Touchstones

Often, when couples are together for many years, they start to look like each other. I’ve noticed this, have you? I don’t think this was the case with Wade and me, but I know I am not objective. I do find that, for me, objects can take on a person’s characteristics and become touchstones. This realization is especially strong as I move around the empty spaces in this new life and stumble upon touchstones of Wade. So many of them come from the work we loved doing together on home and garden renovation— his design sketches, tool belt, work gloves, and on and on. Seeing these abandoned symbols of his life bring me as much joy as they do pain. I flip between those two emotions, so aware the pow

On the Breeze

When I walk on the Naugatuck Valley River Trail, I prefer to walk alone— the steady rhythm of my feet hitting pavement becomes a kind of mantra. Despite that, I do hear voices. In the breezes that sweep along the water, I hear my father’s words, “The wind clears out the cobwebs.” It does for me. Of course, there are other people on the trail. They pass coming and going within a few feet of me. On the breeze to the distress of my nose, I smell the scent of dryer sheets and their perfumed clothing. Those who walk in pairs and the ones who walk alone while talking on their cellphones interrupt my “meditation” with their conversations. From them, I get snippets of their chatter blown into my pat

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