social studies

Fairies once lived at our house. My daughter would see them late at night, flitting in and out of the little straw house that dangled from her swing-arm lamp. She also discovered them in the herb garden, where she prepared comfortable lodgings among the mint and lemon balm.

It’s been a few years now since the last fairy winged her way to an undisclosed location, as inevitably happens when little girls grow up.

But we’re luckier than most. My daughter may have outgrown her friends in the fairy world, but she hasn’t lost her sense of magic or her ability to find enchantment in the ordinary. And I hope she never will.

Magic, it seems to me, is one of the great untapped solaces of adult life. We don’t believe in it, so we fail to see it manifested in the world around us. Like the silver bell that stops tinkling by the end of “The Polar Express,” the magic of everyday life ceases to exist once Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy are consigned to the dusty attic of early childhood.

It took motherhood for me to once again connect with the world of possibilities unproven by the scientific method or evidence that could pass muster in a court of law.

It was so joyful to get swept up in a little girl’s excitement over receiving a note from Santa’s elf or a little boy’s desire to set off in search of the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Because they could embrace the magical, I learned to do it, too. I started to see magic in the way shoots poke through the frozen ground, in the power of a work of art and in a midsummer night’s moon.

As a family, we learned to look very closely at the world around us — the smallest bugs, the smoothest rocks, the most glorious blooms — and found they inspired a most incredible sense of wonderment, like the handful of days in every life that are absolutely golden.

Magic speaks to something in the human animal that no amount of education or maturity need overcome. That’s a blessing, because those who can see the magic in daily life will also find it easier to embrace the loftier concepts of grace and faith.

If  “faith is the assurance of things hoped for and the conviction of things not seen,” how much distance really is there between the magical and the miraculous? Between elves and angels? In either case, an open and believing heart is essential.

God works in mysterious ways. A rainbow can be sunlight refracted through raindrops — or it can be a benediction. Reflected light from passing cars can be an intrusion in a darkened bedroom — or it can be fairies winging their way home.

“We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing,” said George Bernard Shaw.

If magic is child’s play, perhaps we should take care never to relinquish it.

Thank you, Comcast, for your brilliant upgrade to my email service.

What was once a minor irritation — sign-offs without warning, the need to bounce back and forth to the home page repeatedly in an attempt to sign back in — has become a one-way trip to the the looney bin.

Not only am I required to take four steps to sign into my email account — home page, sign-in page, home page, inbox — but I can now only access one mailbox at a time. To see my other mailboxes (i.e. the ones I use to conduct various aspects of my business), I must sign out and sign back in just to see if there is new mail in the box. Continue reading Customer disservice

My brother works in the Chicago office of a New York financial services firm, one of several that have received funds from the Big Bailout, a.k.a the Troubled Assets Recovery Program.

For months he’s been increasingly downbeat about the nation’s economic outlook and about his job in asset management, the decisions for which have been largely taken out of his hands and reassigned to some muckety-muck in New York.

So when I heard he was up for a job review, I held my breath. With heads rolling all over the country, his job security didn’t sound all that great. I frankly expected the worst. Continue reading Of bailouts and bonuses

A recent Jim Sollisch column in the Wall Street Journal drolly suggests HGTV bears responsibility for the housing crisis by making dual bathroom sinks, updated kitchens and walk-in closets appear so necessary to happy home ownership that there are few among us who would deign to inhabit a lesser house.

Suddenly no one but the most slovenly and unambitious were satisfied with their houses. It didn’t matter if you lived in an apartment or a gated community, one episode of “House Hunters” or “What’s My House Worth?” and you were convinced you needed more. More square feet. More granite. More stainless steel appliances. More landscaping. More media rooms. More style. You deserved it.

I’ve been an apologetic HGTV junkie for years, despite my frustration at watching 20-somethings embark on their first house search with a list of expectations and requirements most people twice their age have long since learned to live without.  And comfortably. Continue reading Dream house

“There is life and there is book club.”

That’s how a friend sums up the connection that exists between woman who meet once a month to share their thoughts on literature and much, much more.

There is daily existence, with its constant press of family, friends, work and responsibilities, and there is that single evening of conviviality shared month after month, year after year by women who may not socialize at all in their day-to-day lives.

If it isn’t exactly a text-book definition of friendship that binds book club members, it’s something equally valuable and just as strong. Continue reading Life with books

Perhaps as a testament to how much racial prejudice has subsided in this country, I had to remind myself that it was a black man taking the oath as president yesterday.

Like many Americans, I looked at Barack Obama and saw a smart, charismatic leader. I saw his wife and daughters and admired their beauty and confidence.  That their skin color is different than mine seemed to barely register in the pomp and precision of the day.

This isn’t to detract from the satisfaction black Americans must feel to see one of their own sons finally installed as leader of the free world.  Rather, it’s to underscore the subtle change that has taken place  in the last generation. Continue reading Color blind