So, I’ll be selling my firstborn in order to pay for my crown, and I don’t even get to show it off unless I walk around pointing it out to everyone. I don’t think, in general, people would go for that. Mouths are meant to be kept closed, or at least partially closed, at all times.
Do we ever really know our parents? They become our caregivers and they offer us love and support, but do we ever truly know them as people?
Life is so sweet. There is so much to do and, it seems, so little time. As I age, time slips by so quickly; it’s almost frightening. Will I ever get to do the things I want to do before I die? Will I see my grandchildren and watch them grow?
My childhood Sundays of white linen-clad tables abundant with food and wine; adults with kids on their laps, laughing and talking for hours are long gone. Modern life, with shopping and working available at all hours also has our families spread around the world with little time to visit.
Their stories are unique, yet share one commonality: their lives were taken unexpectedly by a virus. It saddens me to think about how those stories may have ended, that they may have been alone in nursing homes or hospitals, without their loved ones by their side holding their hand or kissing their cheek.
Even if you have passionate opinions about the political state of the country, you can still have a peaceful holiday season with your family. Now that the election is over, it’s time to use the holidays as a way to reconnect and repair those strained relationships, not make them worse.
I believe the universe was preparing me for something – the pivotal moment when the oncologist would tell us, many months later, that the cancer was back and had spread to other organs in my husband’s body.
Child custody is a complicated task with additional stress arising from a separation. If you need guidance to keep the children’s best interests ahead of your own decision making and would like some advice, read on.
He sat down in his favorite chair, the one with the tall back and the arm rests. He picked up the latest Larry McMurtry book off the side table, pulled out his glasses from his shirt pocket and started to read. He could read through anything: wars, famine or feasts.
This task occupies me as I sit at home conscious of my own mortality, quarantined due to an epidemic which purports to be particularly dangerous to old people like me, knowing that all I bequeath to the next generation as stories and the lessons to be learned from them must be recorded.