Wear the Speedo

Last week I took my daughter to a lake in the city, and as we parked, a man walked by. He older, perhaps close to 70. He was wearing the shortest shorts I’ve seen since the summer began. I was startled. The shorts creeped up his backside, and in long, spindly strokes his legs stretched ahead of and behind him, making his way toward the lake. His faded blue jeans were ragged at the edge where a pant leg could have begun had there been any leg to these pants at all. In the place of the legs were merely…

Grateful

My husband’s hair salon has been shooting editorial collections for the last couple of days. I spent the day with them yesterday, and today I spent working on videos and thinking about how to communicate the stories we hold at American Refugee Committee. I am so grateful. I ended my day at work reading this week’s Time cover story about the White Helmets of Syria, imagining the streets covered in impassable rubble, the dust mixed with blood. I returned to my desk wondering again how to rise from the mound of painful stories I hear to offer something useful to…