There were no locks on the interior doors of my childhood home. Our family of six lived in a tiny two-bedroom house on the edge of Brooklyn in what had been a beach community of bungalows until the soldiers returned from WWII to settle down. The only privacy I had in that house full of … Continue reading from exile to emergence
While this exercise in blogging feels a lot like navel gazing, when I go deeper into it, there is more … so very much more. My ability and willingness to be vulnerable and authentic makes navel gazing seem more acceptable, even if self serving and boring from outwards appearances. Call it what you will — … Continue reading don’t sweat it . . .
Sunday afternoons the six of us piled into Dad’s station wagon and drove to Uncle Rick and Aunt Mary’s house. It wasn’t a long drive but everything we had to do before we went there, made is seem so. First, there was church. Dad didn’t go - he was ‘done’ with priests after a falling … Continue reading something about mary