Red Diaper Dharma

My emotional junk food is categorizing myself the Pop Psychology way. According to the Enneagram, I’m a 4 (the “artist”) with a 3 (the “achiever”) wing; according to Myers-Briggs, I’m…

As if the year didn’t already suck badly enough, my wallet with all my ID and credit cards was stolen out of my purse at a favorite family restaurant. I…

I come from a long line of worriers, insomniacs, “Nervous Nellies,” and nail biters. My mother rarely sleeps. My husband Bill doesn’t sleep either. He paces. He drives too fast…

The Old Left is dead, even in my family. Except for my dad, who still has a Stalin wall clock in his office, and who still argues the old way.…

I’m humming “The Streets of Laredo” these days as I pile old clothes into plastic bags to give away. I hum to drown out the chaos in my head. An…

I met my friend Tilly — and her mother Peggy — the first day of Kindergarten. Peggy recognized my mom among the crowds of mothers and clutching five year olds.…

Every six weeks or so, I go away for a few silent days by myself. I go to a clothing-optional hot springs to bare my all. In between hot soaks…

Because of the recent Supreme Court decision banning partial birth abortions. Because of the ban on abortions in North Dakota. Because pro-choice activists must say that abortions are terrible to…

I shouldn’t love Easter. Raised a Jewish-Atheist, I have zero relationship to the Christ-is-Risen aspect. Plus my dad tells horror stories of annual beatings by Catholic boys when he was…

My daughter I are eating dinner, just the two of us, when she asks The Question. I take a breath. “How old was I when I first had sex?” And…

Things she left me: My scattered brain, the brain that has me driving down the freeway, missing my exit, suddenly wondering where I’m going, and why — that brain that…