On January 31, 2012,  Jon Shehane drew his last earthly breath.  His heart stopped;  his cancer surrendered-  its ravenous appetite having been the instrument of its demise.  The difficult labor ended,  and he was delivered from chemotherapy, radiation, and pain meds.  I wish I could have seen his spirit escape its broken shell.  It occurs to me now that I should have smiled and waved goodbye, but I didn’t think of that then.  I did know he was headed for a

A friend of mine told me I was too old to have a dog.  Although there are days, like today, when I almost agree with her, this morning’s misadventure began with my cats.  Boss and Charger are affectionate, dignified creatures, but they don’t like to be sequestered in the bedroom.  Charger, in particular, resists this procedure.  And so, when I  reached  down to capture his fat butt,  he scooted between my legs and I tripped, fell, and swore.  No bones

When a loved one dies, the world is quick to respond with well-intentioned, comfortless remarks.  Just last week, the piano tuner assured me that Jon’s spirit was still in the house watching over us.  Besides being a downright creepy idea, I think that would be kind of a bummer for Jon, who expected to see Jesus, but got to watch me vacuum and do laundry instead.  And what about those movies where the bereaved is told that the loved one

When Jon and I were dating, and attending graduate school at Auburn, we used to take weekend trips home.  Whether we went south to Clio, or northwest to Birmingham, one thing remained constant.  Jon  sang along the way.  Left elbow out the window, brown hair blowing in the breeze, he belted it out.  Sometimes I would try to join him, but the result didn’t satisfy me.  Better to listen. He didn’t much care what he sang.  He sang “There’s a

Sometimes I feel dry as dust, as empty as an abandoned house.  Inspiration is far from me – even though I pray  for ideas – they just don’t come.  Hollow, useless, and lonely,  I want some kind of epiphany that will transform and refresh me.  But….”I got plenty o nuttin’”.  Only in my case, unlike the fictitious Porgy’s, it “ain’t plenty for me”. Life is a collage of experiences that we race through to reach “better” and “more significant ones”. 

There are times in life when it seems as if the most sensible thing I can do is to run screaming into the wilderness and keep running  until a bear catches and eviscerates me.  No- wait.  Let me try again.  There are times in life when it seems like  the most sensible thing to do is to run screaming off a cliff into the ocean.  Hold on.  What if there are sharks below, and the fall hasn’t killed me?  What

Whoo-whee, it’s hot tonight.  I’m shriveling in the upstairs heat like a raisin in the sun.  And for an old Alabama girl, who can remember life without air-conditioning, when we slept in cotton pajamas, sprawled in front of an electric fan, that’s saying a lot.  My grandmother had a fan that blew air over ice cubes, and when we came in hot and sweaty from the backyard, we stood in front of that fan until our faces tingled.  Well, I’m

It’s been almost four months since Jon “relocated.” Some people will say that he just plain died, and that the idea of heaven is comforting nonsense. Well, when I need money, I know that no amount of wanting will make it materialize. Staring in a skinny mirror doesn’t take off pounds. And I can think positively about my teaching skills ’til the cows come home, but unless I plan my lessons, I waste my students’ time and look like an