The lights go down. The curtain goes up. Mom and I nestle into our cushy reclining loungers. The orchestra launches into the rousing, slightly ominous prelude of “Madame Butterfly.” We sigh with contentment and anticipation. Giacomo Puccini’s beloved score swells and soars and sweeps us through three hours of cherry blossoms and tragedy in 1940s …
We didn’t set out to start a tradition. Yet in each of the seven-plus years we’ve lived in Portland, the Oregon coast has seduced us to visit for a few days in early January. The lure of raging surf, gray days, and a cozy cottage with a fireplace is irresistible. Our plan is simple. Read, …
My mom celebrated her 97th birthday in early October. What a woman. While her aging body deals out indignities one after another, her mind remains sharp and resolute. What keeps her going? I suspect it’s a blend of spirituality, curiosity, and exercise, along with the devotion of her family and friends. Mom lives in a …
My writing teacher, Jennifer, invited all participants in her writing studios to share their pandemic learnings—especially as they applied to our art—one year after we all went into lockdown. Here are the bones of my experience, my Haiku Year in Review. Pandemic musingsWhat changes have twelve months wrought?Lifetime in one year. A world of chaosInequities …
It’s NFL playoff season, and this weekend, my Green Bay Packers have the chance to win the NFC Championship and qualify for the Super Bowl. Thanks to my father, football is part of my DNA. Back in the day when football was televised only on Sundays, we would dash home from church and turn on …
What can one say about the past year? So much, it overwhelmed me when I sat down to make a few year-end notes. So I went minimalist with my observations. Haiku in hindsight. A year of promiseSo began Twenty TwentyIndian New Years. Sisters’ adventureRajasthan and Taj MajalDelhi finale. Returned to my loveTo celebrate thirty yearsDevoted …
This past week, we honored the nine-year-anniversary of my father’s passing as we do every year—with a hamburger. Dad loved his burgers, and consuming one while sharing favorite tales of our time together is a soothing ritual. I wrote the following while sitting watch at his bedside the day before he dies. My 86-year-old dad …
A brisk, overcast Saturday morning in Portland, Oregon. I’ve taken my early morning walk, bundled up in one of the rainbow of down jackets I’ve collected since moving to this often bone-chilling climate. Rocky the cat has been schlepped to the veterinarian for his annual check-up, where, in the “new abnormal,” I waited in the …
Nine years ago, I started a blog called “Age with Attitude.” I had just hit a birthday with a zero that freaked me out. I was mad! How did I get to be this advanced age? Where had my life gone? What happened to that hopeful twenty-year-old who saw the future as a wild and …