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”
So much happened in those years. I nursed my last baby and celebrated my first teenager. I concluded my teaching career. I walked with my husband through the loss of a parent. I battled with my child through a series of mental health crises. I ghosted the Church. I separated from friends. I sheltered my family through a pandemic. I never wrote about what was happening, though, only what it felt like.
Like grasping at vapor. Like fighting in a fog. Like abandoning my humanity and becoming an android. Like disappearing into myself.
by Holly Mohr Today is my birthday. I love birthdays. Whatever else has to happen on the day, something internally tells me it’s a Feast Day, a day of celebration and special joy. So far, I’m enjoying the sense of getting older. While I’m trying to mentally prepare myself for the fact that my attitudeContinue reading “The Brood: Yes, I Dare to Celebrate”