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
true story
Brotherly Love
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
In My Dresser Drawer
I’m a writer. And an author. A reluctantly published author. I’m disappointed with myself in that way. If I wasn’t reluctant to publish, I’d do it more. If I wasn’t reluctant to publish, I’d shout to the world that I love to write stores. If I wasn’t reluctant to publish, I’d share my stories far and wide. Continue reading
Staying Up
This is what I dislike about aging.
My days are shorter.
I don’t mean my life ahead is shorter, although of course it is. I try not to think about that, but now that you mention it, yikes, yes. Do I have 10 more years, possibly 15 more years before I’m totally decrepit? Continue reading
Slow Gravy Days
Gravy is rich and thick. Good gravy, anyway.
Back in the beginning of our holidays together, my guy cooked the entire turkey meal, including stuffing and gravy. When our kids were young, they observed him reach in the turkey cavity and bring out the giblets, which he cut up after boiling them in a pot of water. Then, in a pan of melting butter, he sautéed the giblets with onions and celery and slowly, slowly added the juices from the roasted turkey. Continue reading
roughwighting 