aging

Sixteen Years Left to Live. How Many Bowls of Froot Loops Is That?

In the sixteen years I’ve got left, how many of the gotta-do items on my to-do list will I get done? Read more.

The trouble with poinsettias is — they don’t know that Christmas is over and it’s time to make an exit. Read more.

Facelifts that leave your cheeks looking like you’re facing into 100-mph headwinds are not for me. Or are they? Read more.

I’m thankful for a window. It’s small but it opens onto everything: a tree. A bird. A squirrel. Not much. But in fact everything. Read more.

Widowed: Do I still miss him? Not really. Missing Jon is not the shape my grief takes. Most days. Read more.

I’m a grammar geek and I’m old: I don’t get nauseous. I’ve never received a kudo. And I never, ever lay on my yoga mat. Read more.

Living to 100 — and then some: My grandmother lived till a few weeks short of her 100th birthday. My plan was to do the same. Read more.