Life can be going along just fine and then you do something dumb, like not checking if there’s a toothpick in the appetizer you’ve just popped into your mouth and gulped down without really chewing.

When I think of all the aunts, mothers, and grandmothers in my life, most of them had a signature dish or a meal they made that was a family favorite, held in such high esteem you were afraid to try to make it on your own because you knew your version of “Grandma Cec’s Lemon Meringue Pie” or “Aunt Edna’s Swedish Meatballs” would pale in comparison.

“Most people that meet Trevor just think that he’s really shy,” his mom Stacy Guglielmotti told me. “He doesn’t always make eye contact. They don’t necessarily know he’s autistic, but they know he’s different.”

The other day I was giving a tour of our assisted living to a lady who is 100 years old. She brought her children along, who are visiting from out of town. She’s not quite ready to give up living on he

Music can make you feel young again, but it can also remind you how old you’re getting.

It’s hard not to follow the news all day, every day, as this Russia-Ukraine war continues to grow. It is half a world away, yet every movement and bombing is broadcast across news sites and social media as it happens, like a horrible action movie coming to life, a disaster we can’t stop watching.

The other night we were enjoying a dinner out at a local restaurant, and the Winter Olympics were on in the background.

I have heard those six words and the verse that follows them from 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 at almost every wedding I’ve attended.

It’s hard to know what to expect when you sit in a room full of strangers to talk about death. It’s a topic that most of us don’t like to think about, even though we’re all going to get there someday.

A dozen years ago, when people were publishing books about cooking every recipe in Julia Child’s cookbook or the life-changing results of writing a thank you note a day for a solid year, I decided it would be a great time to start a blog about learning something new.

Time has a funny way of moving fast and slow at the same time.

“I have 50 Christmas mugs filled with hot chocolate and an inspirational verse tucked inside. A lady named Yvonne said you might be able to find a home for them.” I love getting these kinds of phone calls, especially since a coworker and I had just been brainstorming about Christmas gift ideas for our residents.

I pulled a box of Christmas decorations out of the basement last week and found a bunch of old holiday cards at the bottom from years past. They were photo cards on heavy paper, with rounded corners and shiny foil lettering exclaiming “Merry & Bright” or “Peace & Joy.”

The hardest things to talk about are the most important. We all hope to live to a ripe old age, but not everyone get there. November is always my month to ponder life, not only because my mom and I both have birthdays, but because she died just after her 74th birthday of Alzheimer’s

The stories come in small pieces, coaxed out gently when I ask a new resident when and where they served in the military.

I’m married to a guy who is not a big fan of flying. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s been in an airplane.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this,” she says before continuing to tell me more stories about her 99-year-old dad over the phone. We talk about the farm he grew up on in the Midwest and what he did for work after World War 2, how he remarried after her mother passed away, and what life has been like for him since his second wife died.

Last week, I stopped into a local home improvement store looking for some mums to brighten up the frazzled summer planters on our front porch. As I walked towards the garden center, I noticed the clearance patio furniture was mingling with ghoulish zombies and inflatable front lawn witches.

You’re either a fair person or you’re not.

Every morning when I walk out my front door to work, I see a pinwheel spinning in one of my flower pots in the garden.

“Thank you for listening to me,” he said as we stood in the hallway talking. He smiled at me before pushing his walker slowly down the hall back to his room. ...

I don’t like to think that I’m middle aged, but it’s true. Today, I got a telemarketing call wanting to talk to me about my Medicare Advantage plan. I made her repeat it before I realized what she was asking me.

I’m not one to quote Greek philosophers, but the words “the only thing constant is change” has been floating through my mind lately.

One of my earliest memories of my dad was waiting to surprise him when he came home each day from work.

I picked her up at the Phoenix airport around 9 p.m., this tall young woman wearing Converse high-tops painted two different colors, and pants with one leg black and one leg white.

It’s been 13,689 days since I passed my driver’s test.

This is the 110th year that we’ve celebrated Mother’s Day in every U.S. state, according to Wikipedia.

He was supposed to be a puppy. At least that’s what I’d been looking for when I drove into the Humane Society parking lot.

There’s a line Dorothy says in “The Wizard of Oz” movie: “If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own backyard.”

I have a soft spot in my heart for old dogs.

I was sure I smelled a gas leak one recent Sunday morning as I was walking down our driveway, but after checking out the obvious culprits, the smell was gone.