When I first had the idea to bring Ken’s one-man show,  My Foot Left , back to life as a digital premiere and fundraiser, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was getting myself into. Honestly, it felt a little like agreeing to run sound and lights for the original production back in 2002—I was excited, terrified, and very aware of just how much I didn’t know. What I did know was this: Ken’s story mattered then, and it still matters now. His humor, his grit, and his light carried hi

I’m pretty meticulous when it comes to recording events—either in my diary or in my calendar. I like to remember things—good or bad. But maybe that’s the wrong way to frame it. I like to remember important things. When I glanced at my calendar yesterday, it told me it was the anniversary of Ken ’s hemipelvectomy (the complete removal of his left leg and corresponding pelvis) in 2010. It made me a little sad it hadn’t just occurred to me as it did in the few years following t

My love, June 1, 2015 means it's been four years since you left this world. No matter how much time passes, it doesn't really make sense to me. Our life together is so vivid and textured, it only seems like a blink of an eye since we met, let alone fell in love and lived 10 incredibly happy years together. I hope it always feels that way. I've learned a love like ours is too powerful—too potent—to stop or fade away. It can't be contained by time or space. It's enduring. Ete

I ran my first 5k recently. It was an amazing experience. For me, it was the return of…something. A break-through of some kind. One of the small victories that reminds you of the achievements you’re capable of. If you push yourself. It’s a sense of accomplishment I can’t say I’ve felt in a long time. The first race I selected was in my neighborhood. It seemed like the perfect inaugural run. No transportation or chaos in order to get there. I walked to the starting point, wea

I didn't dread today. And that didn't surprise me. It didn't take me by surprise. And that didn't surprise me either. I feel something very special. Ethereal. When I look at the date March 23. No matter what font it might be written in, it explodes In my mind's eye with color, depth, texture, and enormity in every direction.  It was Ken's and my second and most meaningful encounter . After March 23, 2001 we were never apart again. Well, until he died on June 1, 2011, but I'v

The Northeast has been brutalized by snow since the start of winter. Last weekend, it was our turn in the Midwest. It snowed here in Chicago, leaving us with an average of about 20 inches of wet, drifting snow. To be honest, I was kind of looking forward to it…since it was really our first of the season. And because my Chow Kallie loves to play in the snow. As we walked Sunday night, surrounded in all directions by white, I got lost…in another blizzard ; one I wrote about fo

When I’m feeling a little under the weather, I drink hot tea. I don’t really like it under any other circumstances. I remember my mom drinking a lot of it when I was growing up. And still does. For me, back then it was mostly a warm, dark vehicle for tons of white table sugar. I'm lucky. I don't get sick very often. Sometimes, even before I realize my throat is getting scratchy or I'm sounding a bit nasally, I seek out the little "Colonial" (as I call it) tea cup and saucer.

Dear Universe, It's been a while since my last letter . I was thinking about you the other day; trying to understand the mixed-bag-that-is-you as I sometimes attempt to do. You're so unpredictable and formidable, and sometimes so cruel. Being kind-of-a-bitch is your thing. I get it, though I must admit I struggle with accepting you as you are. I want to change you. I would bet most people you know want to change you. Take a hint? In fact, you're becoming quite the cliché.  

I published my  previous post  without thinking that I still wanted to write about 2014. But I'm a sucker for the statistical fireworks show Wordpress.com puts on for me. So, we're a few days into 2015. I rang in the new year in bed. Not because of any tragic reason—though I am a those who subscribe to leaving amateur night to amateurs. To be honest, I was kind of sad to see 2014 go. It was a good year; one fraught with exciting firsts for me. Becoming a homeowner was the b

There is a trap I fall into every so often when I'm working in the office. (It never happens when I'm working from home.) An electronic pack rat, I've kept most of my Outlook email since 2006. I know. I know. That's a lot of email. But things are cyclical at work and I sometimes need to refer to something old to create something new. And I'm lazy--trying to decide what might or might be useful in the future. Just keep all of it! It's during these moments when I need skip bac

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

A gigantic part of Ken's identity was his left leg...er...lack of one. After having it amputated below the knee when he was a teen was life-defining--and I've written before--it sent him down the path of becoming the most inspirational people I've ever known--let alone loved. "Feet" played a big part in his life, and in turn, mine. His one-man show  about his journey with cancer was called "My Foot Left"...as is his website that I haven't touched. He had a Grey's Anatomy ta

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2013 annual report for this blog. Here's an excerpt: A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 5,800 times in 2013. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 5 trips to carry that many people. Click here to see the complete report.

I'm moving. Aside from the Christmas cheer in the air there is also one of excitement. For change. And an equal measure of dread for the same. The normal dread of change. As well as the other kind: the kind that finds me packing up and purging things from my life with Ken in the apartment where we lived together the longest. Saying goodbye to the place where we said goodbye. Not an easy task. I remind myself of lots of things. Constantly. This isn't--in fact--the place whe

I forgot to mention in my previous entry something else that struck a "Ken chord" with me that contributed to my "ken-do-it-iveness" last weekend. In the alley where I found my new (and fabulous) coffee table, I saw a shiny penny gleaming up under the reflection of one of the alley lights. It made smile and shake my head as I reached down to pick up. Filthy, no doubt, but something Ken did unfailingly. It long pre-dated me, but after we got together whenever we'd be walking

I love my neighborhood on the north side of Chicago. Walking with Kallie down the quiet--sometimes hidden--streets has been one of my favorite things this summer. (She was too young last year for a walk of any distance.) And though we are at least a month out from long walks this year, as she recuperates from her knee surgery, I can't wait to get back out to the late-dusk walks that are always my favorite. The city--the world--is lying down to be still for the night. And we g

It feels like I'm standing on the edge of a great precipice. And I've stood here before. As I mentioned in a previous blog , my pup Kallie Kismet is scheduled for knee surgery tomorrow. (Coincidentally, date happens to fall on what would have been Ken's and my fourth wedding anniversary--in Iowa). She'll be in the hospital overnight, and when she comes home the following day will need a lot of TLC as she heals and regains strength in her legs over what I'm told is an eight-w

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

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