Happy Hanumas? Happy Chrismakah? Merry Chanukah? The winter holidays are fast approaching. It's time for non-celebrants of Christmas to read yourselves for the onslaught of seasonal niceties from store clerks and acquaintances.
As a kid, Shabbat meant brisket. I loved that. Every once in a while, my mother would get inspired and feel the need to… cook? No, she always cooked in those days. It wasn't until many years later that dinner was more likely to be ordered than made.
Many Baby Boomers remember listening to the sounds of tiles clicking on their mother’s game tables and smelling the smoke wafting from their cigarettes. Usually a lovely lunch or snack was served by the hostess and the games went on for hours. This was the social world of Post WWII housewives.
We took advantage of our empty nest status to take a week-long trip to Spain this month, the first time in almost 20 years that we could travel at a time when schools weren’t on vacation.
A few weeks ago I attended a local event featuring Joseph Goldstein, the world-renowned Buddhist teacher and author who was here in Brattleboro to help the Vermont Insight Meditation Center celebrate its fifth anniversary. I enjoyed the gathering immensely and was energized by seeing so many bri