Last night I noticed how a repetitive task—each leaf pulled off the stalk, dipped in French dressing, and eaten—demands a particular sort of attention.
My Favorite Posts
These posts are either personal favorites or over time have received a very high number of visits, Likes or comments. — Sallie.
No connection erases the primal fear that is a constant in our culture: the fear of the power of women.
My hometown city of Louisville, Kentucky is blooming as it never has before.
I’ve avoided writing about what is going on in our presidential election, not wanting to focus more attention on this ignoble display. But Sunday night was too much.
Since I first moved to Santa Fe twenty-five years ago, I’ve longed to gain an authentic and appropriate understanding of the people among whom we live and who were here long before us, and will remain.
It has always been clear to me that words, on which I’ve built my creative life, can’t heal. They can illuminate and inspire… but those same words would be powerless to heal in the face of tragedy.
For any of you who think, or have thought, about starting a writing group, here is a model that works.
Those of us who are still alive must try to thrive outside of the tight circuit of the myth, which might be summed up in the Biblical phrase, “How are the mighty fallen!”
My chapters about Doris’ war-time service are some of the most revealing, and most controversial, in my upcoming biography.
Thirty years ago, it was a big plain farmhouse on a high rise of pasture when I first saw what would become Hopscotch House.
Women artists are always in danger of extinction; already low on the pay scale, often with too many children and no support, they can hardly be expected to devote their limited time and energy to becoming proficient professional poets, painters, sculptors…
Wolf Pen is the way many people in this country lived, when we were still agrarian and made do with much less, in the material sense, than we consider essential now. We lived in a few small rooms, we farmed, milled, carpentered, built, ran cattle or horses—managed to survive.
I… felt the midwives, and Mrs. Breckinridge, were just as foreign to me, possessed of some vision, some energy I’d never encountered before. I felt very small and very ignorant among them.
The image of the Virgin of Guadalupe is especially prized here because of her Mexican antecedents, and yet, even though she represents a beleaguered minority, she must still be seen only in the terms set by the church, terms that have constricted the image, and confused women followers, for hundreds of years.
It was the 1980’s and the three of us-Julia, Joan and I-were possessed by the spirit of the times-that energizing, reckless, laughing spirit that was born of the modern women’s movement. We could do anything. Even stir up trouble.
When you have learned to use your money, and your power, you will arrive at an appreciation of your womanhood unlike anything you have ever imagined.