weather: Philadelphia Metropolis

This Old House

By Rachel Levy Lesser» I grew up in a house built my grandparents. The new construction was complete in 1967, and it was distinctively theirs. The 6-foot bathtub and extra high counter tops were designed by and for my 6-foot-4 grandfather. The art studio complete with a science-like lab sink and oversized slots for canvases was what my grandmother, the budding artist, had always wanted. It wasn't their house for as long as they would have hoped. After my grandfather died suddenly, my grandmother wanted nothing more of their dream home in Yardley. She moved to New York City where she could be near the art and culture that she craved. This left my young parents in a precarious position. They had outgrown our small ranch (Comments)

My Declaration of Independence

Best of VoxPop» It is no coincidence that I now live only a few blocks from Independence Hall. When I was a toddler, I was determined to do everything by myself, so my grandfather dubbed me the Declaration of Independence. The name still suits me. To appreciate this, you need to know that I am legally blind. That means that I have minimal sight in one eye and none in the other, and no depth perception. While I can get around without the assistance of either a guide dog or a white cane, I can't read street signs or facial expressions, and I hold printed matter inches from my eyes to read it. You will be relieved to learn that the state of Pennsylvania, in its wisdom, will not grant me a driver's license. (Comments)

The Philadelphian

By Dalyn Montgomery» I start each morning by arguing with a four year old about whether or not her dress makes her look like a tomato. The dress is blue. I don't understand the argument so I usually lose. Next we drop Tomato's older sister off at school. Doing this consists of first parking illegally by a fire hydrant, a risk made necessary because the school buses take up all the curb space. With the flashers on we abandon the car and join the screaming children and chatting parents in the school yard. It is one of those rubberized school yards that make you feel a little like Neil Armstrong as you bounce past the monkey bars and slides. I only partially pay attention as the loosely uniformed kids line up by class and grade, I'm looking for the parents I think of as friends. They are the ones I have three-minute conversations with at eight in the (Comments)

A Rabbit's Tale

By Elise Seyfried» Lord help me, I've bonded. With a rabbit. Two months ago, my 16-year-old daughter Julie went to a rabbit rescue organization in Broomall called Luv N'Bunns and adopted Stoli, a fat and furry white bunny. She arrived home laden with bun plus a small fortune in accoutrements: cage and pen and food and hay and toys. We tried to change his name, as we can only assume he was originally named by a vodka lover. Charlie? Cute, but no cigar. Peter? Come on! Tibbar? My personal favorite, "rabbit" spelled backwards. In the end, Stoli he remained. (Comments)

How Hot Is It...?

...It is sooo hot that a friend emailed me a piece I did five years ago about how the media handles heat waves.  It was true then, it is true today. Here it is.... I don't get this weather. It's... (Comments)