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When I was 23 years old, I went to Europe for the first time with some women friends. None of us had much money but one of us had a book promising we could live on “Five Dollars a Day.” We also chose Icelandic Airlines because it was the cheapest.
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I think about how people used to try hard to last things. Today, almost everything is disposable. And I leave his shop wishing we could last more...
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I had heard about the Hindu belief in “sacred cows” and thought the whole idea rather strange and certainly unhygienic. Now I was sharing a sidewalk with them. Now I was watching a lovely woman touch the cow and touch her forehead in reverence. I could feel something shift in the baggage of my assumptions.
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I grew up in a family where invitations came with expectations so mostly we accepted whether we wanted to attend or not. It wasn’t a recipe for a good time and I didn’t want to keep doing it.
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I am carrying my old desk lamp into the elegant lighting store, trying to slip past the crystal chandeliers on my way to the repairs department. Standing in line, I stare at the clutter of parts I can’t even identify.
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My husband and I were recently talking about a trip we made to Scotland, so I grabbed my travel journal and looked for details.
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“Exposure, followed by sanctuary was somehow part of Grandmother’s emotional need, and it turned out to be the pattern of her life.” When I read this in college, I knew Stegner was describing me, too.
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We all have comb overs—every single one of us. We are all hiding some kind of defect—visible or invisible, real or imagined—that we work very hard every day to disguise.
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I commissioned a good friend to weave this rug for me over 25 years ago. But you’d never know it's age. The colors are bright and the shape true. And every time I wash it, I’m stunned by how handsome it looks
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When I was young, I wanted to be special, to be different, to be noticed. Now, I’m old and I rather like being ordinary, being similar, being invisible.