Today, a friend at work (my birthday twin--date, not year) wished me a happy last-day-of-my-forties. I’d never thought of it that way before, but the first thing that came to mind was “Good! Get me the fuck out of my forties!” thinking of it, of course, as the decade where I lost Ken . But upon further reflection, it’s a decade full of as many highs as lows—-more, even. Of course, Ken is foremost on my mind when I think about my forties. It started with him--literally waking

It seems like I've always had this blog; that it has always been here to engage me and calm me and focus me and distract me. But I haven't. I've always written for those reasons, but it wasn't until 2010 when I started doing so in this blog. To think about it now, my life is starkly different to when I started this blog in December 2010. I was married to  Ken  and he was battling his second cancer diagnosis in as many years. And I was trying like hell to write about--think a

I've felt the pull of this day for a couple of weeks. Uneasiness and my  social impotence returned, leaving me tired and usually in the desire of no one's company. For someone as far down the path of grief as I consider myself, I'm more than a little surprised when I find an impending Ken-related milestone still throws a wrench into the works. He would have turned fifty years old today. Fifty. Odd. Fifty seems so young to this forty-seven year old--let alone forty-five whic

June 1 is crisp. Somehow compact and rigid. It sits right at the promise of summer. It can barely contain its toothy smile in light of all the bounty it will bear. Almost smug. But it can't help it. It's just being June 1. As it should. Apparently, I'd met June 1 before. But it was in passing. Carelessly. Without any kind of acknowledgment. I can remember running into it once in a while. But we had no connection. No relationship. Since Ken died in 2011, June 1 has taunted m

After dinner on Friday night, I decided to indulge myself with a sundae from Margie's Candies , an old timey ice cream shop is a few blocks away. All their treats and ice creams are homemade, super decadent and delicious. I hadn't been there in years. I walked down a less-traveled side street to get there. It's the same little street Ken and I used to take to walk to the little neighborhood bar where we first met and used to go to on occasion. I couldn't remember the last tim

During Kallie's recuperation, her physical freedom has to be limited to ensure she doesn't injure her newly post-op knees. Crating her is preferred, but my girl never appreciated being crated. The only time it worked was when I brought all 9 lbs. of her home from the breeder as she snuggled quietly in the crate in the backseat on the three-hour ride home, making only intermittent squeaks. After that, time spent in the crate was anything but quiet. Being 80% housebroken when I