You could say, we are waiting here. Waiting to find out which colleges will accept Jack for next fall. (So far, one yes, one no, one wait list.) Waiting to see what choices he’ll make and which school — after a year of working and living on his own and figuring out whether he even wants to go to college at all — will finally feel like “the one.” Waiting to see if the next round of X-rays will show further healing in his two broken vertebrae. Waiting for his pain to disappear. Waiting to find out if he’ll be…
December 8, 2012 – 6:54 am
I set out this morning to write about a few of my favorite things, beloved treasures I’m pleased to own and excited to be wrapping for special friends and family members this holiday season. But I hadn’t gotten far when I realized I’d have to break my list into two parts. Books today (there are just so many I adore and want to share); everything else, next time. (Links are in blue.) Charlotte’s Web, written and read by E.B. White At dinner a few weeks ago a dear friend and I talked about our all-time favorite books. Charlotte has been…
December 4, 2012 – 5:53 am
I’ve always loved this solstice season of short days and long, cold nights. It is as if all of nature is reminding me: it’s time to slow down, be quiet, turn inward and embrace the darkness. Yet, with a new book about to be published – my memoir, Magical Journey: An Apprenticeship in Contentment, will be in stores on January 8 — my task this December is all about going forth and spreading the word. The good news for me: I know I can call on you, my readers here, to help me generate a bit of essential pre-publication action….
September 10, 2012 – 12:00 pm
For the last eighteen years, September in our family has meant a shift: from open-ended summer hours to school schedules. If you’re a parent, you know all about the mixed feelings that accompany the turning of the season. In this month of shorter days, cooler nights, fresh starts, and new notebooks, the urge to shake things up a little coincides quite neatly with the departure of children, the return to classes, a kind of general buckling down and getting back to business. I’m always a little sad to see my own boys go, already regretting the swims we didn’t get…
The toes in the hammock are a good sign. They mean I’ve remembered, for today anyway, that I already have enough. Enough time to rest, to play, to reconnect with my own idle, dreamy, summer-child self. They mean that, at least for today, I know this: my challenge is not to chase a perfect life, but rather to pause long enough to appreciate a perfect moment. Toes in the hammock mean that, just for today, I am choosing not to be overworked or overwhelmed or overcommitted. Today, some things are going undone. Not all expectations will be met, not all…
