When I was not even 21 I left my hometown of Rochester, NY (the suburban town of Irondequoit, to be exact and EAST Irondequoit, to be precise.) I left to start a new life as a wife. My new husband was also a Rochesterian, and of Sicilian descent, like me. But our hometown couldn't hold us. There . . .
Every time I think my family has the corner on dysfunction I learn that other families I know have it even worse. From publicly throwing each other under the bus to sexual abuse and elder abuse, some families are all about darkness. I used to think about my crazy family dynamic more than I do now. . . .
History has the ability .... ...to transport us to another time and place--including our own past. The recent docu-series on serial killer Ted Bundy transported me instantly back to my days at Florida State University and his reign of terror in Tallahassee. Michael and I were in our first . . .
A big sigh. I'm sitting here thinking about how difficult it would be to watch a new generation fall victim to my family's dysfunctions. "Family." The word is a difficult one for me, as I have two siblings and neither have been in my life for the better part of the last decade. It wasn't my . . .
She was raised on a ranch in Alberta and I would have never encountered her in my day to day life. But social media connect us with a broad range of people and that’s how I met Diane Stringam Tolley. I began reading her blog, On The Border, referring to ranching life on the Alberta/Montana . . .
Father Sun, Grandmother Moon, to the Star Nations. Great Spirit, you who are known by a thousand names And you who are the unnamable One. Thank you for bringing us together And allowing us to sing the Song of Life. Like so many people who weren't given the gift of family in this . . .
Having read all your posts about family gatherings during which tensions ran high, I realize it's time to revive last year's post about surviving family and friends for the holidays. Ah, last year. When maybe we fought with our relatives about the little things. Boy, have things changed. Anyway, . . .
Texting is the most impersonal means of communication I can think of. Which is why I absolutely do not want to get a birthday message by text. Pick up the phone and call me. Send me a card. Send me an email, even. But if you text me a birthday greeting you're telling me that I am not important . . .
This is my father. He was...quite a character. Every day of his life he was quite a character. I can't say that we had a close relationship growing up--I was "yes" and he was "no." A victim of his upbringing, and yes, I use victim purposely, he was a challenging father. But then again, I was a . . .
I've always loved being near the water and longed to live near it, so when I decided to move to the Monterey peninsula it was a dream come true. The idea that I could walk a couple of blocks and be on a beach? Heaven. Thinking about that, recently, I really took in-- for the first time-- that I . . .
