After I’d known him almost a year, Vic took me to Connecticut to meet his mother Virginia. I was a love-soaked girl of twenty-two. “She can be rough,” Vic warned me. “She has a temper.” “It will be
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Grieving allows us to heal, to remember with love rather than pain. It is a sorting process. One by one you let go of things that are gone and you mourn for them. One by one you
Read more →The great secret of death, and perhaps its deeper connection with us, is this: that in taking from us a being we have loved and venerated, death does not wound us without at the same time, lifting
Read more →Nearly two weeks ago, Jean Raffa and I taught our weekend workshop at the C.G. Jung Society of Sarasota, FL. On Saturday, we worked with the oldest known goddess text, written on clay tablets around 1750 BCE in Sumeria (Mesopotamia,
Read more →When you receive this non-blog, I’ll be at the tail end of a trip to Florida. My workshop at the C.G. Jung Society of Sarasota with Jean Raffa will be past tense, along with the excitement of designing a
Read more →“We’ll sit here in the afternoon sun when we’re old and too tired to walk,” Vic said when we designed a deck with a two-person bench shielded from the wind. “We’ll watch sunsets here.” He dubbed it
Read more →I sit at one end of a pale turquoise couch in my brother’s living room. At the other end of the sofa, my frail brother sits and dozes in his baggy gray sweats. His pale head nods
Read more →Ancient mythology has much to teach us about grief and mortality. In this post, I take you an adventurous journey into a 5000-year-old story from Mesopotamia. This myth begins with listening. “From the Great Above she opened
Read more →Vic and I waited in a quiet room in our friend Steve’s house while the sound engineer set up his recording equipment. Vic wore thick layers of bulky clothing over his cancer swollen body. Four months before, after a severe drug reaction, he’d
Read more →Jean Raffa and I spent two days brainstorming and writing a workshop proposal. The night after I left Jeanie’s home, I had this dream: I look down into the streambed on my land. My small stream is a
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