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Commusings: The Rabbit Hole with Jules Evans

commusings Nov 20, 2020

Two weeks ago, I escaped the UK’s pestilential winter and flew to Costa Rica. I am not entirely proud of this decision – I feel I somehow dodged the draft. On the other hand, it’s really lovely here and I’m supporting the economy, which has been badly hit by the tourism slump.

At one of the first places I stayed in, the proprietor surprised me by urging me to take off my...

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Commusings: Urgent Kindness by Elena Brower

commusings Nov 15, 2020

What will you remember of this time? What would you like to forget? 

Etched in my mind are the masked random meetings, the awkward, hugless greetings, the fleeting freedom we thought we felt when the pandemic subsided, only to be shocked by another surge. Back into hibernation we go; a fresh, strange displacement. 

I’ll also never forget the days of late May and early June when a...

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Commusings: Communion

commusings Nov 08, 2020

I grew up without much religion. I briefly attended the Unitarian Church as a result of a negotiation between my parents to placate their respective families. My mother was raised Methodist from strong Midwestern stock. My father is Jewish, and is bald, fancies rye bread and lives in Southern Florida if you need further proof.

I remember the Unitarian church as a feelgood operation, a bit like...

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Commusings: A Solemn Pledge

commusings Nov 01, 2020

In 1987, I ran for high school president. It was a hotly contested race with many worthy candidates. I ran on a populist, if flimsy, platform of pizza Fridays and Van Halen on the snack bar jukebox. My campaign relied heavily on superlative slogans: Krasno Knows, JPK All the Way, It’s About Jeffin’ Time. And we made appeals to foreign-language speakers with Jeff Pour Le Chef and...

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Commusings: Be Ready (A Birth Story)

commusings Oct 24, 2020

Schuyler and I have been hitched at the hip for 32 years of otherworldly bliss, over three decades of polkadots and moonbeams. Do you want to know the secret? Sure, you do. Don’t tell anyone but…

We have sex almost every day! 

Almost on Monday. Almost on Tuesday… 

[Insert ba-dum-dum-ching]

This flaccid dad joke was Wayne Dyer’s opening line for years. He...

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Commusings: Good Grief

commusings Oct 17, 2020
Ever since the baby was born, Terri never quite felt herself. The weight she gained during pregnancy gnawed at her. The fabric of her marriage was threadbare. Her degree in social work hung cock-eyed and dusty on the wall. She had seen a doctor who had scripted her a second-generation anti-depressant. And now it was as if there were a thin gauze layered between her and the world. Colors...
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The 'Rona

commusings Oct 11, 2020

In mid-February 2020, my friend Russell and I attended a conference called The Conscious Life Expo. The twisted irony of the name will whistle out the kettle in a moment.

 The event was hosted at the LAX Hilton, a nondescript concrete behemoth beside the Los Angeles airport. Behind the banal façade, like a technicolor pearl in an oyster, an animated psychedelia awaited.

As we...

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The Middle Way

commusings Oct 03, 2020

Close your eyes. Sit tall, with your back straight. Plant your feet solidly on the ground below you. Take a deep breath in through your nose.
 
And hold it until November 3. Probably longer.
 
Shut-eye doesn’t come easy right now, thoughts are swinging from branch to branch like a monkey. That debate debacle bore some semblance to the chatterbox in my head, where two imaginary...

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Small Is Beautiful

commusings Sep 27, 2020

I fell asleep last Thursday night, a copy of E. F. Schumacher’s Small Is Beautiful on my chest, only to be jostled out of reverie by what I perceived to be an earthquake. In retrospect, the jolt could have been the seismic gyrations of my sister-in-law, who was in throes of labor just a mile away. In the wee hours of Friday morning, Lewis Kofi Krasno entered the world, trading seats with...

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The Invisible Thief of Happiness

commusings Sep 20, 2020

“Come on, honey, not at the dinner table.”

Anyone with a teenager knows what this futile request refers to. And, candidly, I raise my hand, guilty as charged, for sneaking an under-the-table peak at my Instagram between helpings.

What did we used to do in the backseat on those long family drives? Sing songs? Play the alphabet game? Just be bored?

Now, we furnish our beloved progeny...

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