I was going to share a photo of a radical red fire truck. but prefer to show off my radical change in hair color.  My dearest widower took the photo.  (It took him a while so I kinda lost my smile….)  He has demonstrated remarkable discretion when it comes to my hair, probably because I have flipped out if he so much as raised an eyebrow.  Over the past 47 years we’ve been together, I’ve gone from blonde to red to brown and back again. From 1 inch to shoulder length. From trying to stifle the curls to appreciating how they camouflage my thinning hair.

My widower has endured radical changes in his hair, too.  He has gone from full to almost none, from dark brown to white.  And you know what?  He is still as sexy and adorable as when we first met.  Don’t tell him I said that cuz he would turn radical pink (he no longer reads all my posts).

The most radical thing?  His amazing love for me.  I was a crazy crazed 19-year-old when we met.  I taught abused kids and never realized I was seeking my own healing.  This precious man, my teaching widower, comforted me, encouraged me, problem-solved with me, laughed with me, and tenderly loved me through seriously dreadful times.  That’s radical red-hot love.