Indigo Girls, Bonnie Raitt and Joni Mitchell on the radio, and suddenly I am catapulted to the early nineties and my friend Steve’s backyard in. More specifically swinging in a hammock with music bursting from speakers he’s placed in the open windows.
We practically live down the street from each other, but I never see him. How do we lose track of people and keep them at the same time? I text him and tell him what I’ve been hearing today, that it must be a sign that we’re due to meet for a drink soon. We’ll go to the same place – Cork Wine Pub in Pleasant Ridge – and sit at the bar and have a couple of glasses of wine and some snacks. We’ll catch up and say we should get together some time soon, but we won’t.
And then something will remind me of him, and we’ll be in touch again. Let’s be honest. I’m the one who stays in touch. Continue reading
Once or twice a month, my friends Kim and Shari and I send each other quick, unedited essays. We intended to do this every week, but we’re not that consistent. Calling them essays is rather ambitious; they’re more like snippets or observations. We share a Dropbox folder labeled “Tell Me Something Good,” and fill it with these brief missives – a page or less, first drafts, first thoughts, reflections on something that made us smile or feel grateful or breathe a sigh of relief. Continue reading
We like to ask, “What can I do for you?”
Frequently the answer is, “Nothing… but thanks for asking.”
How can this be? If I am sick or lonely or sad, and you ask what I need, shouldn’t I speak up?
A gallon of milk.
A basket of laundry, clean and folded.
We answer, “Nothing, thank you,” because we don’t know what we need, or what we need is too much, or we can’t imagine how we would ask for the thing we need.
You didn’t even ask what I need, but I’m going to tell you anyway. I need something big. Continue reading
I recently was asked to write an article for Keshet, a national organization that works for full LGBTQ equality and inclusion in Jewish life. The request came as a result of my last blog article about “coming out” as the parent of a non-binary, queer adult child.
You can read the Keshet piece here.
While I draw from my own experience, the Keshet article is not meant to imply that anyone in my wonderful synagogue has done anything wrong or dismissed requests for more inclusive language, programming, etc. I have not made such requests. Change begins with awareness, and I’m doing my part to promote that awareness. Frankly, if we ask many of our teens and young adults, they will say they are somewhat uncomfortable or disinterested in religious institutions for a variety of reasons. That’s normal. Then they come back or find a good fit elsewhere. And we learn too. Continue reading
The essay I have been looking for either hasn’t been written, hasn’t been published, or is hidden beyond my search engine’s reach. I have been composing it in my head for months, but now I can write the first draft, because Friday my child came out to the world.
The essay I’m not done writing is about becoming the parent of a queer, non-binary, young adult child. I say becoming because until my eldest came out, I told myself I had a daughter. Now I am getting used to the idea of having a non-binary child. And while that distinction may seem merely a clumsy trick of the English language, the implications run deep. More on that another time.
My husband and I are experiencing something that is both utterly unique and increasingly common. Here’s a peek into the types of conversations I’ve had during the last year with well-meaning relatives and friends. Continue reading
Yes, we really did spend a week in Accident, down the road from Deep Creek Lake. Until recently, I didn’t realize that a slice of Maryland was sandwiched between Pennsylvania and West Virginia.
See if you can spot Accident in the top left corner of this map. I can’t help wondering why there’s such a narrow bit surrounded by other states. Whatever the reason, someone also thought it would be a good idea to bring Highland cows to Accident. We learned a lot about them… and which were the best ice cream flavors at Lakeside Creamery, and how to play our own version of Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me. We had a whole week with our dear friends – 4 adults and 7 children in a rambling house in a beautiful part of the country. I even started this poem while we were there.
I did not expect cows
beyond the driveway fence
content to take pancakes
and stale baguette
from our hands after breakfast
I did not expect our boy
to navigate waterfalls
so casually, the current
dragging him down
so he could climb again
I did not expect guitar music
and whiskey in the dark
or your hand
slipping into mine
whenever I walked by
The text messages started at 5:06 AM: wind chill is minus 3. sorry I’m staying in 😦
Mechelle was out, but Renee and I decided to give it a go. Three of us run together on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Call us crazy, but we’re dedicated. Just knowing that someone is waiting under the streetlamp at Newport and Hart is usually enough to get me out of bed at 5 AM.
Mechelle sends weather reports on Monday and Wednesday afternoons. Lately it’s been too crazy cold for all of us. Renee draws the line at single digits, while Mechelle relies on wind chill. I’ll try any temperature once, just to see if my strategic layering works. Continue reading