I don’t do dreams; I do daydreams. Especially about young men.
It’s summer 1957. I’m 13 ½ years old, going into 10th grade. I’m back in the achingly beautiful and romantic mountains of North Carolina. Read the rest of this entry »
It’s 1998, only two years after Diane’s ALS diagnosis. She makes a tough decision and chooses not to communicate it until after the fact. Read the rest of this entry »
This blog is about connecting the dots in my life. Part 1 reminds me of something I share with thousands of young children. Here’s my attempt to show and tell what I mean. Read the rest of this entry »
drifting away on
ebb-tide summer fades into
cool hazy memories
* * *
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 6 October 2014
Photo Credit: DAFraser
Fall in the 1990s. I’m in my 50s. A friend gives me a covered tea-cup. It’s lovely. When I get home I read the inscription on the cup and begin weeping. This isn’t about me. It’s about someone else. I can’t even imagine my way into this approach to life. Read the rest of this entry »
An eyebrow-raising sense of humor and almost wicked delight in planning, anticipating and pulling off the perfect practical joke. Especially if it involved some quirky thing about bodies. ALS offered Diane plenty of bodily material. Read the rest of this entry »
rounding the bend
tiny gold leaves lie scattered
on dark damp asphalt
* * *
It’s Monday, Labor Day, two years ago. I’m out for an early morning walk. It rained overnight and it’s still dripping and overcast. But I’m restless for a walk. Like the weather, my mood is unsettled. Read the rest of this entry »
I don’t have a clue how many of you are out there in The Great Beyond. I just know this blog lives and breathes by a two-way unspoken agreement: Read the rest of this entry »
weather-beaten house
empty nests brilliant blue sky–
what songs lined your walls?
* * *
Music was huge in our home: piano practice, singing grace before each meal, old phonograph records played over and over. Mother taught us to sing in three-part harmony while she accompanied us on the piano or a small portable electric organ. She also played and taught us children’s songs from the old Childcraft songbook for kids, and silly kindergarten songs with all the motions.
Three memories come to mind when I think about music that lined the walls of my childhood homes. Read the rest of this entry »
Alas! The second half of George MacDonald’s sonnet is as tough as the first. When I first read it years ago, it sounded like 100% Bad News. Especially for me. Read the rest of this entry »
Telling the Truth 