Hesychast for a Day


Even though I’m embraced by the bursting springtime flowers of Cape Cod, I spent yesterday in the desert.

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Confessions of a Breech Baby


Mom looks a bit bedraggled after her three-day delivery of

that ten-pound sack Dad is holding.

The road out leads only one way. But sometimes one heads in the wrong direction. I did.

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In her book, Heartburn, Nora Ephron wrote of her husband's infidelity: “You have lost a piece of your past. The infidelity itself is small potatoes compared to the low-level brain damage that results when a whole chunk of your life turns out to have been completely different from what you thought it was. It becomes impossible to look back at anything that’s happened . . . without wondering what was really going on.”

Or one might try poetry to make sense of it.


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Retreat to The Sandpiper


“All my life I have lived and behaved very much like a sandpiper,

just running down the edges of different countries and continents,

looking for something.”

—Elizabeth Bishop 

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Is there any concept harder to grasp than “the present?” Here’s an intellect vastly larger than mine, Augustine of Hippo, speaking to us from the fourth century: “How can the past and future be, when the past no longer is, and the future is not yet? As for the present, if it were always present and never moved on to become the past, it would not be time, but eternity.” Perhaps poetry, as is often the case, can shed some light?

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You Got A Problem With That?


As I prepare to celebrate Easter tomorrow, I am compelled to write about my faith. Because I’m weary of being silently judged as less than smart or sophisticated because of it.

Yes, I believe that a crucified Jesus actually returned from the dead on a day now known as Easter. As we say in New Jersey, you got a problem with that?

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Painful Every Time


Misogyny isn’t something I thought about very much until last week, when two female acquaintances shared their stories with me.

One said that shortly after she became a twenty-year-old bride, her new husband’s black socks came out of the laundry pilled because she had washed them along with a load of towels. To teach her a lesson, he shoved a sock into her mouth.

The second woman told me that when she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer a few years ago, her husband abandoned her.

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Waiting on a friend for dinner in Manhattan the other day, I nursed a drink at the bar. In no more than thirty minutes, other patrons within earshot reminded me of how unique a city is New York, New York. 

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Together At A Distance


So much is being written about social media addiction that I hesitate to add my two cents. But I can’t resist—thanks to the sight of two young Asian couples playing cards in an upscale Vieques restaurant while waiting for their appetizers the other night. 

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Dueling With Ghosts


I’m nearing the conclusion of Shirley Jackson’s classic horror novel, The Haunting of Hill House, so ghosts must be on my mind these days. Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m reading this book in bed to help me fall sleep.

This might explain why, as I was just awakening in the pre-dawn dark the other morning, a searing thought came from nowhere: “I’m dueling with ghosts.”

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