I-don’t-care-itis: Death of a small town
I-don’t-care-itis: Death of a small town. As part owner of an aging home in a small town, I’m interested in its upkeep as well as the surrounding neighborhood. On a…
Sarcoxie Days
9/7/14 I'm on my way home! Yay! Yesterday we went to breakfast at The Hungry House with Maxine. It was raining and cold after the 90 degree heat of the…
Unforgettable
How many times have you heard something billed as unforgettable? How many times have you forgotten that something? I consider it false advertising, as in the case of E's promotion…
When I Was A Bully
Her name was Marie. We were in first grade at a Catholic School in a small Midwestern town. It doesn't matter where we were or how old we were. My…
After All These Years Say Goodbye to Tiny Tears
On a shelf in my closet hidden in a white plastic bag are my dolls. They’ve been in that bag on that shelf for seventeen years. Before that, they were…
Family Therapy in The House of Dust, Part Nine, The Rest of the Trip
On Tuesday Sue and I head to Utica because there is a place there that does wine tasting and features wine from a local winery. The entire time I lived…
The Pink Nightshirt
Downsizing living quarters is never easy. During the pre-transition, packing stage it’s a constant battle over what to keep and what to let go. Will I need it? Have I…
Family Therapy in The House of Dust, Part Six
We return to what I’ve come to think of as The House of Dust. Two years unoccupied. We opened the windows to air the house out when we arrived on…
Family Therapy in The House of Dust, Part Five
We go into the living room to chat some more. Of course Mom can’t hear anything even when someone shouts. No one is sitting close to her to repeat everything…
Family Therapy in The House of Dust, Part Three
Mom launches into a reminiscence about her own parents. Her mother had to get up every morning and make biscuits from scratch on an old wood cook stove. My…