In Springtime… A Little Madness

Kathy StevensonLeave a comment

(Originally published in the Philadelphia Inquirer 2/29/08.)

It is a few more weeks until the vernal equinox, when daylight hours and nighttime become approximately the same length of time. And although it seems we haven’t had a real winter here in Philadelphia yet (and I say yet because we could and most likely will still get walloped), I, for one, am already anticipating spring’s arrival. Just this past week, the tender green tips of daffodils planted outside my back door poked brave shoots out through the still frigid ground. Just the sight of those intrepid sprouts made something stir in me. Some hankering – some yearning that will be fulfilled as soon as I have some sun on my back and some dirt on my hands. I long to be in the garden.
There are certain things I do like about winter. I love being by a blazing fire on a blustery, blizzardy Sunday with all the Sunday papers and some books and magazines and hot chocolate lined up at the ready. I love it for about a day or two. And therein lies the problem. Winter is simply too long. Or maybe it needs to be long, so that we do anticipate spring with the proper reverence. Maybe the whole deal with winter is that it is hard, like much of life, and then when the easy, breezy days of spring and summer come, we feel rewarded somehow, like we’ve earned something. Continue reading →

Minding Your Manners: A Political Balancing Act

Kathy StevensonLeave a comment

(First appeared in The Beach Reporter on 9/19/91, but still somehow applicable today…)

Once upon a time, actually not that long ago, rules of etiquette were set in stone. There were things you did in public, and things you didn’t. You didn’t breastfeed a baby in a restaurant, you smoked wherever you wanted, and a man always held the door open for a woman and paid the check.

When a man held the door open it was seen as a matter of courtesy. Now it is an act fraught with potential political overtones. Is he holding the door open because he thinks I’m the weaker sex, and therefore need help? Do I sail through the door graciously, murmuring an appreciative thank you? Or do I give him a power stare, grab the door out of his hands, and say, “I could rip this door off its hinges, and feed it to you for lunch, chauvinist pig.”

Continue reading →

The Legacy of Growing Up Poor

Kathy StevensonLeave a comment

(Originally appeared in The Beach Reporter on 3/18/93)

Most people I know who grew up poor seem to have two distinct sides to their personalities as adults. There is the side that wants to achieve things or buy things just because they can. The toy car that one never had as a child becomes the Porsche sitting in the garage. The fully stocked freezer is security against ever going hungry.

Then there is the flip side. The side that is always looking for a bargain, clipping coupons, not buying something until the old one wears out.

When I was growing up my mother was an inveterate coupon clipper. She had a filing system for her coupons that would put the Library of Congress to shame. My dad used to jokingly call her “Coupon Annie.” I would roll my eyes and die of embarrassment every time she pulled out her coupon file in the supermarket. Continue reading →

A Stranger At the Door

Kathy StevensonLeave a comment

(Link below to my new essay in the Chicago Tribune. Or read here.)

http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/opinion/commentary/ct-stranger-door-lake-forest-north-shore-perspec-0305-jm-20170303-story.html

A Stranger At the Door

It was a frigid December night, and I had just settled into the plump cushions of the living room couch with a book, when I heard a sharp rapping on the front door. The sound startled me, mainly because it was 8:45 p.m., pitch-black outside, and I was alone. My husband had left two days ago for a conference.

I sat thinking for a split second about who could possibly be at my door at that hour, outside in the deep freeze just north of Chicago. I live on a really quiet street, about a block off the main road. Hours might go by without any car or pedestrian passing directly in front of my house, a small, modest house over one hundred years old.

Another moment passed, more sharp rapping, and then a face pressed against the square window in my front door. As I looked over my shoulder from my perch on the couch, I made eye contact with the eyes in this face. A woman’s face. She was saying something, but I couldn’t make it out.

I wish I could say that my first instinct was to leap off the couch to help this mystery woman. But I hesitated. All the bad stories about women who open their doors to strangers – stories told daily in newspapers and magazines, on the nightly TV news, even stories dimly remembered from long-ago slumber parties. Be afraid, be very afraid. I don’t tread fearfully in my daily life, but still. Strange people at the door when you are alone in the cold and dark… that makes you think a bit.

Continue reading →