It once seemed inconceivable that we—or anyone--would operate a dialysis center in a spare bedroom.…
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...
Christmas Letter 2022
Best news first. my Dear One’s grandson Miles proposed to Holly, apparently in a New York City photo booth, and she said yes! While last year’s missive announced the nuptials of my nephew Dan (a brother’s middle son) and Lish out in Minnesota, this year I am...
We Are All History
At the news of the death of Queen Elizabeth II, my mind went so many places. One of those places was my grandparents’ butler’s pantry. On one shelf, among odd sets, had been the set of coronation cups. “Who had them now?” I wondered and emailed my siblings and cousins...