My husband isn’t here to take care of me. I’m taking care of me now. I’m widowed and I’m treating myself to a bathroom for one. Read more.
Widowed
Jon died unexpectedly at the age of 79. I thought we'd have many more years together. We won't.
Widowed: The Perfect Husband. The Perfect Christmas Tree
Widowed: The perfect husband? The perfect Christmas tree? I started a list of all the things that annoyed me about Jon. But I lost the list. Read more.
Blood and Guts in My Backyard. Or, Nature Tidies Up
Blood and guts in my backyard: A half-eaten deer lay sprawled under my cypress tree. Ravens croaked the news from the tree above. Read more.
I’m Old. And Here’s What I Like About That
I’m old. And what I like most about that is — I’m not in the thick of things anymore. I don’t have to be. I’ve got other things to do. Read more.
We Humans Are Ineffable
People are a little like God. You know who they are, but that “who” can’t be captured or summed up in words. We humans are ineffable. Read more.
Grief — Love With No Place to Go
Grief changes from day to day. For me right now, without my husband alongside me, grief is love with no place to go. Read more.
Widowed: Where’s My Lead Pony?
A lead pony is the seasoned horse who escorts a anxious racehorse to the gate, exerting a calming presence. I’m widowed. Where’s my lead pony? Read more.