Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • I met her in 1970. My parents had just dropped me off at art school which was 627 miles from what I had always considered my home. The school had staged a "get to know you dance" and we both decided to stand closer to the door than the dance floor. We each went on to marriage, a child and a divorce. At the turn of the century we remarried and now live together as husband and wife.

    This morning at 5:45 my phone alarm woke us up so she could fly south to Florida and attend to the slow death of her mother. In a few days I will pick her up from the airport. A day or two later the sadness will overtake... poor brave woman. It is just the way it is. South to hold it in ... north to let it go. She does this as often as she can.

    Every time she goes she leaves me dishes to do in the kitchen sink and tells me to make certain I have fresh milk in the fridge when she returns,
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.