My high school photo.
My voice has lowered over time. Not purposely. Age has made it softer and, if I talk for too long, hoarser.
I used to be a good public speaker; in high school and college when I had to perform for pageants and plays, I used my voice as my talent, reciting well-known poems and stories with verve and veracity. Continue reading
I peer down at Hank as I pet the top of his soft brown head while wondering, why had I never noticed this anomaly before? Continue reading
Denise had two things on her mind: carrots and Carl.
Carl loved carrots. Carl hadn’t talked to Denise in two weeks, three days, and 14 hours, and the only thing on Denise’s mind was to bake a carrot cake that would make Carl come back to her. Continue reading
We’re told by philosophers to “live one day at a time.” To not worry about the future nor think about the past. These admonishments ring true, but that’s not how we humans seem to be wired.
I often hear family and friends reminisce: “remember when we…,” and “I wish we still could…”
Conversely, I hear, “In a few years, I’m afraid I won’t be able to….” Or “what will happen if…?” Continue reading
“In fact, if you could forget mortality, and that is less easy here than in most places . . . you could really believe that stories change you, enliven you, even send you off: off to a different world; off from your troubles and problems; off to a place where you don’t feel your age, or arthritic pain, or the devil chasing you from behind.”
“Okay, Granny, okay!” I interrupt, “I believe you!” My Great Gran, 94 years old, or as she says, 94 and ½ friggin’ years, begins this lecture to me almost every time I visit her.
roughwighting 