This post is dedicated to Clayton Fagner Alves Dias, soldado da PM N. 96008. On February 20, 2015, a nineteen-year-old […]
Archiving Abortion: Sharing One Story At A Time
“I feel like nobody should have to experience anything in life without sharing it. I feel like through our experiences […]
Agency and Abortion in Brazil
Two women’s deaths resulting from clandestine abortions recently shocked the city of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. In August 2014, 27-year-old […]
The Body as Archive
Trying to become a public historian and freelance writer in grad school is requiring me to walk a difficult tightrope. […]
The Burdens of Conscience: Thoughts on Burwell v. Hobby Lobby
In the late 1960s, two men refused to fulfill their military service obligations. One was a humanist and the other […]
Parenting and Disordered Eating: How I am Trying to Break the Pattern
by Krista Heinitz
My blood pressure is amazing. My fridge and pantry are full of whole fruits and vegetables, whole wheats, and a very small amount of processed food. My family regularly hikes, camps, and actively adventures (whenever grad school isn’t consuming me). We are a healthy family. My body shows the after effects of childbirth — my stomach has some loose skin that sags and is rippled with stretch marks. Years of breastfeeding have changed the landscape of my breasts. All of these things, including my strong legs and back that carried my child, create a body I am proud of and happy to have. As I dig into rich, dark earth with my daughter so that we can sow beet seeds, I do not doubt that I am modeling and creating a healthy life for my child.
If the IUD is an Abortifacient, Then So Is Chemotherapy and Lunch Meat
When I criticized Hobby Lobby for its attempts to evade the Obamacare contraceptive mandate, a friend of mine thoughtfully replied, […]
Frozen Pipes on the Prairie
By Carolyn Herbst Lewis
We don’t have water. The pipes running through our walls are dry. I discovered this situation nine mornings ago. I woke to visit Aunt Nellie, as my great aunt would say, and, after contemplating the meaning of life, I rose, I flushed, and I washed my hands. Except where water once flowed at my beck and call, now there was none. By the end of the day, the plumbers would deliver the verdict: no water was reaching our meter, and there was no break in any of the lines. After two bouts with the polar vortex, the temps of the previous few days, hovering right around the zero mark, had allowed the frost layer to reach deeper than it had ever been. Roughly three times deeper, in the estimation of the local farmers. Somewhere along the eighty feet of pipe running between our meter and the city main (most probably the section that had been repaired last summer and thus is now sitting in disturbed earth, but no one can say for sure without exploratory digging), there is a freeze. All we can do is hope for a thaw.
Sterilization is Not the Solution
This is the second in a two-part series responding to a recent report by The Center for Investigative Reporting (CIR) […]