Nostalgia

For most of my life, I looked at family photos as most others did – they were little snippets of time. I would pick up a few envelopes of prints and flip through the 20 or 36 photos inside, still safely ensconced in their designated sleeve right next to their…

My mother, Estelle, was born Esther Lanch in 1911 and raised in a Jewish household in San Francisco’s Fillmore District. From Odesa, where her mother was raised, to London and the Jewish communities of Montreal, New York, and San Francisco, the family encountered anti-Semitism in mid-Twentieth-Century America…

There is a particular kind of grief that doesn’t have a funeral. No one sends flowers when your favorite restaurant closes after 50 years. There is no ceremony when the beach bar where you spent a hundred perfect afternoons nails a sign on the door and goes quiet forever. My wife and I created so many memories…

The other morning, I found myself listening to a song I hadn’t heard in quite a while. It was “Monsters” by James Blunt. The first time I heard that song years ago, it hit me like a freight train. Something about the sadness in the lyrics, the emotion in his voice…

As a certified mindfulness meditation teacher, I have taught these practices in different spaces, and one of my favorites was teaching in my community’s park and recreation programs. Interestingly over the years the classes I offered expanded from teaching mindfulness/meditation to facilitating workshops on transitioning to retirement…

My granddaughter is drawn to anything sparkly. If it’s pink or purple – or both – all the better. One afternoon, I set my jewelry box in the middle of the bed. She climbed up next to me, legs tucked under, already reaching. We went through…

Outside the generous window of this restored 1800s barn apartment, twilight had settled over the Trinity Mountains. A single soulangeana tree glowed pink against the fading sunset, while the white dogwood buds waited to open in the shadows of the tall pines…

This is the most painful and raw story I have written to date – across all my blogs, interviews, and essays. Not because it is dramatic, but because it is vulnerable and honest. Some truths, once fully seen, can no longer be avoided…

There are moments when old letters or early writings resurface – sometimes by accident, sometimes deliberately. When that happens, what stands out isn’t the words themselves, but the feelings that rise while reading them. Not the feelings we have now, but the ones that once compelled us to write at all…

In this third installment of my Rearview Mirror series, written on the 33th anniversary of my mother’s passing – a milestone that is hitting me harder this year – I revisit her life and the ways her courage, compassion, and foresight continue to guide me as I navigate my own journey…