It’s July 22, 2022, and I’m sitting in my doctor’s crowded waiting room, worrying about catching Covid, when my phone starts buzzing. I can see it’s my brother’s wife, Tammy. This can’t be good. My brother John was diagnosed with Bone Marrow cancer at age 50 and was told he had 3 years to live. His response: “This cancer doesn’t know who it’s dealing with!” He meant what he said. That was 12 years ago. Recently we learned that he also had stage 4 liver cancer, which sounded

I’d never considered working with a personal trainer because it seemed like a vain luxury beyond my means, then I met Sevada. I was waiting for my friend Leila on the patio of a coffee shop in the foothills north of Glendale, when a handsome young man with curly black hair and a full beard asked if the table next to me was free. I said “Sure,” then he said, “That’s a pretty blouse. What’s that pattern?” His friendliness surprised me. I looked down at my blouse. “T

Early in the pandemic a dear friend invited me to join a writing workshop on Zoom. I’d done some writing, mostly autobiographical stuff,...

My phone said it was 95 degrees outside, but there was a nice breeze, so my dog Morty and I got in the car and headed for Occidental...