In these times of deep discord and disorienting differences, we need our beliefs to underpin connection and action. Two weeks ago, my granddaughter reported a sore throat and coughed a lot. I asked, “Did you test for Covid?” She shook her head, “I don’t believe in testing. I’m sick. I’m staying home. I’m in my… Continue Reading
My Dad made temples, no, more like churches with steeples with his stout hands. He intertwined his pinky, ring and middle fingers and made a tent with left and right pointer fingers which he tapped, tips touching, thumbs like steeples too. He’d lay both hands like that on his lap while watching televised PGA golf… Continue Reading
My daughter Alisa was born on August 5, 1980. She was what anyone would call, “a good baby.” Rarely cried. I’d nurse her in her sunshine-gold nursery, sway with her in the bentwood rocker, place her lovingly in her brass crib, and she’d fall asleep. I knew, even as a new mom, that the warmth… Continue Reading
December 23, 2023. On this day, I found a musket in the back corner of the unfinished basement. Shocked, I asked my husband, “A gun!? What are we doing with this gun?” The rusty rifle, covered with dust and cobwebs, reeked of must. He said, “It’s not real. It’s a prop, a decoration at Ethan… Continue Reading
Recently seeing a road sign, Stonewall Way: Dead End, evoked a memory of the New York City Stonewall Riots. At the Stonewall Inn in Greenwich Village, gay men and women gathered in safety, to dance, to connect. The Stonewall Inn provided a sense of I-am-not-alone, a place of refuge. Then, on June 28, 1969, police… Continue Reading
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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License. Photoloni