contemporary life

We’re back at the beach for the second time in three weeks. We had planned to finish house cleaning and pre-season chores in early April, but that’s when one of our dogs has to have ACL surgery, as a result of over-exuberant squirrel chasing. We clean the oven and coffeemaker and power wash the deck furniture. We wipe the light fixtures and ceiling fans, vacuum underneath couch cushions and wash windows. A man comes to install impossibly green squares of sod on the part of o

Fifteen years ago this week, I was lying in a Manhattan hospital recovering from a back surgery that almost killed me. Yes, the brilliant doctor who straightened my crooked spine and changed my life was white. But the people who got me through the day-to-day did not speak English as their first language. And to a one, they were superb. Julio, was my very own ICU recovery nurse who brought me ice chips and spoke words of comfort and reassurance when I woke up intubated and wit

We still own several file cabinets. I know, I know, everything should now be stored electronically, so who needs them? But there’s something to be said for being able to easily find a hard copy of a document without having to pay homage to the almighty gods of internet security. Honestly, I think there’s far more security risk from bad actors infiltrating my laptop (and these days, even the cloud) than from them breaking into our house to root through paper files. Don't get m

Watching young teens waiting on customers at their family’s market stand, carefully counting out change (yes, cash is still king at the farmer’s market) and occasionally glancing back at the adults to make sure they’re doing everything correctly. The beaming face of a neurodiverse young woman getting a manicure at the nail salon. She was thrilled with her green and white nails, showing them off to everyone. Time and again, I have seen the professionals who work there tre

If you have never seen an episode of The Bear, it’s worth getting a trial subscription to Hulu just to watch 3 seasons of this show.  The Bear is about a highly dysfunctional yet somehow loving family in Chicago who runs a small Italian beef sandwich shop. When tragedy strikes, the son who is training to be a gourmet chef in New York City comes home to manage the restaurant. Without giving too much away, chaos ensues. Yes, this show is filled with the F word and there’s lots

At church last night, during one of the most solemn and holy nights of the Christian year, I could hear cars outside with basses thumping at mind-numbing levels. Sirens screamed because someone needed help, or a crime was being committed somewhere. Shouts and laughter from passersby along with traffic noise intruded on the powerful story of salvation being portrayed in front of me. From where I sit in the choir of this church, I often hear the sounds of an urban neighborhood

I’m a never-jazz person. I like to know where my music is going and how it's going to get there, preferably in neatly organized harmonic and rhythmic structures. Obviously, jazz doesn't do that, so it leaves me feeling uncomfortable and at loose ends, which I suppose is the point. Those interminable improvisation solos, despite the artistry of the musicians performing them, make me want to run for the exits. I often say to my husband, I respect the style, but I don’t have to

I watched a segment on the Today Show this morning about a potential breast cancer vaccine. Research and trials are currently underway to develop vaccines that will train the body’s immune system to destroy recurring cancer cells in breast cancer patients and perhaps, eventually, even prevent breast cancer from developing in the first place. The piece was reported by Kristen Dahlgren, a long-time NBC correspondent who is also a breast cancer survivor. She is leaving her job a

I just read a blog post entitled Singing Through the Apocalypse. Yes, I can relate. And I also write little stories and shoot them out into the world, like casting a fishing line into the ocean. I seldom get a bite, but when I do, it’s satisfying to know someone read my story and thought it worthy of attention. Lately I’ve been doing more writing and taking more chances on getting my work published, because, well, I just have to. And, like the older person I am, I go to churc

When I was growing up, July and August were filled with family birthdays. We had no sooner put away the shirt and tie boxes from Father’s Day, when my grandmother’s birthday arrived on July 7, my dad’s on July 10, my best friend’s on July 18, my grandfather’s on July 27, my mother’s on Aug. 2 and finally my great-aunt’s on Aug. 15. My husband shares my dad's July 10 birthday, and my mother-in-law's was July 24. And we always celebrated with cards and presents, photographs, a

I’m old enough to remember when TV’s were massive pieces of furniture that dominated the room. You walked over to the set to turn it on, cranked a dial to pick your channel and that was it. No remotes, no sound bars, no streaming services. If you were lucky, your antenna picked up all three major networks albeit with fuzzy pictures if the weather wasn’t cooperative. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy great shows on premium channels and have no desire to return to the dark ages of T

I got called out this week for what was perceived as an over-reaction to a recurring problem in our neighborhood. Point taken. There’s probably some validity to the comments. And yet, for those of us who keep trying to put up, shut up, and allow for what is flat-out unacceptable because of this or that extenuating circumstance—we’re reaching our limit. A constant grind of recent annoyances made we want to go all Ruth Langmore from Ozark and spew obscenities at the top of my l

It started with a mighty crack that sent both dogs into full defcon 5 barking. The dishwasher, my stalwart kitchen companion who served 25 years without a single repair, had finally broken a door spring, and I knew there was no hope of a replacement part. It limped along for a few more weeks, loyal to the end, but a getting a new dishwasher was inevitable. All new appliances seem to come with an attitude and require much drama with their installation. This time around there

I saw you. You didn’t think I did because I was busy putting grocery bags in my cart and talking with the young man at the register. I saw you glance down at the sign taped at the end of the conveyor belt that said “trainee.” I saw you turn away even though the belt was empty, and I was nearly finished. I suspect  you turned away because when you heard the cashier speaking, you thought it best not to choose this lane, even if it meant waiting longer somewhere else. Honestly,

Just came back from a trip to one of our local grocery stores and wanted to share a few tips about using the self-check-out lanes. I’m not talking about the ones for when you just have a gallon of milk and a bag of dog food. They’re convenient, and I’ve seldom had a problem with them. But, my friends, beware of the I’m-now-a-store-employee ones with the moving belts and the multiple bagging stations. Abandon hope, all ye who enter here. First of all, I totally understand that