I moved to Portland, Oregon a little over a month ago. Here's a little of the beauty I've found here:

Dedicated to my great-grandmother, who missed the Titanic

Dearest Robert,

I’m sure you’re thinking of my third-class cabin

leaking loudly, creaking, squeaking slowly sinking.

But it’s a fine day at Mayneen and Bridie and Colleen are baking inside.

Tickets to Chicago are always dear, but with the fear of Titanic

we’ll not have to postpone our wedding a year or make it less lovely

with no Guinness for beer to make ends meet.

In the cabin next door one could hear little children crying, crying endlessly crying, “Momma, what’s happening—are we dying?” And I lay in bed, ruing the day that the gleaming seams of that “Ship o’ Dreams” left me without the means to return from Queens—the port from which she sailed.

The next morn’ Papa brought in the paper and then my anger tapered, more quickly than a candle with the flame blown out.

I never heard her name, but her face came in an instant:

The woman who slept in my cabin.

When I entered the game, I never thought I’d win and now the grin on my face

is replaced with the knowledge that we will get married and send

grandchildren to college and that woman is buried

in the Atlantic.

Robert—they denied my passage because they hadn’t received the message

that my ticket was part of that sweepstakes. And I guess that’s all it takes sometimes:

a mistake and a person who can pay for the ticket.

I’ll be home in a few weeks to wipe those tears from your cheeks.

Your beloved’s alive and our marriage will thrive because now we know

that fate wants us together.

Love,

Nora

music monday

Someday (two months from today) I'll graduate and my blogpost will no longer be sporadic. Until then, sporadically yours, Hilary. 

on when to reclaim words and when to let them go

About two years ago, because of a few of my friends, the word "bitch" kept popping out at me. At its core, the word is supposed to be offensive. And I don't want people to be calling me a bitch, whether it's to my face of behind my back. It makes me feel tiny and like my soul needs to curl up inside of my body and take up as little space as possible. So I stopped using it. Until that point, it had been a pretty frequently-used word in my vocabulary--both as a word meant to hurt and as a word intended to show friendship/ownership/belonging. You know, "yeahhhh, she's my bitch."

Today, my defense walls go up when I hear the word "bitch," even when it's being reclaimed, such as with Bitch magazine or the Poehler/Fey poster on the right. So as someone who very much supports reclaiming words and rising from the disrespect, how can I reconcile the fact that this word is still being used as a form of disrespect, as an echo and an emphasis of oppression? Because, while I never want to be called a bitch, I can't help but think, "hell yes, bitches do get stuff done" when I hear Tina Fey speak, when I read Bitch, when I write a criticism of some patriarchal influence that is keeping the people down. But I cannot stand the thought of people trying to degrade me with that word, the thought of someone--even a friend--asserting ownership over me by saying "you're my bitch." How can we find a balance? Is this word salvageable? Is Tina Fey's catchphrase more powerful because 'bitch' is still used to oppress? I don't know that I'll ever have the answer, but it's a good conversation to have.

"Girl" by Jamaica Kincaid

Wash the white clothes on Monday and put them on the stone heap; wash the color clothes on Tuesday and put them on the clothesline to dry; don't walk barehead in the hot sun; cook pumpkin fritters in very hot sweet oil; soak your little cloths right after you take them off; when buying cotton to make yourself a nice blouse, be sure that it doesn't have gum on it, because that way it won't hold up well after a wash; soak salt fish overnight before you cook it; is it true that you sing benna in Sunday school?; always eat your food in such a way that it won't turn someone else's stomach; on Sundays try to walk like a lady and not like the slut you are so bent on becoming; don't sing benna in Sunday school; you mustn't speak to wharf-rat boys will follow you; but I don't sing benna on Sundays at all and never in Sunday school; this is how to sew on a button; this is how to make a button-hole for the button you have just sewed on; this is how to hem a dress when you see the hem coming down and so to prevent yourself from looking like the slut I know you are so bent on becoming; this is how you iron your father's khaki shirt so that it doesn't have a crease; this is how you iron your father's khaki pants so that they don't have a crease; this is how you grow okra—far from the house, because okra tree harbors red ants; when you are growing dasheen, make sure it gets plenty of water or else it makes your throat itch when you are eating it; this is how you sweep a corner; this is how you sweep a whole house; this is how you sweep a yard; this is how you smile to someone you don't like too much; this is how you smile to someone you don't like at all; this is how you smile to someone you like completely; this is how you set a table for tea; this is how you set a table for dinner; this is how you set a table for dinner with an important guest; this is how you set a table for lunch; this is how you set a table for breakfast; this is how to behave in the presence of men who don't know you very well, and this way they won't recognize immediately the slut I have warned you against becoming; be sure to wash every day, even if it is with your own spit; don't squat down to play marbles—you are not a boy, you know; don't pick people's flowers—you might catch something; don't throw stones at blackbirds, because it might not be a blackbird at all; this is how to make a bread pudding; this is how to make doukona; this is how to make pepper pot; this is how to make a good medicine for a cold; this is how to make a good medicine to throw away a child before it even becomes a child; this is how to catch a fish; this is how to throw back a fish you don't like, and that way something bad won't fall on you; this is how to bully a man; this is how a man bullies you; this is how to love a man; and if this doesn't work there are other ways, and if they don't work don't feel too bad about giving up; this is how to spit up in the air if you feel like it, and this is how to move quick so that it doesn't fall on you; this is how to make ends meet; always squeeze bread to make sure it's fresh; but what if the baker won't let me feel the bread?; you mean to say that after all you are really going to be the kind of woman who the baker won't let near the bread?

Thanks for the Christmas present, Ma.

Martha says "Good morning!" I need a haircut.

my roommate is adorable.

I came home and found a little kitten all curled up in her bed.

Bloodbath by Christian Drake, Performed by Andrea Gibson and Sonya Renee

With love.

vagina, valentine, and victory :)

My senior year of high school, my friend Andrea and I dressed up in red and black for Valentine’s Day—or, I’m pretty sure we referred to it at “Singles Awareness Day.” But, for me at least, Valentine’s Day is not about whether or not one has a significant other. It’s about love—all kinds of love! Not just romantic love. I’m starting a revolution. A love revolution. We can’t fully appreciate love unless we value all of its manifestations. Love is bigger than we’re making it.

The Vagina Monologues 2010

I realized earlier this week, that while autumn may be my favorite season, right now is my favorite time of year. I, along with four other awesome women, are directing Eve Ensler’s The Vagina Monologues and our own The SLU Monologues, which began as a response to Ensler’s play being banned on campus. The monologues are put every year around Valentine’s Day—or V-Day. The V-Day campaign, a global movement to end violence against women and girls, began in 1998, inspired by The Vagina Monologues. The “V” stands for vagina, valentine, and victory.

Backstage of the VagMons

The V-Day season also marks my anniversary with feminism, which has guided me to people and ideas that have changed my worldview and perspective on myself drastically. Furthermore, Valentine’s Day marks the day that my baby brother, Tom, came home from the hospital after he was born. And finally, this year, my family will celebrate my mom’s twelfth year of being cancer-free! My birthday and Christmas may be in December, but this is definitely the most wonderful time of the year. Nowadays, I still wear red and black for Valentine's Day, but it's for my costume for the monologues, not a battle cry.

Hello from the Marchetti/Grand Forest Staff Meeting!

Love, Hilary & Andrew

Something I needed.

This morning, I was feeling a little lonely. It's amazing how we somtimes find just what we need.

I’m never gonna wait
that extra twenty minutes
to text you back,
and I’m never gonna play
hard to get
when I know your life
has been hard enough already.
When we all know everyone’s life
has been hard enough already
it’s hard to watch
the game we make of love,
like everyone’s playing checkers
with their scars,
saying checkmate
whenever they get out
without a broken heart.
Just to be clear
I don’t want to get out
without a broken heart.
I intend to leave this life
so shattered
there’s gonna have to be
a thousand separate heavens
for all of my flying parts.

--Andrea Gibson

chicagoland adventuretime.

At this time tomorrow, I'm expecting to be chatting, laughing, and inhaling lots of wine and chocolate. The best part, though? My soulmate in the form of a sweet but feisty redhead is coming into town! Victoria is my best friend from when I studied abroad in Galway, Ireland in Fall 2011, and I haven't seen her since we parted ways in Dublin last December, so I've been anticipating her arrival ever since she booked her flight.

I feel so old now that I have someone visiting ALL THE WAY FROM New Jersey, but I'm even more impressed that we've kept in touch as well as we have. I tend to get wrapped up in the life I'm living where I'm living it and have a hard time keeping in touch with people, but Victoria and I made it--and in a throwback to my letter-writing post, I will let you all know that sending letters and cards definitely made keeping in touch all the more fun.

So tomorrow night, I'll be laughing, but not too hard because my tummy will be stuffed with Chicago-style pizza. I'll be warm and fuzzy--and to be nice and cheesy here, I'll throw in a line about how it will be the friendship, in addition to the wine that will make me feel that way. It's so wonderful to have a friend whose visits are all the more special because she's coming from far away. I'm looking forward to a wonderful weekend.



Victoria and me in County, Sligo Ireland--before our 3-hour walk around the bottom of the mountain we climbed

birthday cuteness.

I have to share this because it's just so very adorable and everyone needs to enjoy it. This was right after I turned 22 a few weeks ago, with my friend Hughes.

musings of a girl with so much time for life.

Happy New Year, friends!

I heard that New Year’s resolutions are so out, but since I never really regard the trends anyway, why would I now? Besides, my resolutions are more abstract than most—they’re general ways to make myself a better person, and I think that self-love and self-improvement is always in style.

Beautiful new stationery from my Uncle Marty

My number one resolution for this year is to slowww downnn. The culture in which I find myself is so fast-paced and I get wrapped up in it. It’s good to be speedy sometimes, but most of the time, I think the slower I go, the more time I have for the important things and the more I enjoy the things I do. An unknown author puts it ever so eloquently: “Once she stopped rushing through life, she was amazed how much more life she had time for.” And it’s true. So my big goal for the year is to slow down, to enjoy myself, my company, my surroundings.

One of the concrete ways I plan on doing this is by… drum roll… reviving the lost art of letter writing. It’s absurd—though not surprising—that this beautiful form of communication has been left behind. For those of you who know me well, you’ll most likely be receiving some snail mail from me over the course of the year—especially now that my Godfather bought me some beautiful monogrammed stationery for Christmas. And, you know, I won’t complain if I get some snail mail back—who doesn’t like getting friendly mail?

Kind regards,
Hilary

P.S. Kind Regards is a book by Liz Williams on the "lost art of letter-writing." You should check it out!