Julia Rappaport
I can’t say that I knew Dr. Michael Jacobs, who died at the tail end of this summer, well at all.
On election night, I refused to read the news or look at my phone. I put everything on Do Not Disturb and went to sleep.
In the depths of sorrow, gratitude is one of the hardest things to cultivate.
There are only so many topics you can cover at dinnertime when you’re spending all day with the same person.
When the news began getting overwhelmed with stories of Covid-19, and the anxieties mounted, I lost my ability to read.
Vineyard roots run strong and deep and I never have imagined calling anywhere else on earth home. I grew up on the Island, but plenty of people grow up plenty of places. They move, they call other cities, other towns their own. What has always rooted me to Martha’s Vineyard is what roots so many people here — a community with a heart much larger than the Island’s 100 square miles would suggest.