Something has been stirring lately. It started earlier this year when I organized the fundraiser in honor of Ken’s 60th birthday . What began as a simple idea—to celebrate the life he lived and the legacy he left—turned into something bigger. It reminded me of the power of story, of connection, of community. Watching people come together, laugh, cry, and remember Ken felt like opening a long-closed notebook and finding the pages still warm. And somewhere between the planning

Every so often, you meet someone who changes the temperature of your day — not through grand gestures or deep conversations, but through a single, simple truth. That happened to me recently at the library book sale where I volunteer. I didn’t know her name, and she’ll probably never know how much her words stayed with me. But sometimes, that’s the beauty of small encounters — they arrive quietly and leave something behind. “I don’t understand why some people are so lucky,” sh

I woke up to the news that my friend Craig has died. It was less than a month ago when his sister Teresa, also a dear friend, texted me to tell me that, after some investigation, they were blindsided by the news of a stage 4 cancer diagnosis. Teresa sent regular updates via CaringBridge of their journey through attempted treatment, and ultimately to hospice care to make him as comfortable as possible for his remaining days. I know that journey well and sent them all so much l

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’ve been thinking a lot lately about the power of saying yes since putting this fundraiser together. It’s such a simple word—three letters, one syllable—but it can crack open whole new worlds. Especially when you say it even though you’re terrified. Or maybe because you’re terrified. That’s how I felt when Ken asked me to run lights and sound for his one-man show, My Foot Left . Let’s be clear: I had zero experience doing anything like that. My tech résumé at the time

I’ve written about my late husband, Ken , many times here. In fact, writing about him and our experience together with his cancer was a coping mechanism that served me well since his re-diagnosis in 2009, though his illness and death in 2011, and still does upon occasion to this very day. 💔✍️ This September 21, he would have turned 60. 🎂💜 I want to commemorate the date with the digital premiere and fundraiser of the acclaimed one-man show he wrote and starred in back in

I flew to Los Angeles over the weekend to attend my sister-in-law Katie's memorial . Even seeing it writing or saying it out loud still doesn't quite compute for me. This was a trip I looked forward to (to be together with family and friends) and dreaded (because I didn't want it to be true) in equal measure. I was humbled and honored to be asked by my brother-in-law Craig to speak at the service--to tell a story about Katie. Craig and both my nephews (who I will refer to as

Last month marks two years since I said goodbye to my sweet puppy girl, Kallie . Our ten-and-a-half-year life together shaped a lot of who I am. As I wrote after her death, she boldly shepherded me from an old life that didn't fit anymore into the beginning of the one I have today. But, this anniversary wasn’t as challenging as the first one. Thanks, of course, to Hudson . His exuberant puppy energy has kept me fully occupied with the present as I learn to keep up with him. I

The world is grayer. The stars have lost their sparkle. Sharp edges have dulled. And my heart has another fissure, bleeding more love and all things good with the death of my sister-in-law and friend, Katie, last week—someone so loved I can't fully come to grips with a world where she doesn't physically exist. It doesn't seem possible to silence such a powerful force of nature. She possessed the kind of light I don't think I'll ever stop looking for. Hiking to the summit of P

Following a distinguished line of well-loved pups, I brought Hudson home after a short road trip to Wisconsin yesterday. I’d been thinking about it for over a year, making lists and preparing. Then, last week, the timing finally felt right. My only self-imposed stipulations were that it couldn’t be a Chow Chow or a girl. I wanted no room for comparisons to my sweet Kallie. I wanted something different and new to me. Plus, I needed a dog who could (eventually) walk with me on

I wasn’t completely surprised that the orange felon won the election. This country is blatantly infected with ignorant and barely-masked racism and misogyny (even by women voting against their own best interests) in favor of some perceived self-interest, whether financial or something else conjured and inflated by Right Wing media, it was always a possibility. For whatever reason, demagoguery and grievances of our teetering democracy resonated with you. You live in imagined f

Year after year this date greets me in many different way I can never accurately predict. It used to feel like an attack—an onslaught of sadness and so many other overwhelming feelings. I dreaded this date. But, over these thirteen years (I can’t believe it’s been thirteen years), it’s become gentler. Subtler. Signs of healing showed themselves each year. Sometimes there is nothing. No void. No emptiness to fill. And others, in the days leading up to today, I begin to feel ti

“Now that we have a quiet moment,” the volunteer coordinator at the library said to me, pulling me aside in the momentary lull of our book sale. A normally jovial woman got very serious for a moment. I thought, “Uh oh. She’s gonna tell me to ‘tone it down.’” I’d been laughing and goofing with the patrons of our book sale and the other volunteers—per usual since I'd arrived for my three-hour shift. What she said next shocked me. It might have surprised many people in my life w

Since returning to work after a week off, partially spent in the natural beauty of Door County, Wisconsin, I've thought a lot about the feelings of simplicity and wholeness I experienced there. And those are things I want to bring to my everyday life--even when I'm back at work. Where is your "happy place?" And how do you pull those feelings into your workday life?

I started going to Door County, Wisconsin, last year for an annual writing retreat—to get away, unplug and immerse in some creative endeavors. Mostly writing, but now with a nascent YouTube channel, I wanted to take the opportunity to shoot some footage. Here is the result. Please consider subscribing on YouTube. Thank you!

My love for creating content has led me to YouTube's front door (or maybe the servant's entrance). I love writing and telling stories--mostly about my life and the lessons and experiences that have defined it—in ways big and small, good and bad. Sharing inner discoveries reminds us how similar we all truly are. I’m kicking off my YouTube channel, The Ronaissance , with a short introduction video. I’ll post new videos weekly. Think of it as my blog—only with video. I have a pa

I don't often receive surprise packages in the mail. I can't say "never," but it's definitely a rarity. In late summer last year, I was treated to such an act of kindness when a box arrived at my doorstep. And what was inside the box blew me away. I wear my emotions on my sleeve--unapologetically--and when I opened it to find a note from my friend Susan saying, "Your essay inspired me to create something special for you," tear ducts burst open, releasing a briny stream down m

This caught my eye on my calendar the other day as I approach the one-year anniversary of the loss of my sweet puppy girl, Kallie. It caught my eye, and--surprisingly--made me smile because Kallie resembled both a bear and a lion. When we lived in the city, on walks, we’d sometimes pass “chain gangs” of little kids from a nearby daycare center (coincidentally named Black Bear--another smile) who would inevitably call her a lion or a bear or both--with wide eyes of wonderment

This post marks my 300th blog. I wrote earlier in the year about re-committing and refocusing on writing here, as well as other projects. I've loved every minute of it. I love it so much, I had to think about why I'd reduced my output to a trickle. And the answer is simple: life happens. But more accurately, it's more a matter of life and death. Not the dramatic meaning of that turn of phrase. But much more literal. I began this blog in December of 2010 to give me something