Until very recently men and women inhabited very separate spheres. There was always interconnection, passion, love. But men and women didn't hang out at the end of the day and chat about what their day was like at the office.
My husband, Jim, converted to Judaism just before our wedding.
They sang the words in unison, yet somehow created a web of sounds with their voices. It was like hearing a piece of fabric woven with all the colors of a rainbow. I did not know that such beauty could be formed by the human mouth. I had never heard harmony before.
I could not get my fill of looking. There should be a song for women to sing at this moment or a prayer to recite. But perhaps there is none because there are no words strong enough to name that moment.
One of his tears fell in my mouth, where it became a blue sapphire, source of strength, source of strength and eternal hope.
I moved my arms through the water, feeling them float on the surface, watching the waves and wake that followed my gesture. Here was magic, I thought. Here was something holy.
I am so honored to be the vessel into which you pour this story of pain and strength.
If you want to understand any woman, you must first ask about her mother and then listen carefully.
Wherever you walk, I go with you. Selah.
The story it told was unremarkable: a tale of love found and lost- the oldest story in the world. The only story.
In Egypt, I loved the perfume of the lotus. A flower would bloom in the pool at dawn, filling the entire garden with a blue musk so powerful it seemed that even the fish and ducks would swoon. By night, the flower might wither but the perfume lasted. Fainter and fainter, but never quite gone. Even many days later, the lotus remained in the garden. Months would pass and a bee would alight near the spot where the lotus had blossomed, and its essence was released again, momentary but undeniable.
My heart is a ladle of sweet water brimming over.
If you want to understand any woman you must first ask about her mother and then listen carefully. Stories about food show a strong connection. Wistful silences demonstrate unfinished business. The more a daughter knows about the details of her mother's life - without flinching or whining - the stronger the daughter.
One of my favorite poets, Neruda, writes close to the bone. Though I know only a little Spanish, I like to compare the Spanish and English lines and see how the translator worked.
Shakespeare in Love... such smart writing of an alternative view of history, and such beautiful acting. Like most Americans, I'm a sucker for the accent.
The more I do bookstores, the more people come up to me from church groups. I spoke at Pittsburg State College and had 2 or 3 ministers and book groups from a couple of churches.
It was one of those perfect fall days when the air is cool enough to wake you up but the sun is also kissing your face.
I pray I die before they day comes when I do not know if my sons are infants or grandfathers.
The real Mary Poppins got lost when Hollywood turned her into a cream puff.
There's something almost adolescent about Whitman's paean to everything that was and remains good about America.
As a journalist I'm comfortable doing library research, and I did a lot! I had a fellowship at Radcliff for a year which gave me access to the Harvard system.
It is terrible how much has been forgotten, which is why, I suppose, remembering seems a holy thing.
I never wanted Mary Poppins to be my nanny. I wanted to be her when I grew up.
My early childhood was spent in Newark, New Jersey, but my family moved to Denver when I was 12.
I lived through a classic publishing story. My editor was fired a month before the book came out. The editor who took it over already had a full plate. It was never advertised. We didn't get reviewed in any major outlets.
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