They come and they go - the murdered and the murderers. They fill the front page for a day or two. They lead the nightly news. And then they disappear.
The next day brings different faces, but the same story, the same tragedies.
You think, at the time, I will remember this one. I will remember Kimberly Ray Harbor and Charles Serjeant and Melissa Benoit and Robyn Dabrowski for the rest of my life.
Read MorePeople lie. This is fact. You lie. I lie. We all lie.
"Thank you very much," we might say to a rude young woman who begrudgingly slices us a half-pound of white American cheese, wraps it in waxed paper and thrusts it at us, all the while huffing and puffing as if we had asked her to change a flat tire in the middle of a highway in the middle of a storm.
Read MorePeople seldom mean these things. They don't see the harm in them. They are just words, expressions; in some cases, traditions.
For example: Once upon a time on the Massachusetts Turnpike, the little Pilgrim, which is embossed on Turnpike signs, had an arrow going through its hat. It wasn't until American Indians objected - as well they should have - that thepeople who approved the sign actually saw how demeaning and how stereotypical this image was.
Read MoreI wish I had circled the number of times I read the word "young" in last week's newspapers. It, or a close variation, was in every story mentioning Bill Clinton's first address before a joint session of Congress.
The "youthful president" said this. His "youthful enthusiasm" meant that. Reporters wrote about a "younger generation." There was even mention of Clinton's "youthful vitality."
Read MoreI expected him to be larger, a Paul Bunyan in clericals, because a man of average height and build couldn't carry the burdens he carries.
I expected him to shimmer, like a glossy photo of a saint, because of the things I carry.
But there he was, a latter-day Pat O'Brien in a white golf sweater, strolling around the sprawling grounds of his church before Mass on a flawless September Sunday, looking remarkably calm and untroubled as he greeted each of his parishioners by name.
Read MoreMy daughter calls these days "The Februaries," an apt word for the dead-of-winter mood that is heavy, like snow; that presses hard on hearts, that is like ice on a roof, an unnecessary burden.
The Februaries - a time of restlessness and melancholy and longing; a month to be to endured, not enjoyed. Unless you ski, or skate. Unless you vacation in Colorado, or New Hampshire, or Vermont. (It's beautiful up here, a friend says, calling from a ski lodge. It's been snowing for 24 hours.) Or unless you escape to somewhere warm, where February isn't. ("You should come to Florida, Mom," my son says.)
Read MoreCat made it sound quite aboveboard. Purely educational. AIDS Awareness Trading Cards, featuring people with AIDS, hotline numbers, plus a condom instead of bubble gum in each package, she explained long distance from Eclipse Comics in Forestville, Calif., were designed to educate people and to help stop AIDS.
Cat edited these cards, and she's proud of them. There are 110 in all and they sell for just 99 cents for a pack of 12. They don't just feature people who've died of AIDS. There are AIDS Facts cards, and AIDS Myths cards, and cards showing the Demographics of AIDS, the effect of AIDS on the world, descriptions of other sexually transmitted diseases such as syphilis and herpes, as well as the AIDS hotline numbers for 25 major U.S. cities.
They are not, as you can see, kid's play.
Read MoreI always get the story wrong. No matter how many times I hear it I confuse the details. Was he wearing the sweater with the reindeer the night they met? Or was she? Was it September or October 1947 or 1948?
It was Sept. 5, 1947. He was wearing the reindeer sweater. She was wearing a red Sheltie Mist sweater, white bucks and a camel-hair skirt that swirled every time she swayed. I know because I can see her legs, long and shapely. Incredible, unforgettable legs. That's what Joe said the first time he told me the story and that's what he always says, every time he relates it.
"She had great legs" and "she was absolutely beautiful."
Read MoreIt's all about money. That's what it has been about from day one - money saved, money earned, money pocketed by corporate executives, money reaped to make shareholders smile.
Dollar signs filled the headlines last week.
Read MoreWhen it arrived in the mail, I dismissed it as another of those self-help books that promises more than it delivers. Nice cover, eye-grabbing title - "1001 Ways To Be Romantic" - but inevitably just a rehash of those tacky, smarmy suggestions that appear in Cosmo once a year.
My 21-year-old daughter set me straight.
Read MoreYou would think it was this great, magnanimous thing. "Family leave" - it has the ring of a papal dispensation. It has the sound of charity.
But it is neither. The much-debated bill finally working its way through Congress is crumbs from the table. It's much ado about nothing. Workers, primarily women, if the great and glorious Senate approves and the president signs, will be entitled to take off 12 whole weeks from work without pay to stay home and care for their infants.
Read MoreIt doesn't do any good to scream at someone and tell him he's wrong. Yell, and a wall gets built. Deride, and it's the same thing. You have to be reasonable, understanding and incredibly patient if you ever intend to enlighten a person and lead him to change his mind.
It would, therefore, be stupid and counterproductive for me to make any blanket negative statement about heterosexual men.
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