I read newspapers, always have. Always one every day; oftentimes two or more. When I…
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...
Eating Invasively
“You are so brave!” The woman next in line at the Wegmans looked gobsmacked. I smiled at her as the fella behind the fish counter weighed and wrapped the fillets I had chosen. Did she find the idea of eating something called “snakehead” gross? Or was it a matter of...
One Person’s Nude
One pleasant morning, in the late 1980s, I started my work as the Education Curator at the Des Moines Art Center in Iowa. The phone rang; it appeared we had a problem with an upcoming tour of elementary school children who were also scheduled for a studio-art...
Dialysis 3: Anāhata and the Art of Dialysis
The schlepping and stacking and priming and replacing of all the stuff associated with keeping the Cycler and Pureflow up and running is madness. I have absolutely no idea how anyone even slightly weaker or less competent than I—and I am seriously not competent—can...