Oxen Mystic

golden retriever, best friend, dogI woke up in the middle of the night as sick as a dog. Wait. My dog never got this sick. Henry, my Golden, had the constitution of an ox and the compassion of a Mystic, so he  followed me from the bedroom as I raced to the bathroom.

I don’t remember what happened next, except when I awakened  I had a huge headache, an even bigger lump on my head, and someone breathing into my nose. Continue reading

Heart Beats

heartbeat, grandparenting, Pixabay, Apple watchI open my daughter’s refrigerator and frown. Hot dogs. Chicken nuggets. Left-over spaghetti. Root beer.

When I’d received my daughter’s desperate plea: “Can you come watch the kids? We have to go to a town meeting and the babysitter just bailed,” it was almost past my bedtime (kidding, kinda) – 7:00 p.m. My guy and I had just finished dinner and on a whim, I brought the leftovers. Continue reading

Ruptured and Repaired

rupture, appendicitis, health care workersI spent five days in the hospital this week – not as a patient, but as a visitor, an observer, a worried spouse, and a woman who had preconceptions blown over by kindness, intelligence, and wonder.

But first with the worry.

I rushed my guy to the ER Friday afternoon after insisting on taking his temperature. Why oh why do men like to “play it cool” even when in obvious discomfort? I suppose the answer to that goes back millennium, maybe to the first cavemen. Continue reading

No Regrets

ocean, lifeguard, lifeguard stand, seashoreSightseers into Pilgrims, by Evangeline Paterson 

I used to think --
loving life so greatly --
that to die would be
like leaving a party
before the end.
Now I know that the party
is really happening
somewhere else;
that the light and the music --
escaping in snatches
to make the pulse beat
and the tempo quicken --
come from a long way
away.

And I know too
that when I get there
the music will never
end.

Continue reading

Buckled Love

Cheerios, cereal, blueberryCereal and blueberries. That’s what I should have for breakfast this morning. But as I stare at the quart of blueberries sitting in my refrigerator’s fruit drawer, I change my mind.

Two months ago my mom died. Yet, it seems like she’s still alive, and like she left years ago. In fact, I wasn’t able to mourn her for the six years she suffered from dementia, but since she’s died, I’ve celebrated her vitality and misdeeds and shenanigans and mostly, her love for her family, in big and small ways. Continue reading