The Old Mansion on My Street

Concord MA, graveyardI consider taking a walk, but then I remember I need my crutches.

Not that I need the crutches. My leg is fine now. The break was clean; the cast inconvenient but a nice attention getter; the crutches cumbersome and ugly.

I would have liked to have thrown the tall rigid walking implements into the trash. Or at least recycled them for some other poor soul to use.

But, sagely, I left my un-needed crutches standing in the foyer, by the front door.

For just this kind of day. . .Autumn, fall leaves Continue reading

The Days of Wine and Roses

memories, photo album. 1950s familyI’m on my way to see my mom this weekend, and taking little with me except some old albums.

When I visit her in late summer, she seems so less of what she used to be. Because of dementia, she can’t remember what I told her five minutes earlier, like “your clean clothes are in the drawer” or “dinner is in 45 minutes.”

 Seconds after the conversation, my once bright, quick mom asks: “where are my clean socks?” and then “isn’t it time to walk down to the dining room?” Continue reading

The End

the beginning, the endAs much as I’d like to come up with my own famous quote– like Shakespeare’s “to be or not to be,” I can’t find one in my writer’s creative basket for “the end.”

However, I can write an acrostic:



Either we continue on from whence we came, or

Nodding off to another level, we

Divine that the end was just the beginning. Continue reading