I am surrounded by widows.
Not in the metaphorical sense or by friends or family, but physically in my neighborhood.
Dead batteries
Who among you likes to take down and put away holiday decorations? I didn’t think so.
I had thought the second Christmas of widowhood would be easier, but I was dead wrong. Continue reading “Dead batteries”
Sparkle balloons
According to Wicca philosophy, “the power of the moon cannot be overstated.”
Now, before you think I’m getting all “woo-woo,” I wanted to lead with that thought as it relates to a recent excursion I had with some friends when we attended a Moon Group led by a Wiccan High Priestess.
Vroom
When I turned 50, I told my husband I wanted to commemorate hitting the half century mark by either getting a tattoo or a motorcycle.
Stag nation
One study reveals that almost two-thirds of people who resolve to get healthy and fit in the new year give it up.
I’m not surprised by that at all. Following the excesses of the holidays, there is a certain “buyer’s remorse” over all of the bacchanal behavior we gave no thought to while immersed in the season of oversharing, overeating and overspending.
December 24, 12:30 pm
Set seasons
We all seem to remark more and more that there are no longer set seasons in the year.
In New England, winter can physically start in October or late December. We may get a few months of spring-like weather, or it could skip right over into the dog days of summer. Continue reading “Set seasons”
A case of the onesies
In the South, you don’t go grocery shopping; you go “tradin’.”
And those four-wheeled caged contraptions you push up and down the aisles to transport your goods out to the car are not shopping carts, they’re called “buggies.”
The tarnished years
Back in the late ’50’s, some savvy, “Mad Men” type advertising execs came up with a catchy phrase to sell real estate in the Arizona desert to the older set. Continue reading “The tarnished years”
Where there’s smoke
I smell smoke. All the time.
At first, I thought maybe one of the folks who live in the house next door were sneaking outside for an illicit butt, and the smell had wafted over to my house, invading my nostrils.
Grief is an annoying houseguest who won't leave 