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Managing Editor, P.S. I Love You | Owner, A Seasoned Woman | Human Parts, ZORA, London Reader | Tweet @KayBolden | kayboldenmedium (at) gmail

On April 4 our city burned, but my mother was unflinching.

Even at the age of 7, I was accustomed to people coming in and out of our house at all hours of the day and night. My parents ran the NAACP and organized civil rights marches from our living room, and published a militant newspaper from our basement. On any given night, there were revolutionaries at our dinner table, college kids singing freedom songs, union workers painting picket signs, people arguing passionately about strategy and politics and race relations and whose turn it was to go pick up the fried chicken from Stefanich’s.

But this night — April 4, 1968…

A year without a home of my own

For my first 5 months living on the road, starting in September 2019, it was fun being a digital nomad. Who wouldn’t love a glorious autumn in the Scottish Highlands? Sailing the Caribbean in December? Writing from a Costa Rican beach in January?

I wasn’t watching the news, I was watching my bucket list. I didn’t need a permanent home. All I needed was my backpack and my passport. Next up: Panama. Colombia. Maybe even Madagascar, baby!

But first — a quick flight from Mexico City to Los Angeles for a funeral. And then — a strange question at the…

It’s all a mind game, baby

I’ve been to a dozen professional counselors in my life. One tried to sell me Herbalife. One urged me to consider that I might really be lesbian, despite my many decades of pro-penis adventures. Another literally fell asleep while I was talking.

Consequently — despite my very real anxiety and depression issues — my interest in therapy has been restricted to acquiring new Xanax prescriptions, and scoring HIPAA-protected paid days off from work.

So when the quarantine blues hit me in May, I did not immediately turn to traditional methods of coping, like Zoom counseling, excessive drinking, or Peloton. I…

Mother’s Day on the mighty Mississippi

I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.—
Langston Hughes*

In the beginning, it was dark — too dark to make out her face or her features. Only the jeweled sparks from her rings, as she waved her hands in circles and curves, and offered thanks over her oracle cards. I could hear the wooden beads of her bracelets chattering, could smell the deep, dark scent of the nearby river. In this tiny room, we clasped hands and prayed.

In the French…

My dog suddenly lost his sight, and I am just starting to see things clearly

I was reading the second book in the Outlander saga when my adult kids brought me a dog from the shelter — a bouncy, wannabe Shih-Tzu mix. He was smart and fast, especially when stealing food, like the Paris street urchin in the book — Fergus.

And like the character, he also turned out to be a natural adventurer. He has traveled the country with me, riding shotgun and raising hell wherever we go. He’s a steady sailor who owns a custom-made life jacket; he’s a master of Kong food toys, and a skilled chipmunk-catcher.

And now, inexplicably, he is…

And a note from Dan (PS… 2020 is almost over!)

Hello friends,

As 2020 comes to a close, many people all over the world are preparing for something unprecedented in their lifetimes: a holiday season without family. Now, not everyone will be cancelling their Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, or Christmas plans this year. But even those moving ahead with downsized or socially-distanced celebrations are grappling with a certain sense of fear and uncertainty — about the virus, their own health, the health of loved ones.

As the pandemic rips across the world, this fear undergirds many aspects of our lives. At PS, we want to hear from you about how you’re managing…

All the latest news and stories

Hello friends,

It’s our favorite time of year — Cuddle Season! Sunday afternoon football, crisp autumn walks, bonfires on the beach, spicy hot toddies, and curling up with the one you love.

Our favorite movie buff Taylor Williams is back with a fresh look at blockbuster Jerry Maguire. Is it a rom-com? A sports drama? A social commentary on gender roles? It’s a classic, that’s for sure. Check out this month’s P.S. I Love Movies.

Here are some new stories to cozy up to:

Editors’ Picks

Jessica Wildfire, Women Can Get Caught in the Friend Zone, Too

Michael Thompson, The One Small…

Things my dog says when I remember to listen

Fergus was adopted from the shelter in August, 2016; he was 8 months old. Despite his size (15 pounds), temperament (Road Runner on Adderall), and original name (Mr. Snuffles), he believes himself to be a Shih-Tzu. We’ve been unable to cure him of this delusion.

Me: (waving the leash) Come on, kid. Let’s go outside.

Fergus: (glancing up) That’s so not happening.

Me: You’ve gotta pee, dude. Let’s go.

Fergus: Maybe you’ve gotta pee. I’m watching Maddow. Also, Pop just fell asleep in his chair. Those unattended chicken wings aren’t going to eat themselves, you know.

Me: Pop! Move your…

P.S. I Love You Announcement

Hello friends,

We’re excited to introduce “P.S. I Love Movies” — a new monthly series in which our resident film critic (and hopeless romantic), Taylor Williams, reviews classic films from the Rom Com canon.

First up: Revisiting “You’ve Got Mail”. If you just love to see two fools fall in love — clumsily, and not always kindly — then I guess you’ve got the perfect movie night with this Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan romp from 1998. Director Nora Ephron serves up an examination of digital love, capitalism, and self-identity between all those sweetheart emails.

What’s Taylor’s final take? Well … read…

Poetry Sunday

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

How many nights
did I stand over my babies’ cribs
watching them breathe?
Tiny chests rising and falling
in miraculous, endless rhythm,
bitty hearts and lungs

I made you, I’d whisper
Formed your perfect bellies and limbs
of my own blood and bone
fed you with my own body.

How many heartbeats
are you allotted at birth?
How many breaths
until you run out?

Now at my father’s bedside
his breaths slow and weak
his heart running out of beats.
Each one now a labor
a rebellion
a gift.

I watch over him
like his mother…

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