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Life Without My Husband: The Weekend

While my husband Terry was in Australia, I was at Kripalu for the weekend.  There were yoga classes, meditations, a wild noon dance, an evening concert, and fresh food of a larger variety than we usually eat. The view of a constantly mutating lake and folds of distant mountains was magnificent. What I loved mostContinue reading “Life Without My Husband: The Weekend”

Life Without My Husband, Day 8

My husband Terry is on a three-week Australian road trip with his best friend, and I took this opportunity to spend a weekend of retreat at the Kripalu Center in Massachusetts. There were mostly women there, which got me thinking. A recent radio science program featured a segment about how the male chromosome is sheddingContinue reading “Life Without My Husband, Day 8”

Life Without My Husband (Day Three)

Today was Thanksgiving. My daughter and I feasted at the assisted living home where my aunt Jean lives — a mild, merely warm repast. Jean gets more frail every day. There were several people there who had no visitors. Dorothy (a pleasant, tidy woman who spends her day doing Sudoku in the sun room) wasContinue reading “Life Without My Husband (Day Three)”

Life Without My Husband – Day Two

I had trouble getting to sleep on my first night alone, but once there, I slept longer than usual.  I forget — were queen-sized beds meant for two people or only one? My childhood friend Suzy’s parents had two queen-sized beds. All the parents I knew had twin beds separated by a little table, justContinue reading “Life Without My Husband – Day Two”

Life Without My Husband (Day One)

I have just kissed him good-bye, so I don’t miss him yet.  He’s still sitting in the airport, or going through security.  I’m grateful that the big storm that’s coming tonight held off until he left. Driving back from the airport, I could feel my context shifting. I was starving and now I could eatContinue reading “Life Without My Husband (Day One)”

The humility of aging

For my husband’s 70th birthday I had dressed to please him, even wearing heels.  The waiters at NoMad had spoiled us silly, and now we were at the intermission of 700 Sundays, Billy Crystal’s one-man show on Broadway. The evening was going perfectly. At intermission I headed toward the ladies room on our balcony level.Continue reading “The humility of aging”