Questions and Answers

About three weeks ago, the question of what it means to be an American moved to the forefront of my mind and stayed there. It can no longer be compartmentalized; it cannot wait for the moments when I read the news, discuss the election, visit landmarks or watch a Presidential debate. It does not wait for my children to go to bed. This question interrupts my sleep and creates ripples in my days, constantly intersecting with two other questions: What does it mean to be a woman? What does it mean to be human?

The shift happened in late September, and is now my new normal. This is a change that will not be settled on November 8^th. I remember the weekend when this shift occurred vividly. It is hard to forget a ruined rug, a dead rodent and the moment you look at your daughter and realize her identity and her future are on the line.

An Osprey’s Story

My youngest son, Ian, has developed a few new passions at two years old: swimming, pretzels, singing Wheels on the Bus, and most recently, ospreys. I remember the first time I saw an osprey, as a teenager visiting my friend Drew’s cottage on Stoney Lake in Ontario. I fell in love with these raptors, too. Staying with friends in a rustic home with no electricity or hot water, we passed the time playing cards, reading and talking on the dock while the osprey soared above the dark lake.