Thank you, Jeffrey, for your kind words. And it was a miracle that both the pilot and passenger survived. The lakes aren’t frozen; it’s really strange. I hope I conveyed that feeling.
The holidays have been strangely warm in Maine this year, too. It's unsettling. When I was sixteen years old, my dad died on November 3. I honestly don't have any clear memories of the Christmas that followed, although my sister and I always referred to it as the Neo-Post-Apocalyptic Christmas. The oven door falling off is quintessential Neo-Post-Apocalyptic nonsense. In our house I'd have immediately turned and looked out the window. My husband, knowing his cue, would say "What are you looking for?" and I'd reply "A cloud of locusts." Oh, Mary, sending you so many hugs.
Tara, you are so very kind. I’m sorry about the loss of your dad. Every holiday, I’m sure, must be difficult. And with your mom and her condition, heartbreaking. Thank you for your words and support. I keep telling myself, “Someday, we’ll look back at this and laugh!” But ‘Hahahaha” was the best I could manage. Irony can be a blessing. My best to you and your family. Hugs.❤️
Mary, this is the most gorgeous, heartbreaking essay on grief. I’m sending you hugs. If we could all express ourselves so eloquently, the world would not be the equivalent of scorched cabbage. It’s unsettlingly warm here in Kentucky—at this rate if I plant spinach and chard now, I’ll have a bounty crop in eight weeks. I won’t but you get it. Cheers to your Norway trip, and your loves. I hope your 2024 is filled with peace, joy, and safety. And perhaps it’s not too much to pray for snow either.
Maureen, I’m overwhelmed by your praise. Writing is the way I attain clarity and move forward. Good news: I woke up to an inch of snow covering the ground and easing the sense of Weltschmerz (sp?) Just fancy talk for “a world of pain.” Thank you, as well, for your sympathy and support. I’m hoping for a better year for all of us. Hugs to you.❤️
Kay, thank you. You are so kind. I’m looking towards the new year with hope and optimism, for the first time I can remember. I’m eager to keep writing. It’s always been my passion. There have been many times in my life when it was too hard or too painful, but I survived. We all have an inner light, even when we don’t see it. Hugs and blessings to you and your family. ❤️
So beautifully sad. In those moments of trying to get on, the oven door falling off--even it can't hold it together. I guess our life is a bit of thin ice; lovely words. Thanks for putting words and opening the door, Mary.
I am in Minneapolis now. It's warm.
Yes. Colder than yesterday, but much warmer than it should be.
I found this moving and very well written. The image of the plane landing on thin ice (with everyone saved) was very powerful.
Thank you, Jeffrey, for your kind words. And it was a miracle that both the pilot and passenger survived. The lakes aren’t frozen; it’s really strange. I hope I conveyed that feeling.
The holidays have been strangely warm in Maine this year, too. It's unsettling. When I was sixteen years old, my dad died on November 3. I honestly don't have any clear memories of the Christmas that followed, although my sister and I always referred to it as the Neo-Post-Apocalyptic Christmas. The oven door falling off is quintessential Neo-Post-Apocalyptic nonsense. In our house I'd have immediately turned and looked out the window. My husband, knowing his cue, would say "What are you looking for?" and I'd reply "A cloud of locusts." Oh, Mary, sending you so many hugs.
Tara, you are so very kind. I’m sorry about the loss of your dad. Every holiday, I’m sure, must be difficult. And with your mom and her condition, heartbreaking. Thank you for your words and support. I keep telling myself, “Someday, we’ll look back at this and laugh!” But ‘Hahahaha” was the best I could manage. Irony can be a blessing. My best to you and your family. Hugs.❤️
Mary, this is the most gorgeous, heartbreaking essay on grief. I’m sending you hugs. If we could all express ourselves so eloquently, the world would not be the equivalent of scorched cabbage. It’s unsettlingly warm here in Kentucky—at this rate if I plant spinach and chard now, I’ll have a bounty crop in eight weeks. I won’t but you get it. Cheers to your Norway trip, and your loves. I hope your 2024 is filled with peace, joy, and safety. And perhaps it’s not too much to pray for snow either.
Maureen, I’m overwhelmed by your praise. Writing is the way I attain clarity and move forward. Good news: I woke up to an inch of snow covering the ground and easing the sense of Weltschmerz (sp?) Just fancy talk for “a world of pain.” Thank you, as well, for your sympathy and support. I’m hoping for a better year for all of us. Hugs to you.❤️
This was so beautifully written Mary. You are so special. Happy New Year 2024 ❤️ can’t wait to keep reading ....
Kay, thank you. You are so kind. I’m looking towards the new year with hope and optimism, for the first time I can remember. I’m eager to keep writing. It’s always been my passion. There have been many times in my life when it was too hard or too painful, but I survived. We all have an inner light, even when we don’t see it. Hugs and blessings to you and your family. ❤️
Set moving piece, Mary. All the best in 2024. . .
And to you as well, Bill!
I just stumbled on your writing this morning. This is beautiful. Made me teary as I sipped my coffee.
Thank you, Addie! You’re very kind. I’m so glad that you’re here.❤️
Stunning!
Thank you, Nounette. You are very kind.❤️
So beautifully sad. In those moments of trying to get on, the oven door falling off--even it can't hold it together. I guess our life is a bit of thin ice; lovely words. Thanks for putting words and opening the door, Mary.
Thank you, Ron, for your kind words.🙏💕