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a rainy day kind of woman
The other day a Facebook memory popped up to remind me that my actual memory just isn’t what it used to be. There I am in the boots i’ve owned since 1982, perched on a freeway wall with my camera focused on something in the distance. But what? Unable to let go of this – and another thing that I’ll…
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a rainy day in phoenix – remembering phil lynott
It wasn’t until I turned fifty that I realized that: a) I would never make enough money to go to a job I hate every day and b) money really isn’t everything although I have often acted as though it is. Much to the chagrin of Suze Orman, I don’t organize it neatly in a wallet, and I honestly couldn’t tell…
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saving for a rainy day . . . in Phoenix
When I turned fifty (admittedly a while ago), I realized that: a) I would never make enough money to go to a job I hate every day and b) money really isn’t everything although I have often acted as though it is. Much to the chagrin of Suze Orman, I don’t organize money neatly in my wallet, and I honestly couldn’t tell…
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dealing with deleting “cancer”
It is a confession of sorts. I do not want to write about being diagnosed with cancer, living with cancer, or expecting to die from cancer. In the beginning, cancer hung from every sentence, anchoring me down to an unfamiliar place, where one could easily get lost, were it not for the kindness of strangers. Like Rhonda, not a stranger…