The Commune Blog

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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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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You Split. I Choose.

commusings Sep 18, 2020

You are hosting a big party. Not right now obviously. But in the future. You must be extremely popular because heaps more people than expected are showing up. And now you’re out of 7-layer bean dip, only remnant crumbs of tortilla chips litter the bottoms of bowls, and someone is licking the thin paste of remaining ranch dip off the veggie platter. You can sense a fomenting...

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A Bridge to America's Future

commusings Aug 31, 2020

In 1898, Nathan Kiva, a nineteen-year old boy from Odessa, left his shtetl and embarked on the harrowing voyage across the Atlantic. Two months later, tempest-tost, his ship pulled into New York harbor, America’s golden door. Upon arriving at Ellis Island, he queued up and, finally, the immigration official asked for his surname.

“Kiva,” he replied.

The administrator wrinkled...

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From Straw to Steel

commusings Aug 22, 2020

I am facing the daunting task of setting up three daughters for successful distance learning. I keep reminding myself that there is no playbook for parenting during a pandemic. This helps assuage the guilt I feel for engaging in petty acts of bribery. We have resorted to cajoling our kids into engaging with Zoom lessons for interminable hours by adopting a range of lovable furry animals. This...

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The Other Epidemic

commusings Aug 16, 2020

 

We’re late for soccer. It’s always the elusive shin guards, hunkered away in some shadowy corner. I suppose I, too, might sequester at the prospect of the flailing cleats and errant kicks of 10-year old girls.

Lolli sanctifies punctuality, an odd proclivity for a girl her age. Any remote intimation of tardiness plugs the chatterbox, that normally lives inside her head, into a...

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