I don’t have children. At least none that I know of. It’s honestly my greatest regret in life. But, heck, maybe I wasn’t cut out for motherhood. I’m still trying to figure out the difference between size 24 months and 2T. They should be the same, right? Wrong. Apparently, size 24 months includes features specially designed for babies. Baby bottoms (as in pants) in a 24-month size feature a curved design to fit diapers. Relaxed fit, if you will. The 2T size won’t have extra room, appearing slimmer and feeling snugger than size 24 months. Sort of like “Baby Spanx.” So for me, not having kids was perhaps a blessing…
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The chair
It’s been a rough couple of weeks since our beloved dog left this earth. We miss her so much that sometimes it’s hard to speak. We’re quieter than usual, staying up later and sleeping longer than we probably should, trying to fill the void of not having her around 24/7. There were lots of cards, calls, texts and well wishes. (Thank you all.) Lately, we’ve managed a few solitary afternoons sitting on the patio watching birds build nests, along with some visits from supportive friends and family to fill our minds with something other than Madison. Much to my dismay, grief doesn’t have an expiration date. You can’t toss it…
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Madison 2008-2024
Her left ear was the color of latte, a soft creamy caramel beige. A spot the very same color covered her lower back in the shape of a semicolon. Even though she had me at “woof,” this punctuation birthmark was the clincher. She stole my heart. She was ours. And we were hers. We met when she was just hours old, eased into this world by my middle sister, Sandy, whose small but mighty dog Annie had three healthy Havanese puppies in a litter of four. Sadly, one male didn’t make it. But two females and another lucky boy survived. They were all spoken for, except one. It was May…
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Mustang turns 60
First, I’d like to apologize. This blog was supposed to have been posted yesterday, April 17, for reasons you will soon learn. Second, if two Colorado blue spruce trees fall in your yard and you’re sitting in the kitchen, does it make a sound? Yes, but only if someone puts it on Facebook. Forget the tree talk. What I heard was, “Oh. My. Gosh. OH MY GOSH. OHMYGOSH!” I swear, Rebecca never swears — even amid unanticipated natural events for which no human is responsible. Forever to be called an Act of … Gosh. Remember those Chiffon margarine ads from the 1970s? Mother Nature tastes what she thinks is sweet creamy…
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Then I’m 64 …
Anne Lamott is an American novelist and nonfiction writer. I’ve blogged about her before. Her latest book, “Somehow: Thoughts on Love,” was published this week. “Love is our only hope,” Lamott writes in her 20th book. “It is not always the easiest choice, but it is always the right one, the noble path, the way home to safety, no matter how bleak the future looks.” Funny, warm and wise, Lamott explores the transformative power that love has in our lives: how it surprises us, forces us to confront uncomfortable truths, reminds us of our humanity and guides us forward. “Love just won’t be pinned down,” she says. “It is in…
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No ‘Pizza, Pizza’
Fewer things trouble me in my golden years, mainly because I’m more accepting of what I cannot change and try to take things as they come. And honestly, I just don’t care as much. “It is what it is,” to quote just about everyone these days. Such a tiresome expression. Although in this case, it fits. So, I was a bit surprised at my reaction to something I had read in last week’s Free Press about the Detroit Tigers’ new home run celebration. For non-fans: Our guys were off to a blazing start — literally batting a thousand, as it were — with an undefeated 5-0 record since they began the 2024 season…
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Rise up
Tomorrow is Easter Sunday, the holiest of Christian holidays, even for recovering Catholics like me. The 40 days of Lent leading up to it have been embedded in my brain since childhood. My mother made sure we remembered Jesus’ sacrifice and love for all people, and, of course, the Resurrection. We always fasted on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday. During Lent, we didn’t eat meat on Fridays and “gave up” something important to us. A sacrifice that would be difficult and make us a better person. Like not cursing. I failed miserably. The shape of things to come, perhaps. A religious scholar I am not. But if you’re talking about…
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Free lunch
SOMEWHERE ON I-75 NORTH: Last week, we drove 1,250 miles over two-and-a-half days for a sandwich near Findlay, Ohio. It was worth all of the Interstate 95 Florida backups, every ounce of West Virginia’s pea soup fog on 77 west and even those @#$! Michigan pot holes along I-75. You see, despite what you may think, sometimes there is such a thing as a “free lunch.” Quite often when and where you least expect it. Just north of Findlay outside a village in Hancock County called Van Buren, we made a pit stop at a Pilot Travel Center. We hesitated for exactly two seconds because it was at the same exit as a…
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Jump
The trouble with being away from home for weeks at a time to escape Michigan’s winter is, well, Michigan’s winter. We returned earlier this week to find everything in order, except a dead Beast – our RV motorhome – parked outside since the end of January. The poor creature’s battery was kaput. Totally mea culpa, since I should have asked our home-checker/dear friend Kelly to start it weekly while we were gone. The plants survived, our basement was dry, but the RV was D-E-D. Aside: I must say, my Mustang Sal cranked right up this week even though she also hadn’t been started since before we left. But the pony was…
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Searchin’ for urchins
ANNA MARIA ISLAND, Florida – As a retired woman of a certain age, there’s not a whole lot that can get me up and out before 9 a.m. Keyword being “out.” An urgent veterinary appointment for our beloved Havanese, nature’s call and, of course, pickleball with my peeps. (Just not this year. I shall return.) On Tuesday morning, though, we had good reason to rise and shine early: strict orders from “Queen E,” our winter maven of shelling and shaming. Most folks around the pool here call her Eileen. “The early bird gets the sand dollars, girls, so haul your lazy butts over here to the beach by 8!” she said…
