Do you have a reflection, a memory, a poem or a picture you’d like to share with the rest of us? It could be lighthearted or somber. Off-the-cuff or polished. 300 words, or about that, is perfect. The topic is up to you and we'll offer the occassional prompt. We hope to hear from you.

If you’re interested in sharing or have questions, please email us at connect@northamptonneighbors.org. 

NN will review and post new selections below.

Member Musings is member moderated. We don’t allow any form of hate speech, imposters, or commercial material.

A Place on the Planet
by Philip F. Tomlinson Jr.
Rockridge Retirement Community

Out in a meadow a lark is singing
High in a tree sleeps a quiet old owl
Out in the ocean dolphins are playing
Here on the sand a crab’s on the prowl
Down on the farm a bumble bee’s buzzing
Home on the range they’ve heard a wolf howl
Up on a mountain a bristlecone grows
A Jack-in-the Pulpit lifts its cowl
Low on a log turtles are sunning
After a search, a hound shakes a jowl
High in the sky an eagle is winging
Out on the lake swim waterfowl
On a stream in a wetlands a beaver is busy
A man in a shed crafts a Silver Lake trowel
Far in a marsh moose are wading
After a swim, pups dry with a towel
Light in the sky, claps of thunder
A rising wind sings a long vowel
Deep in the jungle lions sleep
A pacified baby loses its scowl
All have a place on the planet
Whether they bark, chirp, or growl.

September 25, 2026

MY BRAIN DOESN'T WORK THE SAME WAY YOURS DOES!
NOT EVERYONE SEES THE SAME REALITY YOU DO:
by Naomi Yanis NN Board Member

Aphantasia refers to the inability to have any pictures in our mind's eye. It is often
used as a blanket term for those of us who cannot conjure any of the senses in our mind's
eye – no pictures, no sounds, no smells, no tastes. I am often confronted with the fact
that almost everyone besides me can conjure up all sorts of images in their mind's eye.
Things I thought were just figures of speech – daydreaming, imaginary friends, counting
sheep, to say nothing of visualizing a scene in a book, in my past, or in imagination ---
are much more real than I realized. I realize with amazement that some people can
simultaneously participate in the present while imagining moments from their past or
visualizing the future. How distracting that seems to me.

No one, including me, knew that we had aphantasia when I was younger, because the
term was coined very recently! I used to explain that I had no visual memory. My family
heard this in terms of my inability to match colors or furniture I wasn't seeing. I don't
think they had any idea of the extent of my inability to visualize. I, of course, had no
idea that they could actually see pictures in their head. We all tend to think that everyone
else senses the world the same way that we do.

The phenomenon was first described in 1880, but it remained relatively unstudied until
2005, when Professor Adam Zeman of the University of Exeter was approached by a
man who had lost the ability to visualize after undergoing minor surgery. Following
publication of this case in 2010, a number of people approached Zeman reporting a
lifelong inability to visualize. Zeman's team coined the term aphantasia, derived from
the Ancient Greek word phantasia, which means "appearance/image", and the prefix a-,
for 'without'. In 2015, an article about Zeman's paper in The New York Times sparked
renewed interest in the phenomenon.

While this is considered by most to be a disability, perhaps, rather than missing
something, maybe our differences have us using other senses that you don't realize you
have. I can't re-live a past event, or visualize a future one, but you must need to be
distracted from the present for at least a bit to pay attention to your mind's eye. I have no
choice but to always be in the present.

October 29, 2024

Eating a Popsicle
by Sharon Martula

As we get older we look at life backwards and little things make a remembrance come to life.  The other day I was eating a popsicle trying to cool off, and this memory popped into my head.

When we were young, my cousin and I would wash off sticky porches for a nickel.  Those nickels were precious, because we worked for them.  Later, we would ride our bikes to the library to borrow books for a few days of reading.  on our way home from the library we would always stop at Calvin Ice Cream and buy a popsicle.  I couldn’t wait to get home to read, so I’d find a big old tree to sit under at Child’s Park and cool off with my popsicle. Those were simpler times and it didn’t take much to make a memory.

Here I was many years later still reading a book and eating a popsicle.


September 26, 2024

The Janus-faces of Grief
A Legacy of Love

by Bruce Hawkins
Professor Emeritus of Physics
Smith College

My bride sleeps in our Quaker burying ground under her blanket of snow, surrounded by dear friends. As she wandered deep into the fog of dementia, her care was a loving task for me; for her, a quiet rest after a life together striving to heal the wounds of the world. A 66 year long love affair founded on trusting each other and freeing each other to thrive.

For years I wondered if I were capable of grief, feeling little as six parents slipped away, one by one. First my mother Doris, two weeks after I was born, the victim of medical ignorance, leaving me to the care of grandparents and aunts. Then it was my grandfather Jimmy as I went off to college. Then it was his sweet Susy as I went off to graduate school. Next it was my Aunt Elsie as I began life as a father. Then my own father Bill, and finally my Aunt Jean. Grief seems to have fallen asleep with my mother, awakening with my bride’s departure.

My bride has woven her threads into the fearsome and beautiful tapestry of the world and joined all those before us, leaving the world to make room for us who remain. Soon I will complete my own weaving and leave. With the shuttle of memory, I weave in the threads of her legacy of love, hoping to leave a similar legacy to those who will remember us.

Grief seemed to me something that other people did. Yet as my bride ventured into the fog, I saw the past more clearly, the future still dimly. Her anxiety over the world’s wounds died away and her inner sweetness, long shadowed by the blindness of our imperfections, showed its shining face. Now relieved of the exigencies of negotiating a life together, I appreciate her in a new way, cherishing the memories.

We were devoted to each other and we battled with each other. We spent many quiet hours just enjoying each other's presence. Many busy hours were spent supporting each other, maintaining her mailing lists, printing leaflets for our community’s peace vigil, understanding where we went wrong with our daughters, visiting the Immigration Service with an undocumented refugee. We never gave up even at the times we were furious with each other.

My bride (and I) nurtured an undocumented refugee family for two decades as the endless process of getting documents stretched out. Their son Carlos, 3 years old when they came 40 years ago, cried as he and his father helped carry her to her grave. I too wept as I caressed her head for the last time through the shroud. 

Now as she lies under the snow, my grief looks forward, her legacy of love enhancing my tenderness to the world, its imperfections, its beauties, and its people. Remembering her has given me a wonderful new gift of mindfulness to see God’s mysterious beauty in places and people as I never have before. Grief looks forward, inspiring me to continue working in an organization she loved. She was a warrior against the world’s injustices, and I was her helpmeet. I carry forward her passion, still weaving it into the tapestry of the world’s beauty.

---

June 10, 2024

Pickleball: Thoughts from a Beginner
by Lucy Greenburg


First, there’s the name. Pickleball. Honestly, who thought that up? In contrast to the condiment, there’s nothing crunchy, juicy, or even green about pickleball. And frankly, if there was a contest for wackiest game title I wouldn’t know which to bet on -pickleball or tiddlywinks. 

Yet it was the name, itself, that attracted me. With such a zany title the sport promised to be fun. I wanted to try it, but first I did my research. I found out that pickleball is a cross between tennis and ping pong. It’s played mostly with a partner and requires three things - a racquet, a whiffle-type ball, and a net. As with all racquet sports, the players who get the ball over the net the most, win. 

As I surfed through photos, I noticed I had something in common with many of the players - gray hair. In addition to the lean, mean machines of younger generations, there were many others who (like me) appeared somewhat more weathered. One man wore a Grateful Dead T-shirt so faded it looked like he bought it back in the Woodstock days.

Obviously, this was my crowd.

So one day not long ago I showed up at Look Memorial Park in Florence which hosts free open pickleball play for levels from beginner and up. Every court was filled. Balls zinged back and forth. Through my newbie’s eyes, it seemed that everyone but me knew exactly what to do. My mojo began to fade. I headed toward a bench where I assumed that I would stay. 

“We’ve got someone new,” a voice rang out. I watched the woman approach, racquet in hand. After she greeted me, I confessed that I had never played before. Quickly, she turned and walked away. Whoa! Talk about friendly! I started to pick up my things to go. 

But a few seconds later she was back, along with two other players. Introductions followed, and I was given the basic rules of the game. Then quicker than a mosquito bites, it was time to play. Sure, I was nervous. Sure, I made mistakes. But running around made me feel like a kid again. And when I landed the ball in the court as opposed to out of it, I felt positively triumphant. When I actually scored a point (my one and only) not only did my partner cheer, my opponents did as well!  

The fun of that first game was due as much to my fellow players as it was to the game itself. Generously, they extended to me their encouragement, guidance, and patience. 

“Don’t worry,” they said. “We’ve all been where you are now. We were all beginners too.” 

I’ve heard these sympathetic words or similar ones again and again. At Look Park and elsewhere. While I can't generalize from my limited experience, the camaraderie I’ve encountered in open play is much more than I expected. Everywhere I’ve been, players of all levels, including beginners, were made to feel welcome. As I carry on I continue to sense a spirit of goodwill and friendliness - just as I do with Northampton Neighbors.  

According to the Sports & Fitness Industry Association, pickleball is the fastest-growing sport in the country. The number of “silver sneaker” players is large and growing. In recreational play, you can choose a relaxed, light-hearted game or more serious competition. Drop-in sessions open to the public seem fairly plentiful. To locate one, use the internet or contact local parks, recreation departments, community centers, and gyms. Ask fellow players when you find courts in your area. Clinics and lessons are available too.

Are you tempted to give it a try? Of course, before you lace up your shoes, check first with your healthcare provider. 

Most of all, don’t worry. We’ve all been where you are now. We’ve all been beginners.