Last week, my mother had hip replacement surgery. I don’t come from a family of medical professionals–I come from a family of active imaginations. We quickly imagine the worst.
I cried in bed every night last week leading up to the surgery. My husband was unable to console me about something that hadn’t happened and would probably not happen. I was shaken to my bones with the idea that I might lose my mother: my mother, my nucleus, my magnetic north, my everything. Read the rest of this entry →
It’s become abundantly clear that we will all miss Nora Ephron. Our own Jordana Horn shared her slightly (okay, more than slightly) embarrassing story about faking an orgasm a la When Harry Met Sally, and plenty of other writers in the blogosphere have written touching tributes. Here are some of our favorites:
On Tablet: This Was My Life, by Nona Willis Aronowitz
Nora Ephron taught me what an orgasm was. Call me naïve, but I had no idea.
This isn’t as sad as it sounds, truly. I was in high school when When Harry Met Sally… came out. And I loved every part of the movie. This, of course, was despite not being able to relate to it on several levels in the least: unlike the film’s protagonists, I was a suburban teenager who had never had sex. Read the rest of this entry →
Last week, my mother had hip replacement surgery. I don’t come from a family of medical professionals–I come from a family of active imaginations. We quickly imagine the worst.
