Grief
Has grief ever taken you by surprise? It caught me over something I never expected to grieve: my husband’s retirement. His retirement! I’m asking myself, Why? The pluses are immense: he’s doing more of the cooking, cleaning, washing and dog-walking. Even scooping the cat’s litter box! He’s done home repairs, raked leaves, grocery shopped, taken financial records to be shredded, studied our phone plan, and joined the Rec Center. He was at home when the HVAC guy came to service our units, so I didn’t have to take time from work to be there. He’s staying up later, reading a lot and watching silly movies. He’s more relaxed than he’s been in years. Years. I’m no longer worried about him keeling over from...
Christmas
What is Christmas? Have you ever thought to define it? I see two words, Christ and mass, representing the day we celebrate the coming of our Savior Who, out of love for us, ultimately gave His body and His blood, the holy Eucharist. He was, and is, a personal Gift for each of us, the greatest we will ever receive. We rejoice as we think of the Child in the manger and we are overwhelmed with thanks as we consider our Redeemer on the cross. The angels, ecstatic at His birth, praised God with singing and a heavenly display of fireworks. They couldn’t help but share their excitement, which was so obvious to the shepherds keeping watch during the night that they were drawn into the celebration. When I look at the night sky, it seems I can see lights from miles...
Celery
Ever have trouble convincing your kids to eat vegetables? How about a 59-year-old husband? When George accidentally dropped a piece of celery on the floor during dinner, Prince jumped right on it. Sniffed it. Turned it over with his nose. Sniffed again. Then walked away. George takes this as a sign we should never eat celery again. After all, if the dog won’t eat it—a dog that sometimes eats his own poop—just what does that say about celery?
Waiting
I’m not good at waiting. Never have been. Please don’t text that you’re stopping by my house in a few minutes because my day will be completely lost until you arrive. I won’t want to start a television show that will be interrupted. I won’t want to play the piano because I might not hear the doorbell. I won’t want to sit on the potty because, dang it, you might ring just about the time I get comfortable. And then, of course, there’s the anxiety about my dog, Prince, who is not fond of visitors or doorbells. If I know exactly when you’ll arrive, I can put him in the back yard and maybe—just maybe—have a few minutes to welcome you before he tries to come through the window for you. If I put him out too far in advance,...
Dancing
I’ve never been a dancer. The ballet performances I did at age six for my mother, wearing my homemade tutu, a slip that was silky at top and flared out in rough crinoline at the bottom, would never have drawn applause from anyone else. It takes a bit more than passion to please an audience. I did the twist, the jerk and the pony when listening to music with my preteen friends in the confines of one of our homes. But do any of those dances in public? No. I survived school dances as a teen because by moving in rhythm with the music, I looked like I knew what I was doing. Of course, slow dancing with a boyfriend was a piece of cake since there wasn’t much movement involved beyond making sure you weren’t separated by even a fraction of an inch....
Music
Our home, when I was born, was the second floor of Melba and Harold Hyde’s house near Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Though the Hydes were my parents’ landlords, they became like family to us, so we often shared meals in their kitchen. After dinner, Harold would move to his old upright piano, set his can of beer on top, and begin to entertain. He didn’t use print music; he just curled his fingers on the keyboard and played the music living in his head. When I grew old enough to stand, I would get as close as I could, gripping the edge of the piano bench to keep my balance, and watch his fingers dance across the keys. I was mesmerized by the beautiful sounds he created. We moved to our own house when I was two, leaving the piano behind, but while...
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