When my sister and I were little girls, our mother and father made us write thank you notes. I remember one time my brother’s girlfriend brought us pretty little bracelets. We dutifully sat down and wrote one thank you note together. When our parents found out they insisted that we write separate ones, but we succeeded with just the one. The note, after all, had already been written we told our parents, and thus won the battle!
“Sweet April showers, do spring May flowers.” This is a popular rhyme often heard around springtime, and can be traced back to the mid 1500s.
When my husband died after an eighteen-month battle with cancer, I thought my life was over. There was nothing I wanted to live for. I was full of tears and self-pity. I felt lost and frightened and lonely. I was angry, self-centered, and, in my preoccupation with my grief, I fear I was boring. The truth is that by and large, no matter how calm and controlled and accepting a face she may present to the world, a new widow is miserable and can be a very difficult creature.
My mother practiced excellent self-care. She had beautiful skin until the day she died. When my sister and I were children, we loved playing outside
Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results