by Martha Quillen
I turned 62 in early October, and was promptly assaulted by symptoms of old age. A few days after my birthday, I woke up feeling so stiff I could barely make it down the stairs; my back ached, my muscles cramped, and my joints rebelled. I suspect it was merely the onset of a cold or allergy, not spontaneous degeneration. But such moments tend to worry me now that Ed is gone.
It’s not that I’m worried about dropping dead; I’m not. It has more to do with my new responsibilities, which sometimes seem beyond comprehension or measure. The dog, cats, appliances, bills, house, electronics, lawn, trees, gardens, laundry, furniture, plumbing, heating, banking, money-making, meals, trash, and snow removal are my bailiwick now.
