Celibacy is (still) the new black

I crowned myself, so to speak, as the director of a festival. It took guts and grit. I didn’t do it to steal the spotlight. Far from it. I did it to make sure the spotlight was shining on the right people.
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Why migrating north is in my blood

Here is what I know about my great-grandmother: she always wore red lipstick; when she was a young woman, she left her home to resettle up north; she married an Italian artist and gave birth to 12 children; and despite the chaos that must have been her life, she embraced it with sweetness and kindness.
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Jane of One Trade
So, recently, I metaphorically woke up and realized that I am basically managing a festival. And when I realize it, I give off a little nervous laugh because, he he he, well, it feels BIG.
I’ve produced events ever since I can remember. I am told by my aunts and uncles, whom I lived with when I was a child, that when I started 3rd grade, I would often come home with a gang of kids whom I had impulsively invited to a “party at my house!” And those poor relatives of mine would then have to go out and get candy, set up music and games, all in a matter of minutes.
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