Exactly seven years ago, following an incident involving my husband and the whereabouts of fresh garbage bags in our kitchen, it occurred to me that if I should elope with a handsome construction guy, or suddenly disappear for any reason, my sweetie might be ill-equipped to deal with the ordinary requirements of daily living. So,
Come on, admit it. We are all subject to occasional morbid thoughts, especially at that point in life when the number representing our chronological age exceeds the highway speed limit. Don’t tell me that you never think about the Grim Reaper, the Dark Angel, or any of the other euphemisms you can name to avoid
I don't have a bucket list. There, I said it. I hope this confession will not strip away my senior citizen discounts. After all, it has taken me years to get here and I deserve to ride for half-fare. But it had to be said. Even if I risk losing my benefits. Having reached a
Please don’t stop reading. I promise that, despite the title, what follows is not a downer. Rather, it’s an observation, a practical consideration, and maybe even a little bit funny. What precipitated my seemingly ghoulish reflection was an actual conversation I had with my husband, a semi-retired attorney, who, for the past three years has
It has been said, by Ben Franklin, I think, that the only things in life that are certain are death and taxes. I’ve taken the liberty of adding a third item to the traditional twosome, the annual physical exam. A call from my doctor’s office reminding me that another year has gone by is now
Come on, admit it. We are all subject to occasional morbid thoughts, especially at that point in life when the number representing our chronological age exceeds the highway speed limit. Don’t tell me that you never think about the Grim Reaper, the Dark Angel, or any of the other euphemisms you can name to avoid
