Once a year I allow myself the luxury of keeping completely in balance. The other 364 days of the year I falter at times: am I spending too much time reading instead of writing? Am I too shy, or do I share too much? Am I cooking the asparagus too long, or too short? Am I giving a prompt to my writing class that will make them dislike me, or thank me?
Einstein said, Continue reading
What do you do when you’re told to do nothing?
That’s been my dilemma this past week after a distracted driver (ie, texting) plowed into me and my guy as we headed to Delaware to visit my mom.
We never made it. Damage to car and persons was better than expected, except I got a concussion.
I won’t go into the discomfort and the fear as my body showed me in many ways that I had to stop, which I didn’t do until I finally visited my doctor, who set forth a five-day-rule: Continue reading
We’ve been honoring the anniversary of our dog’s passing. Four years ago, Henry let us know it was time for him to go. My guy and I carried him into our vet’s office, which looked more like a home than a business.
In one of the small rooms we placed our beloved Golden on the soft rug, sitting with Henry as we petted him into pure peace. At his last breath, the vet cried softly with us, and I confess, I continued to pet him for another 30 minutes. Continue reading
In honor of my mom’s 94th birthday on February 28, I’m dedicating this post to her,
I am here again, traveling along the same flat road, watching the tall green maples and oaks turn to scrubby, smaller bush and pine. What is it about my primordial need to return to the ocean – the Atlantic Ocean – every year?
As I breathe in the hot humid New Jersey air, a mixture of dirt, gas, grass, asphalt and salt water, I wonder if it’s just a childhood memory that needs to be rewritten and retold yearly. After all, as a child . . .
“Why is he traveling so closely behind you? How fast are you going?” my mother interrupts my slow, careful thoughts. Continue reading
In honor of my mom’s 94th birthday on February 28, I’m dedicating this post to her,
I am here again, traveling along the same flat road, watching the tall green maples and oaks turn to scrubby, smaller bush and pine. What is it about my primordial need to return to the ocean – the Atlantic Ocean – every year?
As I breathe in the hot humid New Jersey air, a mixture of dirt, gas, grass, asphalt and salt water, I wonder if it’s just a childhood memory that needs to be rewritten and retold yearly. After all, as a child . . .
“Why is he traveling so closely behind you? How fast are you going?” my mother interrupts my slow, careful thoughts. Continue reading
roughwighting 