You Can’t Keep The House Your Daughter Was Born In

You Can’t Keep The House Your Daughter Was Born In

Remember that night, as my midwife Ghuru B, a tiny woman from Chicago, smiled at me? I was on all fours on the bed and mooing like a cow in distress. I knocked my tea mug over, the stain spreading down the wall, while my husband pressed the spot on my back to suppress the pain. And finally after twelve hours of labor, she was born.

Looking Towards Hathersage

Looking Towards Hathersage

I pause in my daily walk along the edge of the English town I live in and gaze across a soon-to-be-developed meadow and on towards the hills of Derbyshire

The Meaning of Hair in My Life

For years, I did not think hairdos very important.  My mother was always after me: “A little brushing would help,” she’d say.