March Madness

Yes indeed, I love these people, myself included. So much so, I have a lump of concrete in my lower right back. I ache. I know I need to sob, yet I resist. Sadly, I make myself hurt with my concern.

The youngest one is living fully and in transition as she moves into the new home she owns. The oldest one won’t stop aging—Blast! She keeps on encouraging me to live fully. Instead, silly me, I brace myself. I am not unlike flat sandwich bologna squeezed between the most luscious breads of all time.    

Loving 93-year-old Mom

I wonder, “How could we possibly honor Mom after she dies?” Then a video clip surfaces of our rehearsal on the morning of my father’s memorial.

Assuming she must die someday, we’ll gather in flesh and virtually. After all the years of celebrating life together and with weeks of “sister calls” girding us, we will love each other in death too.

Now though, as pandemic fog clears, I’ve taken her to the dentist. She is more available today, happy to be amongst others and telling me wild stories about what is happening in her daydreams.  

Good Bread and Neighbors

Chef Carolina is preparing dinner for us tonight to honor her Dad’s recent birthday. When we get home from the beach we will walk in to a personalized gourmet feast. And thanks to our wonderful neighbors, I have something worthy to contribute: homemade sourdough bread that arrived on our cabin threshold early this morning.

Be Like a Child

Another favorite retirement assignment: “doorperson” for Godly Play—a.k.a. Sunday School—with the primary kids on Palm Sunday. One six-year-old taught me how to rename myself on Zoom. Another how to frame myself in a t.v. They are fabulous, patient teachers. My hotspot connection was splotchy today but the love connection was full-strength.    


We’re here at the beach, after arriving late last night. I slept in until 9:15 when the chorus of birdsong outside our open window woke me. Then I found a crazy made-up Spanglish word (forgive me, native Spanish speakers) in my journal entry from last year. Corazón (heart) + oraciones (prayers), in the masculine diminutive by adding “itos” = little prayers of the heart. Not crazy after all. That makes all the sense in the world, to me at least.