Hurricanes and gentle breezes

My eldest son blew through me like a hurricane for nine long months, intent on getting to his final destination—which was, namely, anywhere outside of my body. Not one to be easily confined, he clued me in early to his preferences. Sick for roughly eight of those nine months, I wondered what had overcome me….

Something has to give

My Jewish friends tell me that arguing with God is par for the course. That it should be done early and often. That such wrangling—a good scolding now and then—is good for the soul and for my spiritual relationship. I was raised Roman Catholic. Not only did we not argue with God, we even capitalized…

A barn burner

We absorb what our parents show us, deep in our cells, unknowingly. Even as we fight, as teens, to be anything but them, their love seeps into our bones—the very marrow–changing us. Some of those changes appear as is, others are stored for future us, tempered in our cells with time. It must be hard…

Oh Happy Day

Don’t tell me the Universe doesn’t have a sense of humor. Today proves otherwise. My son and I were driving to the city today to a gospel brunch. I was feeling the need for some hand-clappin’, soul-soothin’, old-ladies-in-hats kind of music. Something that unites, not divides, in a week where our president spewed more ugly…

What hovers between us

I make mistakes Loudly and proudly Yet softly and with repentance even as I go I let the ordinary of the world intrude And then I remember I am not here for the usual Different eyes, a multi-colored lens, Both a blessing Or a curse It may depend on the day It is the way…

Racking up the rosaries

I grew up with women of the rosary. Think the Catholic church’s equivalent of Hell’s Angels. But more lace than leather, an Irish fisherman’s sweater and comfortable shoes. My friends’ mothers and grandmothers—mainly of the Irish persuasion—stockpiled an unbelievable number of rosaries in their “delicates” drawers back in the day. From jade to crystal, pearl…

A much needed conversation

“Speak to me, God,” I said, while driving through the countryside. I was on my way to a friend’s lake house, in search of the space that used to exist between my shoulders and my ears. I spoke my request and then fell silent. Almost instantaneously, the sweetgrass smell of farms and meadows, the heady…

Past tense be damned

The world lost a dear, kind, bright soul this weekend and is the lesser for it. Those of us lucky enough to have known her are infinitely “more” for the experience. A little brighter, a little wiser. I wasn’t going to write about Tersea’s passing. I’ve written about her before in August when she was…

A house of cards

Talking to a friend recently whose life is being upended, I mentioned how nice it was that at least her career was settled. With everything else in flux, she has a stable port in which to rest. “I never seem to be offered that,” I commented. When change happens in my life, it tends to…

An invisible thread

An invisible thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but will never break. –Chinese proverb Before I share with you a few incidences of unusual connection—of threads that continued or appeared in a way our human brains might question–I feel the need…

On little (lost) lambs

It was the Our Fathers that usually elicited gasps. Growing up Catholic and attending 12 years of Catholic school provides one with a host of memories. I think of them now in sensory fashion. The smell of wet wool skirts in the winter when snow fluttered down to dampen my plaid jumper during recess. The…

The director’s cut

The young doctor was attempting to verbally corral my mother, to no avail. “But you see, Mrs. B . . . “ “No, I don’t see, young lady. I don’t see your point at all.” “The episode you had was a . . . “ “Don’t say the word. Don’t say it again. I’m not…