The Brood: The Catechesis of Jazz, Filet and Cabernet

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”

The Brood: Reasons to Marvel

“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…?”

The Brood: My Body, My Self?

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?”

The Brood: Hoping Against Hope

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”

The Brood: Seasons, Choices and Schenley (An Anniversary)

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)”

The Brood: Back to the Source

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.

The Brood: By Means the Church Does Not Allow

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”

The Brood: Transition

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. 

The Brood: Yes, I Dare to Celebrate

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”