Someday It Will Be Us

Someday It Will Be Us

Autumn dusk is hitting its prime. Walking the dog back home I see lights coming up in the village windows. It brings to mind the ones who inhabited these houses before my time. Their benevolent spirits linger throughout this valley and its hilltops in the many...
Contemplating Hugs

Contemplating Hugs

On a waterfront plaza in Kingston, Ontario, last week our family of three saw a women with a Free Hugs sign. The woman was in her 60s and was with another friend. No one was taking her up on the offer, and I casually suggested to my daughter that she get a hug. She...
It is Better to Speak Remembering

It is Better to Speak Remembering

Recently the poet David J. Bauman shared some lines from Audre Lourde. My eyes are still wet while processing her words about listening and speaking and all the nuance in between. We had a spirited dinner discussion last night about the power of listening and when to...
You Will Hear Music

You Will Hear Music

Who will be the future apprentices—the ones who will put in the time? Hammer the metal one thousand blows to make the perfect horseshoe? These are things I think about when I despair about smart phones and sound bytes and plastic debris filling the oceans. When my...
Bicycles, and Hello to My Younger Self

Bicycles, and Hello to My Younger Self

Last night we grabbed bicycles and took a little spin down the road and back. After years of living on mountaintops, we live in a fairly flat valley now. An evening jaunt on a bicycle is a pleasure instead of a distressing, heart-attack-inducing grind. My daughter...