by Holly Mohr Individualism gets a bad rap, though our entire society is organized around it. And I get it. In an increasingly isolated world, where those experiencing poverty are feared or forgotten, both by individuals and systems, our nation, our world, is a demonstrably frightening place. The day-to-day fallout of the pandemic brought basicContinue reading “The Brood: Individuals in Community?”
Bad Catholics don’t pray the rosary, but have at least five stashed around their house (and one in their car). Bad Catholics have no idea when the Holy Days of Observation are. Bad Catholics will receive the Eucharist at your wedding or funeral, even if they already broke their fast by toasting you in the parking lot
by Holly Mohr “Oh! Praise the Lord!” I exclaim, instinctively throwing my head back and closing my eyes, savoring that first sip of my margarita on the patio of the new Mexican place, across the table from my friend. Her eyes twinkle a little as she laughs at me, in a good way. “That’s yourContinue reading “The Brood: The Catechesis of Jazz, Filet and Cabernet”
“Look C!,” I exclaimed, in that desperately upbeat tone we parents use when stuck somewhere boring with our children, “It’s um…the Incredible Hulk, and…uh..Iron Man, right? The red one? And that’s….well, that’s Scarlett Johansson…?”
by Holly Mohr I hate talking about weight. I mean, really, really, in a big way. I did not want to write about this. But I think it’s time. Several (painful) conversations in the last week have pushed me to realize that I need to actually say something about this. During the pandemic shutdown, IContinue reading “The Brood: My Body, My Self?”
by Holly Mohr For the past two or three weeks, I’ve found myself crying during yoga. Pretty much every time I go in my room, close the door, and let my guard down, I start to feel the things I’ve been putting off for the past year. When I came home from burying myContinue reading “The Brood: Hoping Against Hope”
Crossing the finish line to the condescending cheers of the lingerers who had already eaten all the bagels, I took my complimentary medal, tore off my running shoes, and walked into the sea sobbing like a little bitch.
by Holly Mohr Last Tuesday was our wedding anniversary. Our 14th, to be exact. Not a flashy number that calls for once-in-a-lifetime trips, maybe, but a significant occasion, nonetheless. But again, it was a Tuesday. We’re talking a work night; there are kids, dishes, frenetic schedules. But we decided to have a picnic to markContinue reading “The Brood: Seasons, Choices and Schenley (An Anniversary)”
I can live landlocked for a while, but after a year or two away from the sea I end up feeling muffled, like I’m wearing extra layers around my psyche. I will never be as awake and alert and present as I am when I return to the source. My ancestors were born, lived, and died near the sea. I will always belong there.
by Holly Mohr “Well,” the retired drama professor began, arms folded. “I’m a cradle Catholic. I look for a parish that can tolerate someone like me and one that I can tolerate.” He considered for a beat, then added, “I don’t know any cradle Catholics. All the cradle Catholics I know are either indifferent orContinue reading “The Brood: By Means the Church Does Not Allow”