I woke this morning at 3am after a pretty rough day yesterday. Tatjana left for Boston and as has become the norm around here, Tin went into an utter meltdown. A friend suggested he might be suffering from separation anxiety having experienced it as an infant. It gave me pause. Because the way I was reading it is my partner’s gone, time to myself, and then WHAM BAM, I’ve got a child who went from…
A friend of mine says that she separates the world into those who have been through therapy and those who haven’t. For me, honestly, I can’t tell the difference. A friend asked me the other day how I was handling all of the issues in my life and I said, “Here’s the deal, number one, get a life coach, number two, go back to therapy, and number three start meditating, and number four … .”…
I was thinking this morning about Lance Armstrong because something on a smaller scale happened recently. I met someone and thought they were truly fine and then out of the blue met mutual friends who said something ugly about the person. It gave me pause. But with Lance, it gives me big pause. Lance was a doping fiend – good god I thought when I heard this – what’s next? Recently, I’ve been thinking about…
This is how the morning started: And then Tin woke up sick, and then my day became absorbed with trains – lots of trains and tissues and no’s – and lots of my explaining that hey, IT WAS MY DAY THAT GOT HIJACKED not yours, buster.
Last night, I went to hear E.O. Wilson speak about a book he had just finished about his hometown, Mobile, Alabama. He said he has spent his adult life at Harvard and has never felt home there or in the surrounding Boston area because it is too fragmented, too big, and I would add, not natural enough. Instead he insists he is an Alabaman, who happens to be a Harvard professor. Afterwards, as I was…
Already my calendar is full till the end of the year – well not quite – but almost. Now that is scary. I was speaking to a friend who said a young woman in the Bywater has started an open Shabbat service at her house. I can remember when we were young always being home on Friday nights, my mother lighting the candles, my dad saying the prayers over the wine and the Challah –…
We have a black cat that insists on body slamming the back door and creating a lot of havoc. This caused Tin one too many nightmares as she tends to do it at 2am or 4am. So after getting scared three nights in a row, we took the cat and put her in the laundry room for the night. It helped, but Tin unfortunately had gotten in the habit of being scared. Yikes. So last…
John Stoss’ Whatever Passes for Love is Love is a primer for anyone who wonders what it is like to be part of the fabric of New Orleans. The drama unfolds inside the Maple Leaf Bar and into a few pages you begin to imagine you are sitting there on a tottering bar stool, smelling smoke and ash, listening to the droning of those intent on living their couch potato lives as public fixtures. But…
Never, ever go to a Tiki Party again. Never, ever drink fruity cocktails with lei decorated straws, ever, again. Never again.
Fidel’s death is still not confirmed but HIGHLY SUSPECTED now for months. You read his obituary here first!