As I drive the seven hours to my mom’s facility where she is suffering from end-stage dementia, my heart beats fast and fills up with pale blue, silky pink emotions. At 6:30 a.m. I’ve been driving for over an hour. The sun begins its rosy ascent over the paved hard highway, and I’m lulled by the soft snores of my daughter in the passenger seat and my two young grandsons in the back seat, covered from chin to toe in soft flannel blankets. Continue reading
I could never get picked up in a bar, or even a high school gymnasium.
Not that I tried that often. I’m not a bar-hopping, party-loving kind of girl.
But still, most women, teenagers to octogenarians, want to feel attractive and desirable.
But even back when I was 16, when I hoped to catch the eye of a cute guy or two, I couldn’t even catch an eyelash, particularly – especially – of the one I had a huge crush. Continue reading
I am a fantastic speller. Always have been.
I acquired this gift without ever asking for it; it’s just part of me.
My brother, who is a horrendous speller (or as he would spell, a whorendus one), claims spelling is a genetic tick. I disagree. I believe that the number of books you read equates how many words you can spell correctly.
Many others (who can’t spell) claim it’s not a requirement in this day of digital spellchecks.
I’d like to inquire: how many times has spell check messed them up? Continue reading
“No, that’s not what I said,” my brother replies, raising his voice during our blue-toothed conversation. “The hospital didn’t think she was covered.”
“How could they possibly think that?” I protest from the driver’s seat of my car. “We’ve only filled out dozens of forms in the past year with all that information.”
I hear Chuck’s groan, hundreds of miles away. He’s in Maryland driving home from work. I’m racing in my car in New England on the way to teach an evening class.
“Toll Booth in ½ mile,”
an alien-sounding female voice intones loudly from Chuck’s car, just as he says, “…called (garble garble) insurance (garble garble) card!” Continue reading
We wanted someone, er, thing, with personality and spirit, with a touch of unexpected color and a tad of attitude. In other words, we wanted another Be-bop-a-lula.
We name our plants. Every single one. Do you? Continue reading