Season One of Friends brings out the best in us. There nothing as extraordinary watching six people maneuver relationships with such love, grace and humor.
For me, the word “infidelity” echoed through my head like that annoying high-pitched noise you sometimes hear if you’re in a quiet room for too long.
When my husband passed away suddenly just after Thanksgiving in 1999, I was terrified at the thought of a life without him.
I know my father will be with me in spirit, following the audibles and signals of his favorite team. But whether it’s football season, or the offseason, I know my Dad is with me.
He had gone off in a corner somewhere and was nowhere to be seen when we began to eat. As we sat in the dining room eating and talking, we had no idea what was going on in the kitchen.
When I finally looked up, I realized that I was gone. The person that I once was had disappeared. It was frightening to the point that I didn’t want to accept it.
Short of killing puppies, nothing offends or shocks Randy more than my taking a tiny nibble of a berry (or apple slice or watermelon) and plopping it in my chardonnay, champagne, or gasp, burgundy.
As I sat at my Mother’s Thanksgiving table looking at the fantastic sunset, I was filled appreciation for the opportunity to break bread with so many people I am lucky enough to call my family.
While he was in the hospital, I filed for divorce. I did not understand the power of these drugs nor addiction. I thought he was weak.
My oldest daughter inherited her father’s love for food. I love to see that part of him in her.