Friday, June 26, 2020


How amazing it is to write my ancestors' story. How amazing to bring my great grandfather, and his mother, into the


A sunny Friday morning. Crystal clear blue air. A slight cooling breeze. Flowers everywhere.

Somehow, writing this history is making me see time in a new way. I feel time whirling and whirling around me. I go back into family history, and then I zoom forward and think about my darling grandchildren.

Ronen and Dani are 6 years and 10 months respectively. God willing, they will live into the 22nd century. And they will carry me with them. I've got goosebumps.

I feel the past and the future colliding into the present. I keep stopping in the PRESENT MOMENT AND FEELING THE AWE and RICHNESS OF THE NOW!

Pasquale ORZO, my great grandfather on my father's side, was born out of wedlock to Filomena Scrivano (Pera) on November 3, 1870 in the southern boot of Italy in a little town called Paola.

Exactly 100 years later, on November 3, 1970, I was a freshman at Brown University. This realization kind of stuns me. Why? Because

a CENTURY just COLLAPSES INTO ITSELF. So much happened in a hundred years.


Two days ago, I laid out all of my journals -- some on the study floor, some downstairs in the basement. I found the oldest journal, dated on my birthday,

November 29, in 1971.

Almost 49 years ago. I was talking about the NOW even then.

Somehow all that time has passed. Half a century.

When you are 19, as I was then, the thought of 1870, was ancient history. One hundred years ago would have seemed like an eternity!

But today, in this older body, at age 67, a century is within my time frame, within my scope.

While retrieving my old journals, I found a photograph in the basement -- four generations.

Taken in October 1986, I'm the lady in pink. In my lap is my oldest, Jocelyn, about to be two. I am pregnant with my second daughter, Lindsay Ann, and I would deliver her within days. Beside me is my dear Grandma Mish, the sweetest lady in the universe. She was 85. When I was suffering from nausea during pregnancy number one, Mish made me ravioli so tender they dissolved in my mouth.

And beside her in the picture is another sweetie, my mom, Dena, or Dee as everybody calls her. She was 60.

And now ten months after her birth on August 6, 2019, baby Dani (named for Dee) is a bundle of energy. And my daughter Jocelyn, calls her


I miss Mish. I miss Dee. But my spiritual therapist Mary assures me that they are still alive. I've got them embedded in my heart along with Dani and Ro and all of my loved ones!

My husband's mother, Abby, thinks Dani looks like my mother.

Is it any wonder that I keep bouncing back and forth in time?

And I'm always coming back into the now,

to the hummingbirds that keep sipping at the feeder,

to the meadow this morning, the beautiful deer, soft and tan in color, wandering in the tall grasses while I was meditating moments ago.

And this painting I did for my sister-in-law Jo, who had open heart surgery in May.

I am so very grateful for all of my family, past and present and future. I'm grateful for writing and painting. I'm not sure why I got so lucky, to have so many blessings, but I humbly say THANKS to the Universe.

I look at all the flowers and the birds and the crystal blue sky and the cool air and I breathe in and out and smile.

And the night sky thrills me too.


Time to do my yoga! And oh by the way, I was doing yoga way back in 1971!

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