The article I read today was completely surprising. It is about 80-year-old journalist Erica Manfred who lives alone and has stage 4 lung cancer. She has hired a “Death Doula” to help her navigate the complexities of death and dying.

So...first of all...who ever heard of a Death Doula? Not me!

or someone who was born and raised in Northeast Ohio, spring does not truly arrive until late-ish May. Yes, there can be a few lovely days in breezy, unpredictable March. April is an up-and-down kind of month...warm, frigid, sunny, snowy...a month of extremes. May—a real teaser—opens with a shiver but typically concludes with days that make me think I might—maybe, probably not—become a person who loves to garden.

That’s Northeast Ohio.

Each year I purchase the newest chapbook contest winner. This year’s winner is Tracking the Fox by Rosalie Sanara Petrouske. The poems are so compelling that I wrote a chapbook review for Tinderbox Poetry Journal, a fantastic online journal that has become another one of my favorites.

WKSU—Kent State University’s public radio station (now intertwined with Ideastream in Cleveland)— was much more than a source for news, information, and music (classical and folk). It was the place where many young journalists and broadcasters began their journey.

Several years ago, my husband and I visited Philadelphia. We had passed through Philly in the past, but— on that visit—we were squired around by friends who wanted us to see the charm of the city. And that included up-close inspections of the gorgeous murals splashed onto the sides of many buildings.

Since I mostly avoid any political commentary on my social media pages, I have happily begun to post themed photos for various months. There was a month of Lake Life...a month of Tiny Beautiful Things (also the title of a fantastic book by Cheryl Strayed!)...and a month of Sky.

On 2/1, I received the following email, directed to my website:

“Pam, I saw the Netflix documentary. I thought you did a great job. I, too, feel a lot like you when it comes to relationships. Keep up the good work! Do you do readings?”

Sigh...

In June 2014, the Tinderbox Poetry Journal published its first online volume of poetry and conversations. Since then, Tinderbox has expanded to include book reviews and has published poems by hundreds of poets.

There are 91 award categories in the Grammy’s. The ones they show on TV—Record of the Year, Album
of the Year, Song of the Year...etc., etc., etc.—are the more “eye-catching” categories. And I must admit
that Harry Styles’ performance last year of his award-winning song “Watermelon Sugar” took my breath
away. What a fantastic performance! Look it up! Check out his boa! Check out Billie Elish (wearing an
amazing costume and gloves) watching him with appreciation.

January was my “social media-free” month. It also was my alcohol free...shopping free...sugar free (okay, did not do very well with that one!)...grain free (another nearly managed but not quite!) month.

My New Year’s Resolution last year was to take a month away from all social media as well as anything alcoholic.

When did I stop decorating for the December holidays? It might have been after my superb Decorator-in-Chief (my daughter) officially moved into her own home. From the time she was little, she was the one who managed the sprucing-up of our house. Garland inside and lights outside! A tree filled with ornaments! Hanukkah! Celebratory stuff for New Year’s Eve!

I am writing this post on November 21...to be posted on December 16 to my website (https://www.pamelaranderson.org/ ). It was my plan to write about the night sky in winter, when it’s cold and the sky is often clear and very dark. I wanted to mention the Milky Way, which dazzled the night sky when I was a child but now is only visible (to me) when I’m traveling (the Milky Way is spectacular on moonless nights in Bisbee, Arizona, or Independence Pass, Colorado).

It is the end of November, and I’ve now read 50 books this year (more accurately, my Goodreads list shows that number although I know I did not post every book I read this year). Of those, 7 were re-reads —5 were nonfiction—several were poetry books—several were young adult—and a handful were fantasy. I now have 3 or 4 more queued up for my December reading pleasure.

I am in the stage of my life when I do not particularly want to add more “things” to my life. I have no desire for tchatchke’s that require dusting. I’m now retired, so I am not purchasing new “professional” clothes. My living space is downsized, so reducing clutter helps to keep my space tidy. PLUS...so many material things already exist in our world! Whenever I walk into any store, I am gobsmacked by the sheer volume of stuff.

During the Pandemic, it was easy to “let my fingers do the walking” as I shopped on Amazon, ordered groceries online, and had meals delivered via Door Dash—all while abandoning cinemas, live concerts, and restaurants.

Ohio. November. Less daylight. Less sunshine. Less warmth.

But...more, more, more.

When my daughter was little, I began taking her to the Standing Rock Cultural Arts Center in Kent. I enrolled her in a number of art classes and workshops, we went to art openings, and we participated in many of their events. It always was fun to be there, but what I particularly appreciated was the way Standing Rock fed her avid interest in creating her own artwork.

My mother always claimed that the first vote she ever cast was for Harry S. “Give ‘Em Hell” Truman. This, she said, was remarkable because her action steered her away from her family’s traditional, conservative record of voting. She was a Democrat; they were Republican. The die was cast.

When I was little, my mom made my (and my sisters’) Halloween costumes. One year I was a clown with an over-sized white cotton jumpsuit that had a red polka-dot pattern. There was the year when I was Little Bo Peep—complete with bonnet, pantaloons, and cloth-covered panniers stuffed with crumpled newspaper. When I took dance lessons, my recital costumes doubled for Halloween. As my sisters and I grew older (almost too old to go trick-or-treating), we dressed like hobos: old jeans, flannel shirts, tangled hair, charcoal marks on our faces, and pillow-cases to hold candy.