A friend died this week. One moment she was living life deeply and the next unable to speak or move. The suddenness was jarring, and it knocked me back a bit. The odd thing was that we'd never actually met, at least not in person.
Death
Beauty and Sorrow
the beauty and sorrow of life, hand in hand...
Calculated Risk
This post was originally published in March 2020, when we were still innocent, unscathed and unscarred, hopeful, confused, wary, and frightened. Comparing and contrasting from a year ago, what's changed since then? What do you think?
Risky Behavior
I'm at a restaurant a thousand miles from home, seated closely around a table with ten beloved family-in-law members. We are eating, drinking, chatting, unmasked, and I'm thinking, how the hell did I get here? Alarm bells clang in my head.
Mother-in-Law
Marilyn was a family gal through and through, and she worked at being a good mother-in-law.
Bird Friend
Today the grandkids and I buried one of the baby scrub jays that live in the tall line of arborvitae lining the upper edge of our backyard.
The First One
It snowed on Saturday as the first person in our city died. It was a milestone that brought everything into relief. No going back, only forward. The first one - so much in that short phrase. Until now, no one in our city died of Coronavirus. Until now, and it won't be the last. The … Continue reading The First One
Equinox Part I
Usually my feelings about Fall here in the Pacific Northwest are more mixed; excited about cooler mornings, rain in the garden, digging out warm clothes while mourning the end of languid days, sleeveless shirts, warm skin, and thriving gardens. Instead, I was fighting inevitable change, a losing battle.
It’s All a Dream We Dreamed
Robert Hunter, the lyricist for the Grateful Dead, was also the lyricist for my life. His words threaded through my life since I was 21, when I met some new friends, Harold and Alan, and a community of people that became my tribe. Would I be who I am without Hunter?
Death Don’t Have No Mercy
My mind lingers on death more often these days. I tell Alan that if I become too demented and disabled he should smother me with a pillow, but he hasn't agreed. How about a commemorative plaque on a bench instead?
Rivers and Roads PDX 