Dear Mom

When someone asks you where you come from, the answer is your mother. . . I did love my mother, but I didn’t know how much until she was gone. Anna Quindlen, One True Thing Mom, you would be 91 today, but you were only 55 when death took you suddenly and unexpectedly so you’re forever

Summer. At last.

What a beautiful week it has turned out to be. Summer finally arrived bringing with her reasonably warm temperatures and sunshine and we’ve soaked it up with Daughter and Granddaughter who are visiting. Our backyard project leaped ahead with the installation of privacy barriers where the tall cedars once stood. Now we’re moving on to

First Day of Spring

The sun shines through the east facing window kissing the bunch of tulips on the dining table. The light is magical. I’d like to put the macro lens on my camera and play but there are other more pressing things to do. I grab my phone and take a quick shot to mark the moment.

Missing Mom

From a distance the resemblance is striking. The shape of her face, the softness of her neck, the way she turns her head to speak to her companion. Occasionally I dream about her—not often, but when I do I wake wrapped in the most bitter sweetness. Closer now, and it’s her smiling almond-shaped eyes and

Wonder-ful

We enjoy barbecued burgers, a couple games of Trouble, and a hot tub. It’s still not dark enough for the surprise Gerry and Makiya have cooked up, so we watch a couple episodes of an old 80’s show on Amazon Prime and eat ice cream while we wait. The appointed time arrives. I’m instructed to keep

Practically Perfect

I’m road tripping today. And listening to podcasts, sipping good coffee, thinking deep and wide thoughts, finding writing inspiration, enjoying divine conversation, and probably pulling over to the side of the road a few times to make notes. And at the end of it all I get hugs from my loves. Practically perfect in every