I don't make this stuff up. I just write it down.

Because of something she did just two nights ago, I think Groucho deserves to have the story of her life with me told in more detail. It was going on nine years ago, now, when I walked into the backyard, to find an obviously pregnant, yet still very scrawny, mustached Calico cat out there. I said, immediately, “I'll feed you, but don't you dare have those kittens in my yard, you Groucho cat, you.” What she heard, obviously, was, “Welcome to my yard, Groucho. Have your kittens here, and I will feed everyone.” When the time came, she and her five kittens loved living in my backyard, and she knew that my patio was her kittens' personal play area; she even taught them to come to the backdoor, when they were old enough to eat by themselves. I think catching mice is something Specs picked up from seeing her mother do it—Groucho is a good mouser—but the catch of the day is never a meal for Specs. She waits by the door for a dish, just as she was taught to do as a small kitten...

Late last summer, I got a letter from Calla—during the long stretch of time when my computer was down, we exchanged actual letters—announcing that she had completed the degree she had been working on, and was coming to New England with her mother, Brenda, as a reward, of sorts. I was thrilled, to say the least. I had not seen either of them since my long ago visit to South Dakota. Calla had been about 15 then, and she was now a grown, married woman. Brenda and I had not changed at all in the intervening years, quite naturally. On the afternoon Calla called to say they were in Connecticut, and were going to grab some lunch before striking out to find Bragg Street, I was very happy. I went out into the yard to watch for them. At last they arrived, and hugs were exchanged all around. Everyone looked wonderful—well, they did, anyway; I looked the way I always look, but they assured me I looked really good. I am glad they did not say I looked “fine.” As everyone knows, that is a gen...

A heart patient?  No way!  Life had always been good to me—epilepsy aside, I had no health problems—and I suppose I thought that would continue. I was pretty surprised, therefore, when I had a cardiac event three years ago. Looking back at it now, I realize I should have seen it coming, but I really did not. Yes, I knew I had been knocking myself out with yard work that fall, and, yes, I knew I was exhausted, but I reminded myself that, at 62, I probably had to expect as much. I had the usual fall cleanup to do, plus I had some 150 flower bulbs to plant, and I wanted to get it done while the weather was nice. We had been enjoying a very long Indian summer that year, and it felt good to be outside in jeans and a T-shirt in November. When I finished working, and put my yard tools away, I went into the house for more ice water, and a well-deserved rest on the front porch. I recall things starting to get more than a little dark...one might say totally black. To make a long st...

In the weeks leading up to my flight out to South Dakota, my aunts (the same two aunts who gave me the knitted hat that still causes me to cringe 60 years later), took hold of the belief that the same people I was already considering my South Dakota family, were murderers who planned to kill me—things like that happen “out there” they told me. I know that sounds funny, but they really were concerned. Putting that aside and getting back to the topic, the trip was very good. For someone who had never flown farther than Florida, making the decision to fly halfway across the country alone was exciting. Looking out the window and seeing the mid-western earth below was a lot different than seeing the landscape of New England. My first view of my friends caused me to think with amusement, “Well, they don't have any weapons.” I said something along those lines to them after we introduced ourselves and exchanged hugs, and Tim, Calla's father, said the weapons were in the car. We al...

Daddy and I returned to Disney World every other year for about a decade; in the “off” years—those would be the years when my father did not go—my sister, Maureen accompanied me. One year, my sister, Joanne and her daughter, Meredith, went with me. I was a Disney World geek, I guess, and headed there whenever the opportunity presented itself; that year, my niece had just graduated from college, so it was another great reason to hop on the plane, and head for Disney World. Anyway, getting back to my trips with Maureen, we had some wonderful times, and I treasure the memories, but my father and I were more alike when it came to Disney travel; we cheerfully acted like children, where she preferred to thoroughly enjoy things, yet behave like an adult. For that reason, I am going to concentrate on the trips with my father. For someone who was not there with me at the time, the memories of Disney World with my father make for a more entertaining reading experience. The rides were wonder...

Daddy and I went to Disney World for the first time in March of 1986. I was 31, and he was 67, but we could easily have been 5 and 10 years old. After 30 years of working on engines at Pratt & Whitney Aircraft, Daddy was very happy to be going on a plane, as he had never done that before. I was an old pro, having been on a plane the previous year. Air travel was so easy then...you just gave your ticket to the agent at the desk, he stamped it, gave you back your boarding pass, and took your luggage. You did not even have to show ID. Imagine doing that today! Boarding the plane, Daddy asked the pilot (in those days they greeted boarding passengers at the door) what type of engine the plane had. The pilot answered, then looked impressed when Daddy responded, “Good engine” and gave some information about the engine which was meaningless to me. Clearly, though, the pilot understood, and smiled as Daddy concluded, “That's one of mine. I worked at Pratt & Whitney, and we b...