This is what I dislike about aging.
My days are shorter.
I don’t mean my life ahead is shorter, although of course it is. I try not to think about that, but now that you mention it, yikes, yes. Do I have 10 more years, possibly 15 more years before I’m totally decrepit? Continue reading
Deena enjoys her Still Life. Her daily habit includes long walks in the woods behind her house, even in the Dead of Winter. She communicates with the owls and hawks and Other Birds. At times, Deena has a Bone Hunger to join these creatures, discarding The Body while flying with lightness and ease. Continue reading
Gravy is rich and thick. Good gravy, anyway.
Back in the beginning of our holidays together, my guy cooked the entire turkey meal, including stuffing and gravy. When our kids were young, they observed him reach in the turkey cavity and bring out the giblets, which he cut up after boiling them in a pot of water. Then, in a pan of melting butter, he sautéed the giblets with onions and celery and slowly, slowly added the juices from the roasted turkey. Continue reading
“Time will tell.”
“There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.”
“There’s always light at the end of the tunnel.”
“Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.”
“Your time is up.”
What, exactly, will time tell? Will it tell me that my days are numbered? Personally, I’d like to think that my days are worded. My days are stories, one-by-one as a child, then a dozen, then hundreds as the years roll on.
Continue reading
Evelyn hadn’t seen Steve in over 25 years. They’d dated in high school. He was the cool jock; you know the type. Mussed up hair, tight grungy jeans, a permanent smirk on his handsome face. Evelyn was the goody-good cheerleader, top grades, anxious about getting into the “right” school. Continue reading
roughwighting 