From across the room he is watching me read Natalie Goldberg's An Old Friend From Far Away. 

 

He is watching me spoon warm tomato bisque into my mouth and forkfuls of iceberg lettuce, cucumber, sourdough croutons with bleu cheese dressing.  I wonder if he can see Natalie's text in my eyes about a woman's vagina smelling acrid, suggesting "peat bogs that [are] insatiable." 

 

I picture him with his eyes closed, on top of a naked woman in a sun-drenched…

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In a BBC article published one day before my recent birthday, John Johnson wrote that our world would soon see our seventh billion person and that the earth will not be able to support life at this birth rate.  Of course, I thought of religions who poo-poo birth control and homosexuality, the only two ways I can think of to control the outrageous birth rate besides genocide, infanticide and mandatory chastity belts decorated with small electric fences.  

 

Johnson warned that…

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Behind every great advertising pitch is some degree of a lie. 

 

Wrinkle creams and hair growth products come with convincing scripted testimonials delivered by paid actors with smooth faces and thick heads of hair. 

 

Cheap plastic toys with clever names are magnified on TV, filmed in unnaturally bright or subdued light in the hands of physically perfect children; the made-somewhere-else products are demonstrated as life-like, sometimes in mesmerizing…

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There are always two marquees outside her home, one advertising a horror film starring vampires or a homicidal claustrophobic  maiden with a personality disorder trapped in a high tower; the other advertises a young Marlo Thomas under the influence of Prozac, dancing in a floral apron as she sings to children and daisies in a southern suburban community;  both tell the same story.

 

There are always two songs playing, one with angrily thrumming bass guitars, blood and fever in…

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Susan's sofa is a delicate seafoam green, the centerpiece in a pleasant dream starring Martha Stewart and the Dalai Lama on the cover of Architectural Digest, only better because the office and pillows actually have character - imperfect swirls of aqua and brown where I will rest my head - and all along the wheaten walls are worn books about how humans get broken.  

Susan sits across from me in a tan chair that complements the sofa and I notice she is pretty but not in an intimidating…

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If you are a physician caught molesting or sexually assaulting children, your colleagues will protect you, transfer you to another hospital or outpatient center, lecture and tsk-tsk you, but will not report you to authorities, right?  No, but if you're a priest, rest assured that your brothers will hide your dirty little secret, just as they have once again with Rev. Shawn Ratigan, protected by no less than Bishop Robert Finn - a bishop, yes, that's what I said. 

In May of…

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She looks like Victoria from The High Chaparral and in a thick Selma Hayek accent tells the story of her little girl falling from a twelve-foot balcony.  She is able to cry and speak at the same time and somehow her mascara doesn't run as she takes us on this nightmarish journey during a support group meeting for parents of disabled children.

"I go to chapel every day and pray to Jesus - Jesus, just save my little girl, sweet-sweet Jesus, and I will praise your name over…

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We'd just left speech therapy when the call came, the voice light and intelligent, "I'm sure you've been waiting a long time for this call; our waiting list is terrible."  I had no idea what she was talking about even after she'd introduced herself as a PhD at Texana.  Then I remembered when she explained we could make an appointment for Julian's "assessment" to determine if he's eligible for services - psychiatric, ABA therapy, etc.  "The assessment will need to declare him…

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The green telephone rattled the still air at noon, mere inches from the body who in life, would never have let it ring more than three times.  The dogs must have timidly sniffed the bluish feet, the nails painted red.

Puddin' and Mr. Charles had already relieved themselves twice on the carpet since there was no one to let them out. 

Six hours later the alcoholic landlord would break the front window to get in, shove a coffee table covered in unwatered plants out of the…

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It was simple to make friends when we were children, just a knock on a strange door we thought belonged to some kid in our class whose name we barely knew and Can she/he come out and play?

 

This is what I am thinking as Katrina stands in my kitchen for the first time, sipping green tea, discussing what life was like overseas, how well our children play together.  So far we know we are both into health and fitness, eat organic produce, adore books and movies,…

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Oliver Wendell Holmes once said that when the mind is stretched to a new idea it can never go back to its original shape.  I think a heart can get stretched out too, only it's not a good thing.  The stretch can make a heart more malleable, compassionate, forgiving, but it often becomes too flaccid, floppy, weak.  It takes more to feel and feel full.  It's hyposensitive.  It has to crash into things, get run over, leap tall buildings with its eyes closed.

Thirty year-old Norman was sick of his dull job as an accountant, his sexless marriage, his psoriasis and living in a cramped cluttered house, so he argued with God one night before bed, complained that although he worked hard and paid his bills on time the almighty had unfairly dropped him in a dead-end life.

 

When Norman awakened the next morning he didn't recognize the bed yet he somehow knew the name of the strange woman next to him, the six children in the house, and the…

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