Like Marcel Proust’s madeleine dipped in lime blossom tea, a chance visit to the Pat Conroy Literary Center this week elicited a flood of memories from my childhood. Unlike Conroy, I grew up in the north. My parents were diehard liberals, free thinkers that decried America’s involvement in Vietnam and…
After more than 30 years of searching, by tens of thousands of passionate treasure seekers, France’s elusive Golden Owl was recovered sometime during the night of October 2/3. I wrote about this trouble-plagued contest back in 2021. If you’d like a more detailed version of its dramatic backstory, you’ll find…
So much of today’s media focuses on issues that divide us. I thought this week I’d take a break from conflict and breeze through a topic that most of us, regardless of political leanings, can embrace: the fables of the French poet, Jean de La Fontaine. Between 1668 and 1694,…
Urgent While writing this post, I learned that Marcellus Williams is scheduled to be executed on September 24, 2024. His case is highly unusual because even the prosecuting attorney for St. Louis County, Wesley Bell, has been filing appeals to vacate Williams’ conviction and subsequent death sentence. Last week, Judge…
Night had fallen last December when I left the Musée Carnavalet after attending an exhibit on La Régence, a period in French history that marks the dawn of the Enlightenment. Despite the darkness, the streets of the Marais were still bustling with activity and I felt the same pull to…
I know Madame Bovary is hailed as one of the greatest works of French literature, but after plugging away at the first 200 pages of the book this summer, I had to give up. I can’t say the writing is bad—far from it. The story simply failed to pique my…
Earlier this summer, my husband Andy and I enjoyed visiting southwest Utah with our kids and their significant others. I wrote about the trip briefly in an earlier post but took time this week to pull together a photo montage of the visit. The work provided a needed break from…
An old family photograph hangs over my shoulder on the wall beside my desk. Within the spartan metal frame are two professionally captured portraits—one of my mother, the other of my grandmother. There is no date or inscription, but judging by the ages of the two subjects, I’m guessing the…
