“Would you mind if I make breakfast?”
Alec Shaw, who is walking around the kitchen in his bare feet, cracks a couple of free-range brown eggs into the skillet.
As they are cooking in coconut oil, he slices four sweet potatoes into circles and plops them, along with a handful of spinach and arugula, into a pan, where he sautés them in olive oil.
When the eggs are almost done, he adds mushrooms and avocado then piles everything into a mountain on a black dinner plate.
There aren’t many places…
How’s your heart?
James Everett puts his hand over his chest and pretends to listen intently for the beat.
“Let’s see,” he says.
The seconds tick by.
“I’m OK,” he announces.
The declaration is delivered playfully.
James, who was born with a heart condition, has had three open-heart surgeries and recently beat a bout of endocarditis
He gave up worrying about it long ago.
So, he says, should you.
James, who has remnants of wispy white hair and the polished voice of a broadcaster,…
Liz Schwartz is sitting on her living room sofa talking about effective communication.
She speaks clearly and concisely, choosing her words with care and confidence in this, a casual conversation.
Her pronunciation is impeccably generic: Your ears would never be able to guess where she’s from.
And that’s the point. Sort of.
“Everyone has an accent,” says Liz. “I have a New York accent.”
I still don’t hear it.
“You’re not from New York,” she says before I can tell her this.…
The room is filled with folding tables whose tops are clad in sheets of black plastic, and Marci Freede is standing on a step ladder in one corner.
She’s looking at a wall that’s lined with scores of cheerful, colorful 16-inch by 20-inch paintings, and when she takes one down, it leaves a gap like a missing tooth.
Marci, an enthusiastic woman with honey-hued hair that shines like the sun, wants me to examine it closely to make a very important point: You can learn to paint one just like this…
When Renée Edwards opens the bright blue IKEA shopping bag, a big smile breaks across her serene face.
Inside, coiled like a coiffure’s curls, are scores of rainbow-colored jump ropes.
Kids don’t play Double Dutch any more, and it sure is a shame.
“When I see some little sisters sitting on a bench, I bring out the ropes,” she says.
If they don’t jump at the chance, she shows them how to blow bubbles.
If that doesn’t work, Renée, a cheerful commander, thinks of other ways to keep…





