A Widow Bit

A Widow Bit ...

When you’re getting ready to leave a place, you begin looking at it through a different lens. Aperture wide open, shutter speed slow. Drink it in. Remember ...

St. Expedite, aka Sanctus Expeditus, has apparently never made it into the official Roman Catholic Martyrology. Yet he has an international following, including pop-star status in Brazil. There are Expedite shrines in far-flung places, from an island in the Indian Ocean to Fargo, N.D., to New Orleans – which is where I met up with him ...

Saturday, while baking cookies, I agreed to participate in a “twenty- to twenty-five minute survey” on behalf of the state Department of Health ...

This is a trial separation. I tried to explain that to Daphne, my black lab-mix, as I loaded the car on Friday ...

The sympathetic cluck-clucks we hear whenever we get a head cold are intended as consolation, but there is little consolation. Only endurance as we snort through boxes of tissues, try various drugstore remedies, douse our nasal passages with sprays, and drown our sorrows in chicken soup ...

The retired Washington state trooper folded his lanky body onto the chair across the table from me, grinned and said words guaranteed to grab my heart ...

Hours before I was to head off for a retreat on the theme of nonviolence, I learned of a tragic shooting in my community ,,,

Plainly said, I’m not interested in romance. So why then, all in one week, did I read an historical romance and a chick lit novel?

The stuff that’s in the news – both national and global – is enough to make anyone want to head for the hills. That is not why I’m planning to move to Holden Village, high in the North Cascade Mountains ...

There’s nothing like a yard sale to get you in touch with your inner stuff. Ostensibly, you’re getting rid of outer stuff. But in the attempt to clear out the dark recesses and dusty corners of your home, you run smack into the cubbyholes of your soul and cobwebs of your memory ...

If the wedding I attended last night is any indication of the future human race, we are on our way to being a beautiful people. ...

I was slowly backing my new car out of the carport (less than 2,500 miles on the odometer – and you can already guess where this is going) when I heard a soft “ding!” ...

“Ocean View!” Those two words add up to untold millions of dollars in the real estate market, even today’s market. As I enjoyed the Oregon Coast for a few days last week, I pondered our passion for seascapes ...

When travelling, one depends upon the kindness and sensitivity of strangers ...

Memorial Day Weekend is to nostalgia what Thanksgiving Day is to food: A golden opportunity for overindulgence ...

Over the past couple weeks I have been travelling through foreign, mystical lands – also known as car sales lots ...

On Friday I came as close as I’m probably ever going to come to attending a rock concert, all because I wanted to hear in person one of the world’s great spiritual leaders ...

A week ago Saturday I was hiking through newly-blooming balsam root, the wild sunflower that pronounces with profuse authority: “Spring IS here!” By Tuesday I was snowshoeing on five feet of snow. It was like going back in time, retreating from spring to winter ...

There is nothing quite so empty as a house when the last guest has departed after a party.

The morning after what we can hope was the last serious snowfall of winter, I called an older friend to offer my chauffeuring services. Continue reading ...

I slowly put the phone back in its cradle, feeling as if I were walking away from my lover’s deathbed with the patient still breathing. Continue reading ...

Valentine’s Day has a way of creeping up on you. Saturday I teased a friend in front of his wife about getting his Valentine’s Day shopping done. “When is that, anyway?” he asked. She rolled her eyes. Continue reading ...

I’m resolved, perhaps the word is resigned, to make one more attempt at understanding Facebook.

Here’s what an out-of-body experience is like.

With the dawning of this new year, I’ve been making a mental list of the small things in life that give me hope.

I cannot allow 2010 to pass without noting that it represented the centenary of two significant events: women’s suffrage in the state of Washington and the birth of my late mother-in-law, also in the state of Washington.

It’d be so nice to have a man around the house,
But only when I’m dealing with a mouse.

Every once in a while, I experience random moments of utter well-being. It’s kind of scary.

You may have missed the news last week that industrial food giant Tyson is now producing diesel fuel from chicken fat and leftover food grease ...

Halloween, a shortened name from the original All Hallow E'en – meaning the evening before All Saints’ Day – would have been the perfect day for my self-assigned task. Instead, a friend invited me to take a long walk in the autumn-colored countryside ...

Most trees this autumn appear reluctant to shed their brilliant array of autumn colors – like a belle of the ball who can’t bear to take off her elegant gown after the dance is long over.

From my driveway back to my driveway, it was 3,767 miles. It wasn’t a “vacation,” because my intent was not to “vacate.” Just the opposite. My travels in the three years since John died have been about connecting.

If I had more bladder capacity, my car would not have broken down at the summit of Snoqualmie Pass.

Etiquette tip: Never abuse the family dog.

I find a delicious irony in the fact that I, a preacher’s kid, am spending Father’s Day at a workshop on homiletics – the art and craft of preaching.

I wondered as I flew home after three weeks in England’s enchanting Cotswold region, where sheep graze amidst a patchwork of rolling green fields and each village is more picturesque and quaint than the last, would coming home be a letdown?

Glastonbury, England – A mecca for New Age spiritualism.

Kingsland, England – Sixty-six. 66! I celebrated a birthday this week while enjoying England’s idyllic countryside.

I was going through customs at London’s Heathrow Airport, following the nine-hour nonstop flight from Seattle.

There are times I show up when I really don’t want to be there, attending events like concerts, plays or art exhibits. Maybe I’m not in the mood or I fear disappointment. I go anyway.

Easter Sunday afternoon, neighbors Laura and Ted Moomaw, who live about six doors up the hill, stopped by with a gift.

A story with no morel.

I was invited to play a piano solo at a benefit concert featuring keyboard artists.

It was Rip Van Winkle meets “Haunted House,” all because a friend innocently invited me to go snowshoeing on a beautiful, blue-sky, sunny winter day.

How far can you go on five hundred dollars? Not a large sum these days, yet I’ve managed to stretch five hundred bucks perhaps to infinity.

At what stage of life do symbols of age become dreaded instead of eagerly anticipated?

Like many people, I’m too busy. But just try paring down activities and obligations. It’s like extricating yourself from a vat of molasses – slow going, and a lot sticks with you.

The publishing company I work for does not deal in shocking stories or astounding revelations. So, I wasn’t prepared for the shock I got when I visited the office last week.

The Internet is allegedly endangering long-standing institutions and traditions – newspapers, for example. I’m wondering if the venerable Christmas family newsletter may not be another victim.

“I simply have to jump off the cliff,” said my friend. “I know my parachute will be there for me, but I have to make the jump.”

I’ve been preparing for Christmas by getting to know Mary a little better.

Enduring the boredom of a five-hour flight from Atlanta to Seattle, I read all ten pages of an article on nightmares in New Yorker magazine. I should have known better.

Last week I bought tickets to attend plays at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in October 2010, eleven months into the future. Folly or faith, I wondered, as I typed my credit card number into the computer for an Internet order.

It was not appropriate to giggle, though I wanted to. I was at the church where my sister is organist, listening to the minister’s lovely chant resonate to the high ceilings. And I couldn’t help but smile.

I’m in the process of getting my 65 million mile check-up and tune-up. I was going to call it 65 thousand, but I considered the average automobile at 65,000 miles. It’s hardly begun to mature, can still look like new and has most of its miles yet to go. By the time the human vehicle has reached 65, it has traveled a phenomenal distance – physically, mentally, emotionally and, one hopes, spiritually.

Sometimes events in your life come full circle. Not the dizzying, purposeless circles I’ve been spinning since my husband died. No, we’re talking circles as big as the equator, circles that encompass healing and truth.

On the road again. I’m in Ashland, Ore., attending plays at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. This is my first time back in 16 years.

If you’re looking to set a date for some kind of annual outdoor autumn event, like a picnic or a marathon, I would suggest Sept. 25.

Confessions of a former reformer: I recant. I withdraw all I've said and written for the past 25 years about how this nation needs to reform its health care system.

Sometimes the world does a 180 on you, tipping you upside down, spinning you around. North becomes south. The sun rises in the west and sets in the east. That’s what happened to me last week ...

“You two driving a green Mustang convertible?” It was the start of a trip from the cool Pacific Northwest to the hot and humid Mississippi Gulf Coast.

A friend who is active in numerous civic organizations, has abruptly resigned some significant posts. Life has a way of telling you, he explained, when it’s time to adjust priorities.

I’ve appreciated the responses I’ve received in recent weeks as I’ve written about our final journey with our mother, Elsie Fagerlin. Elsie died May 25, a blessed release for her, a monumental but inevitable loss for us. MORE

TOTAL UP all the millions of dollars spent on Mother’s Day cards, flowers, candy, restaurant dinners and expensive gifts, and it would not equal the wealth of joy I’m experiencing, caring for my mother in her final weeks of life. MORE

MY FAMILY is gathered in Tacoma, some traveling from far parts of the country, to observe our final Mother’s Day with our matriarch, my mom. When Mother was given the diagnosis – ovarian cancer – she opted for what is euphemistically called “comfort care” only. No chemo. No radiation. “Ninety-two is a good time to go,” she’s been telling us. MORE

AN E-MAIL from Jim, a longtime friend, reminds me that I omitted something important when I wrote last week about hospital experiences. Someone important, I should say. Jim said he planned to forward what I’d written to his wife Linda, a nurse, who might want to pass it on to others at her hospital. More

THE HEAVY GLASS doors open automatically with a “whoosh” that sweeps me inside. I’m Alice through the Looking Glass. Or am I Dorothy in Oz? What is it about hospitals that overpowers me, creates a heaviness in my soul, turns me into someone I don’t want to be?

I STOOD THERE on the riverbank, staring at the corpse, wondering what I should do next.

IT SHOULD BE no surprise that you can log onto the Internet and find out when you’re going to die. I always thought only God knew that. But it figures; the Internet is the new god for many . . .

I've been busy; that's why

Irate over your IRA?

Should Auld Acquaintance'(lyrics) Be Forgot

Stories from the storm

Greeting the season

Numbering our years in trees

Things said and left unsaid

So who wants to fly first-class anyway?

And so we learn to accept God's seasons

When the smoke of battle clears, it's our decision

Something extraordinary
in all that is ordinary

This is more than puppy love

One year along the way, whatever way that is

Let sleeping dogs lie,
or they'll spring

Fantasy mixes
with remembrance