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
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
It’s just the three of us. My boyfriend, his best friend, and me.
We are a threesome. I love Jim, I think. He’s handsome, athletic, and he treats me like a flower. 
But I really like John, Jim’s best friend and roommate. He’s a thinker, a philosopher, a Henry Thoreau look alike, only better looking. Continue reading
A year or so before my mom’s dementia took her mind away, she shocked me by stopping in front of my digital kitchen clock and proclaiming, “4:44 – that’s a great sign! Happiness, or good luck, or something like that.” Continue reading
I call him, sucking in my breath and biting my tongue so I won’t cry.
He hates emotion.
But he loves me. I know that. As long as I don’t cry. Continue reading
roughwighting 