Sticks and stones may break my bones
But words will never hurt me.

I can almost hear my mother comforting me with those words when I cried because somebody called me a name. I had no way of comparing the two experiences - sticks and stones vs. words - until much later, but I'm here to tell you that there has never been an aphorism more false. Read more about Sticks and Stones

What in the hell is a “free range” kid?

I have a feeling it is what was called in my day, “a kid.” Read more about Free Range

Stole this from the internet the other day, remembering the days when I had to think about what to wear to school/work/bar/parties.

There is a special joy I get from wearing "yesterday pants." What are Yesterday Pants? Glad you asked. The pants you wore yesterday that nobody saw you in so you wear them again today because they were the ones you didn't have to go in the closet for.

Those days are over. Read more about Life In My Jammies

Looking for a July poem - who the hell writes poetry about July? "On hot, mosquito-ridden nights, I think of you." Not so promising. Then I found Billy Collins:

Fishing on the Susquehanna in July

I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna
or on any river for that matter
to be perfectly honest.

Three old friends met on a cool and cloudy Wisconsin Friday night to hear once again the band that had drawn them, and others, together long years before. Read more about A Real Good Time

The World as We Know It has ended several times over the eons and across the continents. I can count at least 3 for what we call Western Civ, beginning with William the Conqueror and going on through Christopher Columbus to the First World War. Each time, something (Saxon England, the Middle Ages, and what I might call the Golden Years of pre-Industrial Europe), began to run out of steam and concluded with a thunderclap. Sorry for the mixed metaphors. Lots more on the way. Read more about The World Is Ending Again

In the Sun's Last Glow

On her terrace where she once had viewed a crimson field,
she stands recalling heroes who were battling their foe.
She still can feel the terror! How her poor heart reeled
thinking of her lover fighting on the field below,
with others on that plain bathed red as the sun dipped low.

A delivery truck on a cross street. A plane climbing to cruising altitude. The rumble tumbles through my bedroom windows, comforting enough to lull me to sleep.

Then light flickers through a slit in the closed blinds, and one of Thor’s bowling balls knocks a #10 pin into the dark with a growl, and I know I am in for another midnight thunderstorm.

Last week there were three of them in a row. The rumbles would give way to flickers and growls and then to flashing strikes and booming claps that seem to shake the house. Read more about Thunder in the Night

If there’s one thing I wish I had more of, it is memories of Mete Sozen.

Mete Sozen, my sister’s husband, died in his sleep on Wednesday night last, at his daughter’s home near London. My sister, Joan, gave chest compressions while his daughter, Ayshe, tried mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but even after that, after the ambulance and the doctors had a go at it, he slipped away from them all. Read more about Mete

I have bad dreams. Just last night I had one that didn’t make any sense. I dreamt that my favorite ex-boyfriend had found a new girlfriend, and that their families were getting together and everyone was very happy, and when I realized this, I was inconsolable. Sobbing my heart out. Then trying to drive as far away from them and all their (our) friends as possible, thinking of things to do to forget about happiness. Read more about Bad Dreams