Tuesday, May 15, 2012
And sending him my love.
My cousin Johnny, who turned 40 yesterday, lies in an extended care facility in western Massachusetts. He has been there for sixteen years, languishing in a coma, more specifically a persistent vegetative state. The year John was born, May 14 fell on Mother’s Day. What landed Johnny in this exclusive club of unfortunates? Car accident, of course. Statistics alone would probably tell you that. Late on a snowy night, in early February, Johnny dashed into his car upon receiving an invitation to earn some extra money. “The first four guys to show up will get to plow.” The race was on. The seatbelt, however, was not. You can guess what happened next. Johnny’s car met with a patch of black ice and then with a tree. His head violently hit the …
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
That which we call a rose would smell as sweet.
Not long ago, while picking up my nine-year-old daughter from a play date, I found myself standing in the kitchen of her friend’s house, writing a check for one thing or another, the Girl Scouts, soccer or PTA. As I placed the check on the table, my daughter’s little friend picked it up, read it, then asked: “Why is your last name different from Christina’s?” “Well,” I responded, happy to elucidate the options available to modern women. “When a woman gets married, she has a choice concerning her last name. She can choose to take her husband’s name, to keep her own name, or to somehow hyphenate the two names.” Thinking the conversation had ended, I gathered my purse, Christina’s backpack and headed toward the door. “But wait,” she said. “…
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
But another one always waits in the wings
The weather for the first part of April vacation was, if you recall, simply summer-like. As the thermometer inched upward, the week ahead loomed with painfully little to do; many families had already left town. On the spur of the moment, I decided to pack up the kids and head to our favorite beach in Rhode Island for a quick overnight. My kids were more excited for the hotel pool and hot tub than for a romp on the beach and splash in the ocean. We spent a lovely afternoon playing by the seaside, ate a fresh fish and chips dinner outdoors, and by evening the kids were eager to hit the pool deck. Other than two boisterous young women in the hot tub, the pool itself was pleasantly empty. As we grabbed towels and chairs, I noticed four or …
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
I won’t be surprised if the ocean’s behind Caleigh's disappearance
As a native Rhode Islander, I grew up spending a lot of time by the ocean. Because archetypal vacations exceeded our family’s budget, my mother was determined to get us to a beach on a weekly basis. As a result of her commitment to this goal, I spent many summer afternoons riding waves at Newport Beach, in the Narragansett area, and at Horseneck Beach in nearby Westport, Massachusetts. It was during these years that I gained a full and absolute respect for the power of the ocean. Many would think that someone with a lot of ocean experience might be inured to its lethal potential. For me, the opposite is true. I love the ocean, but I approach it as one approaches a hot stove. It was perhaps for this reason that, in spite of my consistent …
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
How to lose a mommy-centered child.
When my kids were much, much younger, they were what my friend Kristen used to wryly refer to as “mommy centered.” Mommy-centered children yearn to have the mom nearby. It didn’t matter if my husband, Kevin, and I chose to adopt a “child centered” philosophy toward raising them. No, by placing me front and center in their lives, they had obviated that particular parenting question. I remember once boarding the 73 bus in Waverley Square, with the tiniest of my brood nestled in a baby carrier and holding a hand each of the two toddlers. We were heading into Harvard Square to meet Kevin for a bite to eat. As I found a seat and settled in for the three-mile ride into Cambridge, a woman remarked to me, “You’re brave. I didn’t leave home for …
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Musings on completing one year as a columnist.
This week marks a full year that words I have written (perhaps as many as 43,000, but who’s counting?) have appeared in this online space. To commemorate this anniversary of Tuesday morning offerings, I thought I would answer some questions (that I am frequently asked) about my experiences as a Patch columnist. Here goes. Q: What were your initial thoughts when asked to write a weekly column in Patch? A: Honestly, my first thoughts were along the lines of – I’ll write anything that doesn’t fall under the rubric of Meeting Minutes. And: I really hope this is a paid position. Q: Which writers have influenced you as a columnist? A: Back in the days of print, I read Anna Quindlen, both her New York Times column and her pieces in Newsweek. I …
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
A writing assignment reveals a mother's final gift.
(Last week, I had the good fortune to attend a writing workshop, entitled 'Writing for Everyone,' affiliated with the Amherst Writers and Artists. The woman leading the workshop presented us with a poem to read, then asked us to write about a memory, whether taken from life or an invented fiction, in the space of 15 minutes. The text below is more or less what I wrote. But of course, it didn’t take 15 minutes to write, it took 40 years.) Every year around this time, the same murky memories begin to surface in my mind. This particular set of memories dates back to a distant April, in the late 1960s, when my mother spent eleven weeks in the hospital. It was Spring and I turned three while she was away. My dad worked each day and, from work…
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
A slight twist on a familiar children's tale.
Like all of you, my life tends toward the hectic. It seems rather commonplace to acknowledge that we struggle with too much to do and too little time in which to do it all. To make matters worse, not only is the onslaught of requirements relentless, but the standards set for us are ridiculously high. My own particular juggling act includes balancing the demands of five part-time jobs, three kids – who themselves may be just a wee bit overextended – a house, a yard, two old cars, volunteer duties and a husband who is self-employed and also volunteers about 60 hours-a-month to a certain town committee. And I have no doubt that if you rattled off the demands that you bravely face down day after day, I’d agree you have it worse. And yet there …
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Thoughts about Hemingway and writing in general.
G. B. Shaw once wrote: “All autobiographies are lies. I do not mean unconscious, unintentional lies; I mean deliberate lies. No man is bad enough to tell the truth himself during his lifetime, involving, as it must, the truth about his family and friends and colleagues. And no man is good enough to tell the truth in a document which he suppresses until there is nobody left alive to contradict him.” Perhaps an odd way to lead in to Hemingway, but thoughts about truth and fiction regarding Hemingway – and about writing in general – have been crowding my mind since I recently finished a book of historical fiction about Hemingway’s first marriage. Hemingway is famously noted as having written about this first wife: “I wish I had died before I …
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Will they know where the bank books are? The beach towels? How will they get by without me?
If I remember correctly, according to Raymond Moody's book “Life After Life” – I read it so long ago it feels like another lifetime itself – many people who have near-death experiences report experiencing the same series of special sensations. First, there’s a floating feeling. This is especially true in cases of drowning. This “oceanic feeling” occurs when the victim of an automobile accident, for example, finds herself disembodied, hovering weightlessly above the wreckage, looking down placidly at the scene of carnage as if a mere spectator. In the moments after my own mother died, I remember watching my brother glance upwards. Apparently, he had also read Moody’s bestseller (although he reported having seen neither my mother nor anybody…
Joanna Dunn
1:38 pm on Wednesday, May 16, 2012
This is a very beautiful piece, Lisa. What a delicate organ the human brain is. My heart goes out to all families affected by brain injury. more ›