The Aisle of Death

The first months I spent with my baby daughter were the happiest of my life, even living in the Great White North.

Even as a newborn, even slouched unbecomingly in her bouncy chair, she was always serene, composed, and busy taking in this big new world. I talked to her incessantly, from morning until night, and she gummed her enormous brown rubber pacifier and weighed the merit of my ramblings.

A Winter Day, A Summer Day

September 2009

Because I’m not living my days the same way anymore, I don’t want to forget them; a typical winter day; a typical summer day. In 2009, my daughter was 16 and my son was 15.

During the school year, my alarm went off at 6:20, five days a week, not really an alarm because the shrillness would be too jarring, so I made sure I woke to soft music from the 70s. My daughter had a 7:00 class, so she and her father were already up and moving around. They would leave at 6:50 and then it was my turn to take my son to school at 7:30.

The Island Bus

Whidbey Island

July 2012

On the cusp of middle age, I am just starting to explore what else I can do with my time now that I’m not raising children. If I let myself think—really think—about how much the last 20 years gave me, and how much they took out of me, well, I’d put down this pen and cry, and then take a nap.