I can’t imagine passing up the fun of writing my own obituary. Unlike more traditional obits, there will be no narrative of worldly achievements, connections, good fortune, heartbreak and general shenanigans. Instead, an exploration of the key question one might pose in response to those things. So what? Our control over what happens is tiny
When my beloved and I first became sweethearts nearly a half-century ago, our only piece of art was a poster of hers that read: A friend is someone who leaves you with all your freedom intact, but who, by what he thinks of you, obliges you to be fully what you are. ~ J. L’Heureux.
Among the thousands of stones that have surfaced on the land I tend. I have relatives who are Chinese. Years ago I asked one of them why was it, did he suppose, that the eyes of Chinese people are shaped as they are. What environmental circumstance caused their eyes to adapt in the particular way
The question was one I’d never before considered: How would I characterize myself? Sidestepping thought, as I try to do as much as possible, I opened my heart and mouth to the voice of intuition. Out popped: “I’m a very gifted person.” Not gifted talented, but rather someone who has received many gifts. I
My beloved’s suicide plus 18 months. The word is not the thing, and all I can give you is words. Seemingly never-ending new depths in the ocean of surrender. Familiar after familiar revealed as ephemeral. Perhaps it’s a feeling one has as death of the body approaches. Only for me it isn’t
Today I enter year 78. Sixteen months and a day after my beloved’s departure. Not three weeks in my new home. Last night I was guided to watch “This is It,” the documentary of the three-month rehearsal of what was to be the capstone tour of Michael Jackson’s career, which of course didn’t occur because
I felt a small bug crawling on my back inside my t-shirt. Tick, I feared, whipping an arm over my shoulder. Only one finger could reach far enough to extract the creature expediently. A procedure it did not survive. Turns out it was a ladybug. I apologized that my lack of composure led to
A friend is helping me “re-home” many belongings as I dramatically downsize the physical accouterments of my life in preparation for taking up residence in the new tiny monastery the bank and I jointly own. Among them is the first real bed my beloved and I purchased over 40 years ago. At that time, it