run on sentences

A while back, I got a text message from a friend that read, “My mom has the “O” sign”. I was reminded of a phone call from this same friend 20 something years ago, which read, “My water broke and I'm going in, letting me know about the imminent birth of her second son. One message indicated the end of a life and the other signaled the beginning of a new one. The “O” sign is not a good thing. It is an unofficial, and maybe somewhat irreverent term used by medical professionals to describe the last stages of a dying person's life. The person is not there anymore but their body is – breaths go in and out, the heart beats, and the mouth is open in an almost perfect “O”. The eyes open but don't see, or at least don't see what we see. Another even more irreverent term used by medical professionals for this phenomenon is “circling the drain”. Of course, you can see the “O” sign on an airplane when you walk back to the bathroom and everyone is sleepin

Today I walked Toby and Pirate for a few miles at around 730 am.  It was a cool 45 degree fall day and I was a little chilly in my shorts and short sleeve shirt, but unwilling to resort to long pants and long sleeves just yet. It was the kind of day that smelled like fall and my dad and the mountains were turning orange.  The little school kids gathered in bunches waiting for car pools or busses, some dressed in the required school uniforms of khaki pants and golf shirts and others in regular school clothes I suppose.  I had a flashback of going to  grade school in my little town in the fall, and wearing my new clothes.  I can remember how it felt to wear new things to a new year of school.  The leaves turning on the trees and bushes reminded me of a favorite outfit I had- a green pleated skirt with a white cardigan sweater decorated with green and gold leaves that matched the skirt.  I wore the sweater buttoned up and I think I got the outfit from Montgomery Ward with my babysitting

It's been more than five years since my mom died. Maybe because it's just past Memorial Day or because I washed walls or because I saw this old lady with a Dowager's hump and a jacket like my mom's coming out of Walgreens that I have been thinking of her and feeling sad. Maybe it's just a mom attack that leaves me missing her so much but yet feeling she is “around here somewhere” as she used to say. “I'll talk to you tomorrow,” I always said, to which she replied “I'll be around her somewhere”. I never know when one of these attacks will strike or how long it will last. I used to get them on my way to work, and would have to compose myself before I went in - after crying all the way down Foothill drive - silently crying of course, as my mom taught me so well to do. Silent crying still involves tears and red puffy eyes which has never been a good look for me. There's just no loud wracking sobs that actually would be better for a perso

Recently I read a blog post written by a woman about why she decided to give up wearing leggings or yoga pants.   You can read her post here.    While I respect this woman's right to her opinion and her decisions, I find the whole idea that I might be responsible for the lustful thoughts of men insulting to women in general while giving guys an excuse for bad behavior.  Why aren't men responsible for their own lustful thoughts?  Don't they have any control over them?  Is it true what they say about why men name their penises?  Answer:  "So they aren't led around their entire life by someone they don't know?"   What if my wearing sandals or shoes with toe cleavage incites these same feelings in men with feet fetishes?  I think men are better than this.    Yes, women also have lustful thoughts...even us women of a certain age and back in the "old days" it was never proper to admit to this.   When I see men wearing kilts, I, well, let's just