Happiness. It's relative.
The guy who cuts my hair is very young. Forty, maybe fifty years, my junior. When I walked into the salon yesterday, he was sitting, his flowing hair around his shoulder, fanning himself. He had on short shorts, a sleeveless t-shirt and Birkenstocks. The… Continue Reading “Yesterday at the Salon with My Stylist for Life”
Love isn’t a mystery. Loyalty, resiliency, and kindness are mysteries. And humor. Humor is definitely a mystery. And a gift. I have been in love with many people who weren’t funny. They were thrilling at first but ultimately gave me a headache. If two… Continue Reading “Valentine’s Day 2019”
A few days ago a Facebook friend posted that she was “In a Relationship” with another person who is an actual, real life friend of mine and I wondered to myself, what event or decision precipitated that declaration? Is it a thing that one… Continue Reading “Does Saying Make It So?”
It seemed so wrong to tell her that I’d looked up her boyfriend like she’d asked and that somehow more had happened than she’d planned because telling her would make everything different, would tell her she couldn’t trust me anymore, we wouldn’t be smiling… Continue Reading “College Roommate”
“Listen, I asked Derek if he would do a recommitment ceremony for us. It’d be nice. We could even do it here.” We were sitting on a bench at the botanical gardens watching bride after bride hustle by, guests in dresses with odd sashes… Continue Reading “#2/100: White Chairs”
I kid you not, a quirky phrase I love so much I wish I could say it every day. As a 12-year old, sitting in my bedroom doorway in my pajamas, I had a straight shot to the black and white TV in the… Continue Reading “My Husband Quit Drinking and I Lost 12 Lbs”
This much is clear to me about being a mother. Age makes us better. Death makes us extraordinary. My mother, gone now twelve years, has reached near sainthood. When the local paper solicited photos of mothers ‘no longer with us’ along with a short… Continue Reading “We Get Better with Time”
In the dark desk drawer, she found the last long letter she’d written to dear departed Don, folded finely in fifths, saying sad serious things she hadn’t the heart to say out loud.
PART 1 Thirty years ago, I sat all night on the sofa in my upper flat, smoking Benson & Hedges, with my mother’s green and orange afghan wrapped around my shoulders, waiting for my addicted, unpredictable, and sometimes violent boyfriend to pull up in… Continue Reading “Quilting: A Domestic Violence Story”
Recent Comments