Healing the Wounds of Jealousy & Envy
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Healing the Wounds of Jealousy & Envy

Certainly, we know about the wild jealousy of romantic betrayal, marked (these days) by obsessive Facebook lurking into the wee hours of the a.m. Hopefully when the better “Next!” shows up, we’ve eased off on that sad behavior; reduced it to peeking over the FB fence from time to time, to make sure the ex is still overweight and miserable. Yeah, that’s not the kind of jealousy I mean.

Disaster Games
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Disaster Games

In early October, in time for the glorious turning of the leaves, my husband Dan and I flew to New Hampshire for my mother’s interment at the Contoocook Village cemetery. The stone was etched just right – a delicate, pink granite complement to my dad’s bronzed military plate. Of course there was beauty and magic. My cousin saw seven hawks circle over our small masked gathering as Sylvia’s voice, reciting the Apache prayer, rang out from a portable speaker to our ears and hearts and settled on the painted trees.

“See that Syl sits on the front row.”
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“See that Syl sits on the front row.”

So picture my dear mama (emphasis on the second syllable – as elocuted in Downton Abbey) Sylvia Myers Willoughby, age around 88, sitting comfortably in a corner of this settee, crime novel in hand. It’s cocktail time at the Lake, which invariably involves gin and tonics and a tray of sharp, sweating Vermont cheddar perched atop Triscuits.