If our mothers never went into labor none of us would be here. Labor means work; even the word sounds hard, because it is. Labor Day is just around the corner. A day to celebrate and honor the working people, hardworking people. We work to pay bills, feed our families, pay our taxes; we work to live. Adulthood kicks us onto the hamster wheel of life. Work, rest, repeat; it can be exhausting. Some work three jobs just to put food on the table, to buy an extra loaf of bread. Bu

This year seems to have gone by in flash and yet, it feels light years away from where I stood last June. June of 2025 ended seventeen years of my public-school service as a special needs para professional. It also launched me into retirement, something I only dreamed of and now (to my surprise) was happening. But the end of June 2025 marked another milestone, my seventieth birthday: ushering me into a whole new decade. Celebrating at a small concert venue, I found myself sin

I can’t think about Father’s Day without thinking of my mother, my parents together. I don’t think one would’ve survived without the other raising kids and dogs. They were literally teenagers when they married in 1950. They had no money, no mentors, no guidance how to navigate this joint venture they were about to take. My mom had three kids by age 23. There was no time for complaining; they took on their responsibilities and quickly morphed into adults. No whining about scri

I laid my book on the counter and opened my purse to pay for the car repair. The man behind the counter glanced down and said “How’s the book?” I was in the middle of reading Bruce Springsteen’s memoir. “It’s a great read,” I replied, “Did you see the movie?” “No, but I heard it wasn’t that great,” he responded with a bit of disappointment. “Well,” I said with a long pause, “I think you have to be a fan; I liked it, but I’m a Jersey Girl. “ “Me too! Not a girl, but from Jers

I was fumbling through photos on my lap top, trying to figure out how to open them. My computer update rearranged all of my pics into a new format to make it easier to navigate. Can you spell AGGRAVATION? Finally, I accidentally clicked on something that opened a slew of pictures. Mindlessly scrolling through random images, I came across one that made me stop and linger. The captured image pulled my heart strings triggering a memory that was bittersweet. It was a photo of me

“This was harder than any football practice I ever had…and I’ve had a lot,” said the man whose face was beaded with sweat as he picked up his yoga mat. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud, he cracked me up! He was probably in his late 60’s early 70’s, no doubt a Boomer, geared in yellow yoga leggings under a pair of shorts and t-shirt. I don’t know about football practice, but clearly this hot power yoga class was a challenge. The constant flow moved us through a steady pace o

It’s easy to be a spectator, to watch things happen from afar. We cheer, we boo, we criticize, analyze; we watch and listen with judgmental eyes and ears. Spectators have nothing to lose; there’s no personal stake in it. But when you’re all in, down in the trenches sweating in an on your knee’s moment, using every last shred of strength to overcome, just trying to keep your head above water so you can take your next breath, you know you’re in the game. You’re walking that ti

Holiday cards, not many people send them these days. I suppose they don’t hold much meaning anymore living in this digital world. But I received one the other day that brought a smile to my face. It was from a former student. The card had a montage of pictures taken of him over the past year. The last time I saw him he was probably around thirteen. The photos now looking back at me was the face of a young man who seemed very happy. When I looked at the envelope return address

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