This winter we're back in the sleepover groove with the grandkids after a long hiatus. Fun but tiring. I somehow feel youthful and ancient all at once.
Memories
Oregon Coast Winter
Day two of an Oregon adventure. Setting off southward, we drove and stopped and drove and hiked and drove and stopped some more. That's the Oregon coast, thick with rest stops, viewpoints, waysides, and more. You can't get far because you want to stop at them all.
Gray
...here I am, still trying to make my peace with winter. I turn my back on the gray skies, annoyed, wondering when blue would win out, watching and hoping it would peek through, a ray of hope. I calculate outings for the best of weathers.
Mother-in-Law
Marilyn was a family gal through and through, and she worked at being a good mother-in-law.
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?
Coast Starlight
The Coast Starlight train trip from Oakland to Santa Barbara is a beautiful nine hours long. I had frequently traveled up and down the U.S. west coast, but the train was just never as cheap or quick or convenient as flying or driving. But when all you have is time...
The Grass is Riz
All of Portland loses its mind on a day like this. We head out to soak up a winter's worth of soul sustaining sunshine. It's the promise that yes, change will come, even if it rains all the rest of this week. It's the acknowledgement that we did survive whatever personal hell was our winter.
Rolling in Memories
They taste of history and of memory, they taste of love, and they taste of butter. They taste of mom, who made them on special occasions. They taste of Nana Bea who would help make them on her annual visits from Chicago or Florida. Nothing but milk and eggs, flour and yeast, a little sugar … Continue reading Rolling in Memories
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