Excerpts
“It’s Never the Same”: Too True
I was running late. At the end of the long hallway, the last room on the right sat empty. The bed was made, a walker in the corner. My mother and her wheelchair were missing. I found a nurse. “I’m Ruth Grogan’s son. Is my mother around?” It was a dumb question. This was a nursing home. Of course she was around. Everyone was always around. “I’d try the chapel,” the nurse offered. “Mass started at eleven.” More
I was running late. At the end of the long hallway, the last room on the right sat empty. The bed was made, a walker in the corner. My mother and her wheelchair were missing. I found a nurse. “I’m Ruth Grogan’s son. Is my mother around?” It was a dumb question. This was a nursing home. Of course she was around. Everyone was always around. “I’d try the chapel,” the nurse offered. “Mass started at eleven.” More
They’re Bad, and We Love ’em Still
Man, and I thought my dog was bad. Ever since I penned a farewell to my companion of thirteen years, Marley the neurotic and incorrigible Labrador retriever, my e-mail inbox has resembled a TV talk show episode: “Bad Dogs—and the Humans Who Love Them!” More
Man, and I thought my dog was bad. Ever since I penned a farewell to my companion of thirteen years, Marley the neurotic and incorrigible Labrador retriever, my e-mail inbox has resembled a TV talk show episode: “Bad Dogs—and the Humans Who Love Them!” More
Letting Go of the One That Got Away
Regrets. Every life has them, some more than others. Lately, I have had just one: the home that got away. I saw it on my first day of house hunting in southeastern Pennsylvania, stumbling serendipitously upon it as if led by divine compass. I took a wrong turn and then another, and soon I was hopelessly lost on a stripe-less country lane. I followed the lane down a steep hill and through a stand of hardwoods. And there it was. More
Regrets. Every life has them, some more than others. Lately, I have had just one: the home that got away. I saw it on my first day of house hunting in southeastern Pennsylvania, stumbling serendipitously upon it as if led by divine compass. I took a wrong turn and then another, and soon I was hopelessly lost on a stripe-less country lane. I followed the lane down a steep hill and through a stand of hardwoods. And there it was. More