Yesterday afternoon it occurred to me I hadn’t mentioned my friends–spending the night out, the spend-the-night parties, the trips together. I find that odd. I always had a best friend. I still keep up with my best friend from high school, from college,...
I double-checked my numbers this am and of course I was off. So I added 1971 to yesterday’s post. Am fighting the urge to go back and make each of the preceding years a separate post like this one… At least for the moment, onward. 1972: Ninth grade turns...
As you might imagine, I did not intend to write a post called 46 to 60. It was supposed to be 50 to 60. But the days fly by. And it occurs to me, as I pause to consider this approaching birthday by writing something about it, that in singling out these 60 days prior...
I can’t possibly be this old and yet I am. Resisting the truth doesn’t make me any more comfortable in my ever more freckled skin. So for the second year in a row, I’m greeting my age and giving it a great big hug. I found that last year’s opening to...
Those of you who know me in real life know I have issues with aging—as in I couldn’t possibly be this old; this is my mother’s age. Resisting the truth is not making me any more comfortable in my crinkling skin. So, time to try something new—acknowledging, embracing....
In A.M. Homes’ recent novel, May We Be Forgiven, in the middle of a psychiatrist-monitored game of puppets between two adults, Harold and his locked-up brother George, the following excerpts from page 174 are separated by white space: We’re loading our...
