Two weeks ago on Memorial Day weekend, my husband and I signed up for yet another hike with the Atlanta Outdoor Club.
My most consistent spiritual practice this Golden Gap year (or years) has been very early rising and around an hour of free writing — for the past several months consistently Haiku.
This past Sunday, Mother’s Day, I was without children: one being in Brooklyn, two of them spending time together at Oakland’s Fairyland with their own small children.
This past Sunday, I was in the prosperous burbs of Detroit, a few miles anyway from the inner city boarded up neighborhoods with their ubiquitous gun shops.
My walk this morning, almost a week after this year’s late Easter Sunday, made me aware of how the spring here in Georgia is already leaving.
It was the day after our little chosen family Seder on Monday evening, the first night of Passover, when the New York Times ran a story about a major gefilte fish shortage.