Man Hands

My currently predominant middle-age ailment has my knuckles enlarged to barnacles and my hands swollen. I can't wear my engagement and wedding rings. A boon for dating.

Quote of the Day

This from our nearly 10-year-old son: "I'm glad you're not one of those moms who's totally obsessed with sex and fashion." And so you have my first tweet.

On the right side of the law

To clarify, my spouse is not the aforementioned convicted felon. Rather, he is, and always has been, a law abiding citizen --though he is still smarting about a 2001 traffic violation.

Past is past

I unearthed a box of old letters during our move. These morsels date from the mid 90s, those post-college, pre-marriage days. I'm struck by several things. First, there are cards and letters from people professing eternal friendship and love. Some of these gals have hung in there; most I haven't spoken to in years; others I don't even remember.

Second, these were more turbulent years, the "I dated a convicted felon" years; and I owe thanks and a shout out to people (my big brother, for instance) who bailed me out and helped me through it --because I wasn't altogether mature or responsible. Playing the victim, a bit of a whiner.  But then I'm reading letters from friends detailing their failed romances and jobs. And I see that we were all whining and kvetching. Must have been something in the water.