With A Tender Hand*
Yesterday at meeting for worship, an elderly man struggled to stand and then spoke so quietly that almost no-one could hear or understand him. Yet, like the rest of eighty or ninety people seated in the meetinghouse, although I’d given
Read more.
Hammered
Sunday night, partly out of curiosity, mostly to accompany my wonderful nephew, I went to Boston’s House of Blues to hear two Brooklyn-based bands, House of Waters and Snarky Puppy. Surrounded, mostly, by intense, absorbed young men one-quarter my age, this
Read more.
Identity Politics
I’m old enough to remember when clothing first became a major form of advertisement, self or Calvin Klein et al. Loathe to become a walking billboard, I’d tried resisting—buying vintage proved an excellent strategy—but over time I reluctantly had to
Read more.
God Language 2.0
Sunday, I found myself on my feet at meeting for worship to praise a “benign, loving, transformative, regenerative force” that I felt so powerfully that spring morning, a force another Quaker in another time described as “a spirit which I
Read more.
“How Do I Tell Myself?”
Buoyed by a weekend with precious family, I felt brave enough to read this. And then I finished my coffee. Put away the laundry. Sent some emails. Not surprisingly, given that I’ve been thinking a lot about storytelling lately, Cody
Read more.
What’s The Story?
Palm Sunday I was walking towards Friends Meeting at Cambridge (FMC) when I caught sight of a small procession outside the Swedenborg Chapel. Or, as a little boy walking along Kirkland Street near me exclaimed to his father, “It’s a little
Read more.
“Listen” by John Fox
When someone deeply listens to you it is like holding out a dented cup you’ve had since childhood and watching it fill up with cold, fresh water. When it balances on top of the brim, you are understood. When it
Read more.
Least of These
Somerville High School Temporary Ramp, March, 2019 There’s a wonderful cartoon depicting an elementary school entrance after a big snowstorm. A group of winter-garbed children, a couple in wheelchairs, wait at the foot of  the school’s ramp as the custodian
Read more.
“She’s Everywhere!”
Sunset, Puerto Rico; March 14, 2019 Like crocuses, a conversation about the perils of perfectionism keeps popping up among my disparate friends these days. Which means that I, too, am looking at the Shoulds and the Oughts and the Am
Read more.
The View from Here
  View From El Yunque National Forest; March 13, 2019 “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired
Read more.
All Around Us
Hudson River Ice, Piedmont, NY Learning how to utilize this new, spiffy site. Learning how to think and to see horizontally when, these days walking over icy sidewalks, I’d prefer to be vertical, thank you very much.
Read more.
Small Thing/Great Love
Snow Squall Outside, Peace Cranes Inside Yesterday was disquieting. Morning snow squalls were quickly followed by heavy winds, so strong the house shook and windows rattled. Some in greater Boston lost power, some lost chimneys; many trash cans and recycle
Read more.
Room With A View
Thursday, a warm and sunny post-snowstorm day, while visiting my daughter and her family in Tarrytown, New York, I’d asked her if we could maybe take a walk along the Hudson. Her  eyes lit up: “Oh, yes,” she said, clearly
Read more.
How It Ends
After listening to WellingUp.net’s podcasts, my daughter questioned an important, fundamental decision: “Why did you begin the story with Rocco’s death,” she wondered. “Wouldn’t it be better to tell the story chronologically?” “No,” I answered. “I don’t think so.” And
Read more.
Tea For Two Or More?
May I be a boring old woman who talks about her health?  Thank you. Because what I’d like to say just might be helpful to you: Like many people my age, my cholesterol’s not been great and, like many people
Read more.
Muscle Memory
A wonderful surprise happened in 2018: I made two new, wonderful friends, both in their seventies, too. Over tea last week with one, a fellow peace activist and feminist, we discovered that although we’d grown up in very different parts
Read more.
One Small Thing
I am delighted to report that the Friends Journal will publish my “Sweet Baby Jesus” on December 1st! And that of the four choices I’d offered for the article’s accompanying illustration, they chose this mural! My favorite. Yes, it depicts
Read more.
My Public Charge Letter (First Draft)
To: Samantha Deshommes, Office of Policy and Strategy, U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services, Department of Homeland Security, 20 Massachusetts Avenue NW, Washington, D C 20529-29140 Re: DHS Docket No. USCIS-2010-0012 I am writing to express my opposition to this proposed
Read more.
Can We Hold All Of It?
Can we hold all of it? Can we both honor the war dead and wonder why, dear God, are we still engaged in endless war? Can we both use words like sacrifice and courage and service with conviction and sincerity
Read more.
“Where To Begin?”
In the process of retrieving a much-needed toy from my granddaughter’s stroller parked on my front porch, I’d stepped outside to discover a white, curly-haired, slightly chunky young man about to ring my doorbell. Grandma on a mission, I think he
Read more.
Be Peace
Saturday afternoon, I’d gone to the 70th birthday party for a dear, dear F/friend, hosted by her dear, dear husband. Reluctantly. Jet-lagged after a wonderful trip to LA, overwhelmed by my ever-growing To Do List, and, most critically, horrified by
Read more.
Was it The Light?
My mother died a week ago. So many, many things I could and want to say about her; I am moved, this morning, however, to tell this story: About a week before she died, in terrible pain, she’d said, “I
Read more.
Living Into What’s Next
Recently my heroine, Elizabeth Warren, declared that we would “use our pain to make power.” Transformation happens. And change is incremental. Week 1, post Kavanaugh’s confirmation, may I share my first, baby step towards empowerment? Here’s something I’m beginning to
Read more.
Like Water for Fish
Circling, circling Nick Cave’s soundsuits, I marveled how this African-American artist had transformed his rage, his fears, his searing pain into fabric and sequins, into cast-asides made sculpture, into crocheted body suits; into beauty. Horrified by Rodney King’s brutal assault
Read more.