On the way to the gym at my retirement center, there’s a table with a small basket resting on it.  Sometimes the basket is empty.  Sometimes it isn’t  When it isn’t, it’s full of condolence cards addressed to the family of a resident who has died.  As yet I know so few peo

I’m going to let the subscription of another women’s magazine expire when it comes due. The repetitious information I can live without — just as I can live without those little subscription cards that keep falling from the pages or the constant renewal reminders stuffed into