Treasures That Can't be Stolen (Beliefnet.com)
A few months ago, I was on a business trip and checked my cell phone for messages in between my morning and afternoon meetings. There was one message, the one you never want to hear: “Honey, it’s me,” said my husband Eric, trying to sound nonchalant and doing a horrible job. “Call me as soon as you can. It’s important.”

     It’s important. Those words rang in my head as I dashed off to my next meeting, no time to call Eric back until hours later. By that time, I was panicked with the possibilities. ”What’s wrong? Is someone hurt? Are the boys OK?” I fired into the phone when Eric picked up. When he told me we’d been robbed, a wave of relief flooded through me. As I walked back to my hotel that evening, I gave thanks that everything with real value to me was still waiting for me at home...Read entire article

My Gardening Mentor (The Seattle Times, Sunday Magazine, May 2006)
I have a love-hate relationship with gardening. I love those Zen moments when I'm digging in the dirt among eye-popping colors and sensual smells, working side-by-side with the bees, beetles and earthworms. But too often, I find myself sweating and grunting as I'm whacking weeds, chiseling clay and wondering why the azaleas I planted last year are besieged with brown spots.

     This isn't what my husband and I envisioned five years ago when we spent weeks removing mounds of ivy from our front yard, fueled by visions of a spectacular showpiece of flora and fauna that passersby would "ooh" and "ah" over...Read entire article

No Magic Bullet for Depression (Better Nutrition, November 2006)
For years, I ping-ponged back and forth between more than a dozen antidepressants. If I could only find the right medicine, I thought, my life would change. The heaviness would lift. The emptiness would be filled. The joy of living would return. For nearly a decade, I desperately looked for a magic bullet.

     Each pill numbed the emptiness in varying degrees, and each had its own special side effects—from the merely annoying dry throat and foggy head to horrendous jitters, nausea and loss of sexual desire. But, hey, better than depression, right?

     The side effects were socially acceptable. Even complaining about them was a bonding mechanism with PTA moms and co-workers alike. However, admitting to overwhelming sadness is about as acceptable as an open mouth sore. I learned to keep my depression to myself.

     Even so, when I was 38, I decided to clean out my medicine cabinet—cold turkey...Contact me for entire article