Christmas 2021 Dearest All, The box turtles look so surprised, heads withdrawn above the hinged…
Widow’s Weeds 4: A Single Place Setting
Dining has changed from a social activity to little more than a chore. Granted, Dan’s appetite faltered considerably over the past year or two. As Covid threw a pall over all our lives, I had taken over food shopping as a defensive posture. Dan’s increasing fragility...
Widow’s Weeds 3: Heart’s Desire
Unless I want to be an Edie, Big or Little, in an ersatz-colonial Grey Gardens, I need to begin the process of emptying this house. We’ve been happy here. At least I think so. It is hard, indeed, to truly know what Dan was thinking about much of anything....
Widow’s Weeds 2: Sell My Home? I Live In My Home!
Do I want to sell my house? No, I do not. At least not now and not to you, whoever you are. That has been my answer to phone calls and what I would respond to the people who send letters. Vultures, the bunch of them. Carrion Eaters They read the obituaries and do the...
Widow’s Weeds 1: All That Time
Becoming a widow leaves me with an extraordinary amount of time. The Before Time I knew taking care of Dan was a full-time job: dialysis occupied four hours, four days a week, or a bit more. While the treatment itself, according to the computer in the Cycler, lasted...