Was I right or what? You were there, words on the tip of your tongue, not checked out or bored but crowded around waiting. I could feel you.
I am relieved to find, in the middle of my grief, that this wound is cleaner because I didn’t insist that he save me out of it.
You know deep in your bones that what he is thinking or doing or feeling or chasing is going to land him in deep guano sooner or later.
Sadness lies abed of a morning with a question mark, and anger turns the viewpoint red, tips over tables, but fear sits in the corners…
After the pies are baked, they pop right out – like mini springform pans without the spring. They are the cutest ever.
I can’t help feeling like some of you have Things to say, but you are not sure you want to say them. Some of you have never commented before.
What can I say?
I accepted a bet from my son, to see which of us was right. He Googled the answer on his phone and then roared his protest.
I think we like our silver, and like coming out about it. Hey, we worked hard for those shining hairs…..
“I am such a smart bird, I am. Not like those birds I live with, the fat ones all feathers and no brains…”
There is a coffee shop that’s calling my name, and an unmarked-grave-yard that gave me the heebie-jeebies.
I found his questions insightful and engaging, which was helpful because I did not get to see them ahead of time.
One night my husband and I got out oversized mugs, whipped up a little cake batter, and baked cake-in-a-mug.
In NW Pennsylvania, March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lion, and does a lot of lion things in between too.