He wasn't raised to kill. Marine Lance Corp. Jeff Lucey grew up in Belchertown with his mother, father and two sisters. He was a Cub Scout. He played Whiffle ball and team sports. He had lots of friends but only one girl. He had a great life…
Read MoreThe conference at Brandeis University was for teachers and it was sold out.
I too went to learn, but I likely wouldn't have gone before Lucy came into our lives.
Read MoreWe've been meeting for nine years, now - nine years, once a year, for only four hours. Which means we've spent just 36 hours together. You'd think that a single friendship, never mind a group friendship, wouldn't thrive with so little time. You'd think that too much would happen between the years to be able to pick up, in conversation and in feeling, where we left off. You'd think that women who don't see each other regularly and don't share the same work or hobbies would grow apart. Instead we grow closer…
Read MoreI would have more in common with her now. I would sit at her kitchen table and drink my tea and eat the Pepperidge Farm oatmeal raisin cookies she always bought for me and not have one eye on the clock and one foot out the door. I would listen to her stories and take her advice and not be so quick to say, ``But things are different.'' ``But I'm not you.'' ``But you don't understand.''
She understood…
Read MoreThere's something about growing older that makes a person a little nutty about the seasons. It makes a person behave as if she's never before seen a tree turned all orange, or a pumpkin, or a garden transformed by mums. ``Hey, what do you know? It's fall, already. Hard to believe that summer is over. Where did it go?'' What child says these things? Or adolescent walking to school? ``Look at the way the sun lights up that yard. And the berries on that mountain ash. Wow.'' This does not happen. But adults? We're consumed by the changes a season brings…
Read MoreThe nose is missing. My father says it has to be in the glove compartment of my car because that's where I told him I'd put it. He said I called specifically to say that the nose was in a baggie ``in my glove compartment, Dad'' so that I'd have it with me the next time I visited.
Read MoreI buckle her in her car seat and tighten the straps, leaving her just enough room to breathe and I head out into the world with this baby who is my daughter's and son-in-law's life, who had to fight so hard for life, who is our gift and our joy. She babbles as I drive, unaware of how vulnerable she is despite straps and padding. But I'm aware. I've been aware since her mother was pregnant with her and we were in a cab and the driver was speeding and I said, slow down, she's having a baby.
Read MoreThis was the summer of my content, months I will look back on always with gratitude. A time I will miss and wish for every day for the rest of my life, but that I will be thankful I had. This was the summer my family truly celebrated life, not every minute of every day, and not with balloons or parties or prayers, though there were these things, too. But with a keen and constant awareness of all the good moments an ordinary day brings, and of how lucky we were to be having them…
Read MoreThey would have been married 58 years today. Hard to believe, but not hard to imagine. I imagine they would have been good years.
I remember when they were married for only a decade. I was nine then, my mother 31 and prettier than any mother I knew: tall and thin with dark blond hair, which she claimed was hard to curl but it always looked perfect to me. She wore dresses every day. And high-heeled shoes. And a hat and gloves to church every Sunday.
Read MoreShe said she doesn't love him anymore.
She said, ``I don't feel the way I used to. He annoys me. He won't do what he's told. He whines all the time. And there's the issue of his hair. It's everywhere - all over the rugs, all over the furniture.''
But she still loves him, I know, because when he went missing the other night, she called in a panic and insisted, as only someone blinded by love could, that he wasn't lost but that he had been stolen.
Read MoreKids do it all the time. Maybe that's why they're happy. Rain or shine, summer or winter, they wake up every day, eager for the day because the world is their playground. The littlest kids are the happiest. A book entertains them - or a pot, or a sliver of sunlight shimmering on the floor. I watch Adam, who is 4 months, smile at his mother and follow her with his eyes…
Read MoreNatalie Babbitt created this day. Not intentionally. And not really. She simply pointed out in her wonderful children's book ``Tuck Everlasting'' that ``the first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless and hot.''
Read MoreThey invoke God and quote Scripture and past presidents (Lincoln, FDR and Kennedy are the favorites). And include catch phrases like ``My fellow Americans'' and ``My friends.'' And they all talk about getting America back on track.
Democrat or Republican, the acceptance speeches by presidential nominees are the same. They're like milk. Hood or Garelick, who can tell the difference? Only the fat content varies. (Some are so thin you can see right through them.) And delivery. Delivery - with milk or speeches - is key.
Read MoreIt was a birthday celebration, a country club throwing itself a fun little party. Nothing unusual about this.
Only a lot of people in Canton, which is 15 miles south of Boston, didn't have a clue about Wampatuck's 100-year birthday bash. It was to most a surprise party.
People were aware of other things, though. They knew that the Democratic National Convention was in town, that the terror-threat level was high, that commuters were being searched, that there was more air traffic than usual and that these were perilous times.
Read MoreThere's no doubt that the Democratic National Convention is the big show in town this week, pure theater, players strutting and fretting upon the stage, overstating and overdramatizing. At the Wang, they'd get the hook. At the FleetCenter, they'll get an ovation.
That's politics.
But what's happening offstage is the more important show.
More than 900 pairs of soldier's boots were placed around City Hall last week to represent the American servicemen and women who have been killed in Iraq so far.
Read MoreI'm surprised she still visits. She said she would. She said, ``When I get my license, I'll be able to drive to your house anytime, Beverly.'' But she was 11, then. And 12. And 13.
``I'll never leave you, Mama,'' I said when I was small. And then I did. It happens.
Xena, the cousin from New York who spent so much of her childhood with me playing Spit, walking, talking and planning her adult life, has had her license for two summers now. And she has visited, just as she promised. She's called and said, ``I miss you. Can I come?'' And then driven two-and-a-half hours, away from her family and her boyfriend and her work and her life, to spend time with me.
Read MoreThe grass needs to be cut. It always needs to be cut. The evergreens need to be trimmed. The roses need to be pruned. And there are more weeds than flowers in my front yard.
I see all that needs to be done. But none of this is bothering me this summer. I'm looking beyond all the ``should do's.'' I'm looking at how thick and healthy the grass is, how the bare spots aren't bare anymore. I'm looking at how the impatiens have filled in, how lush the evergreens are, how red the roses, and how close to perfect my tiny, weedy, overgrown world is right now.
Read MoreFor the state it's about money. The Fernald School sits on hundreds of acres of prime property just off Route 128 in Waltham. It's a gold mine waiting to be tapped.
For the families of Fernald residents, it's about a place they've called home for 30, 40, 50 years. It's their son's home, their sister's, their daughter's.
Read MoreFirst we saw her walking her dog. My daughter and I were walking one way, and she was headed the other. We smiled and she smiled.
We saw her again an hour later. This time she was riding a bike. ``Hi again,'' we said. ``You're getting a lot of exercise today.''
Read MoreAmericans are reading less. Never mind Oprah and her book club. Never mind that you can never get a parking space at Barnes & Noble in Braintree, and that there's always a line at the checkout. According to a new survey, ``Reading is in decline among all groups, in every region, at every educational level and within every ethnic group.''
The worst statistic? Only slightly more than half of us read even one book in all of 2002.
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