I had lunch with two spectacular women today. I ordered the fish and chips and was able to taste it somewhat, and the conversation could have gone on and on and I would have been good with that.Continue reading “Women. Day 395.”
The headlights from our white Chevy Venture van lit up the front yard of Shamrock Drive, exposing the freshly-cut green grass and the real brick façade that protected the bottom front of our little home. The hunter green front door opened and Roger, hair still wet and sticking up from his shower, walked out. He had on his plaid pajama bottoms and a clean white t-shirt. He was holding the front of his PJ’s just above the knees so they wouldn’t touch the ground. His skin was sun-kissed and squeaky clean.Continue reading “Thirteen Years. Day 295.”
“Is your husband handy with power tools?” The plumber was referring to a small piece of baseboard that needed trimming.
“I don’t have a husband and I know how to use power tools,” I said, smiling.
“It’s OK,” I said. “Really.”Continue reading “Independence. Day 75.”