The accomplishment of our national Election last week compelled me to think deeper about what had happened. We eventually learn that rarely do we understand something consequential happening while it is happening. It is only afterwards that we may begin to understand – Then they said to each other, ‘Did not our hearts burn within us as he talked to us on the road and explained the scriptures to us?’ - if we have trained ourselves in the discipline of recollection.  Read More

Yesterday, Saturday afternoon, I went with three friends to a performance by the Oregon Repertory Singers. One of our four is a Tenor in that group. After the concert, we four went to an Italian dinner, where we talked about what we had heard and felt, which interestingly (and I think significantly) ended up becoming a conversation about the nature of Heaven. For some reason, as I looked out from my seat toward Tom the Tenor standing at the center of the top row, I remembered a poignant poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906) called “Sympathy”, whose last stanza reads: I know why the caged bird sings, ah me, When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,— When he beats his bars and he would be free; It is not a carol of joy or glee, But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core, But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings— I know why the caged bird sings  Read More

I have never understood why the season of Autumn has had a particular power to access me. I don’t mean that I merely like Autumn; I mean that in some way I belong to Autumn. If there is any poetry in my soul it is most accessible to me in Autumn. Do you have a season that affects you in a similar way? Do you know why it does?  Read More

A few days from now, on August 28th, it will be my mom’s birthday, who if she had not gone among our Ancestors in November 2009 would have beheld over ninety candles blazing on the surface of a necessarily large cake. August 28th is also the annual feast day of St. Augustine (354-430 CE) , a saint who was the heavenly patron of my home church in Spokane when I was a boy (1954 to 1972). My mother was born on that saint’s annual feast day; my “mother” church was looked after by St. Augustine. What left the greatest impression on me as a boy in that church was its stained glass windows filled with saints, up at whom I gazed as a boy when, often, my attention wandered from what I was supposed to attend to happening up there in the pulpit or at the altar.   Read More

If you were to ask anyone who knows me even remotely well what my favorite thing is, they would undoubtedly say: the beach.  There is nowhere I feel more spiritually at home than at the beach, and I admit that I love the sun, sand, and sea with a near fanatical zeal.  My husband and children can attest that anytime we have a few...  Read More

This past week, I went to the home of a man whom I had never met, except through the report of him in the words, and in the expressive face, of a friend who admires him. I was told that the man has been significantly, and irreversibly, disabled for five years by the breakdown of several essential systems in his body. The friend had asked me, “Could you come and visit with him? I know that you will know what to do.” (Words to this effect.) I said, “Of course I will come. When?” And so it was arranged. I went.  Read More

Wayside shrine in Carinthia, Austria The Ludwig family garden will not be appearing on the cover of Sunset magazine anytime soon.  My husband and I, both natives of asphalt-laden urban areas, did not seem to inherit the gene that enables one to create a neat, polished, and orderly garden.  Instead, our front yard is a mix of sprawling, unpruned rose bushes, random patches of wildflowers such as da...  Read More

I want to recount a conversation that I had this week. He and I found ourselves, at one point in our conversation, reflecting on the relentless calamities happening inside a formerly distinguished Institution. We had been noticing too many evidences of its lostness, its progressive self-destruction under bleakly vague leadership. when people lose hope.  Read More

My husband, Matt, is a “go-go-go” type of guy. His German heritage has instilled in him a tireless work ethic, and he is eternally a busy bee: always puttering around the house, working on little projects, fixing things, and just generally getting stuff done. It is a Herculean task to get the man to sit down. As a couple we are a true example of the adage that “opposites attract” because my family, (all Italian), are experts in the art of lounging. I am constantly urging Matt to take it easy, rest a little, and leave things till later, but alas, relaxation is not in his repertoire.   Read More

A dear and fifty-year friend of mine died in March, on the 14th day, on the birthday of Albert Einstein (1879-1955). The latter wrote wisely such words as: “Imagination is the highest form of research.” And “The only thing that interferes with my learning is my education.” And “If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales. If you want them to be more intelligent … read them more fairy tales."  Read More

Wayside shrine in Mertert, Luxembourg I must confess to having, like many folks, a secret favorite “guilty pleasure” TV show. Granted, it is a lowbrow show that contributes nothing whatsoever to my intellectual development, but I enjoy it for its sheer entertainment value, even though I would be mortified to ever publicly admit to being a fan (which, ironically, is exactly what I am about to do).T...  Read More

Mary Magdalene on Christ’s Tomb (circa 1900) by Giuseppe CaliExhibited by the Malta Art Association. In this year’s Lenten Meditations, we have contemplated together many aspects of suffering:  what it is and isn’t, what we can do with it, what it calls out in us.  We are beginning to get a sense that, when we have suffered something profound, it inevitably changes us.  Suffering causes us to bec...  Read More