Once I was walking on a mountain path in the Bernese Alps when I found myself suddenly at the edge of a cliff where a dense fog had rolled in making it close to impossible to see where the surface of the rock ended and the free fall into the valley far below began. I knew it was…
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Sometimes I run into my old self on the street or at the local CVS. I’m walking down the skin care aisle and there she is, not sure of which way to go…
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I was not a born reader. We were a word-obsessed family but our love of language took the form of bloodthirsty competition, not slithering off into a…
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A Guest Post by Signe Schaefer
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I watch my sister Roberta expand and contract. She has the uncanny ability to breathe in and out simultaneously. She contracts into the limits of her…
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I was pleased to note yesterday that Valentine’s Day had expanded its reach beyond the traditional Boy Meets Girl. Love and its companion joy in all…
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Memory is a vast graveyard densely overgrown with weeds. It includes the multiplication tables, my father’s watery blue eyes, the Cuban Missile Crisis…
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This is the second iteration of this essay. The first one inadvertently limited comments to paid subscribers. Comments are open to everyone.
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seventysomething