are you?” what do you say? Maybe you bare your soul, laying out your triumphs and trials to a perfect stranger. Maybe you brush past every mishap, replying with only the highlight of your day. Or, if you’re like me, perhaps you rely on an old standby. If “How are you?” is Pavlov, I am its dog. Over many years, my people-pleaser brain has trained me to err on the side of politeness, and avoid at all costs any action that might be overbearing. So, my response is simple
September 16, 2020
There’s something unsettling about sleeping in a hotel. Maybe it’s the clicking of the air conditioner, which hums in a rhythm unfamiliar and strange, then conjures you from sleep at 1:30 a.m. Or maybe it’s the car horns and sirens blaring in the distance, raising questions in the minds of those who, with blurry vision and heavy limbs, wish they were already asleep. What’s happening out there? Won’t it calm down? Will it ever?
It seems that in January, we walked into the
July 03, 2020
When I look back at my time with the Women’s Center, I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. After three years, the time seems to blur slightly. The things I do recall are fewer specific moments and more themes of constancy—unvarying inspiration, exploration, and vulnerability.
I remember, after months of feeling lost and insecure as a first year, a phone call with Mary about my application to Iris. It was supposed to be an interview, and while I can’t pinpoint exactly
Art by Kirsten Hemrich
April 20, 2020
There are two baby rabbits making a home out of a nook in the fence in my backyard. As evidenced by the pictures my dad sent our family group message, they are expert cuddlers. Their closeness makes them an intertwined blob of fur amongst leaves and grass. Lately I’ve been feeling like those bunnies.
Sometimes I just want to cuddle up into a warm spot and stay put.
I’m a textbook introvert, and someone who really values time alone. So, you can imagine that, in a lot of ways,
Art by Kirsten Hemrich
March 04, 2020
I have a tendency to think of change as something that happens to us rather than something we enact. And maybe that’s why I don’t like change—in fact, I fear it. For someone who grasps onto control with every last fiber of her anxiety-addled brain, the idea of embracing and, even worse, causing transformation does not come easily.
The fact is, we all carry the capacity to fit change into our identity. New beginnings, new journeys, new transitions—they’re all inherently a part of what
Art by Kirsten Hemrich
February 14, 2020
When I was younger, my best friend and I would beg my mom to play The Dixie Chicks’ Home album in the car, just to hear “Travelin’ Soldier”. We sat in the backseat, belting out the lyrics of a love story that traversed an entire litany of emotions in a mere 5 minutes and 43 seconds. The song felt like the embodiment of lyrical and storytelling genius. We were simply obsessed.
My obsession with a good