Category Archives: bio

My Quilt

One of my favorite teachers at Woodstock School was Kathleen Forance, our art teacher. I had long been as much of an artist as I could manage , mostly drawing and coloring. Kathleen got me into textile arts: embroidery, batik, weaving.

My first experiments in embroidery included small scenes from my own life (or my imagined life). In perhaps the very first, I showed myself in bed under a multicolored quilt. That was my inspiration to make a quilt.

a quilt block in oranges with my first embroidered scene - myself sitting up in bed with a patchwork quilt near a big window with a moon and stars

Throughout high school and into college I made crazy-quilt blocks, most of them decorated with scenes I’d embroidered myself or commercially embroidered patches, all representing key memories and things that were important to me at the time. I had access to wonderful fabric scraps, ranging from my dad’s 1960’s loud wide ties in Thai silk, to printed and ikat fabrics from India, printed cottons from Thailand and Indonesia, and more. Other Woodstockers of my vintage will recognize some of the fabrics that our clothing was made from, by the tailors in the bazaar — there was little ready-made clothing available in Mussoorie at the time.

In 1989, while on a visit to Texas with my infant daughter, I used my cousin’s sewing machine to put the blocks together, framed in black velvet. The whole thing was a bit narrow to actually use as a bedcover. My mother gave me a selection of Japanese printed fabrics, which I stitched together to add borders on each side (I’ve only actually got one sewed on so far).

7 Horrifying Facts About Chemotherapy

I originally wrote this in January 2016 and submitted it to Cracked.com, which I was greatly enjoying at the time. Never heard back from them, so here it is.

There are about a bazillion different types of cancer. Not all of them require or even benefit from chemotherapy, but, when we hear “cancer”, chemo is what we tend to immediately think of, and fear the most. Except, of course, dying.

I have “difficult” breasts, and I’ve had cancer scares before. Each time, the most frightening possible outcome, to me, was chemo (yes, chemo scared me more than death). My nightmare finally came true: in late 2014 I was diagnosed with breast cancer requiring surgery and then chemotherapy (followed by radiation and hormonal therapy).

While chemotherapy may well save my life (we’ll get to that), it has proved in some ways to be almost as bad as I’d feared – and, in other ways, even worse. 

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Women in Tech and the 2016 US election

Note: This piece was originally drafted in March 2017, but for some reason I never got around to publishing it. If Kamala Harris does become the Democratic candidate this year, everything I wrote back then will be even more true – and worse with the racism that will accompany it.

The US election was taking a toll on women even before its hideous denouement last November.

The constant, blatant misogyny against Hillary expressed by both left and right was exhausting. We could see ourselves in her: working harder, being more prepared, having done all her homework (and everyone else’s) yet being judged on her hair, her makeup, her clothing. Being told she was too shrill, too combative, too much like someone’s mother. Not nice enough.

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A Theater-Goer’s Diary: Anything Goes

Enrico and I saw this show with Patti LuPone at a Sunday matinee in 1988. It was the start of our Cole Porter obsession.

I had bought tickets at the last minute and we somehow ended up front row center. The stage, only about 4 feet above the level of our seats, represented the deck of an ocean liner, complete with a railing.

When we arrived to take our seats, I had been puzzled at a rectangle of soft foam taped to the floor more or less under my feet. Later in the show we learned what that was for: there’s a scene in which two characters are leaning on the rail talking, swigging from a bottle of champagne. They finish the bottle and drop it over the rail – cue sound effect of bottle falling and finally splashing. It landed on our feet.

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My Experience with University of Texas Police

As y’all may have noticed, students all over the US are protesting the Israeli genocide in Gaza. The protest has now arrived at my own alma mater, the University of Texas at Austin. The University police and Texas state troopers arrived in force to arrest them.

I had my own encounter with the UT police back around 1983-84 when I was a student. I had been elected to the student council of the Liberal Arts department. One of our privileges was a few rooms that we could use as a lounge and offices, various of us would hang out there between classes. (Aside: That was where I got my hands on a Macintosh computer for the first time.)

Sometime during that period, I was summoned to the offices of the University police department. A young woman cop was investigating the theft of cash from the purse of one of my Liberal Arts Council colleagues in that shared area – the student had left her purse unattended in one of the offices, about $400 (that she needed to pay rent) disappeared from her wallet. Someone said they had seen me in that office.

I was very likely in the office, but I certainly hadn’t stolen and money and would never dream of doing so. I told the cop that. She probed and pushed and told me repeatedly that she wouldn’t come down on me too hard if I only confessed. I pushed right back and said I wasn’t about to confess to a crime I hadn’t committed. She reduced me to tears, but there was no way I was going to do that. Finally she dismissed me and said we would talk again.

She called me back a few days later, did the same performance all over again, and demanded that I take a polygraph (lie detector) test. I said I’d be fine with that. She kept pushing for a confession. 

I returned to her office a few days later expecting to be polygraphed. She said: “You’re too agitated, the result wouldn’t be reliable.” I don’t know if she ever seriously meant to do it. At some point during the conversation, she said something like: “I’m just as good as any other cop, you know.” Seems like she had a chip on her shoulder about not being a “real” police person. After that she finally gave up and as far as I know nothing ever went on my university record. I was left shaken and furious for a long time, and that memory still enrages me. I don’t think they ever did find out who took the money.

My conclusion from this is that university police are dangerous, precisely because they don’t think anyone takes them as seriously as other cops. Students beware.

The University of Texas tower