Jacob Street when I was growing up in the prosperous white suburbs had only one meaning: that was the address of Lizzie Baker’s house.
A Patch of Blue Sky
I remember with increased gratitude the women I’ve known who, no matter what their circumstances, were able to continue to bring me light, warmth and humor.
There Was an Old Woman Tossed up in a Basket
What we are all obliged to do now: to join in sweeping the cobwebs. There is a little time and a little space, provided by the pandemic, for such a sweeping…
Mary Lily Kenan Flagler Bingham: The Truth Will Out
Mother is long dead, and so the revelation of the second autopsy, in this book, has meaning only for me. But it has a great deal of meaning, reminding me, forcibly, to rely on my intuition, not matter what the cost.
The Bingham Estate: The Big House Reborn
As William Faulkner wrote in “Requiem For A Nun”, “The past is not dead. It’s not even the past.” But perhaps the past can, with will, imagination and love, be at least partly transformed.
Sitting Pretty: Doris Duke and Lizzie Baker
It is no surprise that Cecil Beaton, fashion photographer for Vogue and Vanity Fair in the 1920’s and 1930’s, portraitist of Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess of Windsor, should have taken several shots of Doris Duke; but it is surprising that in 1953 when he visited my parents in Kentucky, photographed Lizzie Baker.
Growing Up Without Africa
It has taken me a long time to realize how little I knew about the women who raised me.