Woody Allen once said: “It’s not the idea of death that bothers me. It’s the hours.” I feel that way about colonoscopies.
Last night, I attended a wedding. After sixteen years together, a lovely couple at my church got married.
This past week, I took a professional development workshop on first aid for mental health, a program that originated in Australia and is now gaining widespread adoption in the states. It’s designed to teach skills in recognizing and responding to folks who may be in the early-stages of a mental health crisis
As I write this, it’s Mother’s Day. I’ve been thinking a lot about the experience of being a mom. Pre-children, I imagined being a mom was pretty much a temporary gig.
President Obama had barely taken the oath of office when Senator Mitch McConnell, one of the folks who makes me profoundly embarrassed to admit I live in Kentucky, announced his primary goal was to limit Obama to one term in office. He didn’t succeed, but he and his Republican cronies became the “party of No”…
I once sat in a communications lecture in which the professor announced, “There’s no such thing as altruism.” I raised my hand.
My office mate’s eyes light up when he begins talking about a new approach he’s just tried with his college students that worked really well. He clearly loves what he does, and he’s endlessly curious about how he can do his job even better.
I’ve always been suspicious of those couples who have that parent-child thing going on. It makes me nervous
My husband claims that people take one look at me and start spilling their life stories. To be honest, it’s kind of true. I think folks can tell I’m genuinely interested. Sometimes