Cereal and blueberries. That’s what I should have for breakfast this morning. But as I stare at the quart of blueberries sitting in my refrigerator’s fruit drawer, I change my mind.
Two months ago my mom died. Yet, it seems like she’s still alive, and like she left years ago. In fact, I wasn’t able to mourn her for the six years she suffered from dementia, but since she’s died, I’ve celebrated her vitality and misdeeds and shenanigans and mostly, her love for her family, in big and small ways. Continue reading
Paula stepped away, holding back a scream when the neighbor who had just moved into the apartment above her entered the shared laundry room, saying softly: “Is there a problem?” 
Paula grumbled as she trudged down the apartment stairs to the building’s laundry room. As much as she loved her two-bedroom apartment with full on views of the San Francisco Bay from every room, she didn’t appreciate the shared laundry space.
I used to have a fear of Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia . You know, fear of long words.
Where is it? Where IS it? Sue kept asking herself this question as she perused the self-help aisle of her favorite independent bookstore. I know it must be here. They have nearly everything. 
