As we begin to mix the batter for peanut butter kiss cookies (my grandson’s -GS’s – choice), I hum to the Christmas music in the background. GS has refused to wear my “Christmas apron” that I bring out every December for cookie-baking.
GS is all-boy, immature for his age in some ways while being wise beyond his years. Last year as we mixed the sugar and flour, he confessed to me that he was 158 years old. Continue reading
Yes, I still have my dog’s puppy teeth. I’ve never admitted this to anyone until two weeks ago, when our son’s dog, Jax, got hit by a car.
Jax is an 80-pound, 4-year-old silver lab, although more dark gray than silvery. He boasted large paws and a strong body even as an 8-week-old, picked up at a CA breeder’s ranch in the middle of a wildfire. In some ways, Sonny claims, Jax is a “rescue” dog.
He was a teenager. That’s the first bit of information I should share with you before you judge me.
From the age of 13 to 15, he changed from a huggable, lovable son who bought me flowers to a changing-voiced male who thought that most of what I said was either simple, silly, or just plain stupid.
I understood. After all, I wasn’t ancient enough to not remember how I felt as a teen. Continue reading
When my mom was in her mid-80s, she asked that we visit a tattoo parlor together.
“Let’s get mother/daughter tattoos, maybe with a heart design,” she suggested. Continue reading
A month of humid and
Undulating heat that
Gushes over us like rock Continue reading