So many ways to die, I think, as I walk out my door The proverbial bus A stroke, a heart attack, cancer, acute appendicitis You have your own favorites I'm sure. If not death, then discomfort and suffering At the grandkids' school Pinworms, head lice, chicken pox, norovirus We went to get our shingles vaccine. … Continue reading Calculated Risk
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.
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?
Wondering about the meaning of life, I did what any sensible person would do, and I Googled it.