If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then the face is the emotional barometer. Me, Just Now I remember first going out in public--to the grocery store, I think--and finding myself in a sea of covered faces. Floating eyes, really. The COVID-19 pandemic was newer and scarier then, and everything felt uncertain. But still, we just tried to carry on with the things we would have normally done--including going to the store. (Remember, when toilet paper had its moment.) It was

I know it's easy to throw around the term "new normal" because it seems like the best way to describe what we're experiencing amid the COVID-19 global pandemic. I think we describe it this way in order to feel like we have some measure of control while also trying to normalize it and make a little less scary. It's used for the right reasons, but it isn't really accurate. This isn't the "new" anything. We're in a state of transition from one place to another. We don't know how

Isolation by its very nature allows you to feel alone. Sometimes it's by design (says the gleeful introvert). Sometimes it's not. Clearly, the world in which we’re living is a place that is lonelier than it used to be—whether you’re quarantined alone or with others. We’re still missing the interactions with the usual "day players" in our lives. I miss visiting family as much as seeing my neighbors and hanging out eating, drinking, and talking together. For many of us, our day

When I was walking my dog the other day, I asked Siri to play an NPR news briefing. It was a clear, bright morning. I felt good and was happy to be up and getting a jump on the day. And I like getting our walk completed before others begin walking their pooches. #socialdistancing. But as the report spoke into my ears with the latest statistics of COVID-19, I found myself crying as we walked down the sidewalk along now-silent Lincoln Avenue. It’s happened before—just out of no

It's been a long time since I've spent so much time alone--probably harkening back to the first couple of years after my husband Ken 's death in 2011. Then, my isolation was self-imposed and came from demands within as a way to cope with what I'd lost and to give me time to figure out what was left. Of course, it's a different story now. Adhering to social distancing guidelines, my world involves my condo, my little patio, my dog, and multiple daily walks with her. However, t

I returned from Iceland on March 13 after a week of adventures in one of the most beautiful places on the planet. And while I was gone, the entire world changed. Completely. But it seems wherever I look, there are messages of love, unity, and support--a constant comforting reminder that we are all in this together. The marquee at the venerable music venue near me. As the first global pandemic in my lifetime, I've had no idea what to expect. And it wasn't until a few days aft

I’ve been thinking a lot about Fridays lately; how much I love them. And look forward to them. How they feel like a warm cocoon after a challenging week of work. And how drastically my feelings about them have changed since I wrote The Pinch of Fridays in 2012. I’ll never forget when Ken was diagnosed with cancer in 2009. For all the reasons. It changed everything. His path—mine. Irrevocably. Mine shifted drastically to that of caregiver where my world revolved (rightfully)

I’m pretty ardent with the attention I pay to my calendar and to my journal (and to my blog, for that matter), marking it with momentous occasions—both good and bad. Ken ’s cancer and death were sort of the “Big Bang” for my life as I know it now. It’s somehow at the center of my universe. I’m connected to it. It gave birth to this version of me. Yet I travel further away from it every day--which is both sad and blissful at the same time. When I looked at the calendar and saw

Ken was part of a wonderful family. When I entered said family in the early 2000s, Ken’s gram, Anne, reigned over it. Her home in Michigan City, Indiana, was the hub of family gatherings every holiday. The first time I met her was the summer of 2002 at her 80th birthday party. I remember how loving and kind she was to me the moment we met. She hugged me tightly and from that moment on treated me like family. When I got the call today that she’d passed away last night—at 97—I

Dear Dad, A year? I still shake my head. How could it be a year since you died? My unstoppable, force-of-nature father. The man who I’m named for. The man who I get my height and my blues eyes from. The man who taught me—by example—family comes first. It doesn't seem possible. Or fair. The biggest—and most obvious—truth is I miss you. We all miss you. None of us were ready for you to die. Though from past experience, I’m not sure anyone is ever ready. (A harsher truth.) This

June 1 used to feel like a prison of the worst kind. The kind I was forced to visit annually. And be held there for 24 hours, reliving the events of 2011 when Ken died. Dread for the following year began on June 2.  There's always a fork in the road. It hasn’t felt that way in what seems like a long time, but this date always brings him to mind. Not necessarily in the sad way—it’s bigger than any singular emotion. Bigger than all of them, actually. But, today I thought about

Being a writer is foundational to who I am. It's integral. And it’s given me gifts over the years, and certainly played a key part in helping me to work through my grief when Ken died in 2011. I was in Los Angeles recently for a week--mostly for work, but managed to fit some fun in as well. I spent huge amounts of time outside, hiking and walking. But I made it a point to reach out to my friend Ray to see if we could have coffee. And meet for the first time. Ray is a blogg

My family has celebrated Thanksgiving early for so long, I don't think we remember when we didn't. It stemmed out of a long-standing tradition my parents started by taking a month before Christmas to warm up in Florida or somewhere along the Gulf of Mexico. Dad was an avid golfer and Mom loved the food and outlet malls to shop for Christmas gifts for the family. It's something we're used to--and more than that--I love that on real Thanksgiving, I didn't have to go anywhere!

Tears caught me off guard as I drove home from a weekend visit with my mom. I was passing Carmax where I'd met her a few days before. We'd agreed to meet there so she could drive Dad 's van there and sell it before the insurance and registration were due. I'd pick her up and take her back home to spend a couple of days. "The van is not Dad," I reassured her many times. I know it's difficult to detach emotions from the things that belong to people we love who have died. I exp

I loved Ken, as did so many. He made me laugh, made feel special, never made me feel awkward in my awkwardness. I received a letter in the mail from a name I didn't immediately recognize. Upon reading the note card--written on both sides--I recalled her as a childhood friend of Ken 's, and one who'd seen him through his first cancer diagnosis at around the age of fourteen. Though we'd never met I'd heard from Ken and his mom about how special she was and how close she and Ken

In so many ways, my dad was larger than life. A living legend, of sorts. The undisputed patriarch of a family who adorned and respected him. Stories about him have been legend for as long as I can remember. So, as I stood in front of fifty-or-so mourners on Sunday afternoon, welcoming them to his memorial, it made a weird sort of sense--to be there to celebrate him. For only a split second. Then I forgot everything I was supposed to say--words I'd written weeks ago and rehear

When my phone rang early Wednesday morning, I saw it was my sister Shelli. "Sweet," I thought. "She scored the weed we wanted for Dad to see if it would give him an appetite!" Her voice was calm. Very calm. Too calm. Dad had fallen in the garage. Mom had called her and an ambulance. "What can I do?" I asked. "Bring bail money in case I get arrested. I'm driving 90 miles an hour." She chuckled. I did too. When I hung up the phone I was shivering uncontrollably. Twitching. Itch

I have so much to say about my experience in Costa Rica (and I will), but for now I wanted to share images and info from the trip. Feel free to skip the text and just look at pix. The main export of Costa Rica is bananas. Harvested when they are green for shipment to the US and other global destinations, they're often referred to as Green Gold (Oro Verde). After spending one night in San Jose, Costa Rica's capital, we were picked up and driven by van to Tortuguero National

I wrote this letter to myself on March 24, 2011 in my diary. It was the week Ken was in the hospital before being released to come home for hospice care where he died on June 1. It was one day after our 10th anniversary, and the week we learned definitively that the cancer had returned, and nothing could stop it. Both mind-blowing and mind-numbing, I did my best to wrap my brain around what the weeks to come would be like. It was always so easy for Ken to take care of me whe