My friend calls, spills out troubles. And then: “I’m a mess.” I say, “Ohhh. Ouch.” I want to band-aid the booboo, apply a soothing salve. After all, in both Enneagram and Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, I’m “helper.” First of seven children, go-to sister, text-anytime friend, wife of 43 years, Baby Boomer mother, here-for-you grandmother, writer of… Continue Reading
I remember sitting at our kitchen table, nine of us, Dad anchored at one end, Mom leaping up to serve.The evening meal was a sacred rite, of family, of structure, of who we were then.Meatloaf and thick mashed potatoes. Thin slivers of raw carrots and celery. Usually one of us exploded with a version of,… Continue Reading
It’s not a turning-of-the-decades one, but I do have a “I’m getting up there” March birthday. I am aware that when my grandparents were my age, I thought they were ancient. My grandmothers wore print housedresses and full aprons. One grandfather was bald; the other stooped, walked with a cane and talked about his “bum… Continue Reading
Patriots vs. Eagles. Seven-year-old twins Walker and Taylor have been granted special privileges. Usually in bed by 7, tonight they can watch the game. In their Massachusetts home, they have eaten their pizza, had their baths, pulled on their pajamas, and thrill to be sitting on the sofa with their younger sisters and me. We… Continue Reading
The good you do today will be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway. Kent M. Keith (seen on the walls of Mother Theresa’s children’s home in Calcutta) Do you ever do something, anything, that seems the “right thing to do” even though maybe no one notices and no one seems to care? Does it feel that… Continue Reading
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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License. Photoloni