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 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

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

I planted my garden last weekend. Really, more potted than planted. Gone are the days of the sprawling garden in the backyard yard of the apartment on Cuyler Avenue, and figuring out what to plant and what would require the least amount of attention and considering what Ken might have appreciated. My new "garden" is a 6 foot by 6 foot patio, surrounded by a manicured garden maintained by my condo building's landscapers. Of all the items on my checklist for buying a place, a

My greatest dream since age thirteen--when I discovered my love of writing--was to be a published author. Back then, I wanted to be a novelist, creator of gripping, over-the-top dramatic best sellers. Non-fiction essays held little interest for me outside of mandatory English assignments. What could possibly be interesting about non-fiction? It seemed so...limiting. I could never have imagined the piece that got me a publishing credit would not only be an essay about my life

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

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end" are lyrics to a song I always found profoundly deep (and from which I took the name of this blog). There was a time when I had the blind luxury of pondering its meaning as I sang along in the car, but discovering I was living it during Ken's illness and death was a true FML moment. For a while I found the song--and these lyrics--taunting, reminding me of something so painful and obvious. Now, I just find them indiffe

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

Examining my life--observing it--and writing about it have been a staple for me since starting this blog in 2010. I think it's what writers do. We tell stories--whether fiction or our own. For so long it's been second--almost, first nature--to document my journey. Oddly, it was Ken's illness and death that acted as a lens of sorts, focusing my writing. It's a gift that is so very "him." As a writer, I'm certain I spend too much time in my head (and at my computer)--as was po

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

Change can be difficult for most everyone. I don't love it. Ken was adept at handling change, and instrumental in my process of dealing with it. I've learned to manage it on my own--out of necessity--though old habits of inflexibility appear from time to time. Thinking of how he would handle any given situation is equal parts helpful and frustrating--because I have never possessed the kind of patience he had, and I so miss his myriad talents for caressing my soul. The annual

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

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

June 1 will always be a mixed bag for me. Like a bully looming at the edge of the playground of my month, I know I have to take the path that leads in his direction and somehow face him. May was draining for me in that respect, full of dread for a date that forever changed me: ending one life I loved and shoved me down the craggy path of another. "Be kind to yourself" was some advice my friend Claire gave to me in the month's after Ken's death. And I never forgot those word

Spring has finally sprung in Chicagoland--after a long and crappy winter. The uptick in the weather coincided with a week-long staycation. And gnawing on my work-free agenda has been getting the garden planted--something Ken looked forward to and planned for every year. It was a true rite of spring in our house. Though it wasn't my thing, he'd ask for my opinion and help  in planning for and caring for it. It's my third consecutive year of planting and maintaining the garden

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

Yesterday did't turn out at all as I expected it to. Funny how some days are just like that. The things I woke up concerned about didn't end up being anything I needed to be worried about. Nothing life changing, mind you. Just surprises. I took Kallie for a long walk early this morning. It would be the last one we'd be able to take for a while as she was scheduled for her "lady" surgery later in the day, but would spend the entire day at the vet. It's the last right of passa

Kallie and I took a road trip this weekend. As mentioned in a previous blog , I love the colors, smells and sights of autumn. A drive out of the city offered some beautiful vistas of oranges, reds and coppers--along with cursing at truck driver's and the Department of Transportation while sneaking glances at what Special K was up to in the back seat. I always look forward to returning to my childhood home and seeing my parents. It's like heading toward a gilded fortress that

I knew it was looming ahead, but never took the time to confirm until I returned to work recently and began regularly looking at a calendar again to realize Ken's birthday was fast approaching. Very fast. Today is Ken's birthday. I have to say I really like typing that in the present tense (is--not was, were, did, used to be) because it still is the date on which he was born. A date that feels more appropriate to mark--rather than the day he died. Or at least feels more wort

The last couple of weeks I've done everything but write. As the time winds quickly down on my leave from work, I've been frenzied with organizing and prepping for me to re-enter the work-a-day world, as well as prepping for what it will mean for Kallie. What has my leave meant for me? Remember how summer's as a child between grades were long, rolling, and agenda-less? And how it seemed to clean the slate from the prior year? And by the end of summer you looked forward to ret