Boobs
I was born with a small frame, which explains my childhood nickname, Small Fry. I stayed small as I grew—or, I should say, didn’t grow. I was a pretty skeletal-looking kid since I wouldn’t eat. Playground dirt and M&Ms, yes; real food, no. Mother referred to me as a string bean, though she could never convince me to eat one. Everyone was surprised, of course, when, in my early teens, a couple of melons started growing on my chest. They grew to be larger than those of my mother and older sister combined. Mother used to say she had pebbles and Debbie had stones, but Karen had boulders. Ever hear of an over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder? That phrase got old—as did being stuck with something that, I was soon to learn, everyone else thinks they want. PE...
Squat-n-Sprayer
I’ve passed through some airports lately where I’ve encountered a serious problem in women’s restrooms: the squat-n-sprayer. Translation: the woman who squats, hovering inches above the toilet seat without actually touching it, to pee. That’s right, men. There are women who actually do this. Makes you glad you get to stand, doesn’t it? I assume the reason for the squat is to avoid touching the seat with one’s bum. My solution for germ protection is to place toilet paper on the seat or to use the seat covers that are often available. However, if I enter a stall after a squatter, not even the careful placing of paper is going to keep my butt clean. The pee that the squatter sprayed all over the seat will soak through and get on...
Stillness
Holding my two-month-old grandson. He stares into my eyes, a sweet smile on his face. Time stands still.
Glad
When people learn of my skydiving adventure, their first question seems to be, Are you glad you did it? For the first month, my quick response was, No! The experience scared me so badly, I didn’t foresee ever being glad that I did it. But I am learning to never say, never. The writer, Alice Hoffman, has long mesmerized me with her intricately woven novels, but she impressed me, yet again, with her 2013 publication called, Survival Lessons. After fighting a battle with breast cancer, an illness I, too, have fought, Alice wrote this small book to share her thoughts on finding beauty in the world, even in tough times. In an effort to encourage people to try new things, she writes, “If you try and fail at some new endeavor, what difference does it make?...
Skydive
Sitting beside the open door of a small airplane, 14,000 feet in the air, I closed my eyes, dreading what I was about to do. My sixtieth year had seemed the perfect time to finally venture from my chrysalis, the cocoon that had sheltered me the bulk of my life. I had already taken steps towards freedom, riding motorcycles and in a hot-air balloon. Other things, like divorce and cancer, had also chipped away at my shell; but this adventure—skydiving—was the scariest by far. I had no idea why I had chosen to do it, though I tried to envision myself as a butterfly, stretching its wings to fly, doing what it was born to do. Dan, my skydive instructor, assured me that jumping out of an airplane was safer than driving home in my car. I knew he was right and I was...
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