Bits of my life

As I continued today to sort paperwork, I fought a particular sadness that always fills me when I dredge through the past. Whether it’s reading old journals, shredding financial records, or just trawling through a pile of memorabilia that I’ve collected, I end up feeling a bit nauseated and sometimes depressed. It isn’t that the memories are bad, … read more Bits of my life

The invisible tree

Of all the Christmas trees I’ve decorated, I only remember one. The most beautiful one. I was single, and working at my first newspaper job. I lived alone in a darling apartment, the upper floor of a former carriage house behind a very grand house on Mahoning Avenue. Depression hovered. I was learning to take care … read more The invisible tree

Certain kind of wind

Cold that comes in the wrong month, big oaks have to bend, light that’s caught in the leaves, a certain kind of wind   Air from the Caucasus, memory of other breezes, uneven breath, an old man’s sighs, homesick for an unknown place   Movement without purpose, shapes without form, stirred restless without progress, old movies on … read more Certain kind of wind


Sometimes people get gifts they don’t want, so they just give them to someone else. Christmas is a great excuse for this practice of “re-gifting.” That happened to me today. I woke to a rainy, misty day on the mountain. I got up because my back was aching to move. I was very slow, still a … read more Re-gifted

Cry me a river

It comes out of nowhere. I’m going through the day just fine, and then suddenly I’m sobbing. No apparent reason. I don’t even feel depressed. But I’m crying my heart out. Sometimes it’s a couple times, or three times. Today, five or six times. I don’t know what it’s about. OK, I’m alone most of … read more Cry me a river

Weeping, and other visions

“Those who do not weep, do not see.”  – Victor Hugo, “Les Miserables” A friend offered this quote after my sorrowful post about my failures in fused glass. It reminds me of the passage from Khalil Gibran’s “The Prophet” engraved on my memory: “The more that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can … read more Weeping, and other visions