A beautiful, warm Sunday in April… 11:00am… birds chirping, sun shining… the kind of day that makes you believe everything is exactly as it should be.
And then—plot twist.
One unlucky (and clearly overconfident) driver decided this peaceful country road was actually the Indy 500… and promptly launched himself nose-first into a muddy ditch.
Now, if you live around here, you know—this isn’t exactly rare. That ditch has seen things.
Within moments, kind-hearted passerby’s pulled over from both directions, and first responders rolled in like clockwork—honestly, impressive. Thankfully, no one was hurt.
But here’s where it gets good.
It took nearly three hours to haul this mud-covered beast out. Three. Hours. I committed. I stayed. I watched the whole saga like it was live theater.
And then… as the tow truck finally lifts the vehicle up…
I recognize it.
Oh yes.
It’s that white truck.
You know the one.
The one with the American flags flying proudly…
The one that cruises by my house multiple times a week—
past the big wall with “Biden” painted across it,
past the roofs on both sides that still say “Kamala” from the last campaign…
…and the same truck where the driver generously shares his thoughts at full volume:
“FK Biden!”
“FK Kamala!”
And there it was—covered head to toe in mud, flags still waving, dignity… slightly less so.
Just goes to show…
Sometimes the road humbles us all.
Baptisia / false Indigo
You stand there,
caught between both worlds
what has fallen away
and what still sings.
And for a moment,
you understand:
Nothing here is truly silent.
Nothing here is wasted.
Thank you to all of you who reached out through calls, messages, texts, and Facebook on my 59th birthday. You made the day truly special for me.
As I reflect on this past year, I recognize how both challenging and deeply rewarding it has been. There is something about closing out a decade of life that brings a certain weight, endings always do. Yet within that, there has been so much growth and clarity.
Much of the beauty of this year has come from each of you—my family, my lifelong friends, and the new connections who have entered my life. This has been a year of seeing more clearly: understanding who I am, honoring what I’ve accomplished, recognizing where to place my energy, and where to gently step away. It has been a time of renewing boundaries, embracing change, and continuing to learn.
The blessings have been abundant—perhaps not because they suddenly appeared, but because I’ve grown enough to truly see them.
Thank you for being part of this day, and more importantly, for being part of my journey.
____
A very special thank you to my husband Ray Emerick for the special birthday weekend ♥️ This beautiful painting is one of his early works, hanging on his mother’s living room wall.
Both of my beautiful grandmothers were Aries: Rose on the left was born on March 25th, and Winifred on the right was born April 3rd. Happy Heavenly Birthday to them both ♥️♥️
My heart aches over the terror attack at Temple Beth El in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan. As an American Jew and Israeli citizen, any act of antisemitism deeply concerns and wounds me. A synagogue—like any house of worship—should always be a place of safety and peace.
Violence against innocent people is never acceptable, and I do not condone terrorism in any form.
Yet my heart cannot stop there.
Reports indicate that the man responsible had recently lost family members—including a niece and nephew—when a rocket struck his home in Lebanon. Nothing justifies harming others, but the human tragedy behind such acts cannot be ignored.
War leaves families shattered. When people lose loved ones, their homes, and their sense of safety, grief can easily twist into rage.
I feel this conflict deeply because my own family history spans both worlds. My maternal grandfather was born in Lebanon. That connection has always reminded me that identity and geography do not divide our humanity as much as we sometimes believe.
When we reduce suffering to only one side of a conflict, we risk losing sight of the larger human tragedy.
War breeds grief. Grief breeds anger. Anger too often becomes violence. And so the cycle continues—generation after generation.
No one truly wins in that cycle.
Perhaps the only way forward is to learn how to mourn every innocent life lost, regardless of nationality, religion, or politics.
Because every family that loses someone they love carries the same unbearable grief.
And until we acknowledge that shared human sorrow, the cycle of retaliation will continue.
Illustration: Albrecht DĂĽrer - Woodblock @Metropolitan Museum of Art.
