A curmudgeon is a crusty, ill-tempered and often elderly person who is consistently cranky, stubborn, and disagreeable. Appearing in English in the late 16th century the word’s exact origin is unknown, though it was previously thought to stem from the French “coeur” and “mechant” (meaning “evil heart’). Several weeks ago I was slogging away in my office. My work that week was bureaucratic and unrewarding. Creating estimates for possible clients interested in my services. Co

The night my father lay dying the sky above Manhattan, and indeed for miles around the city, turned a shocking, shimmering, bright blue-green. It was December 27th, 2018 and my siblings and I were gathered around the hospital bed that had been set up in my dad’s apartment. One of us, I can’t remember who, glanced out the window and exclaimed “oh my God. What’s happening!?” My father lived on the 20th floor, and his apartment had a terrace with little obstruction from other

I think the best way to learn a language quickly might just be acute paranoia. When I first met my French husband and his large extended family I was convinced that they were, one and all, talking trash about me - albeit in that gorgeous Gallic way of theirs. "Blah blah blah blah blah Olivia. Blah blah Olivia blah blah,” I would overhear the aunts and uncles and cousins say while surreptitiously glancing my way…and I would work myself into a self-conscious and irritated tizzy

It’s the end of my mother’s life. Or so we think it is. But we (my mother and I) have been thinking this for several years now. Although my mother does nothing but tell me she wishes that she were dead, she is, in fact, refusing to die, and I am caring for her…in my way. My way means visiting her weekly at her apartment in New York City. I arrive and she lets me in, usually about five minutes after I have rung the bell. Her apartment is a one bedroom but even crossing that sm

A large part of getting sober for me was getting used to feeling my feelings. Or, in fact, getting to know what "feelings" really were. For most of my life, and certainly while I was an active alcoholic, I was so out of touch with myself and my feelings that I was almost unaware that I had any. My days were lost in a blur of profound anxiety. I also had to manage the daily discomfort of my hangovers, and the lurking anticipation of how and with what (wine? beer? vodka? drugs?

The ocean was so brisk and clear that it felt more like mountain air than water, so translucent that I could see a variety pack of colorful fish darting among the rocks at least ten feet below. I hauled my exhausted body out of the water and back onto the small motor boat. I was in Mexico, trying to learn how to surf, but it was futile. Midway through the lesson with my kids I realized that my personal surfing ship has sailed. I have some rotation problems with my right shoul