In my thirties, I didn’t set out to run a half-marathon. I lived a full life as a busy wife and often-harried mother of two always-in-motion children, Alisa 4, Zac 2. Even with all the chaos and commotion, I stared out my front window at runners whizzing by, sometimes waved to them, and often felt… Continue Reading
I promise my friend, “I can get together today. Quality time, as usual. How ‘bout a walk at Mackworth island or at Audubon?” We know what “together” means. We laugh a lot, cry a little, swear raucously when needed, then blush and pop our palms over our mouths when people hear us. “Oops,” we say,… Continue Reading
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
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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License. Photoloni