“Lovely, don’t you think?” I asked.
“Yes,” he smiled. His eyes were still as piercingly blue as when I’d first met him over a quarter of a century before, although they were now graced with a few more crinkles around the edges. Each passing year had dusted my husband’s once-blonde hair with platinum so that only a few strands of the original color remained.
Finally, with some imperceptible communication, the ducks rose in unison and elegantly flew across the rolling green grass, up over the trees, and off into the distant blue.
I took my shower late because I’d dawdled too long birdwatching. As I brushed my hair, I examined the strands collected within the bristles and realized that my hair had been thinning at an alarming rate. I’d shrugged off most of the signs that I was no longer the woman I used to be—weight gain, blotchy skin, bags under my eyes—but losing my hair has concerned me more than any of the others. I chided myself for this vanity and avoided that last look in the mirror.
A few days later, the ducks returned. They announced their arrival with a resounding ‘quack-quack’ as they effortlessly coasted in for a soft landing on the pond, just as night tipped its star-studded hat to a youthful and blushing early morning spring sky. I caught my breath at the loveliness of the scene outside my window. Quietly stepping onto the patio, I leaned against the fence that adjoined the pond and watched in admiration as the male mallard gently nuzzled the female while they glided across the water in an avian pas de deux. Thankfully, it was the weekend, and I had time to spare. Sipping my coffee, I regarded the scene before me and wondered at the beauty inherent in all things.
One Sunday evening I am idling about near the patio fence, drinking a glass of wine and looking toward the pond. The sun is low in the sky, nightfall rapidly approaching. No ducks are on the water; they haven’t been here for several weeks. Spring is making way for summer, and the mating season is over. I’m feeling a bit forlorn, missing the vigor of new beginnings, new growth. But all living things have their time, I tell myself. I glance back through the open French doors at my husband in the recliner, watching the baseball game—more like snoring through it. He tells me he’s “checking for leaks” when he does that, but I know he’s conserving his energy; it’s a precious commodity these days. His chest moves up and down while birds chatter in the tops of the arborvitae trees in the back yard, and ripples in the pond move in ever-widening circles. Life continues to breathe, though one day soon, we will leave this place to those with the youthful vigor to do the mowing, clipping, and all the work it takes to groom this little piece of paradise.
Then, a movement on the pond’s surface catches my attention. I realize it’s my husband’s prized ginrin sorogoi—a Japanese Koi with silver scales that glitter like diamonds. The fish moves sensuously, arching above the water in a shining platinum rainbow before sliding below the surface with a flick of its back fin. Dusk sets in, and I push my thinning hair behind one ear, grab my empty wine glass and head back inside. While beauty lies all around us, it also lies within.
.
“An engaging memoir of life lived to its fullest...” — Kirkus Reviews, The Magazine, October 1, 2025
In this riveting memoir, Claire Kahane unveils her intimate self-transformations over the course of nine decades. Born in the Great Depression to Jewish immigrants and determined to prove herself a free spirit in a male dominated world, Kahane went on the road, hitchhiking her way into and out of risky adventures and romantic affairs.
But what starts out as a "road book" takes a different turn in midlife. In scenes dramatically illustrating the growing influence of psychoanalysis and feminism, she becomes a feminist professor, mother and wife, living out the contradictions she is teaching in the classroom.
In later life her story changes tracks again when a visit to Auschwitz compels her to confront her own family history of Holocaust loss and renewal. The memoir ends with a surprising new twist that opens to a hopeful future.
“Claire Kahane has written a memoir for our times: an account of a life spent in pursuit of lived experience long before it was permissible for women like Kahane to do just that. Rich and lively, vivid and bold, Nine Lives is bound to reach a wide and responsive readership.” —Vivian Gornick, essayist, critic, and author of numerous memoirs, including Fierce Attachments, The Odd Woman and the City, and Unfinished Business: Notes of a Chronic Re-reader
Available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookshop, and your local independent bookstore. A limited number of signed copies are available from Book Passage, Corte Madera, CA.
Amy Smyth Miller is a nationally recognized educator who works in a public school district in rural Washington State. She lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with her sons, daughter-in-law, grandsons, Oscar the dachshund, and husband, "Captain Crusty." Her essay, "Las Madres," appeared in the July Refuge edition of The Muleskinner Journey, and she is preparing a memoir for publication. Read more about her in her 
Carolyn Campbell is an award-winning photographer with photo credits in national, state, and regional publications as well as literary publications and photographic exhibitions. Sometimes edgy and provocative, other times mysterious, her work looks beneath the surface to share stories waiting to be told.