Last Tuesday / This Tuesday

77% Weekly Newsletter

Last Tuesday / This Tuesday

Last Tuesday.

I’m sitting in an Adirondack chair, my feet resting on a well-weathered log here in Sisters, Oregon. It’s my family’s annual week-long vacation at the same beautiful house we’ve rented for the past four summers. My favorite spot. Just above the little creek. Most of my worries are 153 miles away. ✧✧✧ This Tuesday. I’m sitting in my office desk chair, a bit flummoxed. Usually I’ve written the newsletter article weeks in advance. Usually. Not this week. I’m looking at a blank screen. ✧✧✧ Last Tuesday. So I’ll be ready when inspiration comes, I bring a blank sketchbook and a pen with me everywhere I go. I sketch what I see. ✧✧✧ This Tuesday. “Are you writing about something that happened in Sisters?” Jane asks from my office doorway. “Trying to. I thought inspiration would hit me last week, but it didn’t. No ideas came to me.” “That’s unusual.” “I know.” “Why don’t you write about that?” “Funny thing,” I say. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.” ✧✧✧ Last Tuesday. I’m proud of the pen-and-ink drawing. I’m especially proud because I know, technically, it’s not very good. It’s good to be proud of not being perfect. ✧✧✧ This Tuesday. The same goes for this article. It’s not great, but it’s sure good enough. Good enough is good enough.  

Annoyance Bingo

Annoyance Bingo.Lose your patience. Win big. ✧✧✧ Game play begins Tuesday, April 21, 2026, at 12:00am PT — First Prize: $100 ✧✧✧ The Origin of Annoyance Bingo. For years, I’ve asked mourners at funerals to track the least compassionate things said in an attempt to comfort them — and send me the best (and worst) examples. The idea: when someone

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Image of a child doing a shoulder ride.

Wastefully

  Episcopal Bishop John Shelby Spong would answer the question “how shall we express love?” with a single word: “Wastefully.”    ✧✧✧   We don’t express love wastefully. A story and then some thinking about why.   ✧✧✧   It’s 2006. I’m in NYC to—among other things—celebrate the fifth birthday of my first niece, Maya.  I wait outside her school

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“I love you” x 3

For reasons a team of psychoanalysts might have been able to crack, my dad couldn’t get the three-word phrase “I love you” to come out of his mouth. I knew he loved us. It’s just he couldn’t say it. I rationalized that I didn’t need to hear those three words, but it hurt anyway. This is the story about how

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77% Weekly Newsletter
77% Weekly Newsletter