Tuesday, August 31, 2021



September first isn’t just a plain ol’ first.

It’s the (unofficial) beginning of fall.

It’s the whisper of the beginning of a new Jewish year.

And in Israel where I grew up, it is the absolute first day of a new school year.

That made August thirty-first a singularly wistful day.

Invariably we had to do something special on this last day of summer. Spending the day kicking sand on the beach, going for an ice-cream sundae the size of a mountain, or frantically beginning that art project we meant to do in summer but never did, only to leave it half-done once again.

It was as if we were parting with something we’d never experience again.

When you could count your years on earth on both hands, the prospect of next summer was as distant as the moon. You could see it, but experienced it as something unreachable.

This added melancholy and longing only August the thirty-first possessed. The closest thing to a heartbreak without a defined cause.


So Goodbye August. We never had a choice but to part, so we might as well pretend we do, and welcome September.

©By Shelagh Duffett

Tuesday, August 24, 2021




spiritual practice or spiritual discipline (often including spiritual exercises) is the regular or full-time performance of actions and activities undertaken for the purpose of inducing spiritual experiences and cultivating spiritual development.

This calls for defining “spiritual,” so here’s an attempt from me —

Spiritual: Relating to or affecting the human spirit or soul as opposed to material or physical things.

There’s no question that, for me, writing is a spiritual practice.

Tuesday, August 17, 2021



Taking a walk on a nearby street, something jumped at me.


While the front lawns of houses had various degrees of gardening care, all were lovely in their own way. But then, the public sidewalk swatches of earth, for the most part, bore no hint of care. Nature and its weeds reigned, as they do where we humans do nothing.


Here is what most of the sidewalk spaces looked like—

Understandable. After all, that swatch is not private property. Why put an effort to weed, plant, and maintain when it isn’t even yours? You might even find the natural growths charming.


What struck me wasn’t the rule, but the exception. Here and there, the hand of a passionate gardener spilled over to the public sidewalk in front of their property. Like so—

At least for me, the sight of orderly loveliness buoyed the heart. Less for the undeniable aesthetic of it, but for something else. It was the recognition that here lives a person who in their daily life goes above and beyond what is required, expected, or aligns with the surrounding convention.


I think life is like that. Some people always do more. I am humbled and grateful, for they hold up the rest of the network that is humanity and keep the rest of us from rappelling down.

Respect. 🙇 

Tuesday, August 10, 2021

Long, Languid, Lolling, lounging---

                                             Days of Summer


Allow me to indulge and share my favorite lounging partners once again.

For season’s sake, it’s summer~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

^Miss Nougat cooling her belly^

^Mr. Sokolov showing his belly is fluffier^

^Ms. Clara Schumann: “I can’t bear to see any more bellies.” ^

😻Fair enough. Stay cool, everyone😻

Tuesday, August 3, 2021



There are two places where the dead still live.

The first is in our hearts and minds.

The second is on Internet databases.


Today would have been my mother’s ninety-third birthday. It’s still her birthday, (the date she was born) but it can’t be the ninety-third, as she left this world thirteen years ago.


But on Internet databases she is now listed as being of a ripe old age she never got to be in real life. Most of these “find anyone” sites never seem to find death certificates. If they do, they don’t account for such in the information anyone can google.


For me, the date remains a monumental one, regardless.

Here she is, long before I was even a thought:

🎉Happy Birthday🍻