PROUT'S NECK, Maine - The DNA men are inside. It's 5:30 p.m. and they have been at it all day: trading information, speculating, extrapolating, talking nuclei and double helixes, trying to decipher the genetic code of life.
It is noble work they do. Their research will improve, even save people's lives.
But in the meantime, there's today, Oct. 3, a glorious, sunny, warm Indian summer day, set down in the middle of fall.
And they are oblivious to it.
Read MoreThis isn't what you want to read on a Sunday morning, or on any morning. It's yet another horror story about suffering people thousands of miles away. We don't want to know about any more suffering people. We've got enough problems: not enough money to make ends meet; not enough jobs to go around.
Cities exploding. Hope imploding. Locked doors in the house, even when you're home. Locked doors in the car, even when you drive. No stopping to help anyone; no looking around. People weird, ready to attack. Trouble in the schools; trouble in the streets; homes aren't havens; church doors are locked; Cancer, AIDS, hurricanes. We don't need more problems!
Read MoreI didn't know he was sick. Not that I should have. Why would he have told me? He had no reason and no opportunity.
We didn't know each other. We were voices on the phone. I talked to him many times over the years, but I met him only once.
Read Moret shouldn't have happened. This is an unarguable fact. Julie Tobin, of West Roxbury, should be alive, not dead.
She was killed on Sept. 6, 1987. The 17-year-old had spent the afternoon at a family reunion of a friend held at Norwood Country Club. Shortly after midnight, she left the reunion on foot and was standing in the breakdown lane of Route 1 talking to some friends in a van when she suddenly ran around the front of the van and onto the road. She was hit by a car and died the next day.
Read MoreThe juxtaposition is what struck me. On the front page of The Patriot Ledger last week was a photograph of two women comforting a crying child. The child, 5 years old, had been in a Texas elementary school when a student's father, allegedly upset over his son's grades, burst into the school and began shooting.
Next to this photo was a local story headlined "Schools get tough, suspend more kids." The gist of the article was that public schools are failing kids by suspending them from class. Discipline, state officials said, is getting in the way of learning.
Read MoreIn pictures they're smiling. Check out the magazines. Notice the ads. Look at the pretty girl with the good-looking guy - no worry on her face, only a smile.
On TV it's the same, and in movies. Smiles, smiles everywhere. Everyone is grinning. Everyone is cheerful. Everyone is having a good time. This is what we are supposed to be doing - smiling, connecting, enjoying life.
Read MoreIt began with a sign - not a spiritual one, but a billboard. At least that's how I think it began. The billboard was at Disney World, and it asked visitors to consider who they believe had made the greatest contribution to the 20th Century.
Maybe the wording was different. Maybe it was vote for the man of the century. I don't remember. But I found myself mulling over the question, then posing it to everyone I knew.
Read MoreFall River papers didn't cover it, though it happened in their backyard.
It wasn't news. News is about people hurting one another - robbing, lying, beating, killing. News is a health care worker mistreating patients; a doctor overprescribing drugs; a psychiatrist abusing clients. News is about the evil that men do.
But life brims with good, too, and the good far surpasses the evil. If it didn't, people wouldn't have partners, children, friends, pets. No one would nurse, doctor, teach, parent, rescue, feed, guide, inspire, love. No one would lift a finger for others.
Read MoreThursday morning, shortly before noon I dial the Greater Boston Chamber of Commerce. The phone rings once. A recording answers: "Thank you for calling the Greater Boston Chamber of Commerce and the Artery Business Committee. For tourist information, dial 617-536-4100. If you know your party's extension dial it now. If you wish to reach your party by last name, enter pound, star, two."
I enter pound, star, two.
Read MoreI want to laugh at it, say it can't be, dismiss it as science fiction. For that's all it is right now.
Eternal life here on Earth? Impossible. Impractical.
Absolutely intolerable.
Read MoreI never thought I would love her. I never dreamed I could even like her. I answered the phone and heard her voice, unrecognizable after 32 years. When she identified herself and asked me to come and see her, I said yes, out of duty and curiosity and perhaps even old-fashioned respect.
That's what I told myself. That's what I wanted to believe. But I went for more selfish reasons than these. I went to see if she were as mean I remembered; to show her she was wrong; to once and for all open the door on a moment that has colored my life, then slam it shut and lock it forever.
Read MoreWe call her Grambo now. Not that she looks like Sylvester Stallone. He's tall, dark, and gruff. She's short, fair, and sweet. He talks like a gangster. She speaks like a queen. He scowls. She beams.
Grambo, previously known as Grandma, had quadruple bypass surgery two summers ago. Doctors cut her up, replaced veins in her 79-year-old heart with veins from her leg, sewed her back together, and sent her home. She was given…
Read MorePity gets in the way. You know people don't want pity, so you stay away.
Discomfort is a problem, too. Yours. Theirs. Should you go up and say hello? Would a hello be mistaken for pity? What would you say after hello? What would you talk about?
Someone is in a wheelchair and you'd like to ask, "How come you're in a wheelchair? What happened?" Only those sound like the wrong words and because you don't know the right ones, you say nothing.
Read MoreToday is rabbit day.
"Rabbit," I say to my husband before getting out of bed.
"Rabbit," he answers automatically.
"Rabbit," I whisper to my 15-year-old before I go downstairs.
"Rabbit," she mumbles, and returns to sleep.
"Rabbit," I repeat to the 20-year-old asleep on the family room couch. She groans, mutters "rabbit," and puts a pillow over her head.
Read MoreSo now all of a sudden it's Mia who's the bad guy, Mia who has all the problems, Mia who's to blame for the Woody/Mia/Soon-Yi triangle.
This seems to be the latest theory. Why would anynormal woman adopt so many children? Why would any normal woman adopt children with handicaps? Mia Farrow cannot possibly be drawn to these chilren. She cannot possibly enjoy her huge brood. It has to be an act.
Therefore she cannot be what she appears to be.
Read MoreThey don't want to believe it. Or if they believe it, they want to forget.
"Why do you have to keep bringing this up? Why do you continually talk about it? It does no good. It's over. It's in the past. Why can't you just get on with your life?"
They don't understand why at birthdays and holidays and christenings and baptisms, she continues to arrive late - after he's gone. They don't understand why she refuses his gifts, why she's still in therapy, why she has night sweats. They don't understand why sometimes in the middle of the day, when it all comes back to her, she sits and sobs.
Read MoreThere's a story my husband likes to tell every now and then when I'm doing something the wrong way, which means I'm doing it my way, and not his.
The story's about a young couple, newly married, who are having their families - parents and grandparents - over for Easter dinner. The bride wants the meal to be perfect so she goes out and buys the best ham and fresh vegetables and makes an elaborate dessert. Before she puts the ham in the oven, she gets a knife and cuts a slice off each end. Her husband looks at the pieces lying on the counter and says, "Why'd you do that?" And she says, "I don't know. Because my mother always does."
Read MoreHe is wise, respected, serious and well-known. People around the world depend upon him to tell them what they think. Few would dispute his intelligence.
I see him when he is on vacation. He is on a cruise ship for seven days with two children. They are his children, I learn. Perhaps he has shared custody. Perhaps he has them every other weekend and for vacations each year. I don't know.
Read MoreThere is no room for sarcasm or double entendres or psychoanalytical babble with this one. Woody Allen is slime. End of story.
If Allen, who is proof positive that long-term analysis is lethal to mental health, had fallen in love with some youngster he met on a playground, it would be one thing. An aberration, perhaps. Distasteful. Definitely irresponsible. But young girls are exploited by old men every day. The world would have yawned at the news.
Read MoreI phoned her the other day to ask how her pregnancy is coming along. "I'll be glad when it's over," she said in a weary voice. "I'm a nervous wreck…
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