Articles by Quenby Moone
I was raised proper, by which I mean a proper appreciation of language in all its splendor. Our family did not exclusively fawn over the most flashy words, nor the most humble. We took delight in using descriptors of all stripes, including those reserved for the bawdy house.
or: A Few Thing I Learned in New York About Writers For The Nervous Breakdown, with Greater or Lesser Emphasis on The Truth.
The last time I was in New York I had morning sickness …
These days, perhaps one of the most indelible images in my mind is of a dead sea bird, not covered in oil from the Deepwater Horizon disaster, but whose rotting carcass is filled with bottle …
Mr. McGuire: Plastics.
–The Graduate, 1967
Recommend on FacebookTweet about itSubscribe to the comments on this postTell a friend
In a different life my husband and I were in the dank center of a rock band who had hit it big.
Screwy and the Pin-ups* was at the height of its draw. And we, our …
I’m sorry for the mass mailing. I’m a terrible correspondent, as I’ve explained in greater or lesser tones of contrition for most of my life. My parents always tried to encourage me to write thank …
For Christmas, Santa brought our six-year-old boy the classic tales of another six-year-old boy (plus a tiger): “Calvin and Hobbes.” And oddly, he was not enchanted, like, immediately.
Calvin and his tiger Hobbes moved around the …
Arguments around the dinner table are not this family’s modus operandi. We’re not even arguers; we’re more akin to intense debaters who pore over details and minutiae, then realize we’re preaching to the choir and …
If you’re coming to my house for a social call, a casual tête-á-tête, a little visit just to say hi, make sure to take note of both your surroundings and your offerings. Bring wine if …
We have a happy little nuclear family, all things being equal. My husband and I had our son when we were past our rather exciting young adulthoods, and were married seven years before we heeded …
We rediscovered our favorite chicken place on the opposite side of town from where it had been a few years earlier. Sayulita is magical like that–things open and close, move with no warning, change and …
The brochure for Punta Sayulita was left behind in the house that we rented, living in the stack of airport magazines abandoned by previous visitors, and my husband, always on the lookout for a new …
