We pull into the parking lot of the Old Saybrook train station. "Oh no!" I moan, looking at the full lot. "We'll never find a parking spot." Rosemary reminds me that when we first got together, I used to visualize parking spaces for her. She is right. Why have I become so pessimistic in my old age? I try my old visualization skills. It works! As we round the last corner, a parking space appears. ... [Click on TItle to read more]
The September nights are cool now and I ponder what winter life will be like when it is too cold for backyard visits in Boston with children and grandchildren or for brief stopovers on the deck of a friend in Rhode Island, as we did this past weekend.
I post today not a post of my own, but a poem and comments that were sent to me by my cousin, Cate Hart Hyatt. Thank you Cate, thank you Maya Angelou, thank you Nina Totenberg, thank you RBG When Great Trees Fallby Maya AngelouWhen great trees fall,rocks on distant hills shudder,lions hunker downin tall... Continue Reading →
The pandemic may have lessened the enjoyment of delegates, reporters, and participants of the Democratic Convention, but for home viewers like me, it created a much more pleasurable, albeit more curated, event.
As we settled into the sixth month since this all began, we had to figure out how we could go forward with our lives. It seemed that everyone we knew was measuring the odds in the same way that we were. Rosemary kept reminding me, “If one of us contracted the virus through our actions, we would look back and say, ‘It wasn’t worth it.’”
Have Mask, Will Travel...The store was huge and there were scarcely any cars in the parking lot. It was 7:00 on a Saturday evening and it was the Fourth of July. People in upstate New York had better places to be than Hannaford’s Supermarket, but I wanted coffee when I woke up in the morning.
The long green stems of the chives on our balcony swayed in the breeze and we went out to sit in the waning light of the day. Rosemary had noticed the chives; she is often the one who creates little spaces in our day, openings for us to attend to and appreciate the world.
The new chemo drug seemed to be hard at work, doing its job. It was the side effects that were hard to manage. Rosemary had been, reluctantly, on around-the-clock oxycodone for several days. The pain in her shoulder had been with her for six months, increasing with the passing time. The MRI had showed it was from her cancer. [Click on title to read entire post]
On my way home from the Farmer’s Market with flower and tomato plants in my wire cart, and more plants in bags hanging off each of my shoulders, I met a woman who lives on our floor. We stopped to chat. “Those should grow well on your balcony.” [Click on title for full post]