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My youngest son is readying for another adventure. One that involves rolled up clothes in duffel bags, a passport, and another continent. He can’t wait. By now, he’s at the airport. Or on a plane, happily off into the wild blue that called his father, his grandfathers. Given history, it will be at least a year…

This Hallowe’en my grandson was a Ninja Turtle. Donatello, to be precise: Donnie, GiGi! Wearing his Ninja Turtle pyjamas, wielding his formidable plastic sword, he wreaked cuteness on the neighbourhood. And expanded my always-growing beginner’s heart at least 2 sizes. His father AND his uncle were Ninja Turtles, more than 2 decades ago. Back when these…

When I hear of the serial murder sprees — all done w/ guns — that plague America, I think of my sons. Not always first, but always. Probably too self-referential, I identify with the mothers of children slaughtered in Sandy Hook, executed in Umpqua, annihilated in Charleston. Who ends a phone conversation with a son or daughter…

As my children move farther & farther away — not simply in miles, but into that mysterious realm of adulthood that never seem (at least to parents) stable — I wrestle with letting go. It’s the ultimate Buddhist exercise: how to love without attachment. It’s hard sometimes for non-Buddhists to understand non-attachment, or Upādāna. I’ve had people…
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