Three of the children are out in the field with their father when I arrive.
It's a Kodak moment: The girls run with their arms outstretched through spring grass under a cloudless sky, their dog loping along beside them. Tabitha's hair flies behind her like a kite's tail. Xena runs double-speed to keep up. Shiloh, 2 1/2, walks and runs, stopping every few steps to hike up her long, cotton dress…
Read MoreI was going 75 mph in a 65 mph zone. It doesn't matter that other motorists passed me at faster speeds and didn't get caught. It doesn't matter that millions of people drive more than 10 mph over the speed limit every day. I was breaking the law and the police officer who stopped me was doing his job.
I didn't beg or cry or plead when he pulled me over, though I would have if I'd know what was going to happen. I didn't even tell him that my father had been a police officer.
"You want to hear my excuse?" I said.
Read MoreI went to find it the other day and it was gone. Where did it go and when? Every other time I've reached for it, it has been there. It's just a tacky, little poem I memorized in high school. But it lived in my head my whole life. And now it has vanished, leaving behind a sole stanza: "Lonely as an island/ blue as the sea/ nothing to live for/ that's me."
Read MoreIt's the weirdest thing, preparing for a son to come home. Cleaning the house as if he were a guest. Counting the days until he arrives. "Rob's coming home,” I've been telling everyone for a month.
But the words are wrong. "Coming home" implies he is staying home. And he's not. He's just visiting. He'll be here a few days…
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 MoreSo, how long have we been listening to our politicians pontificate about "family values?"
The phrase has been on everyone's lips for the past year, but the concept has existed forever. The family - it's sacrosanct. It's the bedrock of the nation. If we could get the family back together, make it strong, then the country would follow.
Read MoreThe stamp is what did it: "Duxbury Free Library" in bold print on the first page of a book I picked up in Canton.
You can do that now. Go to one library, request a book, and have it sent to another.
The word free startled me. I hadn't seen it on a book since I was a kid borrowing from the Turner Free Library in Randolph .
Read MoreShe was drawn into it. She was the moth, and it was the flame. It warmed and burned and consumed and ignited her.
It became her passion and her cross.
Another woman's words. Another woman's life. Lived 50 years ago, half a world away. A stranger, yet kin.
As we all are.
Read MoreA friend, a newspaper reporter who'd retired to write books, set up the interview. It was a long time ago and a long drive away. I hadn't thought about that interview for years. I’d buried it in the place where hurts and humiliations get locked up.
I don't even remember the interviewer's name. But his words live in granite.
Read MoreThe world is too much with me. Or too little.
It's out of control. Or I'm out of control. I can't figure which.
It's the small things that are getting to me. Like the sticker on the license plate of my car.
"Do you realize your car isn't registered?" a friend asked the other day. It's registered, I assured him. I mailed the check months ago.
Read MoreThe tree man said he'll come and fertilize the dogwood, which has been a pink umbrella in my backyard every spring for the past 20 years. Last May the tree bloomed in sparse, uneven patches. I knew it was sick. A smaller dogwood had withered and died a few years before. When we cut it down, it was as dry and splintered as driftwood.
I didn't want to believe that this other tree, one I have watched grow tall and thick, a tree that shades the patio where I sit and turns the world surrounding it into a pink haze for a few weeks each year, could suffer the same fate.
Read MoreAnd on it goes. The news in brief. Three stories, six short paragraphs on page 18 last Friday, tell more about life in America today than all the front page headlines combined.
A 19-year-old Roxbury man was hospitalized in serious condition after an unknown gunman fired at least 11 shots at him, striking his chest, stomach, buttocks and both legs. The victim was taken to Boston City Hospital. The gunman fled in a black Camaro.
Read More"Before and After." It's a book I haven't been able to get out of my head.
Before and after. It's how we mark our lives. The befores and afters are turning points. Before we got married. After we got married. Before someone got sick. After she got sick. Before he died. After he died.
Something comes from without, something good or bad, and permanently changes the structure within. And forever after there is a division between then and now.
Read MoreOne December day, when I was about 6, my mother announced, "Christmas is right around the corner."
I took her at her word, grabbed my coat, raced out the door and ran all the way to the end of our street. I expected to see a parade - Santa and his reindeer, a walking Christmas tree, and a bunch of elves marching toward me.
Read MoreIt's a wonder the news didn't break on the business pages: "Violence Has Miami Tourists Wary. Florida's Top Industry Fears a Deadly Image."
A mark, a yen, a buck, a pound - it's these that make the world go 'round.
Read MoreLove thy neighbor. This is what we're called to do. Every day of our lives. But most especially this week, Holy Week.
Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. This is what we pray. But how do you forgive? How do you let go of hurt and anger and hate?
Petty things cause such wide rifts. A neighbor invites a dozen kids to a birthday party, but excludes your son. How could she be so insensitive?
"Why doesn't anybody like me, Mommy?" the child asks. And anger hardens and becomes cement around the heart.
Read MoreMaybe it's just nostalgia. Age kicking in. A longing for something I never knew I wanted in the first place.
So what if "People Are Talking" is going off the air in June. What impact will this have on my life? None. I hardly ever watch the show. I hardly watch any TV. What do I care what airs and what doesn't.
I don't.
Read MoreHe was my first real love, a flesh-and-blood boy, not a creation, not someone Rosemary and I invented on a Saturday afternoon as we walked downtown, or on a Saturday night as we babysat.
Those heartthrobs - Val Poche and Jimmy Weber - were actual people, but people we didn't know. They were older boys Rosemary saw at church or at school, around whom we invented a life.
Read MoreI wanted her to put it in writing. I asked her, but she thought I was joking. I wasn't. She was remembering a me I no longer am. She was remembering a me my children have never even known.
"You made the best clothes in the class," she told me at the gym the other day. In my new incarnation, I work out. In my other life, I sewed.
"I was making a bathrobe and you were making a plaid jacket. I was impressed," she said.
Read MoreAh, for the days of arranged marriages.
That's what a friend of mine wished for about 10 years ago. He was dead serious. His parents had a great marriage, and it had been arranged. His aunts and uncles had been married 40, 50, even 60 years, and all their marriages had been arranged.
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