One of my favorite childhood memories is of our Christmas Eve celebrations year after year at my Italian Grandma’s house in Brooklyn, New York, which was also her birthday. Each year Dad and mom loaded the pack of us in the green Ford station wagon after a late afternoon Christmas Eve mass at Saint Ignatius …
I’ve read more blogs than I can count this past week about people not wanting to buy into the foolishness of American Christmas this year, you know — the mad rush of shopping, frantic cooking, Pinteresting, charging up credit cards for expensive technological gifts for our kids who already have enough. One blog I …
I’m sitting in bed with a sore throat and body aches, writing. Writing helps avoid focusing on how crummy I feel. My son just got over a twelve day bout of bronchitis, and then we cut our Thanksgiving holiday in the country short when my husband got a soaring fever, and a lingering cough suddenly …
Stretched out on a lounge chair by the pool on an unusually warm fall day in San Diego, a magazine unopened by my side, my husband chats with a neighbor as they soak in the hot tub. The neighbor, an easy going, fun-loving, sporty guy, shares how hard it was for him to be himself …
Enjoy Each Moment – They’re Altars for Thanksgiving Read More »
Although I grew up Catholic until my parents left the church when I was ten, I never knew Jesus. I met Jesus as an adult in a dream after wandering forty years in spiritual deserts. At the time, I lived in Ojai, California, a place known to attract spiritual seekers, artists and visionaries. Surrounded by …