Margret feet with Bunny

Here is a story in pictures of Margret and baby bunnies.

I stepped outside intending to take the recycling out, and saw a mommy bunny and several babies on the lawn and walk in front of the house. I called Margret to come see the bunnies. She came outside and sat on the step.

"Bunnies! Aww, cute!"

Then I took the recycling bin out to dump in the outside receptacle, going wide around the step in hopes of not scaring the bunnies... and the bunnies ran. One ran right behind Margret's feet, and sat very very still, hiding.
Poor bunnies didn't like how the recycling made loud rattling and banging noises. I told Margret not to try to touch the bunny, but the noise sent the bunny quivering against her feet.

"He's so SOFT!" she exclaimed.

I spotted another little bunny bun bun sitting in the grass at the edge of the driveway, so I took my camera, lay down on the driveway and zoomed in on him. Good optical zoom on this old camera of mine. Camera lens was about three feet from bunny.

One more picture of little bunny hiding himself behind the feet, and tickling Margret.


Mama Bunny didn't seem very concerned. She sat on the dirt and rocks at the end of the street, perhaps thirty feet away from her babies. You may have to click on the image and see the larger version of it to pick out Mrs. Bunny, who is in the center of the picture.

Somebody Loves Me, and a little philosophy

I've been trying to write some difficult things, and it is not coming easily.

I write. I cry. I get up and pace. I grab a tissue and wipe my eyes. I blow my nose. I sit back down to write some more. Repeat.

I'm not finished. I am not satisfied with what I've written. I need to write this down, but for now, it isn't working. The story isn't coming out the way I want to see it. These words are the same words I use every day, but this day they don't sound like the idea I am trying to convey.

I save the drafts, and go looking through my collection of photographs. I find some that make me smile. And more. I smile through my tears. My tears dry up. I'm smiling. I know the tears will be back, but for this moment, I'm remembering how much fun we had together, and I'm smiling.

I decide that I want to share a happy moment with you today, instead of something serious and painful. Yes, there were a lot of serious moments in my life with Margret, but the happy moments were more plentiful, far more plentiful. I loved her very much, and she loved me. I love her still. Now I have to decide which one of all these happy memories it will be. Eeny, meeny, minie, moe. . . . THIS one!



It's Valentine's Day and a big white truck pulls up to the curb. The driver rings the bell and knocks on the door. "I have a delivery for Margret," says the driver, handing over two floral express boxes. I sign for them, because Margret is out right now, volunteering.


One box contains iris reticulatus and tulips.


I run water into the glass vase that comes with them, add the packet of flower preservative and stir, then arrange the flowers.



The other box contains bright red roses and babies breath.


Following directions, I arrange the flowers in their vase after cutting off the bottommost bit of stem.

Margret comes home from volunteering to see the boxes, read the address, and say, "Somebody loves me!"

Then we read the card together and she wanted me to send the flowers back. The flowers came from Margret's dad, the ex-husband who lives a dozen states away. During their growing up years, he almost never sent cards or presents to the girls for birthdays or holidays. Sometimes he would pick up the telephone to wish one a happy birthday, but he wasn't consistent. B would run and hide under the bed rather than talk to him on the phone. C would talk to him, but when she did, there was a sort of wariness in her demeanor. I can't remember him calling to talk to D, but that might just be my memory.

I suspect he was hoping to make up for some of joy he missed out on.

*sigh* This memory was not perfectly happy, but what event is entirely joy, entirely pain, entirely one thing or the other? Isn't it sadness versus sunshine that makes life brighter? Doesn't the contrast between tears and joy make a happy moment happier?

If you ever figure it out, please let me know.

Margret and her sisters

I'm going to make this brief, because it's three months since we came home without Margret. And it still hurts.



Just look at all the lovely smiles.

Livin La Vida Loca, or Margret in New York City

One of Margret's desires was to go see a live concert by her favorite singer. We did that. And here is photographic proof. Note: Margret did not normally use a wheelchair. The distances we intended to cover on foot in the city, and at the speed we intended to travel, she would have been exhausted and miserable, so I rented one. The folks at the rental place cheerfully added holders for TWO oxygen tanks on the back, so we had the one in use, and a spare. Thanks guys!

Margret got to see Times Square in the rain. Not exactly dancing in the rain, but you are encouraged to use your imagination.

She got to see a police man riding his horse.


She went sight seeing on the Sightseeing bus.
She got to look down from the Empire State Building to see the world spread out below her
but she much preferred being inside the gift shop, picking out something to bring home and gift to her friends.

She got to tour Radio City Music Hall

She got to pose with a real Rockette.

Margret got to see her favorite Latin singer at Radio City Music Hall. Live and in concert. She was thrilled.and to visit, and pose, with other Ricky Martin fans.