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I was born in Barcelona, where I went to a school run by German nuns, studied solfeggio, and played the violin. When I was ten, my parents and I moved to Ecuador, where I had a number of exotic pets and strange adventures. Four years later, we landed in Birmingham, Alabama. None of us spoke English, and the strange adventures continued. (Many of these appear in My Green Vermont.)
Survived high school. Got B.A. in French and Biology, Ph.D. in Romance Languages (French and Spanish). Gave up the Church and the violin, got married, had two daughters, taught at a liberal arts college in Maryland. Also grew veggies, made bread, kept chickens, milked goats, and wrote for newspapers and magazines. Got bored with teaching, took up running, and went into higher ed administration. Was diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome (ME/CFS), and learned to live in a totally different way.
I started My Green Vermont when we moved to that state. For ten years I lived with my spouse, three dogs, twelve hens, two goats, and assorted passing wildlife in a house on a hill, surrounded by fields and woods. In 2014, we moved to a cottage in a continuing care residential community near Lake Champlain. Gave up livestock and vegetable gardening in favor of wild birds, honeybees, a little red dog, and a gray cat.
My Green Vermont is a fertile compost pile made up of stories about the weirdness of growing up in three countries and three languages; portraits of beloved animals, both wild and domestic; and reflections on aging, being kind to the earth, and staying as calm as possible. I hope you will visit often, and add your own stories and reactions.
I stopped practicing Catholicism in my twenties, and I sometimes forget how deeply I was marked by those decades of weekly, and often daily, mass and communion, of morning and
I once worked in a cancer lab. My coworkers and I injected mice and hamsters with cancer cells, dosed them with various drugs, weighed each animal, measured its tumor as
“This child,” my grandmother announces, “cannot say her r’s. She sounds like she’s speaking French.” My mother and my aunts nod in agreement. I am three years old, and I
For most of my life I paid little attention to Queen Elizabeth. My information about the British royal family came from the same sources as my information about Hollywood stars—magazines
“Lali,” my therapist says, crossing his long legs, “you are not God.” He puts aside his notepad, which he will not need because we’ve been over this before. My illusion
For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to lose ten pounds—this despite the fact that when I come across an old photo of myself, I am always
Some people meditate first thing in the morning. I spritz houseplants. I was going around the house the other day, spritzing and opening windows, when I saw, jammed against a
It’s laundry day, and time to change the sheets. My spouse and I do this together, in an efficient and, I think, graceful choreography that we have developed over the
I stopped practicing Catholicism in my twenties, and I sometimes forget how deeply I was marked by those decades of weekly, and often daily, mass and communion, of morning and
I once worked in a cancer lab. My coworkers and I injected mice and hamsters with cancer cells, dosed them with various drugs, weighed each animal, measured its tumor as
“This child,” my grandmother announces, “cannot say her r’s. She sounds like she’s speaking French.” My mother and my aunts nod in agreement. I am three years old, and I
For most of my life I paid little attention to Queen Elizabeth. My information about the British royal family came from the same sources as my information about Hollywood stars—magazines
“Lali,” my therapist says, crossing his long legs, “you are not God.” He puts aside his notepad, which he will not need because we’ve been over this before. My illusion
For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to lose ten pounds—this despite the fact that when I come across an old photo of myself, I am always
Some people meditate first thing in the morning. I spritz houseplants. I was going around the house the other day, spritzing and opening windows, when I saw, jammed against a
It’s laundry day, and time to change the sheets. My spouse and I do this together, in an efficient and, I think, graceful choreography that we have developed over the