1968 was the year I became a spiritual medium. I was a nine year old with time on my hands. Our parents fed us, clothed us and kept us on the straight and narrow, but orchestrating after school activities was not in their job description. Carefully choreographed play dates were nonexistent. In fact even the word “play date” was nonexistent. No one cared what we did between the hours of 3PM and 5PM as long as we did it quietly while not wearing our good school clothes.

Everyone knows that we live in times of violent disagreements and fraying of the social fabric. It is my view that this is substantially caused, and greatly aggravated, by our inability to treat each other decently and with respect no matter how much we might disagree.

It was autumn and night when I first saw it.

The dark spot darted from the refrigerator to the corner of the kitchen, where we kept a sexy basket of dirty dish towels. I approached the basket and nudged it with my foot, which caused the runner to bolt back to the refrigerator and me to screech.

Has listening to the radio worn a hole in your mind? Are you tired of watching Captain Kangaroo and his lover, Mister Greenjeans? Now there is an alternative—The Podcast.

Move all the furniture out of a spare room and order a hospital bed. Remove unnecessary décor, as making the surroundings too “homey” can lead to denial (in both patient and family members) about the fact that your loved one is dying. Keeping things sparse will discourage any push-pull between the players, a source of stress that can be avoided if everyone is on the same page. Especially be sure to remove all photos of your loved one’s loved ones. This is not the time to surround her with reminders of what she is leaving behind, as this will only make her transition more difficult.