The other day I was lost in thought, all hunkered-down and hunched over my bike, grunting up a paved, steep residential street. I must’ve only been looking down for a good bit because I came within a centimeter of crashing into the back end of a Ford F-150. Queue sound effect for my screeching…

  I took a stroll down Facebook memory lane this morning, and clicked on “On this day” in the left margin of my Facebook page, the tab under “Explore.” Here, I see my posts on this very day throughout the years since my own Facebook page came into existence. I just came across a photo…

  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,…

  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…

  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…

  “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…

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.  …

  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….

    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…

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…