True story. I cooked, cleaned & paid bills in my daughter’s house. She said, “If you can’t work, what’s the point of you being here?”

to answer anyone or start anything or finish anything.

I sat in the quiet, and I breathed.

In the weeks that followed, I rested the way my body had been asking me to for months.

My back improved.

I rejoined the library group.

I had coffee with Vera in the morning sometimes when we both felt like it.

I called my son and told him what had happened.

And he drove continue reading …