Taken yesterday morning when I woke up a wee bit too early, but it was worth it to get this shot.

Welcome, March!

Today is sunny, but cold. We had relentless winds on Wednesday and Thursday. Even Don – who usually doesn’t mind them – was saying “Enough, already!” As happened to some of you a day or two earlier, the temperatures plummeted. It’s still cold out there, but the we should be getting back to the low fifties soon.

Last night when I was headed to bed, I took one look at the Olga Tokarczuk book (which is at least 800 pages long) and decided to go with the newish mystery instead. I need a ‘very long book’ palate cleanser. But I’ll take a peek at the opening pages later today.

We watched The Holdovers  last night. Have you seen it yet? We are big fans of Paul Giamatti and Alexander Payne, the movie’s director. It’s simply wonderful. Giamatti gives an amazing, nuanced, and profound performance. Payne tells the story beautifully. It’s not rushed, there’s no high-tech action assaulting the viewer. Just a story that takes place in the 70s. Character development is everything here and boy, do I recommend it. I’m still thinking about it this morning. Giamatti is nominated for an Oscar, as is Da’Vine Joy Randolph, who is also quite wonderful. And newcome Dominic Sessa is wonderful as one of the students.

Don has a gig tonight and one tomorrow night as well. Good for him, of course, but I’ll miss him.

I’m in the middle of a Stella deep cleaning. Because we use propane gas, she gets greasy, and, although I clean the surface every night, it’s time to get into every nook and cranny. It’s yucky but it must be done.

Exciting times, right?

Stay safe.

Happy Friday.

I was on Threads the other day (the new competitor to the dreadful Twitter/X) and ran across a post by someone who had just lost his sister. He spoke about hearing her voice the next day, about a ‘visitation.’ It was very moving and as I scrolled through the comments, I read more and more stories from people about hearing/seeing someone from the other side. Sometimes, a voice. Sometimes, a ‘sense.’

I find these stories enormously comforting.

I’ve had a few myself.

When my grandfather died, I was twenty. A few months after he died, I was scheduled to sing a solo at a Sunday morning church service. As I sat in the pew, I thought of my grandfather and the enormity of my grief hit me. Gentle tears ran down my face (no one in the congregation would have noticed them.) Suddenly, I felt a hand touch the top of my head, and it stayed there for about a minute. I knew it was him. I was deeply comforted by his presence. And then I smiled and could not stop smiling. I’ll never forget that.

My brother died in 1991. I was teaching at Boston University and living in Cambridge. Some time after I returned to Boston from the funeral in Michigan, I was reclining on my sofa. I felt a wave of grief wash over me and I started crying. Suddenly, a beam of light hit a photo of my brother and I that was on a table on the other side of the room. It was like a golden spotlight that only hit the photo and nothing that was around it. I knew it was him.

I also had – years later – a vivid dream in which my brother and I were dancing a waltz. It was so joyous, so wonderful, and so powerful that I knew he had visited me. I can still remember that feeling today. And I rarely remember my dreams. I think my sister had a similar dream.

And you know that my mother visited me when she was in the nursing home. I shared that with you. On evenings when Don was playing a gig, I would suddenly smell Oil of Olay, the cream that my mother used  every night. To her children, this was her scent. The first time it happened, I checked to see if the smell was coming from the bathroom soap, but no, it wasn’t. The smell would linger for about a minute or two. I would say hello to Mom and tell her how much I loved her. And then, it would disappear. These visits occurred many times over a couple of years – years when my mom was half in and half out of this world. I finally confided to Mere (and Don, of course) that these visits were occurring, Mere immediately knew and said that Mom was visiting me.

I received the news that my mom had died when my dad called me in the middle of the night. Later that day, I was sitting in the kitchen. Don was in the living room. Suddenly, he said, “What’s that scent??? It smells like flowers…” I couldn’t smell it, so I got up and went to the living room, and sure enough, it was Oil of Olay. He knew. I knew. Mom was visiting us and telling us she was okay. We told her how much we loved her, how much she meant to us. I cried. Don cried. It was extremely powerful and very, very comforting.

There’s also an incident with my estranged sister’s son. When he was very little, not all that long after our brother died, her son was ill and in the middle of the night, he took a turn for the worse. My sister heard him talking in his bedroom, saying “But I want to come, I want  to come!” She and her husband jumped out of bed, grabbed him, and rushed him to the hospital. He recovered. Several months later, my sister casually asked him, “Do you remember when you were so sick and we had to take you to the hospital? Who were you talking to that night?” He answered quite matter of factly, “Uncle Dave. I wanted to go with him, but he wouldn’t let me. He said it wasn’t time.” And he also divulged that he had had several “conversations” with him. To him, it was no big deal.

Ever since reading that post, I’ve been thinking about these things. I’ve never heard anything from my dad, or my grandmother. But I do have these visits to hold close.

Has this happened to you? If you feel comfortable sharing, I’d love to hear your stories.

Stay safe.

Happy Friday.