My brain on fire

Bold! Courageous! Creative! Articulate! Passionate! Artistic! Energetic!

Those are just a few of the things I felt in hypomania the first few months of this year. But even that list seems too tame. I felt all of that and even more. I could do anything! I heard God talking to me constantly and saw miracles by the hour! I was on fire with ideas and actions! The fire burned brightly day and night. Even at night I would wake up remembering vivid dreams. Everything, every word, seemed to have importance. Continue reading

On a pilgrimage, during Covid-19

I don’t really have a bucket list. If I did though, one of the items at the top would be walking the Camino de Santiago, the ancient pilgrimage route that runs through Northern Spain. I have always dreamed of taking a month off to walk the route and perhaps discover what draws people from around the world to make the journey every year. I’m getting my chance now to do the Camino, only this one is virtual. It’s not the same as going to Spain by any stretch of the imagination, but during this Covid time it’s the closest I can get. Continue reading

Do I really have to leave lockdown? Confessions of an introvert

There’s a scene in Stir Crazy, the 1980 comedy about two men running from the law, when Gene Wilder’s introspective character is about to be let out of solitary confinement.

“One more day, one more day,” he says to the guard in front of him. “I was just beginning to get into myself.” Continue reading

Adventures in dog obedience training with Romeo and Sara: Part 2

Romeo’s fluffy white beard is matted with clumps of sticky peanut butter and his breath smells of Pupperoni dog treats. As soon as Sara leaves, he runs to his water bowl in the kitchen and drains it. Then he lays down in his spot in the living room for a nap. He’s just finished an hour-long session of dog obedience training. Continue reading

Training the third child

This was our second week of dog obedience training. I say “our” because it’s training both for Romeo and me. It’s still early in this process, but I am hopeful that I can teach Romeo—not exactly an old dog at age 7, but not a young one either—new tricks. Continue reading

A summertime book drought

It’s summer, the ideal time for reading a good book and I’m in a book drought. If you enjoy reading, you know what I mean. You just can’t seem to find a compelling book, no matter how hard you try, and your whole world seems gray. Continue reading

Sorting out my messy thoughts on the decluttering craze

A few years ago Marie Kondo’s book “The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up” became a huge hit, inspiring readers around the world to simplify and declutter their homes. Her mantra is “spark joy”— she urges people to purge their possessions and keep only those things which give them joy. Continue reading

Sam’s story, Part 3

In many ways Sam Genirberg has the model American immigrant story. He came to the U.S. in 1948 with $50, earned $1.25 an hour at his first job in a warehouse and eventually started several successful businesses. He ran Moo’s, a popular ice cream parlor in Richmond, and then launched a real estate business, which he still manages today. Continue reading

Hitting a deer and other close encounters with the wild

Maybe, just maybe we wouldn’t have hit the deer if I hadn’t showed my husband the cool old hotel where I sometimes stay in Santa Rosa. If not for that 2-minute detour on our way home we may not have collided with the buck a half-hour later at 70 mph on the freeway.

The deer came out of nowhere. We were talking one minute, in the quiet bubble of my husband’s sleek grey Subaru. Then suddenly we saw the deer’s head, topped by impressive antlers, off to one side of our windshield. Our eyes locked for a split second. What was he doing there in the fast lane of the freeway? He was probably thinking the same thing as us.

The impact was swift. A loud couple of thuds reverberated against the front and side of the car as the deer’s body smashed against us. My husband instinctively veered to the right and pulled over to the shoulder of the highway. Fortunately, no other cars were around us at 10 pm. that night.

The car was badly damaged. Later our insurance would pay $10,000 to repair it. The deer didn’t survive. A highway patrol officer who pulled over told us he was lying in the median. We were practically in tears. “If I hadn’t showed you the hotel…” I said. “Or if we hadn’t spent five minutes talking in the car before we left…” We had just killed a living, breathing being.

On the way home we asked the tow truck driver if he sees many accidents like this. Yes, he said. Deers are nocturnal. I felt like I had just woken up from a dream, sitting high up in the middle seat of the tow truck between my husband and the driver.

I asked the driver about himself, just to get my mind off the deer. “Where are you from?” He told me he was from Petaluma and had recently returned from a tour of duty in Iraq. “Thank you for your service,” my husband said. But the driver said nothing and kept talking. Living in the Bay Area was getting too expensive, he said. He planned to get a job as a guard at a correctional facility somewhere up north.

The driver didn’t have to, but he towed our car all the way home to Berkeley. “It’s a quiet night,” he said.


When I was a child, I had recurring dreams of entering the “deer cave” down the hill from our house. My brother and I had discovered that the deer had a sort of cave under a bunch of trees and bushes at the bottom of our property. The cave was always dark even when it was sunny and bright outside. You could tell the deer slept there by the matted circles of grass on the ground. I only looked in once and I was afraid to get near it again.

In my dream I would be playing in the yard and then get closer and closer to the cave. I would peer inside and all kinds of fearful things would be waiting for me. Not just deer, but other things I can’t now remember. I would wake up in a sweat. My fear wasn’t irrational. Once a deer had kicked my dog in the face and knocked two teeth out. I had a respect for these silent, mysterious creatures that roamed the hills.


Running into the deer south of Santa Rosa wasn’t the first time I’ve hit a deer. When I was 19 years old I was driving to my family’s house when a deer suddenly jumped out of the bushes on top of my car. He smashed the windshield, got stuck in the ski rack for a moment, twisting the metal, and then ran off into a neighbor’s yard. In a daze, I drove the next block home, tiny shards of glass speckling my face. When my mom came out to say hi, she gasped at the sight.

I had been returning from a pre-marital counseling session with my pastor and my soon-to-be husband. I have no recall of anything we talked about in that meeting or really any other meeting we had, but I’ll always remember the deer. I wondered if the deer had been OK. I was glad for the safety glass on my car. Every time I saw the twisted ski rack on top of the car I remembered the collision I had with something wild.


Some years ago a friend asked me if I had a spirit animal. I had never heard of this and didn’t even know what it meant, but I immediately responded: a deer. Maybe I am even a little like a deer. I tend to be quiet, an observer. I like to wander around hills. At night my brain is busy. I often remember my dreams and ruminate on them for days afterward.

Actually, my friend later explained, a spirit animal is more like a guide. I’ve thought about this a lot over the years. In every encounter, deer—seemingly benign and gentle—have jolted me awake in some way. That time on the highway with my husband renewed our thankfulness for life, even as we grieved for the deer. When I ran into the deer when I was 19 it created a bonding moment with my mom. I could have walked down the aisle with a face full of scars but I didn’t.

Even my current battle with the urban deer in my neighborhood gives me some sense of adventure. In May I started spraying a concoction of garlic, cayenne pepper, eggs and water on the agapantha flowers in my front yard. These plants are supposed to be deer repellent, but the hungry deer around here eat them anyway. As soon as fat buds form at the end of each long stalk each spring, the deer nibble them off. I haven’t seen them bloom into big purple flowers for at least five years.

This year I decided to fight back and the spray worked. I felt slightly bad I ruined these plants for the deer but I also felt a little excited each morning when I found the buds still intact. Now all of the agapanthas are in full, bountiful bloom.

I haven’t seen any deer in my neighborhood for a while but two nights ago my son saw three coyotes in our yard. That both intrigued and worried me. They must be following the deer who come down from the hills. I won’t let my little dog out at night anymore.

We think we live in a controlled, tame environment, but nature—wild, fighting to survive, beautiful and fearsome—is just outside our door. How we react to these messengers from another world can teach us a lot about ourselves.

Surviving my son’s first year in college

My oldest son is coming home tomorrow. It’s hard to believe he’s finished his first year in college. When he left last August to enroll in school on the opposite side of the country I really didn’t know what to expect. How would I cope without my first-born? What would family life look like with only one child at home? How would he do? I’ve learned a lot in this past year. Mostly, I’ve realized my past 18 years of parenting has taught me a valuable lesson: take everything a day at a time and be ready for lots of adjustments.

The first weeks after Miguel left, what I most missed was his companionship. He’s the type of kid who would actually ask me, when he came home, “How was your day Mom?” He really meant it and would listen attentively. At meal time, we would occasionally cook together, using recipes he found on the internet. Over the years, he found many great recipes that became staples on our table. We also watched a lot of cooking shows, our favorites being “Diners, Dives and Drive-ins” and “Chopped.”

Of course, living with a teenager isn’t complete bliss and there were a few things I didn’t miss much about his being gone. I didn’t miss his staying out late and worrying about where he was or why he hadn’t texted us. I didn’t miss his laundry or piles of stuff. And I didn’t miss some of the difficult decisions, like whether to allow him to have a party at the house.

The first couple of months I fretted about how best to communicate. How often should I text or call? So many things reminded me of him. A song he used in one of his videos came on the radio and I thought about him. I found a great new Chinese chicken salad recipe by Bobbie Flay and I wanted to tell him. I read that James Patterson, an author he had read, was canceling his book about Stephen King, and I thought he might be interested. I realized though, that I needed to give Miguel his space and let him settle into his new life. Fortunately, It didn’t take us long to fall into a nice routine. Sometime in October, he began to call me a couple of times a week when he was walking back from his girlfriend’s dorm. I was happy with the arrangement and the best part was that it was his idea.

There were some difficult milestones the first few months—my birthday, his brother’s birthday. He had never missed our birthdays before. The saving grace was that we had an exchange student living with us during that time and having an enthusiastic, eager guest made those celebrations manageable. I could forget that Miguel was missing—but just temporarily. As soon as I arrived home from those dinners I looked in at Miguel’s room and his perfectly made bed and realized he was really gone. I felt a sadness remembering the late night banter we used to have and his insistence that I tuck him in even as he towered over me.

The good thing about parenting is that change usually happens gradually. Miguel had begun claiming his independence his last two years of high school, spending more and more time out of the house with friends. During his senior year we got a taste of college life as he often ate dinner with his friends’ families and took off on the weekend for day-long hikes. I probably mourned more for his absence that year than this year, truth be told. Then I had the expectation he might be around the house more, but this year I knew he wouldn’t be coming home.

Miguel adjusted well to college life. I’d like to think this was a result of good parenting. But I think this was only part of his success. It certainly helped that he had always felt supported, loved and encouraged—and occasionally disciplined—at home. But being naturally outgoing was probably a key factor. He made a lot of friends and tried new activities, like writing for the school paper. Certainly, he had his share of luck. He was paired with easygoing, likable roommates. He was blessed with good health all year and a caring girlfriend. All this made his absence easier.

It’s funny how as parents, our targets change rapidly. Last year, we were so focused on sending off our son. It seemed so final. Would this be the end of our parenting years? The answer is a decisive no. Now that this milestone is behind us, I realize parenting never ends. Miguel will be home for the summer. He’ll want our help as he looks for his own apartment next fall. Next year will bring a whole new set of challenges as he gets deeper into his major, starts thinking about internships, and copes with the fact his girlfriend may be studying abroad.

I don’t think I’ll ever truly adjust to Miguel’s absence. My own mother says she still misses my brother and I. The silver lining is that I get to see him grow, develop new interests and navigate the world. In college he’s developed a taste for NPR podcasts and books and that’s opened up new conversations between us. He has a passion for his classes and it’s exciting to hear him talk about them.

At his core, Miguel hasn’t changed. This was what I was most worried about—that somehow his essence would change. This summer, what I’m most looking forward to is hearing that simple, caring question: “How was your day Mom?”