thank you, pass it on . . .
A small book on meditation, a list of handwritten recommendations from a private session with my yoga teacher, and a few cherished notes from friends are…
Wherever I go . . .
Tapping away on my keyboard, I reread phrases, type and delete words, and feel a range of emotions in the span of a few hours as…
The magic I have . . .
It’s raining in Milan, gray and dreary. I wonder if the weather has anything to do with how I feel, missing home. I talked to my…
So far . . . pretty good
Not sure of the time, but I know I am calling it close. Racing down the station steps, the familiar rumble and long slow hiss of…
The nearness of you . . .
A light breeze blows through the kitchen of my uncles’ home, a little relief from the hot steam rising above the iron as I press a…
Bare Naked in Italy . . .
I quietly dig through my suitcase, trying not to wake him with shuffling and organizing. I glance over my shoulder and he is fast asleep, face…
Embracing change . . .
Sinking into the oversized sofa, I sit one leg bent beneath me, wiping an endless stream of tears from my cheeks and neck. I blow my…
Letting go of pride . . .
Friday afternoon, school is clear of children and teachers. I sit at my desk assessing the neatly organized paper piles laid out before me. I could…
Finding hope in rock bottom . . .
I walk into the first grade classroom of my newest teacher, her first year. A black line drawing of a turtle, its shell a patchwork of…
I choose . . .
Looking toward Catalina I see its faint silhouette in the summer haze. I wonder if the French speaking tourists lounging on the sand nearby know there…
