July 21, 2011
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Like most families, my brood is a complex configuration of souls, so I greeted this week’s flurry of Supreme Court decisions with a conflicted heart.
Earlier this week, I drove through miles of farmland east of Cleveland to give an evening talk at the public library in Jefferson, Ohio. Population 3,115, give or take a few.
Hillary Clinton is now on Twitter.
If my husband were president, I think I’d have to be exiled to the Kingdom of Bhutan for the duration of his tenure, because there is no way I would have the self-discipline of Michelle Obama.
How many times a year do I do this? I’ve lost count. Bright and early, I march to the second-floor closet and vow that this is the day I will cull the boxes of family memories piled to the ceiling. I yank the door open and sigh with disgust: What a mess. I pull out a box, sit on the bed and push up my sleeves.
Two weeks after the press partied hearty with President Barack Obama at the White House Correspondents’ Association dinner, the administration admitted that federal authorities had secretly combed through phone records for dozens of Associated Press journalists.
For many years, the Philadelphia Female Anti-Slavery Society held an annual fair that sold only goods that weren’t made by slaves.
Last month, after a trial that garnered worldwide coverage, two high-school football players in Steubenville, Ohio, were sentenced to youth prison for raping a 16-year-old girl.
For most of us, our first glimpse into the horrors of the Boston Marathon tragedy came through the lens of Boston Globe photojournalist Steve Silva.
It was a hard snow, the kind that stings your face on its way to burying everything in sight.
On Tuesday, a year after he murdered three Chardon High School students and injured three others, 18-year-old T.J. Lane walked into his sentencing hearing and made it virtually impossible for most of us to summon even a shred of sympathy for his condemned soul.
For a split second, Helen Yee thought the guy who opened the passenger door of her car and slid in next to her was a neighbor. Then she saw his gun.
Yahoo CEO Marissa Mayer is abolishing the company’s work-at-home policy and ordering everyone to show up at the office. Her decision has sparked intense and often nasty debate, with Mayer usually landing on the losing end. Many women, in particular, sound betrayed after daring to expect more from such a high-profile female boss. How could she?
Gina Odom didn’t like guns until she felt that her baby’s safety was threatened.
It was Monday, after school. Toni Coral and four of her fellow high school teachers in Hamtramck, Mich. were finalizing plans for the next morning.
Less than a month before the presidential election, a little diner just a short drive from my house made front-page news in The New York Times.
At 6:23 a.m., I heard the familiar splat of newspapers outside our bedroom window.
The new school year is about to begin, so principals around the country are planning the first of many lockdown drills for their students and staff.
In the last years of her life, my mother was a home care worker for hospice.
A couple of weeks ago, my husband and I were standing in a hardware store trying to figure out which contraption works best for storing a garden hose.
In February 1989, I ended a phone interview for a magazine story I was writing and looked up to find my 21-month-old daughter imitating me.
Two and a half years ago, a house in a poor neighborhood in Cleveland made international headlines for the saddest of reasons.
After reading Stephen Marche’s cover story about Facebook in the latest issue of The Atlantic, I went online to find the link so that I could — what else? — share it on Facebook.
Ten years ago, I was a newspaper reporter spending a lot of my days with Michael Green, a 36-year-old African-American man who had recently been released from prison.
Last weekend, Newt Gingrich strutted into an overflow crowd of people waiting for him at the Wiregrass Museum in Dothan, Ala., and greeted them with an insult.
On the evening of Super Tuesday, a radiant Ann Romney stepped up to the microphone at a Boston rally and took her best shot at changing the subject.
Before this week, most of the country had never heard of Chardon, Ohio.
You didn't have to like Whitney Houston's music to fall under the spell of her voice.
The Susan G. Komen for the Cure foundation has severed its ties with Planned Parenthood.
You may have noticed that most of the presidential debates are moderated by men, which gives female journalists like me lots of time to watch and listen.
For the past week, the front section of The New York Times’ Dec. 28 issue has been sitting on my kitchen counter in Ohio, growing increasingly crinkled from use and sprinkled with circles, arrows and the occasional exclamation point.
Poor Mitt Romney. The Republican presidential candidate has changed everything but his gender to appease his new best friends on the far right.
When I was growing up, I knew a lot of kids whose fathers didn’t earn a living working in the bowels of a factory like my dad.
Perhaps you have seen this photo. On Facebook maybe or on a military blog, in an email. In the picture, to the right, Marine Lance Cpl. Andrew Paul Carpenter’s dog tags dangle from his dusty boots. A small Bible, bookmarked with his wedding announcement, rests on the floor beside them. Descriptions attached to the photo, which recently has blazed across the Internet, typically invoke the sacrifices of our men and women in uniform and the families who love them.
More than a week has passed since the execution of Troy Davis, who insisted he was innocent until his eyes closed forever. Georgia won this battle, but it has potentially ignited a movement to eliminate the death penalty in this country. If we’ve learned anything from Davis’ execution, it’s that our judicial system is too flawed — too human, really — to claim the right to kill another human being. And this time, millions of Americans were paying attention.
Finally, we can hear — in her own voice, in her own words — what it was like to be Jackie Kennedy in the wake of unspeakable grief. What a bold and generous gift to the American people.
It's hotter than Dante's nine rings of hell outside.Crank up the fans, and pass the pile of books.
On Aug. 3, 2005, Lance Cpl. Edward "Augie" Schroeder II was one of 14 men in the 3rd Battalion, 25th Marine Regiment who were killed by a roadside bomb in Iraq.