When Clarence Clemons joined the E Street Band in October 1972, I was six months old. He was just beginning his musical partnership in a…read more
For most of the public history of alcoholism and drug addiction all the way back to Noah, the general impression has been that it is…read more
When people ask me why I serve as a Eucharistic Minister, I usually just give them the short version of the story: Because I felt…read more
It was another Saturday night in our house: The kids were asleep, the dog had been fed, the dishes were done. Finally, it was just…read more
Could there have been anyone more gorgeous, more sumptuous, and more glamorous to a girl growing up in the ‘50s and 60s than Elizabeth Taylor,…read more
“Here it comes!” my husband said, as the wind slammed our hillside house and a storm of heavy, wet flakes descended on our deck. It felt as if the sky were turning itself inside out and then falling on top of us. Beautiful, yes; scary, just a bit. The furnace stopped humming and embraced silence as a spiritual path. The refrigerator subsided, muttering, then was quiet. All of the lights were snuffed, as if light itself were being hoarded within the bulbs until a better day presented itself.
We sprang into action. Luckily, we could dip buckets into a half-filled hot tub in the basement and haul them upstairs for flushing toilets. We got out the candles and the hurricane lanterns, one so old it barely worked, a relict from hurricanes during my own childhood. My husband ran out onto the deck and started piling wood into a leather carrier, lugging it indoors — along with a blast of wet, cold air.read more