I have a grandnephew named Carson who is nine years old and is astoundingly fun to be around. He is enthusiastic and energetic and caring, and his excitement about so many things is infectious. I know I usually only see him once a year, and I'm sure his parents and sisters could try and tell me things about living with Carson that aren't so fun, but I wouldn't listen to them if they tried. Carson is an extraordinary dancer. He's not a classically trained dancer or anything li

Yesterday my niece Jen put a photograph on Facebook that I had taken more than ten years ago of my my sister Kathy and my grandniece Kayla, Jen's daughter. It was taken not long after Kayla had had some surgery that would help, among other things, with some auditory hallucinations she had been having. At one point - right before I snapped the photo - Maurizio and I were having a conversation it Italian. My sister picked up that Kayla was getting confused and explained to her

I'm not entirely sure how, but after the death of my mother I ended up in possession of her wallet. It is of black leather, and filled with the trappings of her life from the period: credit cards (including – my favourite – one from Central Hardware with a drawing of a man who looks a lot like Lyndon Baines Johnson, with the great slogan “From scoops to nuts” written on the back); shopping lists; a driving licence; photographs of my family, my Aunt Mary Kay, and my cousins Sh

I love Holy Saturday. I always find Maundy Thursday and Good Friday so draining – I really get into them and it takes it out of me, I can tell you. But Holy Saturday? It's so peaceful. Holy Saturday of the Lord's Rest: in both the words “holy” and “rest” you have the perfect combination. I love the way that – even though it is supposed to be a sombre day, it seems like the day just doesn't have the strength to sustain that sombreness. It can't help it, can't help but point to

Some years ago I was waiting at a pub in Budapest to meet a friend of mine. I was, as I suppose I am wont to do when sitting alone in a public place, eavesdropping on the conversation - in English – of a group at the table next to me. I couldn't quite follow why, but it seems they had ended up in Budapest by chance and not by design, and would have to spend the entire next day there when they had hoped to be somewhere else. “What will we do for a whole day?” said a woman wit

My sister Kathy was a fantastic cook. She was not a fancy cook – no pretentious things with French-sounding names could be found on her menu, no trendy vegetable artfully placed next to an escalope which is not much bigger than a nickel. (“Kale?!?,” I can almost hear her ask, almost see her furrowed brow, “Haven't we got a second cousin named Kale?”) And she always had a plethora of the most obscure things on hand – they could always be found in her untidy, overflowing cupboa

One of the enjoyable functions of Facebook is the memories section which shows what you posted on that day in past years. Since I traditionally haven't used Facebook much for anything except keeping up with family and friends far away and posting photos of places I want to remember, these snapshots into the past are a nice supplement to my ever-present journal. So I read this morning that eight years ago today - Easter Sunday 2012 - having finished services, I was heading to

Nearly two years ago my friend Sandra came to visit from Rome. Flying through Amsterdam, she picked up some of the famous Dutch tulip bulbs to plant in my garden. I am clearly not possessed of a green thumb, but I was more solicitous of those patches where the bulbs were planted than I was with the rest of the garden. Tulips are beautiful, of course, but these were particularly special because they have a connection to such a dear friend whom I don't see as often as I would l

It seems that each time there is a tragic crisis in the world, the inevitable question arises: "Where is God?" It is, of course, a fair enough question - one would like to think that the benevolent Creator has not just abandoned us - but all too often the answers given are so steeped in a kind of theological-speak that the search for the answer gets lost. And it is a search; those who purport to have all the answers to everything seem to forget that we're in the realm of myst

Some years ago, in preparation to lead a guided reading class, I read through hundreds of letters from both victims and survivors of the Shoah, the Holocaust. The point of the class was to discuss how the interior life of individuals – their connection to the Divine – somehow not only survived during that devastating period, but – in some cases – flourished. So, in addition to writers like Elie Wiesel, Primo Levi, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer I chose some excerpts from letters of

My next door neighbours are a young family with three – or maybe four – small children. (I've never been able to get an accurate headcount.) They haven't lived here very long, and – though we often exchange pleasantries – I have been saying for some time that I need to invite them over and have a proper chat. I've never got around to it and of course now I can't really have a proper chat because of the restrictions under which we are currently living. I must put that on the t

Last night I was interviewed by Phil Daley on BBC Radio Norfolk. I'd done radio and tv interviews before, but never live, so was a little worried that I might slip up and say something stupid that - once I've said it - can't be un-said. Before I went on air the producer said to me "We're going to be live, so no swearing." I'm not ordinarily given over to too many expletives, but the fact that she even mentioned it made me worry that something would slip out. It's like the equ

I'm always trying to find something positive in even the direst of situations (something that I know tends to annoy some folk) and one of the good things about this period is the sense of humour and creativity that is shining through it all. I have made an effort to limit myself on social media and the Internet in general these days as I think – for me, anyway – it's good just to read enough news to keep me informed without the threat of me turning the corner into despondency

When I was six years old I saw Cecil B. DeMille's "The Ten Commandments" for the first time, when it aired on the ABC network in 1973, sometime around Easter. I was completely fascinated by the film, was overwhelmed by its colour and pageantry and the sheer spectacle of it all. I remembered I wanted to change my name to Moses, because when Anne Baxter - decked in her shimmery gowns, golden jewellery, and perfectly straight bangs - purred "Moses, Moses, Moses" I thought it was