Thought about pajamas today.

(Not because it’s a funny word, though that is true…)

It was one of the last things my mom and I talked about. Peejays. She had been on a ventilator for a couple of months that had required a tracheostomy. When she was awake and could mouth words to us in the rehabilitation wing of the hospital, it’s one of the first things she asked for.

So my sister and I went shopping. It was Dillard’s, I think.

We bought all kinds of pajamas, robes and gowns.

An armful.

They were never worn.

After she died, we had to return them. With the receipt.



I am haunted. She rattles around in the bones of this old home.

My face is a mosaic. The pieces of me that belong to her show themselves now. Grouted, my features separate in the glass. I understand Picasso now, his disjointed women with their eyes all cattywampus. Continue reading


I am struck by the passing of time today. Like a nudge to the shoulder, I am reminded that tomorrow is the Sixth Thanksgiving.

Time without you is marked only by holidays now. But Christmas, in its wonderful jingle-jangliness, is a big, colorful distraction. I thank the Holly King for that.

But Thanksgiving…

Thanksgiving. It, more than any other holiday, was You.

I have been a vagabond ever since, wandering from place to place, plate to plate, rootless.