Be kind to each other, people. There’s still plenty of goodness and beauty in this world. And a smile goes a long way.
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The early weeks spent in my community garden spot were pure toil: digging, seeding, watering, weeding. And waiting.
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Every now and then weeding can be gratifying, like cleaning out a closet or clearing a desktop, akin to finding order amid chaos. I suspected that my first dive back into my new garden plot might be like that; after all, I’d have to transform what had become a jungle-in-the-making into framed rows of clean dirt. I needed a bold game plan.
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I had all things Floret Farm on my mind when I set out to find the landing for my gardening comeback. I started thinking about joining a community garden – a commitment that would test my professed love of planting and sowing beyond the footprint of my own living space. I explored neighborhoods and asked questions and learned, above all, that there was a shortage of available space but no lack of gardeners-in-waiting. I missed out on openings that first growing season and started to suspect the same result this year. Then I got the call.
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I kept up a garden of some sort at each of our several houses while the kids were still around. More than fifteen seasons of abundance. Over time though I grew weary of the constant weeding and the passing off of bountiful harvests of zucchinis, tomatoes and the like to friends, neighbors and colleagues, to the point when gardening became a chore. It was time for the white flag.
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Life is rich. My husband Kurt Peters says that often. He’s a sunny-side-of-the-street kind of guy, the Tigger to my Piglet. But I can’t think of an expression that for me sums up 2018 any better.
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Over the years the dogs had taught me so much. How a walk can show us the world. How sometimes just showing up is all that matters, and sitting quietly by can give the best comfort. How a simple smile could change a day, and a life. And how messy a life could really be. Now Wojo was giving me one last lesson: how to let go.
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Let’s face it. Summer break is no picnic for families, especially when both parents work.
Gone are the days when that last week of school ushers in some water-colored daydream, replaced instead with dread as wide-open days filled with idle children beckon.
Now parents need a spreadsheet to plot out activities and a line of credit to ensure that the kids don’t slide down a slippery slothful slope towards delinquency.
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It’s a troubling story line: A well-heeled and powerful group with a vested interest in the outcome of a lawsuit contributes millions to land a favored justice on a supreme court where its case will likely land.
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True or false: As part of the United States Constitution, the Equal Rights Amendment extends protection under the laws to women.
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What happens when two men who'd spent more than thirty years behind bars for a murder they didn't commit are exonerated and then come into hundreds of thousands of dollars? Predators of all sorts follow.
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Some pieces are so beautiful they need few words. That's true of this new animated video by John Scher, out today on The Atlantic, accompanying Joan Baez's version of the "The President Sang Amazing Grace," a song included on her final album, Whistle Down The Wind.
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More guns in schools, even if in the hands of the good guys, will only lead to otherwise avoidable accidents and injuries and do little to confront a mass shooter. Metal detectors may pick up a knife or a handgun, but do little to stop a gunman intent on blasting away at the entrance.
And active shooter drills? What are we doing to preschoolers when we’re hushing them quiet while pretending a murderer is on the loose? Or reminding students huddled under desks to keep their scissors open, so they can stab better?
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"Bookstores always remind me that there are good things in this world." Sending some bookstore love on this Valentine's Day.
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I have a problem with lines - the waiting part, specifically. You'd think that after being on this planet for more than a half-century I'd be over it. But a trip to the grocery store the other day reminded me that I still had a long way to go to line acceptance.
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Alarmed by November election results, four New Jersey Democratic women are now challenging Republican incumbents for a spot in the state’s congressional delegation
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On seeing cardinals as visits from loved ones who've passed (with art from my favorite watercolorist, and sister, Christine McCloskey Chittenden).
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Early estimates for the New Jersey march, held in Morristown, capped expected participation at 10,000. By some reports, that number actually exceeded 15,000.
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Not many folks enter courthouses happily – except perhaps for a marriage or an adoption. But today my family gets to do just that as we gather to witness and celebrate the public swearing-in of my brother, Tom McCloskey, as a judge of the Superior Court of New Jersey.
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New Jerseyans have sent just six women to the House of Representatives -- ever. That could change come November.
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