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I am sitting to write my column. It is a weepy day. A day when the side effects of divorce are difficult to stave off. I am worried about my children, about paying the bills, about a true independent future. I take a moment to click on the Beliefnet article below. I find it difficult…

I am chatting with my friend, Crystal (as always, name changed to protect the innocent). The sadness in her voice is palpable. It is just about a week after the anniversary of her father’s death and days after returning from her brother-in-law’s funeral. Crystal is reflective. Death brings this out in people. I, too, am…

I have always prayed for signs. After losing my mom, I was especially desperate for them. I remember telling my uncle, the priest that I had prayed for a sign my mom was okay and that I had asked for one by the end of the week. I wanted to make sure that I didn’t…

I had many years where I would say I lived a life that was pretty perfect. I was low stress, organized, philanthropic, living in the moment and overall, I would say, pretty much together. Then things fell apart. While I tried to save my marriage as only a party of one……….I neglected to truly accept…

My sister drives the car while I ride shotgun. My three boys chatter behind us . We are hungry. Scratch that, we are starving, so we drive to scout out the perfect lunch spot before our drive back to Sarasota. We are smack in the middle of Orlando, Florida. A seemingly perfect spot for restaurant…

My large family is competing for air space around the dining table. I am comfortable here. Actually I am happy here. I glance at my uncle and I see, that he too, is happy in this space. The food is trademark yummy and is being tossed back and forth. For a moment, here and there…

A firefighter, a cop and a priest all walk into a bar. Sounds like the beginning of a great joke, right? Nah, that would be my Irish Catholic family walking into my Uncle Barney’s bar in New York. All those New York City cops and firefighters, and of course, my beloved uncle, the priest taught…

I bid my barista BFF, Elizabeth hello and I utter my order. It’s the long-winded, order of a Starbuck’s veteran. The kind that infers you are speaking another language. I’ll take a decaf grande skim, extra hot latte. I swipe my beverage off the counter and make my way through the accompanying Barnes & Noble.…
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