On a fine spring day this week, I had a hankering (what a great word, hankering … does anyone use that word anymore?) to trek back to the place where I scattered my husband’s ashes after he died of cancer, after he lived much longer than the original prognosis: Ten preposterous, brimming, courageous years with late stage disease.
Broken Top standing guard over a frozen Todd Lake
Do you think there’s a difference between being spontaneous and being impulsive?