Run DMZ

  Both of my daughters moved this month. One to a townhome one town over and the other a mile from her current home. Most people approach moving with dread. There’s the purging and the packing and the physical shuttling of a homes’ worth of contents from one place to another. Nothing ever fits in the new place like it did in the old, and there are always surprises that can make or break the day. The state of disorganization can quickly grate on nerves as you search for places to put everything. And then there are the endless trips to big box stores to replace what broke, went missing or is now needed.   Oh, how I miss such a mess. Since starting this blog, I’ve moved residences only three times (and packed up one place once it was mine). I say only because before then, I’d never lived in the same house more than 5 years—EVER. My dad’s job required frequent moves, as did my husband’s until he retired and we started to stay put for much longer than I expected. I’ve wanted to mo...

Last week a freak storm  dumped up to a foot of snow  on the capitol of Spain. You can be forgiven if this bit of news never landed, given everyone’s preoccupation with another capitol that was under siege around the same time. I was stunned, then horrified and then disgusted by what unfolded last Wednesday in Washington, D.C. I’m still repulsed, but to help break the vicious cycle of ill thoughts swirling in my head, I’m learning how to redirect such negativity to brighter moments—like impromptu snowball fights on the streets of Madrid.   Spaniards came out to enjoy the rare weather Storm Filomena provided, and at various points people packed together snow and playfully hurled it at people nearby. Dozens joined in and as a result, we got to experience (virtually) something that’s been lacking for way too long here in the United States: pure joy. They threw snowballs at strangers in a city plaza and pelted some guy as he skied through a gauntlet of ‘ballers, with pe...