Medical procedures that involve anesthesia often put me in a mental tailspin, and my recent visit to a local surgical center offered no exceptions. Even though it was a routine procedure that many of us of a certain age endure, I carefully placed our outdated medical directives and wills on my home desk before going to the surgery center. They are from...
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My husband, Marc, shares enthusiastically that he is meeting with a composer his local orchestra has solicited for a piece of music. As he tells me about her and how they will explore his percussion instruments, he drops the bomb. “She’ll be here at 2 p.m. tomorrow,” he smiles, as he walks into another room to pull out and display his instruments for her...
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I do what I always do when I haven’t heard from Hank – whose name has been changed for the sake of privacy – for over six months: I scan the obituaries. He’s still alive, as far as I can tell, which means something else. It means his emails must be in my spam folder. Alas, there’s no proof of life there, either. Which means only one other thing is...
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My first memory of sending Christmas cards was helping my grandmother at her kitchen table. Everything she needed was staged on a white plastic tablecloth covered with poinsettia designs. She had a damp sponge sitting in a saucer on the table for my job: to seal the envelopes and affix the stamps. It seemed that she wrote a letter in each card, but I don’t...
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My husband sent me a link to a book review this week by an author whose work is in my wheelhouse. The author’s new book extolls the mental and physical health benefits of walking in his neighborhood the past several years. Of small observations and large realizations. I think of my almost-finished manuscript of walking my own neighborhood. A world-weary...
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