The ancient Hebrews had no word for the brain, a puzzling oversight to us moderns, who believe our brains make us who we are, our thoughts, our feelings, and our actions originating in the gray matter of our heads. Not so for the Hebrews, who believed the heart was the center of all human existence,… Continue reading Bigheartedness in Person

Sometimes I’m amazed at the things I’ve forgotten, things buried in the past so deep that they can’t possibly find their way to the surface again, only to discover, much to my surprise, that the simplest and the mildest of triggers will unearth them, these buried memories popping out of the ground like tulips in… Continue reading Memories of a Harmonica

When he entered the world, he carried a lot of weight, over ten pounds, in fact, which is a helluva ham if you’re in the meat aisle of Walmart. Today, he still carries a lot of weight, this time not in pounds, but in influence. Back when he was ten pounds, we called him “Baby… Continue reading Mama’s Baby Boy

Some friends of mine tell me that their twenty-something son wants to refurbish an old school bus, converting it into living quarters, providing him with a mobile space to live, without locking him into a six month or longer lease, as would an apartment. He’s already drawn up plans for the renovation, figuring out how… Continue reading The Old School Bus

My big brother is the type of guy that will get in a car and drive across three state lines to spend Thanksgiving with me, all because he didn’t think it was right that I had to have Thanksgiving away from family. He did it more than once, in fact several times, he and his… Continue reading My Big Brother

When my grandma died at the age of 84, her household possessions were picked over and plucked and packed up by her children, most of whom met in her home after her funeral to do the brutal work of emptying the house, the reverse of filling a house, the joy of moving in things replaced… Continue reading Grandma’s Writing Desk

I spent a good part of my childhood at my grandma’s snack bar, a long, rectangular tabletop that my uncle had designed for her when he built her house in 1954, this bar separating the kitchen from the dining area. Instead of the table, my grandma and I always ate at her snack bar, where… Continue reading Grandma’s Snack Bar

August is the cruelest of months. Of course, I borrow from T.S. Eliot, who claimed April was the cruelest of months, a claim I can’t possibly understand, unless he didn’t like the idea of hope. As I recall, he made the statement in his poem, “The Wasteland,” the title itself suggesting he didn't hold much… Continue reading Mansfield Park

When my mother was some months old, she wasn’t gaining weight as my grandmother thought she should, so she took her to a chiropractor, who did some adjustments on her little body. Soon after, she began to put on weight, which made my grandmother happy, but my mom always blamed the chiropractor for setting her… Continue reading Mother’s Day

As I see it, Valentine’s Day and Sweethearts belong together, like strawberries and chocolate or like Sonny and Cher, before the divorce, of course. That’s why Valentine’s Day last year lost some of its sweetness--literally--when Sweethearts--those heart-shaped candies with imprinted messages such as “Be Mine” or “”Kiss Me”--were not sold. It was a big deal,… Continue reading Be Mine