It’s been too long since I’ve shared something from my notebook. So, in honor of Halloween, I dug through my archive to see if I had a good scare to share. I hope you enjoy one of my favorites. Happy Halloween! ~ hvh
A friend recently told me that she thinks we’re all given a bucket of joy and that it’s gone forever when it runs out. But I think it’s a self-defeating concept to believe everything is handed to us like that.
It’s with great sadness that I share the passing of our dear friend, Heidi Van Heel.
Heidi was a lot of things to many people. She was a trusted confidant, a Google-certified physician, and an enthusiastic drinking companion. But, she was also a dedicated health and fitness aficionado who worked tirelessly to fight the perimenopausal spread of her ass.
And that’s exactly what he did. After 14 years together, he died in my arms on a Saturday afternoon in March. Then I had to hand him over to someone else to take care of his final arrangements. That had almost been the hardest part – putting the furry, little body that I knew so well into someone else’s car. For 14 years taking care of him had been my responsibility, and I’d been completely...
Walking in the cold
With an old dog who can’t see
And eats yellow snow.
“I don’t know if you know this, but everyone is laughing at you behind your back,” she said gathering her books to leave. “I just thought you should know.”
A gray-haired old man cradled a gray-haired old dog as he shuffled down a gray cement sidewalk on a gray overcast day.
The gray-haired old man stooped to examine a purple flower forcing its way up through a crack in the gray cement sidewalk.
I’m celebrating a milestone birthday this year. I’m told that it’s a milestone because it has a zero in it, but it doesn’t feel especially extraordinary to me. According to my family and friends, this magical milestone means that my vision will soon deteriorate along with my confidence in driving at night followed unceremoniously by hearing loss (which I suspect my husband will secretly look...
What compels us to sit down with a pencil in hand and stare at a blank page until words slowly start to come? Why do we agonize over each letter and syllable, reading sentences over and over again until they feel “just right”? Why do we struggle to create things that we know others are dying to tear down? Because we love to. We love the rhythm of words that have been carefully arranged. We love...
Desmond threw open the heavy curtains covering the window. “Good lord!” A woman cried from her sofa, raising her arms to shield her eyes. “What is that burning light in the sky?!” “That, my lady, is called The Sun,” the manservant responded in a flat voice. “But, my god, Desmond, it’s so… bright!” The woman said. “Be a dear and turn it down just a touch, would you?” He raised an eyebrow...
The cat stares and licks its lips. A fat, gray ground squirrel moves slowly through the grass towards the feeder.
Step, step – wait.
Step, step – wait.
Its small black eyes shine as it looks from left to right, sensing danger but unable to find it.