As I’ve been pondering blogging, what it once was, and what I imagine it returning to now, I remembered The Simple Woman’s Daybook. Months ago, when I was really struggling, I began listing things in my journal that I saw, smelled, tasted, heard, and felt as a grounding practice. It sounds simple, but it helped….
I stand on the sidewalk listening to the scrape of a crisp golden leaf skating across the driveway in the wind, feeling both delighted and dismayed. I wouldn’t have heard the sound a few days ago. My sixty-year-old memory had forgotten the song of fallen autumn leaves whirling in the wind. A few weeks ago,…
I spend a good part of the day on the sofa in the den, heating pad on high, surrounded by books. I can’t even muster the strength to go to the garden, so I send Gerry to water and harvest tomatoes and Swiss chard for supper. It feels like a wasted day. Countless things, indoors…
I putter around in my kitchen putting lunch dishes in the dishwasher and wiping counters. I empty the coffee pot and grind beans for the next morning’s must-have elixir. I snip Thai and Genovese basil leaves from plants growing in my Aerogarden, putting them in dishes for later use. I rub my thumb and forefinger on thyme…
It’s cliche, but at some point it becomes reality, and doctors start looking like they’re teenagers. We’re in a specialist’s office and he has just discussed a course of treatment. He picks up a little voice recorder and dictates notes that will be transcribed into my husband’s chart later (I know this because he indicates,…
