Time Magazine just named “The Ebola Fighters” its 2014 Person of the Year. What motivates individuals to dive into the throes of a dangerous pandemic in order to save innocent people’s lives?
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I confess. I have a new secret passion…hidden presents. Things, people, places, scents, sights, scenarios around us that we might take or granted or perhaps never focused on.
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Do you have certain things you decided so strongly so long ago that you don’t even quite remember why? Early in my life, I wiped watches from my life. I remember being a little girl and loving a necklace watch. But whenever I wore any watch, I somehow lost it. Ultimately, timepieces and I abandoned each other. I became the teen and then grown-up who refused to wear watches.
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I didn’t mean to get hooked. I was just craving something to whisk me to another land, a better life, a fantastic world. No one told me that all these lines, my blissful escape, could become a lifelong habit.
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Moving stories of resilience - the Pakistani girl courageously speaking out for girls’ rights even after the Taliban shot her in her head or Boston Marathon bombing amputee determined to dance again or traumatized bookkeeper Antoinette Tuff whose empathetic, hopeful words disarmed a disturbed school shooter - inspire us, bring us to tears, and leave us wondering...how we get rebound know-how?
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You fold a tiny raisin into your hand, perhaps thinking about the journey it made to reach you, farmers planting seeds, nature providing water. You squeeze the creases of the aged, dried grape, maybe feeling the wrinkles as the hands that picked the ripened fruit had done.
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You fold a tiny raisin into your hand, perhaps thinking about the journey it made to reach you, farmers planting seeds, nature providing water. You squeeze the creases of the aged, dried grape, maybe feeling the wrinkles as the hands that picked the ripened fruit had done.
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You may know that electric feeling....you have an amazing new idea, it bubbles in your brain and heart. It settles in, you decide to write it down. You clutch your coffee or your wine or vitamin water and circle your writing desk.
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It could be the beginning of a time-travel Thanksgiving tale: Connectedness = Karmic Gratitude. Miracle in the City of Angels. And yet, it really happened, once upon this time.
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No doubt about it, these are scary times. It’s everywhere. Read it online and on people’s stressed faces. See it in empty storefronts, lighter daytime street commuter traffic, thinner mail (businesses don’t have money to market themselves; it’s great not to have all the junk mail but still…).
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When I first knew Benazir Bhutto, it was not as the larger than life ‘Antigone’ tragic figure she became but rather as a fellow undergraduate at Harvard College. Benazir, known by family and then friends as ‘Pinky’ because of her pink complexion, lived in a connecting dorm to mine at the Radcliffe Quad.
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It feels strange to have data about loved ones bubble up like a potion on the Internet. I Googled my mother a few years ago and found out that she had written a short story that was part of a 'best short stories' series.
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My kids sometimes ask me in non-narcissistic lapses how it was different when I was a kid. Inevitably, the conversation hits the shock value moment where they say incredulously, "U really didn't have email? Seriously, like what did u do?"
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Having moved from New York at age three because Lucy and Desi Arnez moved my parents out to Desilu Studios in Hollywood, I grew up with writers strikes galore, some that loomed, gloomed, and then somehow didn’t materialize and everything kinda went back to business as normal.
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