-
Abnormal Bleeding, After death of a spouse, Aging, Anxiety, Etta James, Holmes-Rahe Life Stress Inventory, Hot flashes, Irritability, Mad Men, Memoir, Memory Loss, Menopause, Only Women Bleed, Stress, Women and careers
with a menopausal woman in mind ~ stormy weather
Do not do unto others as you would have them do unto you—they might have different tastes. George Bernard Shaw This past week began with rain in Phoenix, so much rain that for the first time since I emigrated here, the weather forced me to stay home from work and my daughter to miss school. Even my mother called from…
-
A Poem for Michael and Christopher, After death of a spouse, Aging, Anahorish, Art, Bellaghy, Coming of age, Death and dying, Door into the Dark, Family, Fathers and sons, Loss, Memoir, Northern Ireland Culture, Personal Helicon, Poetry, Seamus Heaney, Soundtracks of our Lives, The Forge, Writing
walking round a space without seamus heaney
I thought of walking round and round a space Utterly empty, utterly a source Where the decked chestnut tree had lost its place In our front hedge above the wallflowers. It’s been a year, and it is still strange to type the words. Seamus Heaney is dead. There is still no way for me to convey the inestimable impact of…
-
Aging, Awesome Women, Castledawson, Coming of age, Family, grandmother, Irish culture, Irish mammies, Memoir, Mother Daughter Relationship, Mother's Day, Northern Ireland, Northern Ireland Culture, Seamus Heaney, Soundtracks of our Lives, Themes of Childhood
mother’s day from far away . . .
I have worked in schools long enough that it is not uncommon for me to encounter former students, some of whom are now married with careers and children. It is always surreal to meet these adults who, just a twinkling ago, were writing in their composition books about who they would become when they were all grown up. Likewise, they are incredulous to…
-
Aging, Being a Widow, Being young, Birthdays, Death and dying, Grieving, Loss, Marriage, Memoir, Milestones, Mourning, Poetry, Rites of passage, W.H. Auden, Walt Whitman, widowed
no sense of direction . . .
One of the first gifts my husband ever gave me was a silver pocket compass. Having noted very early in our relationship my stellar capacity for getting lost – and notwithstanding the fact that I was then a novice driving on the American side of the road – my man intervened as he knew best. I hadn’t the heart to…
