Posted by: roughwighting | November 12, 2014

My Grandmother’s Legs

jeans, legs, fashion, grandmother jeansLately, I’ve been thinking a lot about genes. Yes, genes, not jeans, although denims get into the picture too.

For instance, my mom (not allowed to say her age or she’ll never talk to me again – let’s just say the first number starts with a ‘9’), wears the cutest jeans. I hope I have her genes, but so far I haven’t found one genome we share. She’s tiny and cute and flirty. I’m tall and not-as-cute and serious. See? Read More…

Posted by: roughwighting | November 7, 2014

A New England Fortune

New England path, Walden PondBefore the snows begin, and the ice and sleet, I walk in my new neighborhood to become familiar with all of the dips and cracks in the sidewalks and the wooded paths nearby. On this chilly day, I wear a decades-old red LL Bean overcoat and even older soft black gloves that I didn’t need when living in the San Francisco bay area.

I grumble a bit, allowing some self-pity.

     At “home,” I’d still be wearing shorts and a t-shirt.

     At “home,” I’d need a baseball hat to protect my face from the gleaming sun.

As leaves crunch beneath my shoes, my gloved third finger discovers a small crunch in its tip. Is it a years-old crumb? A small pebble from long-ago? Read More…

Posted by: roughwighting | October 31, 2014

We’ve Been Here Since ….

locked doorI can’t figure out why the stupid key won’t fit into the same lock I’ve used for the past 10 months.

But my key ring contains many keys – the one for the office, the one for the car, the one for the other car, and the one for the mailbox. The key for the house, of course, and the key for the storage room.

But no, I’m using the correct key- it’s the only one that has red tape on it – red tape I placed there so I’d always know which key to use when I arrived at my front door.

But still, it doesn’t fit in a rather, now that I look more closely, misshapen lock. In fact, the doorknob doesn’t even have a lock, per se, but seems more decorative than anything else.

“Oh husband-of-mine!” I shout, probably too loudly. “What did you do?” I smile a bit. I love surprises – this one is a doozy. Read More…

Posted by: roughwighting | October 24, 2014

Looking in the Mirror

girl in a mirror

Frederick Carl Frieseke,
Femme qui se Mire

Early in the morning, and she’s already been up for half an hour, writing. Her eyes show it: glazed light blue icing, or are they dazed? Slightly bloodshot, with puffy fleshy bags underneath her lower lids.

She remembers when the bags underneath her eyes, rare and only after long bouts of studying or handling petulant babies, were smooth. But now, lines are etched at the bottom of the puffiness. They won’t be as visible after she washes her face with cold water and walks briskly in the fall air, but still, they’re always there now. Read More…

Posted by: roughwighting | October 17, 2014

He’s Just a Dog

dog, golden retriever, autumnDo your teeth grit as hard as mine when people use that expression? What do they mean?

He’s just a dog, so his ‘feelings’ don’t matter, because he has none…?

He’s just a dog, so it’s fine to let him sit outside in the rain (or snow or hot sun) all day…?

He’s just a dog, so leave him at home for hours and don’t worry about him…?

I’ll lighten up for the rest of the post, but I needed to get your first visceral reaction. How do we treat our animals? Do they have “feelings” or concerns? Do they get hot and cold, bouts of hurt and spurts of joy? Read More…

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