More than kisses, letters mingle souls… and I am not your fault.

This past weekend, my sweet friend from university days gave me a bunch of letters I had written to her around 1984-86. Fascinating look into my “reality” then.  I put reality in quotation marks.  It is so painful and funny (and relieving that I survived) as I see “through the sunny cellophane of which not very appetizing frustrations…

Sunday morning visit with my mother.

It’s Sunday morning. I’ve been up awhile. Dog is walked. Pot of coffee almost gone. Parrot loud. Rest of the household asleep. Making pancakes. On Sundays, with Corrie on in the background, I make pancakes and visit with my mom. She’s there with me and we can talk freely about all the wonderful trivial things…