I am humbled

I am not easily humbled. Status symbols don’t wow me. Your car, boat, square footage and social standing are of little interest. But show me something that matters—incredible internal strength, grace under pressure, acceptance—these things may humble me. I am human enough to appreciate a beautiful sports car or a lovely waterside home. I tend…

Do you find me changed?

I saw the look on your face, the one that told me my response to you was oh so inconvenient and not at all what you had planned. It said, without words, “You’ve changed.” Have I? How very observant of you. I understand why you are still expecting the reactions and compliance you used to…

Schmuckity schmuck schmuck schmuck

I wrote this post a year or so ago but did not have the courage to post. A year later—a year of more learning, a year of more courage—here it is. All I aspire to be is a Bodhisattva. Is that too much to ask? And now 95 percent of you are wondering what the…

Let’s be still

I was probably all of six years old, crying, as my mother packed her suitcase. She was going to her uncle’s funeral and leaving me home for a few days. I cried and begged to go, not so much because the funeral interested me but because I wanted my mother. I wanted permanence. Her presence,…

When lighting a candle . . .

. . . it is best to make a wish. Or so my mother told me. So when I found myself on Christmas Eve, in single-digit weather, lighting hundreds of candles lining my street, I had a wealth of wishes. I decided not to be greedy. As I lit the luminaries in front of each…

These aren’t the presents I asked for

My son told me I should ask for a certain something for Christmas. That’s when it hit me. No one asks me what I want for Christmas anymore. When I was little, my parents did. When married, my husband did. Now, middle aged and divorced with deceased parents and young kids—no one asks. While I’d…

Late-night musings of a mom

Where do these babies of ours come from? A question I’m sure I asked my parents at some point. A question I’ve answered when my kids have asked. But I’m not looking for the easy biological answer here. I’m looking for the up-at-midnight, tearing-my-hair-out, how-did-we-create-this-being answer. I love my children. Dearly. They are old souls…

The runaway

When you are the only male in a household of seven women, threatening to run away on occasion is understandable. So when my father–the patriarch of six daughters and an equally strong-willed wife–had weathered one too many bouts of PMS, hours-long wait for the bathroom or catfight from this estrogen squad, he would tell us…

So not like a boss

I often joke with my sons about things we do: “Owned that treadmill today, boys. Like a boss.” “Way to clean up your room—like a boss.” For any of you unfamiliar with the phrase, it means you pegged it. Whatever you’ve just done, you took charge and made it happen. All jesting aside, this week…

Give it up

I will never hold a garage, tag or yard sale. Yes, I said never. On this point, I’m clear and sure. And it’s not just because I can’t stand the thought of giving odd strangers the license to paw through my things and case my house. I’m a giver, you see. I have many faults….

Have faith. Be smart. One does not preclude the other.

I felt the impact and truth of what I was saying in my bones—literally. I felt the force of my conviction physically, and it surprised me. My mother lay dying in a hospital bed. She was still well enough to hold conversations and was worrying about my financial situation. I was married at the time…

You missed a smudge

My house is enveloped in a light haze at the moment and smells faintly, I think, like a Native American sweat lodge. And I’ve done this on purpose. In an early bout of spring cleaning, I found a sage smudge stick I’d bought in my New Age days.  For the uninitiated, smudge sticks are used…