The woman wasn’t exactly shouting. But she was loud. Halfway across a room buffered by soft music and full of people who were chatting and laughing and clinking coffee cups, you could hear her anger.
Her internet wasn’t working and she was sick of it, sick of having to log in every day and not getting in! Sick of beginning every morning of her vacation having to deal with this!
Read More“The moon is slowly drifting away from us.”
I am at my desk reading this in “Interesting Facts,” an e-mail that pops up in my news feed every morning. I’m a sucker for interesting facts. I copy and paste the best of them into my notes because as interesting as a fact may be (100 lightning strikes hit the Earth’s surface every second!), I forget it minutes after I’ve sworn I’ll remember it forever.
Read More“One step in front of the other until the road runs out!” That’s what a friend texted a few weeks ago.
I had texted her. (Why do we not talk to our friends anymore? What has happened to long, meandering conversations?)
I had done what we all do now, picked up my phone after watching her woo a crowd, after a night of smiles and applause, typing to this friend who is a singer, “Bravo!” and “Great job!” the things you say when someone blows you away.
Read MoreIt was a long time ago, mid-last century. That’s when I bought the angel. Looking at her, you’d think, “Hmm. She’s seen better days.”
But this is the point, isn’t it? She’s seen thousands of days. I’ve had her most of my adult life.
Read More“Once upon a time, I was a little girl just like you,'' I tell my 3-year-old granddaughter.
And she squinches up her nose and shakes her head and says, ``No, you weren't.''
I show her pictures of me when I was 2 and 5 and 8. I say, ``See. I had hair just like yours.'' I show her my fourth-grade school picture. ``Look. Here I am.'' I call my childhood friend Rosemary and say, ``Rose? Talk to Charlotte. Tell her how old we were when we met.'' And Rose tells her that we were 7 and in second grade.
But Charlotte remains unconvinced.
Read MoreWhere did June go? And May? And why does February plod and March stall, while spring and summer fly by? It's July Fourth - the quintessential summer holiday - and I still have winter coats hanging in the front hall closet. I haven't planted any annuals yet. Or weeded my garden. My window boxes are empty. There's not a single flower on my deck. My marigolds are seeds in packages. The lawn furniture remains in the shed. And I haven't even begun to make a summer reading list.
Read MoreShe was silent as I was putting on makeup, standing on a stool, all 2 1/2 feet of her stretching and straining to see my every move.
My granddaughter Charlotte is newly three and is never silent, not even when she sleeps. But last Friday morning she stood in my bedroom miraculously mute and mesmerized. Moisturizer, foundation, blush, mascara, and lipstick. They had cast a spell.
Read MoreWe remember it differently. Anne says that we went to Story Land on a summer day not more than five years ago. And that we walked around, just the two of us, enjoying the scene. Going there was my idea because I wanted to revisit a place I had come with my parents and my grandmother when I was a child. I don't dispute being with my parents and my grandmother. I wore an aqua-and-white dress, which I hated. I posed with the Old Lady Who Lived in a Shoe. I smiled for the camera. This was nearly 50 years ago.
Read MoreMy living room is all dressed up for a party. It's never looked better. It's bedecked and bespangled, garland over the fireplace, a tree in the middle of the room, white lights, fake snow. Think Lana Turner in ``Imitation of Life.''
I peek at it every day and think, ``I should sit in here and enjoy this for a while.''
But I don't.
Read MoreMy mother's birthday was yesterday. She would have been 76, not old by today's standards. But she died when she was 63, and I lost her many years before. I should be used to not having a mother by now.
But you never get used to it.
Read MoreMid-winter. Halfway between here and there. Waiting for the snow to fall. Waiting for the snow to disappear. These are strange days. You find things in your refrigerator, cranberry sauce, a few pieces of ham, left over from Christmas. The poinsettias remain in bloom. Christmas wreaths still bedeck more than a few doors. In corners, and under the carpet, stray pine needles hide.
They're props from a play that closed weeks ago. It was a good play, but that was then and this is now. Now it's time to get serious, time for resolutions, for getting focused. Last year is over. A new year has begun.
Read MoreNEW YORK - I still call her "my baby," and she puts up with this and with me, with an understanding that goes beyond her 16 1/2 years. She allows me this indulgence, this solitary pretense, though we both know she isn't a baby anymore.
The knowledge for her is old. But for me, it's new. I have seen her through such myopic eyes. Even dressed up for a formal dance, she has seemed to me just a little girl pretending. All of the outward signs - her learning to drive, her staunch independence, the bedroom door closed while she talks on the phone for hours, the calls from boys, the flowers, the whispers, the cogent arguments about right and wrong, good and bad, the talks about college, about careers, about the rest of her life - should have alerted me to the truth.
Read MoreSome are piled in a box on a table. Some sit in a black plastic tray on my desk.
I divided them when they arrived. The to-be-answered-immediately, I placed in the tray. The to-be-answered-later, I stacked in the box.
I shouldn't have put them in either place. I should have stopped what I was doing and written back right then, but I didn't for a million reasons. I was in the middle of something. I was walking out the door. I wanted to think about what to say. I wanted to write more than a quick note. Something or someone else needed my attention.
Read MoreI used to be compulsive about New Year's Day. About all beginnings: beginnings of days, weeks, months. I figured if I could somehow make everything perfect on this one day, on this first day, then the rest of the days would obediently follow.
If I didn't get the light on the way to Dunkin' Donuts on a Sunday morning, and I did get a parking space, and the line was short and not long, and they had powdered lemon donuts honey-dipped sticks, then the week would be wonderful. If not, well…
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