Category: Uncategorized

A Season of Death

Death visits everyone, and no one is immune. There are some deaths that come suddenly, unexpectedly. While all deaths are tragic, there are some that last a season. I would venture to say that this is not a summary because I don’t believe that it could be summarized. For every 10 experiences I may have, there would be ten times that many in other families. This is merely a telling of one experience. Why this one? I suppose that is because I am older, it is the most recent. There are details that are sharper than the seasons of death gone before. Some of you may have experienced your own season, or perhaps be facing that season or perhaps even in the middle of that season right now.

I don’t think that I am unique in thinking about how I might like to die…for me “in my sleep, after a life well lived”. Or is that just me? I will be a bit nervous when my time is up, and hopeful that my trajectory after death is upward, and that doing my best was enough to gain entrance into that most holy place with God. Would I be okay with a season of death? Being catholic, I have to say yes. Because I would not want to control the last part of my life. Those thoughts are for another time though, as this is about the time when death was pronounced inevitable, and the march towards the end has begun.

The day our loved one is pronounced terminal, is like taking a really hard sucker punch to the gut. It doesn’t matter that it has usually been preceded by months of treatments, surgeries, hopeful moments, moments of despair, hospitalizations and so on. An exhausting myriad of treatments that at times feel worse than the illness itself, but no matter, because we are never ready for the words “there is nothing more than can be done”. I write this from an observer point of view. Death has not pronounced upon me as yet, and I would further say that I am not quite ready at this moment. Not that it matters, as a season of death arrives with little warning and very little to be done about it.

On that first day that death is pronounced the winner, in all versions of all of my experiences, it feels as if you are trapped within a dark, homogeneous swirl of feelings. The words lay flat, but the air is thick. There is nothing more to be done, to fight. It’s time to lay down all weapons and surrender. Your brain tries to think, to accept what is being said and it feels at once all encompassing and yet somehow outside of you, surreal. It suddenly feels difficult to breathe as you try to reason and order your thoughts but there is nothing but nameless chaos swirling about. Nameless, because you know you have done all that was advised, yet you somehow failed. Your thoughts get heavier and it begins to feel like you are falling into a pool of dark gel, struggling to get air, fighting to get to the top but not knowing where the top is exactly. In my opinion, and based on the experiences that I had, that is our brains trying to believe that the information we just received was incorrect, but our brain’s search engine has been frozen in the knowledge of impending death and you now know or come to realize anyway, that you will never reason out of that knowledge.

I cannot recall if these feelings lasted one hour, one day or one week, but I think I can recall at least one day. I also think that it takes even longer to actually confirm that you are about to embark on this season of death. My dreams around that time were a crazy montage of nonsense happenings. I have no recollection of them other than consistently waking up dazed and confused. If you have ever been in a car accident, or a bad fall, there is a weird shattering of time where things seem to move in slow motion. Moments of deniability of what is happening – is this real or just a dream – neither! It’s a nightmare, and during the process you realize that waking will not resolve the terror. There is no way to measure time through this, and there is no way out. There is only the next step in the process. The next step being acceptance, and the slow, unknown journey to the end.

In each experience I can honestly say that while in the midst of it, you first think about just how long your loved one will need to suffer and it is not all dark by the way. Odd as it seems, there are times that bring bellows of laughter, tears of joy but in truth they are laced with the truth – that time is short. God! It seems so long when you are living in the middle of it – and then, when they are no more, you marvel at how fast the time went. You are left alone, reviewing all the days you spent collecting the moments of your life together, trips down memory lane, regrets, longings etc. The darkness remains, but it is actually comforting in a strange sort of way that matches the feelings inside, cold, empty and confused. The fog lifts slowly though, little by little, like the feeling of having slept in too long, yet still feeling tired. Eyelids heavy, lids caked with the moisture of tears shed the day before. This exhaustion is your body’s message saying, stay quiet, you do not have the strength to go back to living life just yet. And it would be right.

The positive side of having time before death, if there can be considered a positive, is to have the opportunity to talk to loved ones – to address the unspoken, to lay bare all of the things you may have held close for whatever personal reasons. I spent a lot of time with my aunt, my father in law, my dad, my mother and then my brother in law as they lie waiting for death’s arrival. I treasure the moments, and now I wish I had written them all down. But maybe it’s better this way, I only remember the beautiful, happy and shiny moments – the suffering has paled into fleeting photographs, flashes of moments, gone and gratefully forgotten.

My brother in law was not feeling well for quite awhile following his gallbladder surgery. Persistent follow up discovered pancreatic cancer had visited our family again (my mother died from pancreatic cancer 12 years earlier, discovered stage 4) – this time as stage 2b, and we had the benefit of 12 years of science. Because of the tumor’s location, it would be chemo first, followed by Whipple surgery. We were hopeful.

While diagnosis was in August, there was the upcoming wedding of their daughter in September. The Monday following the wedding began the treatments in earnest. They turned out to be truly difficult. Week after week, the effects of the poisons coursing through his veins would make him simultaneously weaker, unable to eat, unable to sleep. Once the first round was completed, it was decided that after the new year, radiation would begin. Six weeks of radiation, and hard to believe, it seemed that it was actually a respite from the harsh chemotherapy. Then came a short break…a time to come back a bit and be evaluated, hopefully with a go-ahead for surgery.

It was not to be. The tumor was stubborn, it decreased in size some but not enough for surgery. It would require more chemotherapy treatments. It was now late spring. The second rounds of chemo seemed even more difficult than the first, and the side effects and weight loss became extreme. It had now taken both a deep physical and mental toll, and there seemed to be no end in sight. Late spring into summer saw hospital stays for dehydration to try and help him stay the course. As summer drew to a close, it was evident that cancer was to win yet another battle in our family. His brother, my husband and I had happened to fly up the weekend the prognosis of terminal was given. There we were, the four of us, we stood and hugged but the air was just as thick, the room silent as we held each other tightly and acknowledged the inevitable. The only relief to speak of was the end of the ungodly chemotherapy treatments. I can visualize us all standing there for God knows how long and I recall little else of that day.

So began this, our latest season of death. And no matter that we lived through several seasons before it because we know that each one is different, each one brings its own experiences. I stayed in touch with my sister as the initial days passed, but within a few weeks it was evident that despite her extremely upbeat personality and personal strength, she was wearing thin, and would benefit from company and perhaps even with a bit of help.

We made the decision to drive up the first week of October, to stay as long as we were needed. The initial days were sunny and filled with conversation. We even took a day trip to their favorite gardens. As October wore on, days getting shorter, so did his strength and more days were spent in bed. The occasional visitor would give him a few hours of strength, a smile. He had moments of lucidity and at times I could see moments that were other worldly. One day he called my sister and I “Mary and Martha” he said he could see sparkles behind us as the sun shown into the room. Oddly enough, in one of the later weeks he wanted to descend to the family room and watch his favorite football team. You hear about the rally, and this was likely his. He enjoyed the game, some laughter and when it was time for bed, we jokingly called him Lazarus – Mary and Martha’s brother! I do not think the biblical references were an accident. He lived his life religiously and it seemed fitting.

As time progressed, I felt that one of the nicest things was that each weekend was filled with family visitors. My girls, having arrived on separate weekends, would sit in bed next to their uncle and laugh and talk about fun times. While each day would steal a little more of his strength, a bit more of his personality, it was imperceptible in comparison to seeing the love being heaped upon him by his closest family. His son would project strength for him, knowing it would give his father comfort in knowing that he was leaving his home in good hands. By November, he was mostly in bed, but even those days would find slivers of light when my niece, pregnant with his grandchild, would laugh and chat for hours. On one afternoon the baby was quite active and he was actually able to feel him kick.

He lost the final battle in the 3rd week of November, and it was truly a somber time. It was a cloudy, drizzly Friday. The Friday before Thanksgiving. My sister’s kitchen was full of dinners, casseroles, cakes and cookies – enough to feed an army. A beautiful way that friends and neighbors and my sister’s co workers shared in her mourning. The front door (and back door) was abuzz with visitors offering kind words and condolences. We sat around in a cloud of confusion and sadness, and as I write this I realize that at some point someone realized that we need to prepare for a “service”. I cannot recall just when because it was also the week of Thanksgiving – all of our family flew in, and instead of preparing turkey and the trimmings, we made the table full with all of the meals the neighbors had shared – and it was plenty.

The service was scheduled for the Saturday after Thanksgiving, I recall going with my sister here and there to prepare, but the details are hazy. The action of preparing for service, a Mass, burial, the luncheon afterwards, it is what motivates us to move out of the cloud of despair – we are given a task to complete. Within days all was in order. Mass was said – words written to foster closure. Friends and family came through to say goodbye and pay their respects. Their presence at once uplifting and exhausting. It is both painful and yet necessary to the season, it brings a little bit of order to the chaos we were all subjected to. Every bit of it helps to bring about the end of the season of death.

And so begins the season of mourning. As sad as that sounds, mourning has the opposite trajectory of the season of death. Mourning takes all that death has given us, and tasks us with recovery. To learn to weave life around the gaping hole that has been left behind. It is never easy, and sometimes we even need assistance, but with the same family and friends progress is made, the hole becomes woven, the scar can be seen, touched, and when as healed as it gets, will even elicit a smile. Life goes on.

I am not in control

Daily writing prompt
What could you do differently?
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I would have given that up so much sooner! So much of my life has been spent thinking that I was in control. Not only was that not true, it was a horrible misuse of my life-time. I wasted massive amounts of time believing that I was able to somehow control various situations.

I learned much later in life that this control aspect of my behavior likely came from growing up in an environment of substance abuse. In childhood, be completely incapable of controlling anything, makes for a wish to control everything. Waking as a child everyday, not knowing what kind of day would unfold. Happy, sad, angry, adults absent or arguing, school day or weekend it didn’t matter. The day depended upon how much alcohol was consumed the day prior and whether it would leak into the current day. The term “fell off the wagon” was annoyingly simplistic. Falling off the wagon in my world meant no adults available for an undetermined amount of days. The younger you are the scarier it feels.

As I matured, I learned to control the effects of their behaviors as it pertained to my life, which subsequently led to believing that I could control most, if not all, aspects of my life. Wrong, wrong, so very wrong.

It took connecting with my current partner, and living, relearning through many of life’s uncontrollable moments to learn that life is best lived with eyes wide open and ready to receive instructions as they come. My former view was so limiting, safe maybe, but so boring. I am happy to living a life where I am not in control.

Life, as I would have had it

My parents would have been firm, but loving and wise. I would have had an older brother. One who looked out for me. We would be middle class, with just enough money.

I would have gone through school, good grades and have chosen a nearby college. I would like to have pursued a medical degree, possibly surgery. I would like to have found someone who shared my interest in medicine to marry. I would have liked to have enough time and money to support two children a boy and a girl. I would like to have written a book or two – one, non fiction and one novel.

I am bored. I now realize why things did not go as I would have had it. I did not expect this outcome.

Is that a banana, or are you just happy to see art?

Unless you’ve recently relinquished your rock, you will have undoubtedly seen the banana, held up onto a wall with duct tape, that was created by Maurizio Cattelan. It sold for $6.2 million. It is literally a banana held up onto a wall with piece of duct tape. As the banana will eventually rot, the proud owner that paid the $6.2 million now has the authorization via ownership of a certificate of authenticity, to replace the banana at will. This is considered conceptual art. The new owner of this piece of conceptual art, is wealthy Chinese cryptocurrency businessman, Justin Sun. He proceeded to eat the banana soon after purchasing.

Apparently it wasn’t the first time the banana was eaten, the first time it was eaten by a museum visitor and whether it was a prank or sincere error, I have no idea, and it is not important enough for me to even consider searching for that information. But it does beg the question, did Justin Sun just pay for a mere copy of the original?

What is important to me, is to try and understand “concept art” and the desire to “own” a concept? Is that what Justin Sun purchased? Apparently, he purchased the rights to a certificate, which explains how to replace the banana approximately every 7 – 10 days. He purchased a concept that he could duct tape a banana to a wall and call it art. At the risk of upsetting those vastly more trained in art than I, I have yet to see a displayed piece of conceptual art that has inspired me to do anything but an eye-roll. I am ready for a lot of pushback from the art world here, but I call BS.

Full disclosure: I am a “boomer”. I resisted being part of anything or any group over my entire life, but apparently, this was not up to me. I am still a boomer. I have been met with disdain for being a boomer by younger counterparts. I never had disdain for generations before me or after me. I am adding this in case perhaps it is something elusive to our generation? I will concede that boomers are the largest generation born in the USA and that we were born in times of tremendous growth and prosperity. Is that a reason? I don’t think it’s for me to say. I will say that the education I received as being part of this generation was very linear – with only a minor sprinkling of art. Abc’s and 1,2,3’s, etc. was the basis of our education. Likely because our classrooms were larger, and learning needed to be condensed. Perhaps for this reason our eye/understanding for art is generationally challenged?

I have spent a good amount of time in various museums of art, and I find tremendous enjoyment in spending time viewing various artists both new and old, and various types of art. I like learning about the artists, reading even more about my favorites, Caravaggio, Dali, DaVinci, as well as much lesser known artists as well. I take delight in being able to spot a favorite artist’s work just from being familiar with their previous works. It is a feeling more than anything else, that wells up within, that says thank you for making this, allowing it to rest upon my eyes.

One of my favorite books as a child was “The Emperor’s New Clothes” a tale in which swindlers, posing as tailors, impress upon a vain emperor that they will make him the most prized, revered clothing to ever have been seen. They are well aware of his vain and pompous personality and easily convince him to purchase the new clothes. While this tale highlights the emperor’s vanity, as well as his weakness allowing for self-deception, the swindlers push even farther saying that “only the very wise” would be able “see” the new clothes and subsequently convincing even all of the emperor’s subjects that only the stupid would be unable to see their intricate and remarkable work. In fear of being called stupid, everyone cheers as the emperor parades naked before them. The ending is a wonderful tale for the ages, and also a reminder that sometimes it is good to rely upon our own basic common senses.

When I see the duct-taped banana, I am reminded of this tale. Is that the concept? Or perhaps it is the concept of money (and perhaps that is elusive to Justin Sun) – after all, his cryptocurrency wealth is tantamount to the financial version of a duct-taped banana. Add to this that if his worth is indeed a billion times the value of the banana, then he has likely spent the average person’s equivalent of pennies on this art, whereas you or I would likely not accumulate the money he spent on said banana in a lifetime. Curious, isn’t it? Is that the concept? Waste? Justin wastes money while the banana wastes upon a wall?

Couldn’t there be an easier way to convey that concept? (Did I just miss the point?) If I tape a celery stalk upon a wall, is it art? Art forgery? What was the artist attempting to convey, if anything at all? Admittedly, I am neither an artist nor an art expert but I just cannot see the intent of the concept. I also won’t be cheering concept art anytime soon, Justin’s, or others – it seems rather a naked idea to me. If I am wrong, please educate me, I am unable to see the concept, but I am quite willing to learn.

Past, Present or Future?

Daily writing prompt
Do you spend more time thinking about the future or the past? Why?
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I would say I primarily think about the present. I mean, I really want to live in the present. To me, it’s a sign that the past has treated us well and we can look forward to enjoying a future that is somewhat similar. That is not to say I do not enjoy (or sometimes even lament) brief trips to the past and future.

I personally feel this way because at the present moment (no pun intended) I am happy with my present life. I have a lot of good life memories (no, not perfect by any means) just the kind of memories that I can see how they shaped my life into what it is today. Good, bad, happy, sad – a vortex of emotions, actions, feelings that all led to the person that I am today. My future is perhaps more limited than most, in as much as I am older, retired, but I still have many things I would love to do. This exercise in writing has a purpose. I feel that there may be a book inside me somewhere, and I am using this venue as a means to exercise my story-telling abilities so that I may determine at some point if I have the actual talent and the ability to produce something others would find worthy of their time.

The past has moments, both good and bad, none of it is changeable, which can be a good thing or a bad thing. What a waste of time to contemplate one’s past. Or is it? If we are presently unhappy can we rewire our present selves based upon past decisions made, both bad and good? Can we take our past lessons, and lay out a future that we would prefer to be living? I think the answer may be to consider the past as separate from ourselves, a partner to refer to when making our current choices. “Wow, I love that BMW convertible”…but then past self-partner responds, “and how many times did you actually ride with the top down? – also, weren’t you annoyed with the louder acoustics and then decided to sell it, losing almost 30% of the value?” Okay, so that may be extreme, but I think you get the idea? (True story by the way).

I mean, this could come into play a lot, and with both lesser and larger consequences. We have to make use of the past, but also govern carefully just how to tweak lessons from the past to serve us in our present.

Living in the past is the cautionary tale we’ve all been warned about. Most of us (myself included) are content with moving forward and hopefully making the best of our past lessons. And yet for some, life does not go into a positive direction, so there is a beckoning to stay in the past, a refusal to move forward. I don’t think this is a big issue on the short term (grief, in particular captures us in a situation where to move forward is to let go and sometimes we are just not ready). We can all recognize though that in the end, the only healthy way through is forward.

The present represents all of our possibilities. Waking up to the same alarm sound, showering, dressing robotically and then commuting to an average, or worse, dead end job all while making an average income day after day can wear thin rather quickly. If this is the case then this is where we can make good use of our future pondering. What is the risk of starting anew, and what would be gained from it? This is the time to consider living in our future. Being the architect that can lift our dreary life habits into a new routine, one that doesn’t just improve ourselves financially, but gives us a bounce in our step when making our way to work. I know this feeling says my past, this was fun! We must work on a new resume this weekend. Envisioning future with a plan – now that’s a step in the right direction.

In another instance, we do need to be concerned about the future we want to live in at retirement. As someone who is past that stage by a few years, I guarantee that no matter what you save, you will definitely wish you had saved more.

The present is a wonderful place to be when all is well. You have good and solid memories of your past to recollect and enjoy, and the future is just a garden of ideas that you can peruse at will. I read somewhere that people who live in the future are prone to anxiety. I do not fully agree. I think this applies only to those who routinely dwell in future contemplations with no intention of taking any action. Think about that – because it takes a lot of energy to put yourself in various future scenarios, but if you have no intention of doing any of it, what are you actually doing other than torturing yourself. Now, if anticipation of those life changes are positive, and they motivate you to take action – then they can provide a map into the actual future that we want to be in.

I think the key word to consider when discussing past, present and future, is “stuck”. Past, present and future all have a job to do, it’s up to us to keep it in motion to be our best version for our best life. “Live in the present” we hear time and again, well, it’s no fun if you are not happy either. Stuck in the past, present or future are equally sad. Why would anyone be stuck? That elusive answer only found me recently. Fear. It is my deeply held belief that fear causes us to make our absolute worst decisions. Think about it. Think about why you made your last terrible decision. I bet it had something to do about avoiding something out of fear. I realized that fear was the basis of every single lousy decision I had ever made. While some fear can be a good thing (don’t eat the moldy bread, don’t invest all of your money in one place) unknown fear is just the mind keeping us stagnant. Chance is a cousin to fear. “Take a chance”. Play that lottery card – you could possibly win! (not likely though). Waging chance against fear, balancing both with what your past has already shown you, and envision your future. Now that is living as life should be lived. A dash of danger, a solid portion of experience, topped with heaps of hope. A recipe for success!

In the end, I feel that living in the past or the future should only be for short stays, and living happily in our present lives is the place we should be always be aiming to be.

Should I put the bags down so that I can open the door?

Daily writing prompt
What colleges have you attended?
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Baggage. I had more baggage than I could handle at a young age. I truly loved learning from day 1 at school. Yet I never considered going to college because it was just financially impossible. Everyone has their own idea of what it means to be poor, so I feel that time is wasted on explaining the level of poverty I was at when there are always plenty of people who are far worse/far better yet still are “poor”. I worked very hard, straight from high school and earned a decent salary. Within the first 3 years, I had married, had a baby, bought a house, divorced and sold a house. I was the epitome of a woman with baggage.

Now at the ripe old age of 22 I headed to college on my employer’s dime, at night. No computers to do online classes, I had to physically be there, 3 nights a week, after work, and exhausted, run my household and get back to work the following morning. I lasted 18 months but managed to pick up some very useful lessons relative to my current position and made some great contacts. I chose to put “college” on hold. I had met my soon to be future husband at work and we began dating. He was very good at coaching me to improve myself and set goals and within the next three years, I continued to be promoted and we married. Before I was 30, I became an executive in the financial services firm I worked at since high school. We did not plan, but were happily surprised by the arrival of twins. With 4 children at home, (husband brought a child along from his first marriage) we both agreed life could be saner if I were to stay home. And it was, it really was.

After a one year adjustment on my part, I actually settled into a life of a stay at home parent: parent/ teacher associations, volunteering at school, chairing the newly named “publishing center” at school, librarian assistant. I embraced everything and it was all done on school time for the kids, and we’d all pile into the car and ride home to get ready for homework, dinner, bath time and bedtime. As I write it, it sounds rote, mundane, etc. It was anything but, it was a kaleidoscope of learning that was so intensely fun and interesting. And I would never have known anything of it had we not been surprised with twins. I dabbled in and out of classes over the years at our local community college, but came to realize I would not likely ever be the proud owner of a degree.

Yet I do not have regret and I think that is really important to note. I can and do see all the wonderful things earning a degree can offer. It also saves the sting of embarrassment (more so in my younger years) of explaining, no degree, but I “insert long explanation here and watch the subject’s eyes glaze over”. It may have made things a bit easier for me (especially when I finally returned to work) to have that degree on my resume.

I recall a friend of mine offered to read my resume when we had relocated and I began my search for employment. Her opinion was that without a degree I had very little chance of finding a good job. I disagreed and said that my previous job typically required a degree and yet I had been successful. Her reply was that at that time, I was younger, prettier and more slender (ouch!) so it would be different this time. Again, I had to rely on contacts and first impressions to get in, and then work really hard to prove myself once offered an opportunity. Not only did I get the job, but I eventually worked my way up to being a Regional Vice President of the entire state for our financial organization, sans an official degree. I managed many who had degrees, some with next level. Some impressive, some not so much.

While not usual, my performance offered me a route less followed. Could I have gone even higher with a degree? It’s quite possible. Would I have been smarter? I wouldn’t even know how to measure that, and I don’t feel that I need to – it was enough for me. “Enough” is one of my favorite words. Enough. It’s the sweet spot between what we truly need and what we want. When I land in this serenely serendipitous place, I like to try and not just recognize it, but embrace it. Not enough? That’s a “driver” – the indication that. you need to make more effort. More than enough? It is not just wasteful, it could possibly have negative effects – complacency for one. Trust me, you want just “enough”.

I think the key is this, if you sense that you want to go to college, then it is vitally important that you do so. Especially if you feel drawn to a specific field. Listening to that inner voice is everything in life. But if you are unsure, especially in today’s super expensive climate, then maybe think about working, or working and going to school part time. The working world is a college of sorts, and your fellow employees will be both college educated and self educated. Belly up to the table with a solid level of self worth, some idea of what interests you, and never, ever give in to being lazy – at least never at work.

I don’t think one ever stops learning. I have enjoyed learning from both degreed and non-degreed people, friends, employees, employers. I think the more important question is, how much attitude are you capable of bringing without a degree? Especially when you may be up against multiple degreed competition. If that degree helps you in the smallest way, then do it. On the other hand, obtaining a degree for the sake of checking off a block on your resume is, in my humble opinion, tantamount to the complacency I mentioned earlier. I back that up with the fact that at one point I managed about 120 managers, many degreed, some not.

Sometimes the lack of degree can drive a person to excel to prove their worth to themselves. Conversely, I saw some who felt they were owed something in return for having completed their degree. (These were quickly moved on.) I had enjoyed managing people of varying degrees of education, but noticed that the primary difference in all, was an attitude that screamed “I will find a way to do this” no matter the ask. In the last ten years of my employment, I decided to leave the public workplace and work for my husband’s company. While I enjoyed it, it is a lot more pressure to produce with your own money on the line. We retired “with enough” in 2009.

Now my life led me along the path I chose, but I do feel that had money, support been available, I would have loved an opportunity to study medicine. Most of its fields require a degree. I have a fascination with human anatomy, and always was able to watch those public broadcast documentaries and programs showing various surgeries, brain, cosmetic, etc. I never looked away. I have no aversion to blood, guts and gore. Whenever one of the kids would get injured (broken arm, gashes, etc.) I would feel a calm come over me, as if everything became two-dimensional and my brain would be swirling with, is this an ER visit or do I have this? At my age, I know this is a question I will never know the answer to, and yet even so, I feel as though I completed my work life as it should have been. It was enough.

Winter Solstice

What is the first thing that comes to mind when you hear those words?

For me, I envision an aurora borealis, (though in truth I have never seen one) lots of Christmas lights, snow, cold temperatures…filling the air with smoke on every exhale. I am stopping here because that is where I go dark. The cold, brrrr. The gray skies that make me feel sad. The winds that chap your face and hands. I live in Florida now, and while I miss many things about the northeast (I am a Philadelphia native) – and I need to add that I lived in the city because too many people from too far away call themselves Philadelphians. They are not. And they’ll tell you that it’s because people wouldn’t know where “insert lame suburb name here” is…and they would be right, so I say, own up to it, don’t steal someone else’s home town. Anyway, that’s how proud I am of my Philadelphia roots. But back to the cold. Now I do have health issues that make me feel the cold more than the average person. At times, it was truly unbearable. But even more than the cold is the gray dreariness that seems to arrive when the clocks change back to standard time. A fall day could start out so promising, sunny and not too cold. Then the day wears on, the sun becoming increasingly covered by clouds, the temperate declining likewise. The bitter cold would arrive as the last sliver of cold drab sky disappeared, with winds increasing simultaneously. That cold wind would create what I used to call “the face”. There was a mirrored wall at the entrance of our home, and I always saw it once the weather turned dreary. Forehead wrinkled, a deep scowl, ruddy cheeks and neck pulled into the scarf as a turtle does when it senses danger. Ahhh, the face is back I would think to myself, and there it would remain until early May. The extreme heat here is sometimes uncomfortable but never what I would call unbearable and yet while that might be a slight variation, it is one that has led me south, sans “the face”.

I do miss the beautiful snowy mornings. The kind where the snow glistens like diamonds and a quiet settles all around as the snow has cushioned everything, everywhere. If it has snowed more than 6 inches, there will be no school buses and it will be hours before the kids start building snow forts and having snowball fights. And the Christmas lights never look prettier than when they are surrounded by puffy billows of snow. That beauty, in my Florida brain opinion however, is short lived, with gray mush, red chapped hands, slippery icy sidewalks and the dreaded “black ice’ will follow in its stead. In fact, it was during such times that I would call our then travel agent to discuss winter get aways (mostly cruises, which were very reasonable in the 80’s, 90’s). The time getting ready for (about 2 weeks) then actually going (1 week) and for maybe a week or so after, shortened the painful lifespan of winter by nearly a month. I can recall on the plane when leaving, as we flew over the city, it was like the Wizard of Oz prelude where everything was in black and white, then landing in OZ just over two hours later, with everything sunny, bright and colorful – azure skies, sparkling waters, tropical flowers in all their colorful glory – It was only a matter of time (12 years to be exact) when we would say – enough, it’s time to live warmly, colorfully and I have never regretted it. People will often say to me, “oh we could never give up our four seasons” (same people who would claim to be from Philly, but were in fact from Crap County).

Conversely, palm trees are actually quite annoying during the holidays. A constant reminder that there will be no white Christmas, and the best we can hope for is lower humidity while cooking Christmas dinner. The people that put lights on palm trees are to be avoided as anyone who does that has very little brain power, and if you get to close to them they might try to suck yours out of you. As soon as New Year’s Day arrives however, it’s all good again, and I am ready to jump right back into the spring/fall weather of Florida that I love so much. This also leads me to respond to the “four seasons” people. Florida also has 4, we have a 3 month fall, November, December and January, a 3 month spring, February, March and April, a 3 month summer, May, June and July plus 3 month hell-summer-with – potential-hurricanes, which is August, September and October. Looking it at it month/month, our hell summer in basically in place of your winter and that is a trade I can live with.

Years ago, I can remember freezing my arse off taking down holiday decorations on January 1st in full “rip the band aid” off style. Winter doldrums are here, so let’s just get on with it as I sit there whimpering all the while…how many days til Spring? 79 days to fake spring, 80 on leap year (it’s still really cold in March anyway).And so then I would begin my very slow countdown fully knowing that calendar Spring arrives March 21, but rarely was it ever warm enough to be called actual spring before Mother’s Day – nearly 2 months later! Now, here on the other hand, the warm weather (aka unbearable) begins no later than May 1 and lasts through to Halloween. So we get 6 months of unbearable weather followed by an equal number of tropical delightful weather. Did I mention the sun? Because truly, it’s actually NEVER sunny in Philadelphia and ALWAYS sunny in Florida! Yes, year round sun – even the “rainy days” last only a few hours. So while Philly lives in my heart, my head knows that I need to be in Florida. There have been times when I have waxed wistfully for that holiday respite of wintry weather, and that is usually remedied by a short trip north for a memory check. As I review my writing, it is more of a “I love Florida’ than a “winter solstice” piece – to that I say po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe!

It is why I self describe as a “Philadelphia native, a Florida resident, but I’d always rather be in Rome”. Rome is quite another, much longer, more colorful story.

New Year, New Resolutions to Break!

It’s not even a new year if you don’t participate in the resolution event. Who is going for work success? A relationship? Well, I bet there’s at least an 85% choice in weight loss resolutions. This might be the year to finally meet that resolution though if Ozempic, Weygovy, etal have anything to say about it. Much like the people partying on all of the big Pharma commercials, the fast talking background noise tells you all of the potential side effects their drugs have, but those people…those fun, happy, slim people? They can’t all be wrong…or can they? Total honesty here, I have always been an extreme hypochondriac so I ALWAYS listen to the background guy, and no, weight loss meds are not on my dance card for 2026.

I am truly in need of support on the weight loss side of my life. But my age has me like – hey, I’ve been starving my whole life, this could be my “last night on the Titanic” pass that dessert!

Cute right? But actually food has not just been a bad partner for my weight, but now with the addition of an auto immune disorder, food can make my life fill with pain. Too much bread? Ankle pain, maybe extending to my wrists. Piece of candy? That can cause gastrointestinal upset for hours. Did you know that there is dairy in just about everything? Now read on to see if there is rennet, carrageenan, or a host of other things that can wreak havoc on those with autoimmune disorders.

I miss pizza (both bread and dairy); cappuccinos (sorry, plant milks just don’t cut it) and don’t even get me started on birthday cake – even if it didn’t have gluten and dairy, it always has carrageenan.

So, what do we have left? Basically meat and veg. Not just any veg though – cruciferous is a no; and nightshades are forbidden (what the heck is a nightshade anyway?) When did eating become so complicated. Hence the reason 85% of weight loss resolutions fail.

I am retired so you’ll need to check elsewhere on work related resolutions.

And I am on year 43 of my marriage, and while not perfect, it is better than most so I have no desire to change my life in a relationship revolution kind of way.

I do however, want to be kinder to myself. I want to wake up and acknowledge that I am doing well for a nearly 70 something. I have a family that I am very proud of that includes two granddaughters. I have good friends – I do not see them often but that is the beauty of really good friends, when you see each other it’s like time warps. You’re 30 something again, reliving and retelling all the glimmers of our youth.

I don’t drink anymore. Not for any reason other than it is no longer enjoyable. I used to thrill at the idea of a new brand of gin for my martini (which is always dirty with 2 stuffed bleu cheese olives). Or making sure I had all the ingredients for a delicious Negroni, or maybe just sipping on one of my favorite wines (Ledson, Cakebread or Nickel & Nickel to name a few of my faves). It all sounds good, then one taste and meh…hand me a sparkling water.

When I say I want to be kinder to myself, I want to stop the “fix me” resolutions. Truly, we can all strive to be better – in every way, every moment. I want to feel that I great “as is” – and maybe that is the perfect word (words?) for it. As is, means many things, you can get great bargains if you know how to spot a worthy as-is home, or car or just about anything else. My as-is, that I am energetic, mostly content, funny and intelligent (even if I do say so myself). I have an odd sense of humor, but it seems mostly appreciated unless I go off the sci-fi deep end (it happens). I have a sincere and deep interest in people. I love hearing their stories, their insights and triple points if they are high IQ and I am in no way trying to be a snob here, I just love learning so if I am surrounded by smart people I can expect to get smarter by default.

Boring is the typical resolution talk…lose weight, become successful, blah blah blah. How about we begin by resolving to remind ourselves what is actually great about our lives? Me? I am a family person, and I have a great family. I like to travel and we travel once or twice each year. We have “enough” which is something we all tend to forget about sometimes. What is “enough”? It’s truly the “sweet spot” of being. Only I can determine what that is in my life. I have quite a bit less than some of my friends, yet quite a bit more than others. My bills are paid, my belly is full, and as mentioned above we travel once or twice a year. I was never a fashion plate or anywhere near a diva, I get my hair cut every other month and have grown out my gray so no more coloring expenses. If I had more than “enough” I would find a way to spend it so I think having “enough” is plenty.

I want to be kinder to others in 2026. I will save this for another post, but the way I grew up has a lot to do with the fact that I have a kind of external bravado that says without words, “keep back at least 10 feet” also, if you are spouting off something that I know to be wrong I will tell you (not always a bad thing, but context plays a lot here) and while I cannot be certain I probably say it with a face that only a mother could love.

Above all, I want to be grateful for all that I have (and it is plenty); and I want to acknowledge the part that God has played in those reasons for gratitude. God has sat by me, walked with me and saw my tears flow without end. He has listened to me rant, yell, beg, and wish for things that I knew to be wrong for me, so He guided me gently to understand the error of my ways. My longest partner, always there waiting. Always saving me. I have been aware of Him since I was a very young child. A difficult childhood can sometimes be a blessing. This peace that I routinely go to is truly a gift, so I must be truly grateful.

So there’s my trifecta of a resolution, Kinder to myself, kinder to others and to grow in faith and gratitude for all that I have received.

Happy New. Year!

Come si dici?

I have been trying to learn the Italian language for years. Private lessons gave me a basic understanding. Rosetta Stone: I bought it. Pimsleur: I borrowed it. All the books…Verb drills, Grammar Drills, Sentence Builders – check, check and check. Any recommendation to assist was heeded. “Buy children’s books” the idea being learn the language like a child. I have 3 children’s books, plus a coloring book that names every object. “Music will help you with your pronunciation” I own 3 albums by the Italian singer Mina, a collection of Andrea Boccelli, and two albums by contemporary artist Marco Mengoni. Apps you say? Italian basics, Italian essentials, Google Translate and Duolingo. All neatly organized in a folder on my iPhone and iPad. Add to that various social media learning pages and you would think I could be hired to translate for Caesar himself. Sadly, no – I muster up a few words to try and get directions, over-rolling my R’s so that it sounds more like T, and I am looking into that eyebrow furrowing, questioning stare. I give up and ask “parli inglese?” (I have seriously nailed that phrase). More often that not, a quick shake of the head, and I stand there wondering – why is this language, this beautiful sing-song language of the country I dream about and long to live in, eluding me??? What piece of the puzzle have I overlooked? I was the over achiever in school – the one who never had to study. I absorbed everything in class, once learned, it was locked in the vault. Mine forever. Not so with the Italian language.

I am also quite the hard headed person, so here it is: I am ready for any suggestions – from the ridiculous to the sublime. I am headed back to the mother country in December for the tenth time now. I still have dreams of having conversations with shop owners in Italian,  maybe this time it comes true!