I need a distraction. I need to take my mind off the lunacy of the US presidential race and the 
horrifying images of carnage every time we turn on the TV.
Guess I’m grasping at straws because suddenly, out of the blue, I started to think, and wonder, about heredity; and why we inherit some traits and characteristics and not others.
Both my parents loved chocolate. In the extreme. I never Continue reading
This is a photo of my mother and her identical twin sister. My mother’s the one on the left. There’s no date on the back so I 
have no idea how old they were. I’m going to say 20 or 21. They’d be 93 if they were still alive.
Ironically they both died in the month of February, although my aunt preceded my mother by several years. She died February 3, 2000. And this coming Thursday, February 26, my mother will have been gone eight years.
Can’t believe how quickly the time’s passed.
But this isn’t a post about sadness and loss. That’s not the right way to remember my mother; or my aunt, for that matter. They were way too full of life to dwell on anything but what characters they were. And what joy they brought.
They were so much alike — and not just in looks — it was freaky. Especially for me, an only Continue reading
About three weeks ago, I wrote about my aunt, Leatrice, the last of my mother’s sisters. In my heart I knew, that day, she was not doing very well. I spoke with her every week and when I got off the phone after we talked for what turned out to be the last time, I was really concerned about her. What I didn’t know, 
was just how rapidly she would decline. Unfortunately she passed away eight days ago.
She’s the one in the middle in the photograph. My mother is on the left and her twin sister, on the right. The twins were seven years older than my aunt. She looks about six or seven, I’m guessing — the smocked dress is a give-away, don’t you think? So they would have been thirteen or fourteen. Teenagers, although to me, they look older — more sophisticated. It’s probably the lipstick that was added to the photograph later. And the rouge, as it was called in those days.
I love this photo. The first time I saw it was at my cousin’s house, after my aunt’s funeral. Obviously in those days there were no colour photographs, so this was tinted. The three of them look like they’re in a
Before you read this story, I just want to let you know that the WordPress blog, Magnificent Nose, is featuring Flash Fiction this week. I have a guest post today, “Poetic Justice?” Hope you’ll check it out, and keep going back. It’s a great blog.
Yesterday I wrote about twins. In that story, I made a very brief reference to my being an only child. Today, I’m thinking about what that means. Can’t speak for 
everyone else out there without brothers and sisters, but I love my own company. I never feel lonely. I do like being alone. Not all the time. But probably more than many.
And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if my being an only child has a lot to do with it. It would make sense.
Because I have no siblings I spent a fair bit of time alone, growing up. Yes, my parents were there. Yes, I always had lots of friends, lots of friends coming over to my house to play, to study, for meals. I always had lots of parties, lots of sleepovers. But eventually they went home, to their own houses; and then it was back to just me and my parents. We had a large, extended family. Lots and lots of cousins (many of whom are very close to my age) and aunts and uncles and grandparents. We were together very, very often. Most weekends, in fact; and often, during the week as well. But eventually we all went home, to our respective houses; and again it was back to me and just my parents.
I spent a lot of time with my parents’ friends, especially the women. I often said I had my own relationships with them. I loved my conversations with them. They never treated me like a child; and I guess because of all the time I spent with adults, I was more sophisticated Continue reading
365 And Counting 