life

A 2026 Calendar

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Time and Dates and Events

The activity of marking and acknowledging life events was Cheryl’s job. All through 2025 I realized how much I missed her and her organizational ability when my date dyslexia would dissipate for a moment and would remember that I forgot some important event like a birthday or anniversary. These, of course, were an important acknowledgment of some life altering event. Something to be commemorated. Something to be celebrated. Or something to be commiserated.

To her life was a continuum but it was marked by various events both good and bad.

When she moved to a memory care facility and I disassembled her office back into a guest bedroom, I developed a simple sorting method for her clutter. Clutter is an unkind word because in her own mind as it disintegrated she was doing real work and “getting things done.” It breaks my heart when I think about it. Scattered in various storage spaces in my condominium now I have collected the clutter into three general categories: pictures, letters, notes.

The pictures are easy. They are of our family and friends and sometimes Christmas postcards that show the growth of often far flung friends and family. In earlier times she sorted and organized these. During the last few years of her life she sorted and organized but the associations were meaningless to others, as well as, her after she had done so.

The letters did not need separation or organization. These were separated into their own file folder. Cheryl and I wrote many many letters back and forth while in high school. I have these collected with my own response in my office.

Her notes I sorted into their own tubs and a couple boxes. I hope to write a memoir as I review her notes to herself.

Today I went through the big black book that we (I) purchased for her to help her remember birthdays and anniversaries when her cognitive function was fading. The BBB is its own category. It has all the dates of family and friends births and anniversaries and in some cases, their deaths. It has also collected many other notes and pictures paper-clipped and stapled here and there at random. This coming year I hope to remember my family’s birthdays and although I am not a card sender, I can acknowledge the date.

It is hard for me to go through this book to recover birth data because it contains cognitive data and the lack there of as well. This note, stuck in the book on April 15th, reminds me how upon occasion her cognitive ability returned for short periods

– DO NOT worry about greeting cards for the W/girls for now) (too much stress –

I do not know which W/girls she referred to but her mind was telling her to relax a bit. The note is printed in all caps. Mileena’s birthday is noted on the page above this note and the parenthesis are askew, nevertheless, she recognized her internal stress about getting it right and wrote herself a note to let it go. She consistently wrote notes to herself about this or that and attached the notes to that or this. The attachment did not always go with the note.

I did achieve my goal. I constructed a calendar of my own and slid it into a plastic sheet protector. I laid it on the kitchen table so that I can ignore it in a brighter light filled room. (When she was alive it resided in the hallway to our bedroom.)

Better in Retirement

I am ready for 2026.

Carpe Diem.

Assumption based on Facts not in Evidence

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Often I hear people make statements about ideas they believe to be true. What is it within us that excites us to passionately argue for some idea that is merely opinion, our opinion, no one else’s opinion.

If I miss-type opinion it comes out onion. Onions are bulb root veggies that grow in layers. Onions become metaphors, plant metaphors, for other thoughts and ideas.

“That is just wrong on so many layers!” Have ever heard that comment? I have. I have made that comment before about something. What does that mean to you?

To me it merely means that the nuances of some idea are wrong.

Recently I posted on Facebook, the fact based forum where anybody may post any comment about any idea or article, the link to an article from the New York Times. My opening comment: “Remarkable in many ways… Makes you understand why he called previous guy sleepy Joe. I hadn’t thought about before but Donnie is like Elvis – he’s everywhere, he’s everywhere! He’s in Joan Rivers but he’s trying to get out!” set off an unintended firestorm of commentary among my grandchildren and their great uncle. Other family and friends leaped into the breach to defend, contrast, explain and even chastise the poster.

Admittedly I did not read the complete article. I did look at and read the pictures associated with it. That cursory examination supported my own view that once the weather forecast happened and the latest Donald Trump comments went by, there was little of interest to me on the morning news shows. I observed that our current president seems almost despondent if he is not leading the headlines.

It sounds unkind to my own ear when I write that but this assumption of mine is based on facts very much in evidence by the New York Times as well as other news sources. Mr. Trump refers to any derogatory news article as fake news – but is not all news gossip?

Much like the wizard in Dorothy’s dream about Oz, who says, “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!” Mr. Trump diverts attention as much as he is able when the gossip is unflattering and attracts attention when it suits. Occasionally he has fired the messenger. It is great entertainment.

John F. Kennedy embraced the media of television when it suited him. Franklin Roosevelt’s medium was radio. Donald Trump embraces social media and select interviewers on select networks. Part of the entertainment value is listening to reporters inane questions and hearing his peculiar insults when they ask questions that although impertinent are meaningful. On his social media platform Truthsocial he can ignore any commentary and take the pulse of his supportive base. On camera he is compelled to respond regardless.

I started with opinions and onions. Some onions are sweet and other onions are, well, oniony. Onions build themselves in layers as they develop. Opinions develop differently and similarly. Opinions do not require facts to develop. Opinions do require support but not necessarily facts.

Facts solidify opinions either pro or con.

I have read the complete article.

The victorious man in the day of crisis is the man who has the serenity to accept what he cannot help and the courage to change what must be altered. – Reinhold Niebuhr

The debate rages onward.

Carpe Diem.

Fire

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https://wlwt.com/article/4-people-displaced-after-fire-engulfs-home-in-pleasant-ridge/69582581

A house fire is a terribly scary thing.

This picture of my son’s house on fire makes me glad and sad at the same time. The whole family went to a nearby church to buy a Christmas tree. Gone for perhaps 20 – 30 minutes they returned to this conflagration at their house.

Glad – they were not home.

Sad – their home was messed up and will need extensive repairs.

So now starts the extensive task of cleaning and repair.

What caused it? A small remote control outlet that allowed them to turn on a floor lamp without climbing over the couch to do that task. (Ah, It shorted out you said to yourself.) Not a “short” as electrical folks think of it. A short circuit would have popped the breaker. This did not. It cooked and got hotter until the nearby couch caught fire.

Many of us have similar devices. I have one I talk to, “Alexa! Light on!” Same thing, different remote style. I have touched all of those little chargers, bricks, power supplies, thingies plugged in anywhere in my house. Look at the picture again. Scary stuff. I will do it more often, maybe even, a nightly routine.

“I bet they did not have smoke detectors.” Social media is rife with experts and lookie-loos. One of them took this picture. “I saw them take someone out on a stretcher.” Nope.

The smoke detectors were screaming when the fire department showed up. I am glad no one was home to hear them. One of the pet cats, “Snowball”, did not make it.

Glad – they are all safe. Glad my family is safe.

Sad – one of the cats died in the fire.

Glad – they have good insurance. Things can be replaced.

Sad – for all the clean-up that will occur going forward. Enough laundry is done to get on with life and the recovery process.

Both sad and glad. Several days beyond the initial trauma, the world has stabilized a bit and the clean up begins. My son got a ticket from the zoning commission for having an unlivable domicile. We laughed at that. My grandson who stored all of his toys and cars in the living room where the fire occurred incurred a loss of all of those. When my son mentioned that to his teacher at school the first day afterward, she replied, we can fix that. My grandson came home with cars and truck carrier and some new clothes.

He has a great teacher and a wonderful school.

Carpe Diem.

Baking and Memories

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This is the time of the year when I pay more attention to baking and making breads and pasties and pie. It is a winter time past time and it makes my little condo smell divine for a day or two. Lately I have been focused on a pecan pie recipe that I received from my daughter-in-law who is an excellent pie maker and shares my love of sweets.

I started this morning by tweaking my stash of recipes with the Karo syrup pecan pie recipe that I copied off of the world wide wait (that’s an old term – these days it is the Wha Wait What?). When I saved it to the correct folder on this laptop I found the following piece I wrote a while ago. It is a good memory of mine.

As I re-read the yellow bag story, I could hear Cheryl. At first, after she died, I was anxious that I would lose the ability to hear her voice. He works in mysterious ways. Gladly He helps me to hear her voice. (Sometimes, of course, being male, I do not want to hear it.) … on to the cookie story.

She’s Done it to Me

A couple years ago, when Cheryl was struggling physically more with Parkinson and her struggle with the dementia aspects of it was taking away her ability to follow simple directions, she coerced (maybe too strong of a word) me into helping her make cookies. I did not want to at the time.

Once or twice these were Snickerdoodles. And a couple other times we made chocolate chip cookies, the recipe is on the two pound bag of Nestle’s morsels. “You have to get the yellow bag!” she said to me once when I when I returned from the store by myself in the midst of the COVID pandemonium and price-shopped for supplies. “Those won’t work.” I was disheartened. I had purchased the store brand of chocolate chips. I argued my case for twenty-two milliseconds before realizing that there was no point in contesting the issue further. I returned to the store for the correct chips (“Morsels! It will say morsels on the bag. The bag is yellow.” She spoke to my back as I left.)

I can hear her voice. Little stories like this help me to recall her voice.

Yesterday, because I could avoid it no longer, I went to the grocery to restore my larder to its previous vigor. At the beginning my list had only two things, dried cranberries and raisins. Both of these I add to overnight oats which has become a new favorite breakfast treat. I have a pint Ball jar that is just the right size to contain a half cup of rolled oats, a cup of milk and whatever else I put in with those usually raisins or craisins some honey and chia seeds to set in the fridge overnight. I have also added at times cocoa powder, cinnamon, cardamon, vanilla or tahinni and used brown sugar instead of honey. This mixture goes well with my assembly of the coffee in the evening as well as drinking the coffee in the morning.

While putting all away I discovered that the bag of dried cranberries that I purchased would not fit into my quart jar I use to save dried fruit. Alas, some remained in the Ziploc bag that only zips most of the time. I left them on the counter to become a healthy evening snack near the apples and bananas.

After preparing some lunch I hunted for some sweetness to satisfy my heritage and hit upon spreading the Nutella look-alike I purchased at Aldi sometime in the past on a saltine cracker and sprinkling cranberries on top. That tuned out pretty good. (If you are not a believer, try it.) I realized that I was inventing a variety of cookie – biscuit or digestive to the Brits out there – and heard Cheryl say, “You could try making a chocolate cookie with stuff in it.” I blame Cheryl when I hear these inventive thoughts about cooking. She was not very inventive with ingredients but very inventive with technique.

I launched myself into search for a basic chocolate cookie that I could modify with extra ingredients. Below is the final product:

  • 2 C. all purpose flour
  • 2/3 C. powdered cocoa
  • 1 tsp. baking soda
  • ¼ tsp. salt
  • 1 ½ C. white sugar
  • 1 C. unsalted butter
  • 2 large eggs
  • 2 tsp. vanilla extract
  • 1 C. chocolate morsels (in the yellow bag)
  • 1 C. dried cranberries
  • ½ C. smashed walnuts (crushed in the bag but I smash them further)

I creamed the butter, eggs, vanilla and sugar for a bit. Whisked the flour, salt, soda and cocoa together in a separate bowl dry and then dumped them into my mixer. (I bought a new mixer.) After a bit of mixing I tried out my folding paddle and dumped in the rest of the ingredients.

Bake in a 350F (177C) – medium oven 8 to 10 minutes. This lump of cookie dough makes about 4 dozen if you use a teaspoon from your table wear set to scoop and spoon some on to an UNgreased cookie sheet like I did.

After 8 minutes on the timer, I rotated the cookie sheets in the oven and added 4 minutes to the time. This worked for me because I dislike (maybe hate) chewy soft cookies. There is something special about just the right crunch that makes me smile.

Cheryl! You turned me into a cookie recipe experimenter. It is all your fault. (Dammit.) I love you and you are right. These are good. The tricky part will be spreading them out in my eating habits. I have eaten three while writing this story. They go well with coffee.

I wonder which wine pairs well. Pinot Noir? Chardonnay?

A conundrum.

Carpe Diem.

I will miss her always. I promise to only buy chocolate chips in the yellow bag that say morsels on the bag. Yes, Dear. I love you and miss you on holidays like this. Be safe and well in heaven. (Yep, I teared up when I wrote this.)

Carpe the baking Diem

Thankful

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This time of year I think of the things, people and situations in my life for whom and which I am thankful. The positives outweigh the negatives. Do this for yourself and assess were you are. (I am rarely thankful for negatives.)

People: (Be careful here. It is easy to miss someone.)

  • Anna & Eric & the kiddos
  • David & Melissa & the kiddos
  • Scott & Mavis & the kiddos
  • My sister Joyce
  • Debbie Joy
  • My cousin Bob (also Tom)
  • All the Nancys
  • Sr. Carren
  • Sr. Janet
  • The stock club guys
  • Grief Share support
  • Bea, Bev, Marg, Peggy, John and Peg and the back pew support crew

I stop after this list because the people who have saved me is too great for me to remember and the people who are so very special to me crowd my thoughts. It is remarkable that Cheryl is talking to me in my head; “you forgot… and what about…“ After three rounds of Grief Share group support I can hear her voice with almost perfect clarity. So, I tell her, “okay maybe I shouldn’t try to list everyone. You are right someone I missed will be sad I did not list them and they will think I forgot what they did for me.” She just said, “I am (right)!” I laughed out loud at her.

Things:

  • A place to live
  • Bike paths and a car big enough to put my bike into for travel.
  • No mortgage or loan payments
  • Enough cash to last until the end of me
  • Enough food and the ability to prepare it
  • Pie and coffee cake
  • Blueberry sorbet (I am listing the truly important things now.)
  • Also pecan pie. Mavis sent me her pecan bars recipe with the note that the filling makes THE BEST pecan pie. I have made it twice now and she is ABSOLUTELY CORRECT.

I am thankful that in our society I think I will get by with the means at hand. I am pretty sure I will get to the end of my life before I get to the end of my money. We (Cheryl and I) have always been fiscally frugal.) Tricky to do raising three kids but they all turned out perfect and these days their families are perfect. (I am thankful for them too.) I think the little pile of money Cheryl and I put together will last until the end of me.

Situations:

  • Good health
  • Bike paths and the ability to ride on them
  • Loving family
  • Wonderful friends
  • I have decided and have started the process of complete retirement. I hope to have enough time to pursue my own interests and hobbies without interruption of commitment not of my own decision.
  • Mental relief of making that decision and starting the process.
  • Wearing pajamas until noon

One of the reasons for retirement – maybe one of the best – is wearing pajamas until noon. On baking days and writing days I do this. No one is here except me. I do not concern myself with good looks when no one else is about. Lately there have been fewer writing days. My school schedule has picked up. All of that changes at the end of 2025 and I look forward to it.

Carpe Diem

Memories and Remembrance and Dad

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This writing prompt, “Write Scenes With Your Senses” popped into my email today and it made me think. To quote the email, “When a memory suddenly pops into our head it is often just a fragment: a smile, a gentle touch, the tone of a voice. What anchors those fragments and transforms them into a scene that lives on the page is the body. Our senses are the portal. Writing through sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch grounds a scene in the moment and makes it come alive. Sensory details allow the reader to know not just what happened, but to experience it with their own body. It is said that specificity is the soul of narrative.” I have these sorts of memories, mainly, from early childhood.

The discussion continued with also many “have had the experience of hearing a song from our teen years and having flashes of memory from our high school dance from decades before. Suddenly we see the disco ball shooting shards of light across our friends faces, we smell the perfume or cologne of our dance partner, we feel our feet shuffle on the floor to the rhythm of the music, we taste the flavor of our favorite gum.” Sadly I have not and I have no memory of taste of any thing but Kleespie’s Bakery rye bread. (Also a childhood memory.) This last is what propelled me into baking bread as a hobby in the 1980s.

Reading the first paragraph my brain responded with an early, very early, memory of Cub Scouts and knothole baseball. I did not play knothole baseball as a kid but I was a Cub Scout. I imagine this game was a cub scout activity. My Dad was not a huge sports fan or any kind of sports fan, although he did like bowling when I was small.

The memory that came to me like a video vision is an image that has me on a ball field near Oakley Park near where I lived then. The video is silent in my head. It was late in the afternoon and the pitcher was a 7 or 8 year old like I was. Standing there at the plate he threw 4 loopy-doop pitches in a row and I walked to first base. Three other batters behind me also walked to their bases and I walked home. Not knowing much about baseball, I thought so that is what a home run is. It was a home walk in this case.

I was excited about scoring but no one was there to see it. There are no cheers in the audience. I cannot see an audience. I only see the ball diamond. I do not see any coaches but there must have been some. The scene is starkly quiet.

Later when Dad picked me up I told him about my “home run” and scoring a run. He did not correct my misconception. He merely replied, “I wish I was there to see that.” I could hear his voice as he said that. As we rode home in the car he asked me about other things and he may have taken me to get ice cream but the memory fades and that image is not there. I can hear his voice, “I wish I was there to see that” with a little disappointment in his voice. Dad dearly loved ice cream so that image is obfuscated with other trips to various ice cream parlors near our house.

Today my scenes with my senses are focused on Dad and childhood. The only audio is – I wish I was there to see that.

Dad was in the Navy before I was born. I wish he was still here. Do we ever quit being children?

Carpe Diem.

Experimentation

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I have been experimenting with many aspects of my life since Cheryl has gone.

Where am I going? Why am I experimenting? What do I mean by experimenting? Am I searching for life meaning? My life meaning?

Is this worth my effort?

Since I am still here and God has taken her, there must be some reason that the universal conscience has for me. Or that line of thought might just be ego talking. Some days I feel like I am waiting for God to hit me with the answer of what all this is for.

Today the time changes. Why did it change? Did we get more? What is time? Why do I have so many devices in my home to measure it? Why is my circadian rhythm dysrhythmic today?

How much sugar should I add to this? Should I use sugar or honey? Where is this thought going?

I had a strange dream yesterday as I was wakening in the last time zone. My neighbor was holding two tomatoes from our little garden plot and peering into my living room windows. She was waving them up and down in the latest “6-7” motion that the children do meaninglessly. My view in the dream was as though I was looking through a doll house window. She was a giant version of herself. I woke up suddenly with a little shiver. Where did that dreamy thought come from?

Is the One whose name may not be said merely trying to show me that purpose and being are two different ideas and are not correlated? Those just are?

The human mind (maybe just my mind) is just simply too busy. Minds are too busy concerning themselves with ideas like purpose and value. What if my mind could just be? And where is my mind?

Cheryl’s mind left her before her body left the Earth. Taking care of her in her mindless menagerie of demented memories and present existence was my purpose and value for many years.

These days I seem to be experimenting to find new purpose. But what if I merely remain present to what is now. What if?

It is almost 8AM and my mind is telling my body that it was almost 9AM yesterday. Presence to now is what I shout back in my mind. What is it now? Yesterday is no more.

Time only moves forward.

We are all time travelers. See what is now. The future is tomorrow and next month and next year.

I will get there in time.

What is the rush?

Carpe Diem.

Time Is… Precious

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Time does not move in one direction. Time is never straight. – Alexis Pauline Gumbs

A long and winding road… – the Beatles

Life is a winding road. – Sheryl Crow

Observation, anticipation, longing, presence, reaction, observation, anticipation, longing, presence, reaction, observation, anticipation, longing, presence, reaction, observation, anticipation, longing, presence, reaction, observation, anticipation, longing, presence, reaction, observation, anticipation, longing, presence, reaction, observation, anticipation, longing, presence, reaction, observation, anticipation, longing, presence, reaction. Indeed a wiggly and tedious road life is.

I subscribe to poetry magazine. It is a small unadorned volume that appears in my mailbox every few weeks. It takes me elsewhere when it comes. The quote that appears first is on the back cover of the September volume. This morning it attracted my eye. My thoughts went off in a similar but musical direction. I found the rest of her writing inside and I read it for a bit.

Today, however, is for the students. The introduction to industrial robotics and computer integrated manufacturing class for which I am the instructor is very technical. The students are young and vibrant. They are just beginning. Near the first curve or the first fork or the first turn-off, they must decide continue or turn. Is this the way? They are not here today, so I can review their work without them yammering in my ear about why they did this or did not do that because I was unclear. Many will not or are unable to ask a question. Many are able to accept another’s work as correct and useful. (No it is not cheating. I want them to help each other.) At this early part of the journey many believe (I think) that they still need to be spoon fed. A few are beginning to try things on their own.

The software is complicated and I have not found the way myself but I have a different motive. (I want them to discover for themselves the bigger picture.) They are able to twist the software into a knot that is hard to untangle. Learning programming techniques on the fly is fun, terrifying, frustrating, satisfying and tedious. → Observation, code, check, test, reaction, observation, coding, check, test, reaction, observation, more coding, check, test, reaction, observation, coding, check, test, reaction, observation, much more coding, check, test, reaction, observation, coding, check, test, reaction, observation, coding, check, test, reaction, observation, yet more coding, check, test, reaction. Will this never end? (I imagine some in the class thinking this to themselves because they are reluctant to say they are struggling out loud to the instructor.) Indeed, a wiggly and tedious road coding is, similar to life itself, similar to writing.

I can feel it coming in the air tonight… – Phil Collins

A wiggly road teaching is. As I work my way through the material which is specific to industrial robots of a specific manufacturer, my thoughts go toward how to generalize techniques and ideas to other areas. Programming (coding) a process is an art form. It is both technical and elegant. Although I have had the good fortune to do this work throughout my working career, I recognize I do not know all. Teaching, mentoring and instructing is humbling for me. I find out how little I know.

… all I wanna do is have some fun before the sun comes up over Santa Monica Blvd. (also Sheryl)

All of these thoughts and others came tumbling into my head when I read Alexis Pauline Gumbs’s quote on the back of Poetry. On some days, most days, poetry centers me. When I read the quote from her above I felt a pull to the content. I was floundering with industrial robots. Alexis was not writing about that. Alexis was writing about a fellow poet Cheryl Clarke.

“Time is not straight. Time spirals and veers, embraces and releases. She shows up with a U-Haul after one date. Time doesn’t move stubbornly forward. She comes back and helps an ex-girlfriend mourn the loss of her more recent lover, maybe even helps her raise her kids. Time is not obsessed with progress. She wants you to come back and revisit lessons you thought you had already learned. Time shows up brand new, as an imp and a trickster. Time is guided not by security, but by the risk of love. Again.

This instant. This triumph. Time is a lesbian.” — Alexis Pauline Gumbs, Poetry, September, 2025 issue

These are powerful words. ( “She shows up with a U-Haul” made me chuckle.) Time (life) is an instructor. Wisdom is “she” in the Bible. We would do well to listen, heed, be present for the message. Our time here is short and winding. Listen. Observe. Embrace the tedium.

Carpe Diem

Too Busy Too Much

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Can life be too busy? Can it be too much?

At certain times in a time of creativity it is. Yes it can.

I have not been good at blocking throughout my life. I must learn that, the ability to block certain times for certain activities and to block out other thoughts while doing those activities, is helpful to following creative thought.

“Human life revolves around four big questions: What is the meaning of life? What is the ultimate source of right and wrong? How can we reduce the amount of suffering and injustice in the world? How can we understand the world without resorting to magic, using reason and evidence instead? – Jonathan Rauch.” I read this in David Brook’s column in the New York Times. What does that have to do with “too busy”? Throughout my life (and career as a controls designer) I found that when I was up against a particularly vexing problem – dilemma, conundrum – simply walking away mentally for awhile helped with finding a solution or at least a path towards one. Some would call this prayer. I think of prayer as a literal request, so, I do not. (Maybe I should think of prayer differently – a different topic.) Although I am not good at blocking, there are too many devices nearby, I am able to about-face my mind and focus entirely on something very different. Jonathan’s list groups some of the topics hovering in the background that jump into the foreground when I let my mind wander off the vexation.

These are all deep enduring thought exercises. If I truly want to abandon rational thought for awhile I ponder the meaning of Facebook, TikTok and X.

Writing these small blog posts help me to disengage for a bit.

Simply disabling the ringer on the mobile phone is remarkably satisfying.

Life is too busy.

I want to devote more time to writing. I want to devote more time to travel. I want to devote more time to service others. I want to do more me before there is less me to do it.

Carpe Diem

Late Summer Early Fall

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Dear Dad,

I was thinking about you today. I realized that I have not written to you in awhile.

How are you doing in heaven? Have you and Mom found each other? I suspect it is crowded there. I wonder in my own mind how you are able to find her but I imagine that love and connection is an eternal string. You just follow it to the end and there she is.

I am writing this time because I haven’t told you about what is going on in my life. A lot has been happening since you left this plane. That will be eighteen years in a couple months. (Wow.) You taught me well, Dad. I don’t feel like I need you every day but quite often there are things that happen and other thoughts that I want to ask you about, talk to you about, get your opinion.

Cheryl is gone too. You know that, of course. Look around for her too. You know about Bill and Laura. By now you have found them in the crowd there.

I met another girl, Dad. She is nice. She has five kids. Her first daughter is hers. All the rest because of who she is and maybe, because of, what she does are adopted. She is a wonderful woman, Dad. You would like her. I would like you to meet her but as we both know that is not possible right now. Just be on the look out for her. (I do not know which of us will get there first and Debbie does not want me to talk about it.) I love her, Dad. I did not think that possible with all the time I spent with Cheryl but I do. She makes me laugh. Much like when Cheryl was here, I feel an aloneness when I am not with her. Did you feel that when you were away from Mom?

I have been feeling this for some time. It is why I am writing to you.

Yesterday was a working day for her. She called me in the afternoon and told me that she was free for dinner after work if I wanted to meet her somewhere but she was not sure of when our Grief Share group was finished. We met at a restaurant near that LaRosa’s where we used to stop on the way to the playhouse on Sunday’s when we had tickets to the play. Remember? Anyway, this restaurant had the best beef stroganoff. I think Mom used to make that. Isn’t that right? But it was not the food at all, it was Debbie being there. I think it could have been a so-so dinner and I would have ignored all that. It was very good though and that made our conversation all the better. We talked about our day and how it all went. Not a lofty conversation but we caught up with each other about our hours apart.

I forgot to tell you about grief share. Remember the kerfuffle I had with the cemetery years ago when Cheryl and I set up our place there? A woman came to our group session who had lost her son in a flood on a rain swollen creek while camping. A very traumatic experience for her and her family. I remember you telling me about your friend who had drowned in the Ohio river when you were young. But anyway, the cemetery buried him in the wrong place. Can you imagine? (Do you imagine or can you just see it, Dad.) They waited several days for them to recover her son’s body and then the cemetery tried to lose it. Her anger with the cemetery folks is visceral. She is very sad right now. It has been just a few weeks since this happened. I felt sad for her. She was angry and sad and cynical and disappointed and on top of everything grieving the loss of her son. We let her talk for some time. She needed to get it out.

There is a lot of other stuff going on but mostly I wanted to tell you about Debbie. We did go out to Portland and visited with Joyce. Joyce is doing good. We had a great time touring around. We also spent a couple days at the coast. Joyce had found a place to take her dog teddy along. That dog is really attached to her. It took off down the path to the beach and then turned around. Then it ran around the little house we were staying in. then around Joyce and back inside. Teddy took in all the smells quickly and found its owner after the enthusiastic jaunt around the property. It was fun to watch.

There is a lot more for me to write to you about but I think I will save it for later. I hope all is going well with you.

I have one more thing. This deer often visits in the morning. I call him Fred. He has a buddy that I call Frank. Now that they both have their antlers back it is hard to tell them apart. They are majestic animals and I think they grew up in the woods out back. Whenever either of them saunters by they are snacking their way to the old golf course across the street. I think that is where the girls all hang out.

I love you, Dad.

Carpe Diem.