milestone noun: 1 a stone set up beside a road to mark the distance in miles to a particular place. 2 a significant stage or event in the development of something.

Am I still developing? I guess I am, as long as i’m alive.

June 7 was my wedding anniversary. I was married 67 years ago on that date. It was a Saturday. I was a June bride. I looked up June bride: “For they say when you marry in June, you’re a bride all your life.”

Married when the year is new, he’ll be loving, kind and true.

When February birds do mate, you wed not dread your fate.

If you wed when March winds blow, joy and sorrow both you’ll know.

Marry in April when you can, joy for Maiden and for Man.

Marry in the month of May, and you’ll surely rue the day.

Marry when June roses grow, over land and sea you’ll go.

Those who in July do wed, must labor for their daily bread.

Whoever wed in August be, many a change is sure to see.

Marry in September’s shrine, your living will be rich and fine.

If in October you do marry, love will come but riches tarry.

If you wed in bleak November, only joys will come, remember.

When December snows fall fast, marry and true love will last.


Not too optimistic. It doesn’t matter. I’m not a bride any more, nor a wife—not without a husband. He’s still with me, though. I’m dedicating my newest book to him (out soon; I’ll let you know. I’m still working at it). I thought I might think of something significant to say, but nothing is coming.

It’’s another day.