Not a creature…

It was chaotic at the D.C. train station. Due to a clog further north up the line, many passengers were crowded into a few waiting areas as messages bellowed throughout the Hall announcing delays after delays. As I had a long layover, I sat and observed for three hours – the noise and the chatter rose, people rushed around as platforms changes were displayed and pages for passengers to begin loading so trains could rush out to make other missed connections further down the line. Then finally the crowd diminished and disappeared and soon it was down to the train to Miami and the Piedmont south to North Carolina and then silence…

Waiting for my Boston train, I relished the lack of verbal assault. Then my eye caught sight of a blur behind a bank of seats. First I dismissed it as a trick of light from all the electronic billboards that constantly moved reminding us of all the things we could not live without.  But there is was again, following the route for trash cans which unfortunately had just been emptied – a mouse. It was probably emboldened now that so many feet were out of the way, to ‘hoover’ its way around.

My eyes followed the mouse as it entered a trash can which from my side looked like it was totally enclosed. Wondering how she had entered, I circled the can and found there was a gap in the door where the lock was placed – just wide enough so the mouse could push her way in. Sitting down again, I watched as she circled the inside of the can several time, and I was concerned that though she could push her way in she might not be able to get out. So I folded a napkin, and quickly stuffed it into the gap so that she would have no trouble getting back out.

As I sat back down again, I looked around to see if anyone had who seen me? Would a security guard tap me on the shoulder? After all, I was sitting in the D.C. train station at 10:00 p.m.  But that concern all vanished when I saw her make her way across the waiting room on an unknown mission.  A mouse! A saved mouse! What is the world coming to?

When The Story Teller Is Silenced

Every family has that one person who remembers and shares the family tales. Each telling and re-telling makes the story deepen and grow with such richness. These stories identifies and sets your family apart from others and glues you together.

Today my brother and I spoke with our older brother via phone. And as we spoke together, I realized that this brother who struggled with his words and concepts, the story teller of our family, would no longer be able to regale us with the myths and legends of our family.

This issue of Alzheimer’s disease not only draws lines between the person and his loved ones, but will also damage the tender membrane of memories that wove  our fabric, each thread supporting and joining us together. The beautifully and artfully rendering of this collection of memories will cease to be heard when the story teller is silenced.



This is the beginning – always a good idea to wait until February to begin again. Though the calendar says that our new year begins Jan. 1st, it seems to me that the Celtic concept of Imbolc is really a better place to start.  Our world is poised to bring forth newness, the bulbs are stirring below the ground, the trees and bushes are beginning to form buds of green leaves, and everywhere there is unrest as we sense that new life is about to spring forth.