The smile and shrug that will linger forever

In early February, my wife sat in her wheelchair with a pile of gardening catalogs spread out on the coffee table in front of her. It was time to start planning her springtime plantings — which meant I would spend the better part of this day filling out order forms or calling 1-800 phone numbers to places like Breck’s, Heronswood Gardens, Burpee, Jung Seeds, Bluestone, Jackson & Perkins, SpringHill Nurseries.

I could feel the Master Card heat up from anticipation.

Dealing with grief, one way or the other

A day or two after my wife died from a stroke on Valentine’s Day, our daughter Jenny helped me go through Gail’s prescription medications that would no longer be needed. Out went the Coumadin that kept her blood from forming life-threatening clots. Out went the Neurontin that battled her incessant nerve pain. Out they went, and others — out, out, out.

But Jenny paused when we came to the Cymbalta (an antidepressant) and the Xanax (an antianxiety drug).

“You may want to keep these handy,” she said. “You might need them for yourself for a while.”

We are all caregivers, aren’t we?

In last week’s column, “A final Valentine’s Day lesson of love everlasting,” I told you of my wife’s passing after 68 years of life and almost 49 years of marriage to me. After writing that painful tale, I thought I would take a break from my column to heal, for as long as it took. I doubted if I would have anything to say for today’s column, or for any column in the future, for that matter.

But you changed that.

A final Valentine’s Day lesson of love everlasting

Just after dinner this Valentine’s Day, while we were in our Florida home, my wife caught my attention as I was washing the dishes. She beamed a beatific smile, flashing me a thumbs-up from her wheelchair.

Because she was robbed of speech eight years ago by a pair of severe strokes, there is no way to know exactly what she meant by it. It might have been: “Thanks for cooking my favorite meal tonight.” Or it might have been: “What fun we’ve had over these past few days.” Or it might have been: “I love you so much it almost hurts.” It might even have been her approval of the little solar-powered dancing flower I gave her at breakfast that Valentine’s Day morning, the kind of tiny gesture we both treasure far above grand displays of love.

The makings of a great American childhood

Blame it on the Christmas season — and then the long, dark winter nights in the weeks that follow — but I always get a bit nostalgic about those great days of my childhood.

Setting a personal record for my New Year’s Resolution

OK, I’ve made my New Year’s resolution.

Oh, I know, New Year’s resolutions are supposed to start in the early hours of January when the year is still new. I can hear you smirking at me for taking this long to get around to it.

A New Year’s journey into the Twilight Zone

I spent New Year’s Eve binge-watching “The Twilight Zone” on the SY-FY channel.

Oh, I know, that’s not what most people think of as a rockin’ New Year’s Eve. Most people want a night on the town that would cause them to wake up in the morning (or afternoon), rub their aching head and moan: “Never again” — behavior that probably involves copious amounts of alcohol and so many drinking games they could make an Olympics out of it.

I was raised in quiet Elmwood Park, just a stone’s throw from Chicago’s Austin neighborhood, and I have always thought of my 1950s childhood as idyllic, calm, and peaceful.

And yet…

‘Tis the season for hay, straw, and a sweet-smelling dog

It’s autumn, and as the Halloween-and-Thanksgiving season approaches, folks in my Illinois neighborhood like to decorate their front porches with pumpkins and corn stalks sitting on hay bales.

And every time I see that, I can’t help but think of Schatze, the sweet-smelling dog of my youth.

Welcome to America, where it looks just like it does on TV

My buddy Mike just got back from a week in France, and we took to the links for a quick nine holes so he could tell me a few lies and tales about his trip. His wife, Sandy, had been there before, and they were meeting an old college friend of hers with whom she had spent some time in France years ago, hoping to recapture a bit of the fun they had way back then.

Yeah, that’s right, I’m talking about you, dummy

You’re probably a complete idiot.

Or if not, then I’ll bet you’re a dummy.

Learning to speak American is a piece of cake

Some years ago, as I sat chatting with a young couple from the Netherlands who spoke fluent English, I took a quick glance at my watch. I had a job my boss wanted me to do, and my time was running out.

“Sorry,” I told them, “but I’ve got to take care of this. You know how Ed is. I don’t want to get called on the carpet.”

The enlightenment that comes with endarkenment

OK, people, the eclipse is over. Time to come back down to earth, wipe the awestruck tears from your eyes, and stop OMGing the wonders of the natural world as you ponder your place in the universe. Let’s put the spiritual tizzy behind us, shall we? It’s all fun and games until somebody becomes a druid.

A tick-tale of terror — and tender love

I trace my phobia of ticks back to that day in the wooden rowboat on Lake Nicaboyne in northern Wisconsin. I was probably eleven or twelve at the time, and I was spending the day as usual during our annual weeklong vacation: rowing by myself along the shoreline, casting for bass.

Uncovering a conspiracy of sinkholes and sausage-bombs

The United States is under attack! It’s being torn apart!

Well, not the United States per se, but Florida — that wet, wacky addendum attached to the southeastern edge of the United States. But it’s still a cause for concern, because a lot of folks from the actual United States like to go there in the wintertime.

Some pointers on picking your path to probiotic health

I got “the look” this morning at the grocery store.

Another week-long waltz with the trickster gods

We were driving south on Route 53 through Wisconsin, making good time, when Jim looked at the bumper-to-bumper traffic on the other side of the road, crawling north for miles on end, and said: “Wow, I’m glad we’re not on that side of the road.”

I gasped and said: “Jim! What are you saying!?!!”

When it comes to knowing stuff, my brain is for the birds

Me? I’m a bird guy.

I don’t know when or why I became one, but I guess everybody’s got to be some kind of “guy,” and for me it’s always been birds.

Have today’s teens found a cure for summertime blues?

When I was a teenager, the radio was filled with songs about working in the summer, like “Get a Job” by the Silhouettes, or “Summertime Blues,” by Eddie Cochran.

But according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, less than a third of American teenagers these days have a summer job, which means (among other things) that none of them will ever be able to write a column like this one 50 years from now.