I dreaded bedtime when I was younger. Not only because the word meant the nearing end of my Nick at Nite marathon, but because “bedtime” also meant hours of tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling and trying to count sheep.
This Monday morning, I taught my first class since the Boston Marathon bombing and subsequent events that rattled our city.
If I could transform the holiday season (steamy mugs of hot cocoa; arms cocooned by wooly sweaters; twinkling white lights against a dark winter sky) into music, it would sound something like this.
Thanksgiving is a holiday that always seems to sneak up on me.
Some days I spend less than an hour outdoors. I know I’m not alone, and it’s therefore no surprise that many of us are unaware of the subtle changes that occur with the changing of the seasons.