It seems this time of year holiday traditions are somehow more romantic. The Christmas traditions I shared with Ken are still very important to me. We really delighted in the season. Ken had a childlike giddiness that was infectious. It was impossible to be a Grinch at Christmastime with him around. For me, Christmas continues to be magical. It's my first Christmas in my new place, and I'm looking forward to bringing some old traditions here and making new ones, as well. Fir

Every year my mom sends us kids and her grandkids this Halloween poem she made up when I as just a kid (so around 40+ years this poem has been around). I remember we had an assignment in third grade to write a Halloween poem, so I saved the time for TV watching and handed hers in instead. (Sorry, Miss Gick!) This wasn't a terrifying poem, but Mom recited it with such conviction that you couldn't help but wonder what her coven designation was--as she was most certainly speaki

When I was in Jewel the other day at the self-check out, I noticed bouquets of roses in different hues of reds and pinks nearby. Within arms reach. My first immediate thought was to buy one. My hand ever-so-slightly was reaching toward the bin. Then somehow--finally--my brain caught up to what my hand was doing and "righted" the situation, correcting my hand's trajectory back to my bag of goods. It was surprising to me more than anything else. And it felt sort of...comforting

It's difficult to believe it's been three years since I’ve been to Southern California--specifically for Christmas. Even more difficult to believe: that it was a trip made without Ken and that it’s my second Christmas without him. In so many ways it felt so normal and so "usual" for me. And for that I'm incredibly grateful. But when I reflect on that very topic of things being "okay" for me, I credit Ken's bravery and generous spirit, as well as a lot of hard work on my end,

Two years ago today in the wake of my first (and so for only)  NaNoWriMo I sat down at my beloved Mac and began blogging--hoping to share stories and observations--anything other than what Ken and I were facing when his cancer had returned for the second time within a year. Writing had always been my "go to" therapy option, but I could never have imagined that a blog was going to allow me to share pretty much every aspect of my journey with him...and without him. And I've tr

I saw eggnog at the grocery store the other day. It made me think fondly (as always) of Ken. He was the first person I ever knew who actually bought it and drank it every year. He mostly used it to sweeten his coffee during Christmastime. Throughout the holiday season, if I saw it at the store, I'd gleefully buy a bottle and bring it home to his grateful smile and eager hands. I bought a bottle last year, but never opened it. I'm not a huge fan, but it was a tradition I'm not

Fact: It's impossible to be in a bad mood while decorating a sparkly, pink Christmas tree. It feels like this tree has been a part of our Christmases forever. But it only became a part of the holiday tradition in 2009. And it was sort of borne out of the beginning of a very challenging part of our lives. Two days before Thanksgiving that year we'd received definite news that Ken's cancer had returned. He'd been having pains in leg since late summer. He even told me months

When I took Kallie for a walk last evening, the streets of the neighborhood seemed electrified--abuzz with pre-Thanksgiving activity before the city lies down to be still while we celebrate the holiday. People talking and laughing as they pulled luggage on wheels, probably heading out of town for the long weekend. The weather is unseasonably warm, no one bundled up, but rather wearing light coats or sweaters. Oddly three helicopters hovered to the Southeast. As we walked and

Every year my mom sends us kids and her grandkids this Halloween poem she made up when I as just a kid (so around 40 years this poem has been around). I remember we had an assignment in third grade to write a Halloween poem, so I saved the time for TV watching and handed hers in instead. (Sorry, Miss Gick!) This wasn't a terrifying poem, but Mom recited it with such conviction that you couldn't help but wonder what her coven designation was--as she was most certainly speakin

Ken always scoffed at the idea of Valentine's Day. A Hallmark Holiday, he'd call it. But the truth is, he just didn't believe it should be relegated to one day a year. He was always presenting me or surprising me with beautiful cards he designed and filled with sweet nothings. I have collected some of them, but haven't had the wherewithal to centralize all of them. A task for 'someday'. I have to say my subconscious did a superb job and constantly making me forget it was the

Like any story worth investing in--the kind that can sweep you up into its enthralling grip--turning the page is the only way to find out where the story leads, taking with you the sum of the story thus far. My life is that story. Ken isn't a footnote in my story, he's the theme. That won't change. And as difficult and heartbreaking it is to face a new year without him, part of me--maybe a selfish part--can say with relief "this isn't a year where Ken is sick" and at the very

Today had been marked on my calendar for weeks. "Holiday Baking." It's tradition I'd grow up with and then that Ken and I shared during our life together. But this year, I decided not to make any of our classic treats. It needed to be a whole new menu to expedient with. I'd also decided a while ago that the benefactors of my holiday treats would be the wonderful staff at the Creticos Cancer Center, where Ken was so lovingly tended to. I'd learned from my Zen cooking master ho

I spent thanksgiving in Southern California with my in-law family. As much as I was looking forward to the trip, part of me was dreading it--the "unknown" part of it. I didn't ever want to have to celebrate a holiday without Ken. I wasn't sure how it would go. And that was scary. As much as I would have liked to avoid it, the holiday--as did my trip to Cali--loomed closer every day. But the closer it came the more excited I got. Not necessarily about the holiday, but to see f

(PadLo is ready to hit it!) I've only had a handful of dreams about Ken since he died--and against all my hopes, they didn't start until the last couple of months. I suspect my subconscious knew I wasn't ready. My remembrances of the few dreams have been non-specific. Sometimes when I crawl into my flannel sheets at night I whisper to the empty spot on his side of the bed "I hope I dream of you tonight." This was the case the other night. Right before bed I'd been thinking ab