mothers on the verge

The Central Valley 'Bro' is a peacock-like creature who's natural habitat is the fertile plains and endless strip malls of Central California. The Bro's testosterone-loaded gait is what makes him so distinctive; he walks as if carrying a heavy load within his Jockeys at all times, his steroid-pumped arms swinging low and displayed to good effect in an Ed Hardy sleeveless tank. The Bro's jeans are usually as tight on his rear as feasibly possible - all the better to show off his... erm... heavy load. Accessories are a key part of the Bro look; the Bro who bears the bling is a Bro to be reckoned with, the bigger the diamond ear-studs the bigger the respect, y'all. And with the ubiquitous baseball cap perched on top of his cropped head and his feet shod in the latest, most desirable sneakers (i.e. whatever costs the most $$$), the Bro is ready to go. Not being of the most erudite of dispositions, the Bro isn't much of a talker; he prefers to pepper whate

We buried my Grandfather three days ago, on Saturday, and the emotional hangover is just starting to abate. It was a beautiful ceremony. It took place at the graveside on our family plot at the local Memorial Park, the sunlight dappled through the trees overhead with a light breeze offering respite from the hot Californian summer. I've been to very few funerals in my life thus far so I don't have a lot to compare it to, but regardless, this one felt very special for all kinds of reasons. The mourners were made up of family, friends and neighbors, all of whom had many special memories to share about my Grandfather and kind words to give.  The pastor knew both of my grandparents well, having grown up just two doors down from our family home, and so was able to give a deeply personal and moving sermon which avoided being overly religious - my Grandfather, despite being a spiritual man who had a strong interest in theology, did not adhere to any particular brand of organized r

...this piece of unhelpful news:   Coffee cuts depression risk in women. Gives a whole new wrinkle to "mothers little helper." Maybe CVS will start filling scripts for lattes.

MotV is in The National newspaper today. Read all about it here: http://www.thenational.ae/lifestyle/family/how-blogging-provides-a-creative-outlet-for-mothers-in-the-uae

Grandpa: y ou were a unique man and you enriched our lives immeasurably. Thank you. Thank you for your quiet wisdom. Thank you for your perspective. Thank you for your affirmation, your confirmation, your acceptance, your lack of judgment, your heartfelt concern. Thank you for your empathy. Thank you for making me feel strong and intelligent enough to stand on my own two feet. Thank you for showing me that fear is nothing more than a feeling to be overcome. Thank you for teaching me to think for myself and start to accept who I am – faults, eccentricities, differences and all. Thank you for helping me to see that physical beauty is transient, insubstantial and fades like everything else in this life; you demonstrated that true beauty is the light in someone's eyes when they smile, the ability of their heart to love without fear or reservation and the truth that resonates in the words they speak. Thank you for making me realize that learning to live with an open

As the 10th anniversary of 9/11 winds down here in New York, I wanted to post a few images of a friend's public art project from this weekend: He drew one of the Twin Towers in chalk along Fifth Avenue from 14th Street to 19th Street. Every ten feet marked for each floor. A cup of chalk at each floor, a gentle encouragement to write a memory, thought, image. I shot these Friday morning, spending an hour watching as people interacted. Fed Ex drivers carefully wheeling packages around the cups. People taking pictures. Drawing. Crying. One woman picked up several cups in anger, throwing them out. A couple followed her, picked up the cups, and put them back. I think the last image summed it up for me the most. I watched the Towers hit, burn, fall 8 blocks away from my apartment. Had the ghost of the buildings, the white cloud, envelope me. Spent the nights that followed burning candles in my windows, the electricity cut off, to let the police officers stationed each night on my corner

I wish I could look on back to school with some excitement. I certainly remember as a child feeling nervous but psyched to go back and see friends, even meet my new teachers. (Yes, a bit of a nerd. I know). But I can't even find a remnant of that feeling. In reality, I should be thrilled to be getting "my office" back. After all, summer can be tricky for me -- I write and report from home as a freelancer and having The Kid around asking questions, wanting me to listen to something she's just read, or help her with a project can fracture my time in a truly overwhelming way. And the truth is when she leaves for school Thursday morning I will thrill in the quiet. For about 8 minutes. Because actually -- besides missing her tremendously -- I know what will be coming by the end of the day: fighting over homework, opening a lunch box that's still full of uneaten smashed food, and knowing that just as I want to really stretch my hands over the keyboard to let the writi