Don’t Throw Away the Oar

  I ‘d just hopped on my bike and sped up the hill toward my path when I spotted an old, oxidized aluminum, full-of-history-and-romance rowboat in a neighbor’s driveway. At the stern (I speak sailor. I know, impressive) I saw that there was a sign attached and hoped it said “Free.” It did. Better yet,…

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Aging and Johnny Depp

  This morning, my husband, John, stood in the doorway of our bedroom, his palms open and had that potential-minefield-face and said, “Now, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way…”   Here we go.   I waited for part-two of that sentence. He began again. Upgrading to a white-flag-waving-smile and with one…

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Two Demure Girls at The Jazz Club

  It was five minutes before 4 pm, which is the dinner hour at Sunrise Senior Living, and the smooth jazz singer was wrapping up her set. During the last number, residents do their version of the mad dash from their prime spots near the blonde upright piano over to their favorite dinner chairs. Walkers…

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At Least It’s Not

  “Don’t cry” are the words some of us heard as children. We may even hear “don’t cry” as an adult, from another adult. Sometimes in not so many words and sometimes even in those exact words.   I believe the interpretation of this is, “Don’t cry because it’s hard for me to see you…

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Like I’m Saying Goodbye

This photo was taken about a thousand years ago before John and I were married. I was NorCal to his SoCal and our weekend was over; our time was up. I was headed home, even though my new home was his heart. When I hugged him goodbye, it was a thing, a breathless thing.  …

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Bed Head

  It’s Friday and I’ve been in Guatemala since last Sunday. I haven’t washed my hair yet and its so dirty I could form it into a topiary. This is fine because not only would I look good at Disneyland or fit right into the Edward Scissorhands film, it makes bed head even more fantastic….

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An International Women’s Day Perspective: Shovel Ready

    In the foreground of this old black and white photo, my Grandpa Pete is standing in the dirt, his arms are folded, and he’s relaxed, leaning on a shovel. On his head, a newsboy cap, on his face, wire-rimmed glasses and a humble confidence. A matter-of-factness. In the background is a saw horse…

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Perfect Moment

I don’t make a habit of saying it very often, but every once in a while I say, “I’m having a perfect moment.” I don’t say it much because, honestly, perfect moments are rare. I’ve been here over a half of a century, so I’ve racked up a lot of moments—great moments, average moments, stinky…

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Strangers in the Car Wash

  Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, I watch my slippery red, driver-less Mini Cooper inching by, smoothly transitioning from huge sudsy brushes and cloths.   A man walks up, stands by my side, stares at my gliding Mini, and speaks. I do not know him, and there’s no one else around:   He:…

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Rebel Without a Name Tag

  I hate name tags. At an event, I’ll put one on if I must and even if I do, it will eventually accidentally on purpose fall off. Faulty safety pin or whatever. While I typically am pretty good at knowing why I feel a certain way, I don’t know why I loathe the tag….

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