Veteran journalist Barbara Falconer Newhall riffs on life as she knows it.
The memorial tree planted in my husband’s honor is thriving — both of them. Madrones are fussy, so we planted two to be on the safe side. Read more.
I’ve been widowed three years. My husband has missed out on a lot in that time, including a parade of images from the Webb Space Telescope. Read more.
Widowed, I think often of my marriage mistakes. Did I leave too many tender words unsaid? Too many small kindnesses undone? Should I have mated his socks for him after I took them out of the dryer? Read more.
Jon and I were two people — and the marriage we’d created over the years. Read more.
A tear-drenched tissue — do I put it in the trash? Or into the recycle bin? I wondered, I’m widowed: are my tears recyclable? Read more.
Clarence Thomas, Anita Hill, Jon and me — contemplating the perils and pleasures of office romance in the era of #metoo. Read more.