Archive for October 2015

The End of a Life in Photos: Saying Goodbye to Da

If you live long enough, chances are you will experience a bed on wheels, lots of wires, and mysterious bruises.
My 81 year old father, Da, died last spring.  He was a lion, a character, a flawed King Lear, my anchor.  He taught me much and I am grateful for his lessons.  I miss him. Because I spent twelve years working professionally with older adults in health care, aging was something he and I spoke... Read more »

The Sexual Objectification of the Leaders of North America

Is it just me, or does North America feel a bit, um, hotter these days?  With this week’s election of Justin Trudeau as Canada’s new prime minister, the leaders of the free world that happen to reside in North America make my heart beat just a little faster. Not to be crass, but damn, they... Read more »

Missing Donna

Six years ago tonight I laid down next to you for the last time.  There are more lasts than firsts, it seems, with you, Donna.  That compounds my sadness around your death. I am still learning about grief and each year, each birthday and anniversary, feels a bit different. The deep sadness over your death... Read more »

A High School Teacher Remembers, Former Student Blushes

Today’s blog is a guest post from a favorite English teacher I had as a freshman in high school in the fall of 1983.  And, as a disclaimer, I had NO IDEA what she was going to write about. Sheesh!  Blushing over here. By Saralyn Richard One of the most gratifying rewards of being an... Read more »

That Time My High School Teacher Was Shot in Class

It’s been ten months since I have written about gun violence in America.  Nothing has changed. There are still shootings, still deaths, still indignation about freedom and rights, still dithering, cowardly politicians.  The numbers are staggering. STAGGERING, people.  265 mass shootings in 2015.  559 children under the age of eleven killed by guns in the... Read more »

An Apple, a Knife, and a Six Year Old

This morning I woke up to my son running into my bedroom with a bloody thumb, scared, but not crying, and holding a Darth Vader Band-Aid.  Something was wrong. He told me, with certainty, that he had banged his thumb on the wall.  He was fibbing. It took a few moments to realize that he... Read more »