Last week’s post was about not seeing. This week’s is about the flipside: seeing but not changing.  It’s easy to do. Or rather, not do. I had been married for seven days. After the loneliest week of...

There is a photograph from 1860 that hangs in the elevator lobby of my condo building. Most people who look at it, if they look at it at all, probably think “That’s pretty,” or “What an interesting...

Before we went to brunch, Mom and I waited in her living room for it to be time to leave, she on her petite sofa, me at her table by the sliding-glass door. She had washed her hair that morning and...

My mom moved into her retirement community three years ago this July. On the way back from Mother’s Day brunch, as she rode her scooter in the long hallway and I walked along side, I asked, “How do...

At my mom’s, outside the sliding-glass door in her living room, across the narrow stone patio and a swath of grass bright green from recent rain, there is a cherry tree. Cornus mas. It is about 20...

Last week, I argued with reality: “She shouldn’t just push her empty plate at me and expect me to pick it up.” “He should help, or at least call.” “I should be making more progress on my book.”...