For many summers, when I was a kid, my parents would pack up our family of four and travel to Myrtle Beach, SC. This was back in the late 60’s and early 70’s before there were huge hotels and condos on the beach. And only a few golf courses. My maternal grandparents, Monroe and Mildred...
When the cab pulled up outside my grandparents’ house on Mirror Lake Drive, everybody walked outside to greet my brother and sister-in-law. But I ran. As fast as my little legs could carry me. And in to the arms of my brother where I burst out in to these gigantic sobs. I couldn’t stop. ...
So I ran that race this morning.
That 5K I’ve been yapping about for the last couple of weeks. My first one ever.
And even though I didn’t meet my goal of a sub 10 minute mile, it turned out better than I had hoped for.
Martha was killed almost a year ago. Struck by a car as she was leaving a shop in her Brooklyn Heights neighborhood. And her death still doesn’t make any sense to me. I don’t think it ever will.
Today is my seventh wedding anniversary.
Of my second marriage.
Which is also my last marriage.
So this past Saturday, my husband and I drove 30 minutes south to the island of Palm Beach to mark the occasion by spending a night at the beautiful Brazilian Court Hotel.
We had been to the Brazilian Court before, spending a night...
I didn’t want to go to my friend Martha’s funeral last Friday.
Nobody wants to go to a funeral. Funerals are tough. They tear out your insides and leave you raw.
Especially this one.