Both Oksana, who is in her twenties, and I, in my late sixties, grew up in Hashomer Hatzair, a worldwide Jewish socialist youth movement which began in Poland one hundred and ten years ago.
I am about to tell you a difficult story. Stay with me, please. There’s a reason I’m sharing it.
In the few months that I’ve been a volunteer at the Lawrence Memorial Library, I’ve realized that many of my activities require using tape: Scotch tape, binding tape, that wide tape I call “gorilla tape” because it’s relentless (once in place, it cannot b … (read more)
I think about trauma a lot, because I earn my living working with people’s bodies, and the body is where unresolved trauma lives.
Grandpa was a small, serious man who stood straight and took pride in having become a modern American.
When acting on an impulse, I usually do not know why I am doing it. My guidance tells me what I need to do but not how or why.
I traveled to Washington, D.C., last year. When I arrived with my little vacation suitcase and emerged from the Metro, I encountered a sight which took my breath away.
Early spring almost always ushers me into a spirit of possibility.
The first time I saw a Van Gogh in person I was 15.
“Can anybody live in Vermont?” asked the two young boys who had been visiting us for a couple of summers in the 1980s.
We are in the midst of a war on education. Not against all learning, but certainly against any lessons about racial injustice.
Our neighbors’ challenges can be invisible. Like the folks who show up at Have-a-Heart Food Shelf each month.
Most people show up to yoga class for gentle movement, deep breathing, and stress reduction, but if they come to my classes they get yoga philosophy too.
Sugaring is a Vermont tradition. Now it’s part of a tradition at Bristol Elementary School as well.
It’s not that Mr. Fossil Fuels hasn’t provided me with a comfortable and delightful life; he has.
