We’re one of those families. We love bread. I mean we love it. For a few years before the pandemic, my husband baked four beautiful loaves every week. Gosh, you should see the smile on my face as I write that sentence. As everyone and …
While I was at the loveliest birthday dinner with our brand-new friends we had met just four days earlier, I was asked what it felt like to call America home. Behind the question was the horrible legacy of slavery and the possibility of rootlessness. “Do …
“To plant a seed, watch it grow, to tend it and then harvest it, offered a simple but enduring satisfaction. The sense of being the custodian of this small patch of earth offered a taste of freedom.
NELSON MANDELA
This Black Garden Epistle comes to you from Robben Island in South Africa. It starts with this paved and shrubby patch of land where the guide describes the trees planted by Europeans as takers of fresh water.
I am on the notorious island where people were held as prisoners over more than 350 years as offenders, lepers, and political dissidents. Its most famous one, Nelson Mandela, became the first democratically-elected president of this beautiful country four years after his release.
My guide, a political prisoner himself for 16 years, describes the ingenious ways that they communicated with other activists despite the severe consequences. We will find a way.
This visit is haunting, somber, and oh so quiet. We are rapt in anticipation of what he’ll share next. Everywhere is gray, barn-white, and faint blue.
And then we enter the yard where prisoners sat on the ground spaced apart to avoid communication. Here, we learn how President Mandela wrote passages of his book, Long Walk to Freedom, under and near a grapevine. With the help of other prisoners, he’d hide the passages and as a group, they’d all protect the scraps of paper to be stitched together years later. A We find a way.
“This courtyard did not exist when we arrived here. We created it. This court was for tennis, volley ball and tennikoit. The garden had grapes, peaches, vegetables and flowers. It was planted by Elias Motswaledi.”
Is it me or did the end of 2022 come and go with a quickness? One moment I was back in my hometown with family I hadn’t seen in years and in a flash, I was feasting with my small family in Chicago. So in …
A dozen years ago, I went to an art show that changed my life. A new friend, who had patiently washed sushi rice 5-10 times to my precise specifications (a story for another day), invited me to join her and two of her friends to …
To kick off the new year, my friends at PostScript asked me to be their guest writer for their lovely blog, In the Loop. This month’s theme is coffee but I was encouraged to write about anything so I did both.
If you’re interested in the post, it’s here. Don’t forget the coffee!
Like most people, the fairy tales read to me were the mostly sweet versions. Sure, women were hexed by nefarious enemies, harassed by wicked step-relatives, or resigned to a permanent dormant state with the bite of a crimson apple. Overall, though, they ended with our …
Many moons ago, I spent a few glorious weeks in Spain and I tasted everything I could imagine. I mean everything. I could write a book on the dishes and drinks I enjoyed, each day brought one revelation after another. When I think of that …
“There’s beauty in the day. There’s beauty in the night.” ~ Claudette Dudley
Living a life of wonder seems to be a good bet: an interesting corner, path, neighborhood, town, or city— wonder leads to wandering that often leads to something quite magical.
Ain’t life grand? In the image above, a boy and his bubble are captured by photographer, Marvin E. Newman, in 1950s Chicago. Immediately coming to mind at first glance was the moment of both intention and anticipation: chewing the gum so one can blow a …