Vacationing as Brynna

For much of my early adult life–twenty years or more–vacation meant leaving the crazy-busy work world and driving seven hours north to a three-acre island on Moosehead Lake in Northern Maine, where we cooked meals over an open campfire, survived without electricity, carried drinking water, swam nude, and– since it was the days before cell phones–lost track of the outside world. [To continue reading, click on the title.]

Summer in the City

The saxophone player isn’t there today. He usually comes around this time in the afternoon. When he plays, I can hear the music in our apartment, although the corner on which he stands is seven stories down, half a block away, and across the street, in front of the bank. Whenever I hear his notes, I run down and put a few dollars in his case. [Click on title to read the full post.]

Paddles and Pens

When I take the car out of the garage, I see our kayaks, canoe, and paddles hanging neatly on the walls. Because of my difficulties with RA (rheumatoid arthritis), it is not likely that I will again be able to get into or out of the kayaks. Last summer, when I managed (with difficulty) to get into the kayak, I couldn’t get out. I had to have someone tip the kayak over near the beach, so that I could roll out into the knee-deep water and crawl to the shore to find something to lean on in order to pull myself to my feet. Pretty inelegant! I could do that on our own, private beach, but, now that we no longer have our house in Maine, I would be forced to enact this lovely procedure on a public beach, and that just isn’t going to happen. [Click on the title to read the rest of the post.}

Downsizing: Seeing the World with New Eyes

When the doctor took the patch off my left eye, I was flummoxed. The world I encountered was not the one I usually see upon opening my eyes; this new world was dazzling, intense, lustrous. My eyes were still dilated and my vision cloudy from the surgery. Nevertheless, the difference between the vision in my two eyes was spectacular. I spent the next several days, covering first one eye and then the other, trying to make sense of the bright reality of the left eye compared to the duller, yellow-green world of the right eye, the world I had been living in for some time. [Click on title to read the whole post.]

Victory Garden

It is dark and I am working by the spotlight that shines out over our back yard. It is raining lightly and I am down on my knees, digging in the dirt with my bare hands, throwing the pieces of glass that I dig out of the soil into the plastic bucket at the end of the row, so I can plant the last of the lettuce. Shannon and John are inside, waiting to start dinner. I know I should go in, but I want to wrest every last possible moment out of my gardening time. [To read the full post, click on the title.]


I recognize them all immediately of course, but it has been some time since we have been together, Evie's funeral eleven years ago, a couple of reunions over the years. I have seen Barbara only once since she left for the West Coast, after the group ended, sometime in the eighties. (To read the rest of the post, click on title)

Becoming Brynna

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]


I talk to my houses. I talk to my houses the way some people talk to their plants. When I leave, I say good-bye and tell the house when I will be returning. When I arrive, I tell the house I have arrived, announcing my homecoming loudly, and asking questions about how things have been as I check all the rooms. (Click on title to read more)

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