When it gets very hot on Shelter Island, chickens lay fewer eggs, turkeys call a temporary truce in the battle for reproductive rights and the horses on Midway Road stand so still that if not for an occasional flick of the withers or tail, I could mistake them for Breyer models. READ
Tag: Charity Robey
Birds do it. Bees do it. If I’m lucky, my sons will do it.
In the meantime, I’m an unemployed wedding planner.
Since 1913, when Congress officially recognized the second Sunday in May as Mother’s Day, Americans have celebrated this most traditional of made-up holidays. (more…)
The first time I visited my husband’s parents, I noticed that his dad carried a small radio from room to room of their New Jersey garden apartment, tuned to a Yankees game, just the way I carried a radio with me everywhere I went tuned to National Public Radio.
There are birthday celebrations that are given to you, and then there are the ones you give yourself. READ
My husband and I rarely go to dinner parties. Most Saturday nights, I cook something, my husband does the dishes, we read a little and, if we’re feeling really frisky, we might stay up to watch the first 20 minutes of SNL. (more…)
Hudson, a 12-year-old dachshund, died last April. (Credit: Charity Robey)
Last April, our beloved dachshund, Hudson, died. He was 12, which is pretty old in dog years, as they say.
My husband suggested we wait a year before we started sniffing around for a new dog, “out of respect.” I thought this was a strange idea, but now that a year has passed, I can see some good has come of waiting. No good for Hudson alas, but waiting has helped me understand what that long, black dog meant to me. (more…)