The day starts one way and ends another. As it winds down we sit in the hot tub talking about important things like clouds and the garden and some other less important things too. I watch the daisies dance in the breeze. It’s getting dark by the time we come in the house and I’m startled
It was classic. Look to the left, look to the right, at the end of this program only one of you will be here. The instructor was right. Of those who sat in the classroom on that first day only a relative handful walked across the stage to receive a diploma two years later. I was
I’m at the park, kneeling at my tripod and looking through the viewfinder at some flowers I don’t know the name of. What someone somewhere called them in the past doesn’t matter. They’re growing here today and I’m appreciating their unique beauty and attempting to capture a reasonable digital representation. Sometimes I catch glimmers of
I wish it was hot, but it’s not. It will be before long, so I do my best to be patient. We go to an appointment, then to the garden and harvest handfuls of fragrant basil for pesto. At home, I work in the kitchen making dog food and that pesto. After many trips up
Gerry leaves early for a hike and I putter in the kitchen making pasta salad and a big batch of granola. It’s 9:00 when everything’s done, cleaned up, and put away: the time I head down to the woman cave to write. But the sun is shining and it is warm outside. The deck looks
My hands grip the steering wheel, my throat is tight, and a single tear forms and falls from the corner of my eye. I don’t wipe it away, but allow it to meander down my cheek as testimony to what has hurt me. I stop at a red light, and as I’m waiting I notice
It’s the first Monday in June, the sixth since I transitioned to retirement re-imagined. Seven years ago on this day, jarred awake by an alarm before dawn, my mind on the day’s work before my feet hit the floor, I was running and getting ready to head out on the interstate to my corporate office. This