Valentine’s Day in my Eightieth Year: No drama, a good memory.
Valentine’s Day has come and gone, and although I am a widow, I didn’t feel sad. This might surprise you. After all…
My eightieth Christmas… started with chaos
For years my role has been matriarch in charge. My descendants would agree with that label—perhaps too enthusiastically.
My Eightieth Thanksgiving… I’ve still got it
This was my eightieth Thanksgiving… currently living in what I call a Temporary Multigeneration Commune.