Would My Husband Like to Take My Name?
My fiance had no middle name. When we married, I asked, would he like to take my name to fill the empty spot in the middle of his? Read more.
Widowed: Lucky Me, I Told Jon Newhall I Loved Him
Lucky me. I told my husband I loved him while he was still alive. Read more.
Oops. I Forgot to Do My Kegels. I Blame the Coronavirus. Sheltering at Home Week 46
Before the pandemic kept me from doing much driving, I did my Kegels whenever I stopped for a red light: Brake, pause. Kegel, Kegel, Kegel. Read more.
We Got Our Shots! Sheltering at Home Week 46
Things were looking good last week. We watched the Inauguration. We had our first restaurant meal in nearly a year. And we got our shots. Read more.
I’m Getting Ready to Die. Just in Case. Sheltering at Home Week 40
The coronavirus is out there. So I’m getting ready to die — starting with making sure my holiday gifts for my husband are wrapped and ready. Read more.
The Truth Behind That Happy Family Photo We Just Sent You. Sheltering at Home Week 39
We’re nothing like that happy family photo we send with our holiday card each year. Our photo rejects reveal we are a testy, scrappy lot. Read more.
Our Post-Pandemic Lifestyle: More Cobwebs? Less Time in the Kitchen? Sheltering at Home Week 35
Short and simple meals for guests. Casual grooming. Relaxed housekeeping. Is this the post-pandemic lifestyle that awaits us? I hope so. Read more.
He’s Not Bald After All. Thank You, Covid-19. Sheltering at Home Week 28
Thanks to the coronavirus, my husband hasn’t had a haircut in six months. It turns out he’s not bald after all. He’s got hair, lots of it. Read more.
A Book of Essays From Cartoonist Cathy Guisewite — Did She Write It or Did I? Sheltering at Home Week 26
Cathy Guisewite’s thoughts about life in “Fifty Things That Aren’t My Fault” look a lot like the thoughts running around in my own brain. Read more.
Watching People Working With Their Hands — Why Am I So Fascinated? Sheltering in Place Week 25
In Bologna they call them umarells, men hanging around building sites, watching people working with their hands. I’m an umarell. Here’s why. Read more.