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Gratitude and Goodbyes

I wake at dawn, wrap in a blanket and head out to soak in the last sights and sounds rising up from this sleepy, hallowed ground. Today is my last day on Hunters Road. I nestle in at the little table, and everyone shows up for the going-away party. The woodpecker provides percussion while the breakdancing goldfinch flips around on the closest tree. Male and female cardinals dart by in flashes of crimson. Throaty croaks come from the pond as the rooster, who has it right this morning, acts as emcee, announcing the new precious day over and over again. The tiniest hummingbird floats past, and after a few attempts, turns off her motor and sits still on a low branch. She reminds me of myself. Ch

A Froggy Hallelujah

My tinnitus came on gradually as a result of a long music career standing next to a guitar amp and in front of a drum kit. (I don't blame you, Andy, really I don't.) The first few times my right ear made a shrill scream, I was not alarmed. I thought it might be my angel daughter communicating from heaven. No worries, just a Hallelujah. When it came on full force and full time, with both ears emitting many wavy, high-pitched siren sounds in tandem, I was sure a spaceship had taken up residence in my head. It was so loud that nothing in the world was louder than my ears. Not a rock concert, not an airplane, not fireworks. My ears could always be heard over the sounds of the world. Until, that

Follow Your Own Star

Yesterday, as I was peacefully writing, four horses stampeded down the hill from the farm next door, just a few yards from the window, trampling the brush and racing into the clearing. One minute I was in a quiet Zen-like Om-worthy cabin, and the next I was in the wild, wild West. They were totally psyched to be free, pirouetting on their hind legs then taking off toward Hunters Road. Uh-oh—that can’t be good. I ran to call Lorraine, the neighborhood horse whisperer. She was my first call when Shadow pulled his escape trick into that same clearing a few months back. I’m sure she wondered what kind of horse vortex I have going on over here. She told me to drive down to the street and block th

I Am Not My Breasts

Decked out in their finest, Mom and Dad were on their way down Route A1A in Florida to an anniversary party at an elegant yacht club. They didn’t go to many social events and were excited to celebrate this special evening in the lives of their old friends. Mom chose flowing blue silk and pearls; Dad wore his best suit. The previous summer, Mom had endured a double mastectomy for breast cancer, and this party marked a return to the small joys of life. Now several towns from their home, cupping her hands to her chest in panic, Mom exclaimed, “Lou! I forgot The Girls!” Her prosthetic breasts, which she carefully slipped into a specially made bra whenever she went out, had become an uncomfortabl

Love Is Who We Are

I have long held on to the belief that we live in a benevolent universe where the power of good far outweighs the power of evil. In the relentlessly positive world that I envision, there is always an available beam of light, shining out from the depths of even the weariest soul, to illuminate the darkness. Mean-spiritedness withers in the face of kindness; hate and racism fold in the presence of love and truth. But the continuing affront to our hearts by acts of terror on the innocent and undefended has even my beam flickering in the wind of change. Our shared cry of despair is in the air. We grieve for anguished families and friends, for Las Vegas, for our world, for our shattered hearts. W

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