GHOSTS AND TRACTOR BLADES
“There is no hiding from the childhood you have. It scrawls itself on your body, your spirit. We end up scrimshawed and there’s nothing we can do about it.” From Till Human Voices Wake Us, by Patti Davis (available on
WAITING FOR RAIN
I remember days and days of rain. I remember our backyard turning into a small pond and the smell of wet umbrellas and raincoats in the laundry area where they were tossed on top of the washer and dryer. I
TWITTER WARS
Every time I go on Twitter and click the “connect” icon to see who is saying what to me, my stomach clenches and my neck tightens. I don’t like Twitter. It has become an open door for people who hate
A DAUGHTER’S LAMENT
Nelson Mandela’s daughter, Makaziwe, has been unflinchingly honest about the cost of having a father who was known to millions and revered by nations. I’ve appreciated every moment of her honesty, and have identified with much of it.. She admitted
DEAR PRESIDENT OBAMA
On November 4th of this year I wrote a letter to President Obama about the pending decision of whether or not to de-list wolves from the Endangered Species Act. I had the letter sent from the Reagan Library; obviously they
LEARNING FROM NELSON MANDELA
“As I walked out the door toward the gate that would lead to my freedom I knew if I didn’t leave my bitterness and hatred behind, I’d still be in prison.” – Nelson Mandela How many of us could endure
THANKSGIVING REFLECTIONS
The rain began softly at around four this morning. I woke up and listened to it falling on the roof.; I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else except where I was — under a warm comforter, my dog snoring
THE TRUST FUND GRIFTER
I have invented a new phrase, which is something every writer dreams of doing. When I was a young, unformed writer composing morose poetry, I read Erica Jong’s Fear of Flying and was awestruck by her invention of the phrase
excerpt from The Blue Hour
As soon as Joshua finished his homework, he went out to the garden, sat on the bench by the flower bed and felt the clear breeze brush across his skin. The sky was just turning a deep blue
PHILIP SEYMOUR HOFFMAN – LIFE, ART, LEGACY
Years ago, I watched a movie called Love Liza in which Philip Seymour Hoffman played a grief-stricken widower who starts huffing gasoline fumes. Hoffman’s desperation, his despair was so vivid I actually felt ill, as if I were also breathing