Six years ago this January my husband/partner of nearly 50 years died, literally in my arms. Surrounding us in that small room, the one we always thought of as his, were our sons, their wives and our grandchildren. It was five-year-old Jack who.
A couple of snowfalls were enough to turn Tanglewood’s rooty, rocky trails into smooth paths that took you everywhere through that magical forest. Gliding through the silent, snowy woods early in the morning or under the full moon is only a memory now.
A week into February and the winter of ’21 looks to be repeating the recent cycle of snow-rain-freeze-thaw. Farley’s plows are making the rounds of Lincolnville’s roads this morning, and it does promise to be cold for a few days. But what good is the cold without enough snow to play in?
Thirty years ago, my middle son zinged me with “Don’t tell me things were better when you were a kid. This is the only childhood I’ve got, and I like it.” So, yes, there’s that.