The Yardstick

My mom used to sew when I was little. I remember her sewing machine, its color, the smell, the sound. I tried a couple of times and can’t say my efforts were a complete failure, but I much preferred sewing small things by hand: scrunchies (it was, after all, the ’80s), maybe a doll dress […]

The Xhosa Baby

I went to my thyroid appointment earlier today, and a mother and her daughter — maybe around a year and a half old — were also in the waiting room. The child was running around the space and wore shoes which were made to squeak every time she walked or kicked something. To make matters […]