Category Archives: writing



My friend, Kate, died last week. In the wake of that event, and knowing some of the struggle she and her family have endured over the course of the last two years, my thoughts have turned to life, and quality of life, and death. From my long distance view, it has seemed sometimes that Kate was already lost, as she struggled to get back to the life she loved. Her intelligence, wit, and tremendous loving presence in this world continued to shine, though, throughout her physical struggles and way too many hospital gowns. I wrote this piece several years ago. It makes me smile today.


My friend, Kate, has been making me laugh.

I’ve known Kate since grade school…though she was Kathleen then.

We all went by our full names at Bishop Kelley School. I’m not sure, but I think we may have gotten extra credit if the given name was an actual saint’s name. In any case, no shortened versions. Twice, in the eight years I attended, I had to bring a note from home, verifying that – in fact – Cindy was not short for Cynthia or Lucinda, but my given name just like that (I was actually named after Cinderella, but my mother had the good sense to keep that off the birth record!). I’m fairly sure my younger brother – we called him Teddy back then – would not have had to repeat the first grade if he hadn’t had to spend so much time trying to write Theodore Ricksgers on…

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A Sunday Report


I was just about to go to bed. The big dog, Darla, is already asleep on her own thick bed. Blackie Chan is resting on my pillow, watching me, and waiting. Rosa Parks is sleeping on the cushion behind me. I’m in my pajamas. I have taken a big dose of cough medicine, set up the coffee pot for morning, washed my face and brushed my teeth. Ready to call it an early night.

I’m sick, after all. I haven’t decided, quite, if I’m really, really sick with a terrible, awful virus…or if I’m just a big baby about having the common cold. One or the other, definitely. And either way, it’s been a long week of not feeling well. I wanted, of course, to still spend time with my family while they were here, and needed to keep up with my job. Medicine to keep the symptoms to a minimum allowed me to keep going. But barely.

Now, with company gone and my work week finished, I have plenty to catch up on. But tonight, I’m tired. I decided that all unfinished jobs (wiping down the kitchen counter, putting away dishes, cleaning the sink, folding the blue jeans and sweeping the floor) could wait until morning. Even though my original goal was to finish up the housework tonight, so that I could devote tomorrow to yard work.

If I have one superpower, it is surely procrastination. Even when I’m feeling my best, I can manage to come up with reasons and excuses to put off whatever jobs I’m faced with. When a nasty cold makes me feel groggy, well, there. Easy to set everything aside.

And yet, tonight, scrubbed and pajama-ed and ready for bed, I remembered this blog…and my plan to write each Sunday. And though I have little success to report, other than making it through the week, I delayed my bedtime to do it. I call that progress!

Zest (April A ~ Z Challenge)


Zest is defined as “keen interest or enjoyment, relish, gusto, piquancy.” I must admit, I’m not as “zesty” as I used to be. And that’s a sad thing. There is nothing better than being pulled forward by the sheer excitement of a plan, an experience, or an idea.

That kind of energy just doesn’t come my way as often as it used to. It seems harder all the time to drum up enthusiasm. That’s partly because I’m tired, and partly due to my age and experience. Things that can be really thrilling the first time around become somewhat commonplace after more than half a century. Some things, though, never get old:

  • Sunrises and sunsets. Every day a double blessing.
  • The view of Beaver Island’s good harbor as I drive past the church into town.
  • The view of Beaver Island, on approach, from the deck of the ferry boat.
  • My daughters. When I pick up the phone and hear either of their voices, my heart sings.
  • Christmas: the memories, the traditions, the music.
  • A good, baked macaroni and cheese.
  • The colors of autumn.
  • A perfect peach.
  • Almost any movie starring Robin Williams, Tom Hanks, or Julia Roberts.
  • Riding a bicycle.
  • Any essay by E.B. White.
  • The first snowfall.
  • Perfume, especially Chanel #5, as that was my mother’s scent.
  • Smooth, flat stones.
  • A bookstore.
  • A clear blue sky.
  • The first cup of coffee in the morning.
  • A new art project.
  • A nicely scented candle.
  • Warm summer nights.
  • Rearranging the furniture.
  • A new book arriving in the mail.
  • A handwritten letter.
  • Hot chocolate with whipped cream.
  • A heartfelt “Thank You.”
  • A fresh bouquet of flowers.
  • Clean sheets fresh from the clothesline.
  • A beautiful bar of soap.
  • Messages from my grandchildren.
  • A sky full of stars.
  • Homemade bread, warm from the oven.
  • A boat ride.
  • A good song on the radio.
  • New pencils.
  • Fresh peas from the garden.
  • A good bout of uncontrollable laughter.
  • Lemons.
  • A new journal.
  • A private joke shared with a friend.
  • A pot of soup.
  • Springtime.
  • A new skein of yarn.
  • Games with my sisters.
  • A stretch of beach.
  • The moon.

Yet Another Difficult Letter (April A ~ Z Challenge)


Lists from A to Z seemed like a fine idea at the beginning of the alphabet, not so much now that I’m nearing the end.

Y! I could write about yeast breads, or yoga, or yarn…but how to come up with a list for any of those topics? And my plan emphasized lists, for this challenge, this April.

I have yarn, in several weights and colors, but I’m not well-versed enough in the nuances of yarn to write about it. I do a little yoga practice each day, but the routine I do could be found, and described more accurately, in any book on the topic. I do quite a bit of bread-baking, especially in the wintertime, and have several recipes that have been successful for me. Short of printing out the recipes, though, what is there to say about yeast bread?

So, in frustration, yet unwilling to give up when I’m this close to the finish line, let me just grab, in desperation, for any Y word. Yesterday!


  • I managed to make it through the whole day on very little sleep. Once again, I’d been unable to fall asleep the night before, and spent many hours lying awake (unable to “toss and turn” when sandwiched in between two small dogs!), pacing the floor, paging through magazines, and any number of other non-productive, time-killing activities, until I was finally able to fall asleep, somewhere around five AM. I often blame a bright night sky for my inability to sleep. A full moon is an almost sure guarantee of a restless night. And yet, with the sun already brightening the sky, I can sleep soundly in the early morning hours. It’s a puzzle.
  • Yesterday was a work day for me so I still had to be out of bed by eight in order to stumble through at least some of my morning routine: yoga; coffee; morning pages (which yesterday amounted to one-half of one page); walk the dogs; shower, dress, and out the door.
  • It was a busy day at work, with customers trying to finish week-end projects, and taking advantage of our paint sale. I was there late, in order to finish up the order that had to be submitted at the end of my shift.
  • After work, I walked down the street to the Community Center, to meet my cousin, Pam. She had bought tickets to the annual community play, and we were attending the Sunday matinee! This year’s offering was “‘Til Beth Do Us Part,” a Jones Hope Wooten comedy. It was performed brilliantly by talented island residents, who I see in daily life as friends and neighbors. It’s a special treat to see familiar faces as such unexpected characters, and I thoroughly enjoyed it!
  • When I got home, the dogs were waiting, more than ready for their afternoon walk. We took the Cotter’s Trail into the woods, then turned in to Hoopfer’s drive to circle their big yard. Finding the little trail through the woods that leads to the Murray place still too wet for walking, we backtracked and continued down Cotter’s trail to the little cabin at the end. There, Blackie Chan surprised a rabbit; he watched with big eyes as it bounded away. Then back the way we came. The wild leeks are starting to poke out of the ground, and the dappled leaves of trout lilies are visible under the trees. The snow is, finally, almost gone.
  • I fed the dogs. They like to have their meal at six-thirty, with a chewy treat immediately after. I eat later.
  • While preparing my dinner, I checked the news.
  • My dinner was macaroni and cheese, made with the last of the cavatappi pasta, and some sharp cheddar. I boxed up the leftovers for lunches later in the week.
  • Kitchen clean-up was my final task before giving in to my sleepiness.
  • I went to bed early, and managed to read less than two pages of my book before turning out the light. I slept well, through the whole night.

X (April A ~ Z Challenge)


X is a hard one. The little red hardcover dictionary, a gift, many years ago, from my friend, Les, has exactly six entries for the letter X. Because I can’t see my way clear to make a list based on xenophobia, Xerox, Xmas, X-ray or xylophone, I’m working with the first entry, which is, simply, the letter X.

  • X is the Roman numeral 10
  • X is the first unknown symbol in Algebra.
  • X is used to indicate position. “X marks the spot,” as in treasure maps. Years ago, my two oldest grandsons buried a treasure in my back yard. It was a tin box filled with notes and trinkets and mementos. They had fun putting it together, and fun digging the hole to bury it. The best time, though, was drawing the large map that would remind them where to find it. I wonder if it’s still out there.
  • X indicates incorrectness. I remember the sinking feeling I got when I saw, in what was, I thought, a brilliantly written answer to an Art History essay question, an entire paragraph X-ed out. “This is NOT an aspect of court art,” was the explanation Mrs. Bates printed in the margin. I still got credit for my essay, and an A on the exam. But, when I was trying so hard to impress a teacher I truly admired, that X was humbling.
  • X can mean a kiss. I often signed off letters to my young daughters with long rows of X’s and O’s.
  • X can be a vote, or to indicate a choice on any form.
  • X can be the signature of someone who cannot write. Or, evidently, of someone who chooses not to write. One hardware customer insists on making only an X on the computer screen when charging his purchases. “They don’t care,” he says. I guess they don’t.
  • Beyond the dictionary definition, an X indicates a job completed. Last year, I wrote “X is a verb,” and told how I talked about Xing items off my list. That still holds true, and thankfully so, as there is little enough, even with this bit of information, to write about the letter X!

Writers (April A ~ Z Challenge)


I read every day. I’ll read just about anything that comes my way, from high literature to cheap mystery stories to the backs of cereal boxes. Still, I have my favorites. These are writers whose work I watch for:

  • E.B. White. I think I’ve read just about everything he’s written (and, now deceased, he’s not producing new work), but I keep his books handy, and enjoy re-reading his essays, letters and poems.
  • Alice Walker. Whether essays, poetry, autobiography or fiction, her work is always worthwhile.
  • Louise Erdrich. I’ve been reading her loosely connected stories for twenty years. The setting remains roughly the same, and the characters repeat: a person may show up in one book as a young woman and the main character; in another as a minor character in old age. I feel like I’ve gotten to know them all, through the generations and over the years. It’s always exciting to see a new book out.
  • Barbara Kingsolver. Though I have to admit, I fell in love with Kingsolver’s writing through her early work, and I’ve struggled through more recent titles, I still look forward to her writing.
  • Anne Lamott. I don’t always agree with her perspective, but I always find her writing glorious.
  • Maxine Hong Kingston. Her output has been pretty spare in recent years, but I re-read The Woman Warrior last winter, and was reminded what a strong, magical writer she is. I’m looking forward to re-reading China Men.
  • Amy Tan. A master at developing characters and situations, I love everything she writes.
  • Laurie R. King. Though I’ve read some of her other work, I am mostly enthralled with her Mary Russell series. She can’t write fast enough!
  • Kate Atkinson. I’m reading her work kind of backwards, because I just discovered her a couple years ago. I first read Life After Life, then A God in Ruins. Then, in love with her work, I started going back through her earlier books.
  • Mary Blocksma. My friend, Mary, who has written children’s books and nature books and memoir, is one of the best writers out there. I’ve been privy to some of her work-in-progress, and know what treasures await the reader of her One Hundred Enchantments!

Verse (April A ~ Z Challenge)


Before we are done with April, which is National Poetry Month, let me take advantage of the letter V to share a few sweet and silly verses:

The Cornfield
E.B. White
Up to the cornfield, old and curly,
I took Joe, who rises early.
Joe, my yearling, on my shoulder,
Observed the old corn growing older.
And I could feel the simple awe
He felt at seeing what he saw.
Yellow light and cool day
And cornstalks stretching far away.
My son, too young and wise to speak,
Clung with one hand to my cheek,
While in his head were slowly born
Important mysteries of the corn.
And being present at the birth
Of my child's wonderment of earth,
I felt my own life stir again
By the still graveyard of the grain.
My Papa's Waltz
Theodore Roethke
The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.
We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.
The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.
You beat time on my head 
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.
White Apples
Donald Hall
when my father had been dead a week
I woke
with his voice in my ear 
I sat up in bed
and held my breath
and stared at the pale closed door
white apples and the taste of stone
if he called again
I would put on my coat and galoshes.
I Forgive You
Stevie Smith
I forgive you, Maria,
Things can never be the same,
But I forgive you, Maria,
Though I think you were to blame.
I forgive you, Maria,
I can never forget,
But I forgive you, Maria,
Kindly remember that.

Aunt Louise
Rod McKuen
When Aunt Louise fell off the boat
And couldn't swim, and wouldn't float,
And young Miranda sat and smiled,
I almost could have slapped the child.