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                    [Summary] => How do you tell your lover it’s over, there’s someone else, you don’t love him anymore, time is up, the fat lady has sung? This question, or something like it, came into my mailbox recently.  Hhhhmm.  Was truth not an option here?  If it were, I don’t think I would have been asked.  I had a feeling I was expected to provide a creative alternative. I scanned my 35-year-old brain for memorable– hopefully wise, at least inspirational– sound bytes.  Nothing.  So I lowered the bar and searched for the most used break-up line. Aha.


                    [DatePublished] => 2002-05-26 00:00:00
                    [ColumnID] => 133742
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                    [AuthorID] => 1180591
                    [AuthorName] => BREATHING SPACE by Panjee Tapales-Lopez
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                    [Title] => SUNDAYS breathing space
                    [Summary] => Last Sunday, my son asked to look into the top drawer of our linen chest.  It is a place I dip into for little treasures–yarn we both turn into sturdy ropes, little beeswax balls he shapes and molds like clay. It had been a while since the last forage so I obliged.  We were both pleased to find a little wooden box with a collection of toys that had reminded me of my childhood:  a red wooden yoyo, a set of jackstones, wooden pick-up sticks and a gaggle of different-sized marbles.  


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BATINO GATE

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abtest

Dear John...

By BREATHING SPACE by Panjee Tapales-Lopez | May 26, 2002 - 12:00am

How do you tell your lover it’s over, there’s someone else, you don’t love him anymore, time is up, the fat lady has sung? This question, or something like it, came into my mailbox recently. Hhhhmm....

Sunday Lifestyle

SUNDAYS breathing space

By Panjee Tapales-Lopez | May 19, 2002 - 12:00am

Last Sunday, my son asked to look into the top drawer of our linen chest. It is a place I dip into for little treasures–yarn we both turn into sturdy ropes, little beeswax balls he shapes and molds like clay....

Sunday Lifestyle