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The Sun Magazine

The Sun Interview

What We’re Really Hungry For

An Interview With Geneen Roth On Mindful Eating

At every workshop, I ask, “How many people have lost weight before?” Everybody raises their hand. “How many of you were ecstatically happy after you lost weight?” Two people raise their hands. “How many people believe that, when you lose weight again, you will be ecstatically happy?” Everybody raises their hand again.

Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

No Matter What We Eat

Ever since anchorwoman Katie Couric received a colonoscopy on the Today show, my mother has been pressuring me to have one, too. We’ll be deep in conversation about sofa tables, and she’ll say, “If you measure correctly, mistakes can be avoided. . . . Colon cancer can be avoided, too.”

Jean Jones

Jean Jones is immense, approaching freight-scale proportions. It was I who, meanly, nicknamed her Jabba the Hut, after the amorphous alien in the Star Wars series. The other nurses laughed, and the name stuck. It is not used, of course, within her earshot.

The Pleasures Of Eating

Many times, after I have finished a lecture on the decline of American farming and rural life, someone in the audience has asked, “What can city people do?”

How I Failed At Farming (Again)

just before the great Illinois corn-and-soybean harvest begins, it is customary to tell farm-injury stories. These graphic tales of startling disfigurement are told in the poker-faced manner of the heartland Midwesterner, who handles everything life can throw at him — from winning the Illinois State Lottery to a farm foreclosure — in the same way: a nod of the head, a pick of a stubborn callus, possibly a spit of tobacco, and a tight grimace that says, “Oh, well, what can you do?” Grim encounters between man and jagged mechanical parts are usually recounted while the storyteller is engaged in the very activity that led a neighbor to lose a knuckle, or a testicle, or half his face.

Fiction

Cómo Aguantamos

The thing Terry hates most about going back to England, even on vacations, is that it’s like coral: a living dead thing. There is sweet nothing to do. Football. Sky television. The cancer of the reminiscence. In the paper yesterday, below the page-three girl (“No fear! No silicone here!”), was Mrs. Thatcher, inducted into the prime ministers’ hall of fame to the left of Pitt the Younger at Madame Tussaud’s wax museum. Boring. Everybody smokes. Everybody smokes and drinks too much. All of it makes him completely miserable.

Photography

The LaBrie Farm

I was working on a documentary project about a section of Route 11 that spans New York State when I stopped at Edward and Mary LaBrie’s dairy farm in Jefferson County, about twenty-five miles from the Canadian border. During that first visit, in 1985, I resolved to do a separate documentary project on this family. Procrastinator that I am, it wasn’t until the spring of 1998 that I finally set out to record their vanishing way of life.

Readers Write

Visiting Relatives

My Italian grandmother cried easily and often: when she received news of a relative’s illness, when her oldest son walked in the door after a year’s absence, or even just when the Pope appeared on tv. Each time, her crying would go from a weepy trickle to a raging torrent in seconds. Her face, hair, and blouse would soon be wet with tears. Sometimes, during a lull, she would pull me to her, planting salty kisses all over my head and face, saying, “I love you; oh, I love you, belligramma,” her Italian pet name for all her American-born grandchildren. “Don’t be sad like me.”

Personal Stories By Our Readers ▸
Sy Safransky's Notebook

January 2002

Norma is in New York City working as a volunteer for the Red Cross. She’s counseling those who lost their jobs or their homes on September 11. Two months after the terrorist attack, the mountain of rubble that was once the World Trade Center still smolders. “Ground Zero looks like a demolition zone,” she writes, “but then you remember it is a different sort of demolition. One survivor of the concentration camps said the acrid smell was horribly familiar to her.”

Musings From Our Founder ▸
Quotations

Sunbeams

I can reason down or deny everything, except this perpetual Belly; feed he must and will, and I cannot make him respectable.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

More Quotations ▸
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