Posted by: roughwighting | September 12, 2014

What I Might Have Become

gregorian_chant3Have you ever imagined what your life would be like if you had the occupation you’d wanted as a child? 

I have never regretted this life, I say to myself, as a mantra, over and over again. My knees send me a sharp pain directly to my head, as if punishing me for lying.

Well, maybe I’ve regretted it occasionally, but I know I’ve chosen well. I’ve chosen the only thing I can do with my life. Read More…

Posted by: roughwighting | September 5, 2014

Never Ever Say Never

fall, New EnglandWhen my man and I left New England four years ago, I swallowed a huge lump in my throat – a lump of fear and relief, joy and dread, wonder and excitement. After ten years of incredible autumns, rejuvenating springs, god-awful winters and soul-satisfying summers, we were moving back to the land that I love – San Francisco Bay area.

And when our friends greeted us on the left coast, I blithely and ridiculously said, “I’ll never live on the East Coast again.” Read More…

Posted by: roughwighting | August 29, 2014

Napping into a Headstand

Sailing on the Bay by Pamela S. Wight“I don’t feel old. I don’t feel anything until noon. Then it’s time for my nap.” Bob Hope

Boy, I wish I could nap.

I watch my guy on a soft slow Saturday afternoon, slumped on the large armchair in front of the window. If his eyes were open, he’d survey the soft fluffy clouds floating over the azure blue waters, and he’d note the gentle movement of the white sailboats as they lazed across the Bay.

But his head is leaned back and his mouth is open, releasing a sonorous hum of a snore every 30 seconds. Read More…

Posted by: roughwighting | August 22, 2014

Baboon Heaven


Sunset by Pamela S. Wight

“But is there a heaven?” he asked in all seriousness.

“Well,” I replied, “I think, um, I think that depends on how you define ‘heaven.’”

Son Sean, 12 at the time, looked at me blankly. “Whatd’ya mean?” he asked earnestly. Read More…

Posted by: roughwighting | August 15, 2014

Don’t Ever Do That Again!

gas tank, emptyMy dear daughter, mother of three under 6, wife of distracted lawyer-husband, granddaughter of a beautiful loving stubborn grandmother, offers to drive me the 1 ½ hours to the airport.

“You shouldn’t leave the beach house on your vacation – I’ll call a service,” I insist.

She whispers back, teeth clenched tightly, “Get me out of here!” Read More…

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