Hi, I’m Randee, I’m seventy years old and my life’s not perfect, but I love these gravy years… read more




 A year ago,  I got worried that I was falling a lot.  So I started keeping a spreadsheet, which I wrote about in one of my first posts.  If you missed it, what I found was that 1) I wasn’t falling nearly as much as I though, and  2) there were extenuating circumstances.

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I remember seeing Ram Dass speak years ago, and he pointed out that meditation was a lot like old age – you slow down, you see less far, you move less quickly. Unable to rush about, your attention turns inward where, without distractions, you are able to see more clearly your life and its lessons. (read more…)

I was bitten by a dog (Chihuahua/finger) and it got so quickly and deeply infected that I had to go into  the hospital for three days of antibiotic drips.  I’m all better now, but there was this rite-of-passage moment… (read more…)

Last Saturday I marched.  I wanted to skip it, but my friend, Janet, can always be counted on to encourage my least little inclination towards good & important things.  So we were there, among hundreds of thousands of compatriots and it felt mighty good. Janet asked me about the 60’s, was there a moment when it all changed?  And yes, here’s what happened.

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There are four books in the Frank Bascombe trilogy which makes me think Richard Ford, the writer who created him, must feel the same admiration for Frank that I do.  The books follow Frank through his delicious slide from writer-with-serious-potential, to sports reporter, to New Jersey realtor, to retiree.  And what makes this delicious?  Because Frank’s slide through one tragic loss and a lot of crazy injustices have the effect of making him into a grown up.  A wry, wise, grown up.  Maybe that’s why I was drawn to him on this morning of Trump’s inaguration.

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