Huckleberry Friend

We're after the same…

November is National Family Caregivers Month. If you’re a caregiver, chances are you’re tired and underappreciated. But muster some enthusiasm to celebrate your amazing self—all year round. You’re literally a life-saver. Here’s to you! Stop fighting. From the physician with the world’s worst bedside manner to the store clerk who glares, sometimes others can exhibit …

Continue reading

“… I could only warn him to look to his zest, see to his gusto.” ~ Ray Bradbury in Zen in the Art of Writing Lately, we’ve been talking about boredom and its funky bedfellow, the blahs. If you’re in a rut, finding your days are too much but not enough, let’s look at a …

Continue reading

note: This post originally appeared in the Huffington Post on October 14. You can leave a comment there or LIKE it using FB (which would help me with the HP editor-gods).    “‘Cause now we’ve got bad blood You know it used to be mad love…” ~ Taylor Swift My 6S and I, we’re having …

Continue reading

Homesick Labor Day weekend=the homecoming of the college freshmen after three long weeks. One twin greets us warmly but casually and goes up to settle in for a nap; the other cries when she walks into her freshly painted bedroom—“Sorry I’m just emotional right now.” Poor child. Homesickness is real, and it’s hard, especially for …

Continue reading

You’ve finished arranging the toss pillows in your freshman’s dorm room, so you tell her one last time to eat her vegetables and not to wear white after Labor Day before you issue a lipstick-y kiss goodbye. Then you curl up in the backseat while your spouse drives in silence and you ache. What to …

Continue reading

So during my recovery days, I’ve unsubscribed from annoying emails (sorry, Forever 21); organized my CDs (classical, standards and a very small box marked “other”); and nearly abused my public library privileges. I’ve even pulled an Edith Wharton a few times, taking tea in bed and writing the morning away. (If I call tapping away …

Continue reading

  I don’t know why it soothes me so when the mail comes, the sound of the metal door swinging open then closing—satisfying—shut.   The post’s arrival marks mid-afternoon, a quarter-note in the cadence of slow days. I try to shed pajamas and get the babies bathed by eleven most mornings.   The mail-woman—she’s in her late sixties, I …

Continue reading