There it is. Illuminated by the first rays of morning sunlight, we see it. The leprosy colony. It’s why we’ve traveled here, to a place that is both paradise and prison.
Young people “have a lot of power to make change, even if it is small.”
Independence Day was once a second Christmas for us: We’d run around in our swimsuits all day, swimming and sunburning. It was a day spent entirely outdoors, a day spent together.
I found myself on a nine-hour flight with no television, no Internet and all my downloaded films mysteriously deleted from my e-reader. While wondering how I was going to pass the time, I remembered I had downloaded Still Alice, a book which has been on my to-read list for nearly a decade.
Fifteen-year-old Sarah Brenzel lay awake on an operating room table as doctors slowly slid a catheter through an incision in her groin, up her femoral artery, through her aorta and, finally, up into the arteries in her brain. She started to shake. The doctor quickly reminded her that one wrong movement could puncture a vessel and cause a stroke or death. She lay still once more.
In the late 1960s, issues of race, war and gender roiled campuses across the nation. Police clashed with students. Students clashed with their administrations. Upheaval was in the air.
There are fleeting moments where I wonder if I’m losing it — like when I pour orange juice into my morning cereal or stash my fiance’s credit card information in the office fridge — moments when I question if I actually have it all together. Those moments are few and infrequent, but as someone who thinks and processes and communicates for a living, I fear the day I’m not in full control of my mental capacities.
The state of public education in Chicago is a weighty topic for a theater company, but it isn’t the first for Collaboraction, a Wicker Park-based group led by Anthony Moseley ’95.
A real man never drinks a Slimfast. Or eats kale. Or quinoa. Or guava fruit. He also does not nibble.
It was this now-fond memory that brought me to the library yesterday as they hosted their “Farewell to the Floor” event, a way to kick off the first phase of the Hesburgh Library Renovation. The makeover is scheduled to start Monday, December 22, and will begin with a new north entrance and then a two-story entrance gallery that will run through the center of the library.
When I was studying abroad in Angers, France, my host mother, Chantal, decided I had the potential to be an ideal French wife — I’m not sure if that was a compliment, insult or if it had anything to do with the fact that she had three sons, but she began a five-month mission to train me in her likeness.
The Office of Community Standards has replaced ResLife as the vehicle for helping students who have veered from the track.
On quiet summer mornings when the sun hits the dew just right, when the air is fresh and sweet, and when a stillness pervades campus, the Notre Dame spread before me is mine.
I was drawn to No Easy Day: The Firsthand Account of the Mission that Killed Osama bin Laden because it is written plainly, authoritatively, simply — a severe departure from my daytime reading.
This is a tale of a man. A man who is a cowboy. A cowboy who became a boxer. A boxer who was a Marine. A Marine who smuggled whiskey. A whiskey smuggler who became a movie stuntman. A stuntman who started writing novels. A novelist who has lived a thousand lives in the time most people have lived one.
As the holiday season drew near, I knew my caloric intake would soon skyrocket. Visions of gingerbread and pumpkin pies and full-bodied red wines danced in my head, so I knew I had to prepare.
The people who bring you the “What Would You Fight For?” ads must sometimes veer from the script and ad-lib their way to the finished product.
ND’s headstrong health revolutionaries have their own catcher in the rye.
A taste of the life of Erling Wu-Bower ’05.
Before “I do,” before the trip up the aisle, before the dress and hair and makeup and flowers, there’s the bridal registry.
Father Joe Carey, CSC, has a reputation in the University community as the Wedding Priest, and it is well-earned — in his 44 years as a Holy Cross priest, Carey has celebrated nearly 500 weddings, the first of which occurred 14 days after his ordination in April 1969.
Notre Dame has long been a place that demands rigorous academic standards, nurtures faith and service, and encourages fusing disciplines, but a sliver of its already ambitious population aspires for more. As a consequence, those students are receiving more than an undergraduate experience — they’re becoming scholars.
Holy Cross College has long been the school of Rudy and transfer students, known for little else to the Notre Dame community across the street, but with a new president and a four-year degree program, it is making a unique contribution to the community of schools in South Bend.
Notre Dame made living the faith easy, especially during Lent. Mass was available every few hours somewhere on campus. You could go to confessions in your slippers. Prayer seemed only natural on a campus studded with religious statues and paintings. And, during Lent, there was no meat in the dining hall on the days when we were encouraged to abstain.
Valentine’s Day ranks up there with Groundhog Day and Earth Day in my book, meaning it isn’t in the ranking. But this morning I thought, why don’t I read up a bit on Saint Valentine and see if there’s something to chew on about this lovey-dovey day.
But what’s been made obvious during this 40th anniversary celebration of co-education is that my 21st century normal was definitely abnormal four decades ago. And the fact that I seldom thought about co-education is a sign of how far Notre Dame has come.
I think we knew, out in the tailgate lots in our droves and swarms, the sea of blue and green easily flooding the tide of crimson, that our numbers may not be enough to match their strength.
I’ve seen babies being pushed in strollers, mini ND caps shading them from the sun. I’ve seen middle-age men wearing ND polos, excited to be reunited with their dorm pals and reliving the days before they had wives and children, jobs and worries. I’ve seen children tossing Notre Dame footballs with their young mothers and fathers who have ND bags and towels in tow. What I haven’t seen are a wide variety of Alabama fans.
Teacher, scholar, alien, gnomes
Professor Peter Holland welcomes me into his office littered with literature and Shakespeare knickknacks, ready to chat with me for the magazine’s “Having coffee with” series. Alas, he’s already had his morning coffee and I’m on a caffeine retreat, so we have water.
“Water with Peter Holland” sounds pretty dull, we joke, and seems to suggest we’re constructing an environmental piece when in fact we’re here to talk about Shakespeare and America and how students think professors are aliens.…
I limited the amount of ND gear I brought south of the Mason-Dixon with me, fearing I would receive undue attention both in Miami and in Atlanta, where I rang in the New Year. I didn’t want SEC folk ganging up on me and rattling my already shaky cage by hooting and hollering that Notre Dame didn’t deserve its BCS bid.