I can't tell you how many times I sit down with what sounds to me like a fun or meaningful thing to write a story about, I get nice and comfy on the couch with every bony prominence well padded (I don't have very many bony prominences these days), my elbows buried in pillows, big deep breath, hands on the keyboard, and... nothin'..... Seriously.  And, it's not like I'm at a loss for some pretty cool stories to tell, cuz I'm not.  I'm never out of stories.  Never. Usually, I wind up sitting here staring at the screen wondering how to put something into words.  I've not ever struggled with this until lately, but today, I hear all sorts of different things because I've only lived here for five months, and my ears are still keenly aware of the strange sounds in my new home. It's ... View Post

On Christmas Eve 1993, I pulled into the garage bringing my son Ian home for the very first time, and Bing Crosby's "I'll be home for Christmas," was playing on the radio.  We thought it was so appropriate, and let the car run, finishing the song before taking him out of his car seat and bringing him into the house for the very first time.  Not a Christmas holiday seasons passes without my hearing that song at least 100 times, and remembering that moment every single time it plays. Last week, Ian came home for the weekend, and I knew he'd been planning to propose to his girlfriend, and I was so excited for him as he shared all of his ideas.  Saturday night we went out to dinner and on the way out, he excitedly hopped into the front seat and said he wanted to play the song he thought ... View Post

It's almost 10 p.m., my 3rd load of laundry is in the wash, and my weeks' worth of scrubs are hanging on my new clothesline thingy in the garage so I can avoid making my little condo too heated up on this sweet summer night.  My shoes are out on the porch with their tongues hanging out to dry after having walked through 18 different houses and nursing homes this week.  My car's been cleaned out, my rolling suitcase cleaned up and sorted out, my trunk reorganized (sort of), my box of binders transferred from the back seat "office," to my desk in the basement for updates and purging before Tuesday, and my next week's "hopeful" schedule all planned out.   I'm currently sitting with my foot in an Epsom salts soak because the pedicure I was so looking forward to on Monday night went bad and now ... View Post

  In 1982 while stationed in Panama, my friends Debbie, Edna, Darlene, and Sheila and I were hanging out in the barracks.  Four of us lived on the Pacific side of the country, but Sheila lived on the Atlantic side of Panama, a couple of hours drive away - (not an easy drive either).  She needed to leave early evening or late afternoon, but we were all stuck up on the third floor scared to death because for some odd reason, there were a lot of bats flying around in the hallway.  Sheila needed to leave, and we had to find a way to get her out of the barracks.  We kept yelling out the window to anyone who would listen, but no one would listen, so we threw a huge blanket over all five of us, tip-toed out into the hallway, and one for all, and all for one, together we pulled the fire ... View Post

Back in February, just a few short months ago, my sister and I laughed about the number of masks I owned, and the number of rolls of toilet paper we transported from one place to another.  I moved just 12 miles north of the home I'd lived in for 22 years.  We laughed and said something about how years from now, the generations behind us will know we lived through the pandemic by the things we collected, just like we could tell our grandparents had lived through the depression. A work friend recently said to me that she'd love to get a room full of healthcare workers just to share our stories of what we've seen, because we all just "get" each other like no one else.  I know that everyone experienced COVID, whether you were in the healthcare field or not, and I know we will tell the ... View Post