Call Me Crazy

I wrote back to the woman whose boyfriend is cheating on her. It took me half the night to think up a good answer. I'll use her story as the basis for this week's ezine, so if you'd like to read it, and you haven't already signed up, go for it.


The issue should go out Thursday, I think, because I'm going to New York to see Mom again tomorrow. I won't see her this weekend because it's Child Two's birthday, and you know how that goes. I really don't like to go too long without seeing Mom at this point because we never know when she's going to step over to the other side.

The doctor's predict it will be by summer's end. Last weekend, my sister didn't give her that long. But my mother has gotten through bad patches over the past few months, so you never know.

Tonight V. and I are going downtown to the Planning and Zoning Committee meeting to voice our opposition to the erection of a 171-unit residential complex slated to be plopped just outside Huntington Center, which is the heart of this charming New England town (picture old churches and a cemetery that pre-dates the Revolution). The cars destined to result from the proposed complex would decimate it.

Speaking of cars, I look forward to the day when we can do without them (as Lewis Black once shrieked, "It's 2005! Why can't we teleport?") Cars seem a bit behind the times, if you ask me.

How lovely it would be if more of us actually used the streets for walking, instead of driving, and said hello to one another, rather than lean on our horns and beat each other to the traffic light. Driving is antisocial.

And, if more of us walked, fewer of us would need to drive to the gym.