As most of you know, there’s a saying that says, “Rules are made to be broken.”

But which ones?

Parking in a Handicapped parking space because you have to run into the store for a minute? Speeding? Driving after a few cocktails when you probably shouldn’t have? Didn’t tell the cashier she gave you too much change? Bring a pen home from the office? Printed out personal documents at work? Almost everybody does some of these things but the bottom line is, are these breaking the rules and / or stealing?

Years ago I was a checker at a grocery store. Occasionally there were meetings and in one of the meetings it was mentioned that if we see someone eat so much as a grape from the produce department before paying for the grapes, it was stealing and should be reported. Even prior to that I have never eaten anything while shopping until after I was checked out and in my car. But I see people do it all the time.

From little on I had the fear of God instilled in me. My parents sent my sister and I to a parochial grade school. Church every morning at 8am. Everything we learned was religious-based.

There are Ten Commandments and probably almost everyone has broken at least one. But to this day, as old as I am, I still try to follow the rules, dot every ‘i’ and cross every ‘t’.

What prompted this subject is something that happened yesterday. It’s not the first time this has happened but since it was fresh in my mind, I wanted to talk about it.

My husband smokes. Never in our house or anybody else’s. He smokes in his car but after all, it’s his car.

We’re on vacation and have a rental car. There are two stickers in the car that say No Smoking. And until yesterday he hasn’t.

Yesterday morning we left our vacation rental to drive three hours to my son’s house to visit for a couple of days. Three times he smoked and I reminded him that it specifically says ‘No Smoking’. He said he didn’t care. I mentioned that when he returns the car, they may smell the smoke in there and charge him extra for that. He didn’t care.

Him not caring about a potential extra charge also surprises me because he is very conservative with his money.

For those of you who are concerned about my health in the car while he’s smoking, I used to smoke, grew up in a household where both parents smoked, and I crack my window to get fresher air.

There have been times in the past where we were driving somewhere and I had a headache or wasn’t feeling well and asked him not to smoke…and he wouldn’t.

I think most of the things I’ve mentioned are just so common that we don’t think about it. And besides, everybody does it, right?

I’m just wondering where we draw the line, what do we report to management, or is it ok because everybody does it?

Take a moment and think about something you may be doing that would be considered stealing or breaking the rules.

I’m old school. Raised to be a housewife and nothing more. My folks NEVER mentioned the word college.

My mom taught us to cook, clean, wash, iron, bake, hang laundry, sew, remove stains, etc. That was my entire childhood.

Since that’s all my sister and I know, that’s who we’ve become. We did have jobs outside of the house…me an Office Manager for almost thirty years and my sister a waitress for over forty years.

Outside of those jobs, our life was our homes, husbands, and children.

We cooked and baked from scratch, always looked for new products to clean with, new ways to remove stains…you get the idea.

When we were kids we hated living like this because in our small neighborhood all the other kids were playing outside while we were held hostage as indentured servants by our mom.

Today, both of us almost seventy years old, are glad we have the skills we do because we don’t know many others who can do what we do.

Who do friends and family call when they need a seam repaired, a button sewn on, a recipe, or a helpful household hint? Yours truly.

Many years ago I was driving somewhere with one of my sons, who by the way possess the same skill set as me, and he saw a pretty girl walking down the street. He made a comment about how beautiful she was and I replied with my usual reply, “But can she cook and clean?”

His reply was that it didn’t matter as long as she continued to look that good for the rest of her life. He said that if he married her and she continued to look that good, he would work full time, do all the shopping, cooking, cleaning, washing, ironing, etc.

In reality, how long do you think that would last I asked. He was young (late teens) with no concept of what it would be like to actually live like that.

My sister and I raised our sons to be self-sufficient. We both have friends with adult children, married and single, who don’t know how to boil water. They do, however, know how to call for carry-out, drop clothes at the dry cleaners, and to ‘call the guy’ for any repairs that need to be done around the house.

I’m blessed that both of my sons are successful. The oldest, although completely capable of doing anything, prefers to hire out for everything. He’s got a gardener, pool boy, housekeeper, nanny, etc. His children do not and will never possess the skill set he was raised with. His choice.

My youngest son, prefers to do everything himself. He will clip coupons, cut his own lawn, shop for bargains at the grocery store…but has not passed any of those traits and skills onto his sixteen year old daughter.

The one thing I know with one hundred percent certainty is that if both of my sons lost everything, they would know how to survive.

Those beauties they see walking down the street will not survive.

I got up every morning and the only thing I thought about was going to bed at night. Eight o’clock couldn’t come fast enough.

It happened about twenty five years ago when I was in a very dark place in my life.

Right now it’s happening again. I’m not in a dark place (mentally) but in a dark place (physically).

Most people would think I’m crazy for feeling this way considering where I am. I am in a warm climate for a month…away from the cold Midwest winter.

My husband wanted to come here. Initially I was onboard and for the first time in my life, I was not involved in the planning of a trip.

He found a VRBO rental. We’ve used VRBO many times in the last twenty years as we’ve traveled to various places. I’ve always done all the planning because when I travel, I want to be as comfortable where I’m going as I am when I’m home.

When my husband found the rental that we are staying at, I looked at the pictures and thought it looked nice. The listing had everything we always look for…a pool, multiple bedrooms and bathrooms, washer/dryer, etc. We want the extra room for family when they visit.

Several months before our travel date, I did a little online searching of the area to see what there was to do while we were here.

The first thing that popped up online about this community was that since a hurricane went through several years ago, this community has not rebounded as quickly as others. The all-knowing Internet said that poor local government, poor water quality, and a few other things are the reason there are over 25,000 homes for sale in this county. Whoa, that’s a lot of for sale signs.

The more I read, the less I wanted to come here. I put my ducks in a row before I approached my husband with my concerns. He didn’t seem concerned. As long as we had a roof over our head, a car, access to groceries, restaurants, and attractions, everything would fall into place.

His reassurance didn’t ease my concerns. So much so that I didn’t start packing for this trip until about two hours before we needed to leave for the airport. Maybe I was setting myself up mentally for failure.

Travel day went smoothly. Rental car pick up went smoothly. I was starting to feel better.

Until we arrived at the rental. Then I wasn’t feeling better.

The exterior of the house we rented looked NOTHING like the exterior in the picture on the VRBO site.

This was the first time this has happened to us in twenty years of renting like this.

It should be noted that all the other times we rented through VRBO, we dealt with the owners directly. They were at the rental when we arrived. They showed us around the house, had binders with phone numbers, restaurants, attractions, churches, etc.

This time we were dealing with a management company and a lock box code to get into the house when we arrived.

The concrete driveway and sidewalk were almost black and in desperate need of power washing. The white front door was filthy. The welcome mat was so filthy, the word ‘welcome’ was illegible. The doorbell was hanging off of the wall. The landscaping was nothing but mud. Overgrown bushes, lawn ornaments with paint peeling, and very dirty windows.

If this is how the exterior looks, what awaits me on the other side of the door?

The interior is sparsely decorated, dirt along the baseboards and in the corners, and patio curtains that are stained.

The bedspreads and bedding are old and dingy. To say the least, I am not happy. My husband thinks everything looks fine.

It should also be noted that the only thing in the kitchen besides very old peeling Teflon pots/pans and dishes, is salt and pepper. Any home we’ve ever rented has a welcome basket of fruit, cookies, foil, paper towels, toilet paper, etc. This place was stripped bare.

I contacted the management company and spoke to a woman, Christine, who appeared to be responsive and understanding. She was going to send over new curtains the next day if I wouldn’t mind hanging them. That was eight days ago and still no curtains. A power washing company showed up two days later to clean the driveway and sidewalk. Five days later two housekeepers showed up to clean all the baseboards and corners. The washer that leaks and the ice maker that doesn’t make ice still aren’t fixed.

Since we are here for a month, I assumed someone would come once a week to clean since there are no cleaning products here. Any rental we’ve ever stayed at for more than a week included weekly cleaning services.

I called Christine and she said we are responsible for cleaning the house each week while we are here. She said if I text her a list of cleaning products I need, she’ll have someone deliver them. That was two days ago and still no cleaning products. We are being charged over $800 for cleaning services so it must be for a final cleaning after we leave.

Now let’s talk about the heated pool that was advertised in big bold letters in the VRBO listing for this house. I called the first day about the pool being cold and was told it would require an additional $1,000 for the month to have the pool heater turned on. My husband never saw that in the listing and when I questioned it, it was pointed out to me that it’s at the bottom of the listing, in a paragraph with other miscellaneous items, in a very small font.

I want to go home. He doesn’t. I’m counting the days until we go home instead of counting the minutes we get to stay.

I’ve been in this dark place for over a week now and can’t seem to pull myself out of it. My sister and her husband arrive tonight for a week. Maybe that will help.

I follow Mel Robbins and have been using her words as inspiration for myself, as well as saying the Serenity Prayer ten times a day. Maybe this is deeper than a dirty rental house.

Thanks for listening…

The picture is what we were supposed to get…and didn’t.

This past week Rob Reiner and his wife were found murdered in their home.

The first report I heard was that two people were found murdered in Rob Reiners house. Hmmm. Odd. Was he out of town and someone broke in? That was my first thought.

A couple of hours go by and we find out it’s Rob and his wife. Possible suspect is their son, Nick.

A few hours later it’s confirmed it was Rob and his wife, Nick is in custody, charged with murder, and is being held with a $4m bail.

I felt bad about all of this because the few times I’ve seen a movie he directed or saw an interview with him, he seemed like a nice down-to-earth guy.

Like many others, I read the updates on Facebook. I don’t watch the news.

I recently celebrated my five year anniversary of not watching any news. I don’t read the newspaper. I don’t read magazines. I listen to Sirius in my car where there are no news interruptions.

Have I buried my head in the sand? Yes. And proudly.

I used to be a news junkie. Had to know everything going on, everyday, everywhere. COVID changed that.

I have a small TV in my bathroom. In January of 2020 when COVID was first becoming a ‘thing’, I watched the news in the bathroom every morning while getting ready for work. EVERY SINGLE MORNING, first thing at the half-hour, our local news started each of their half-hour morning news show announcing that yes, COVID was a pandemic and yes, the news anchors were practicing safe distancing by staying six feet apart.

EVERY SINGLE MORNING I listened to that from January until November…and then I had enough. I turned off the news permanently. Andy Griffith reruns made me happier.

Anyway, back to Rob Reiner.

I am retired but have a part time job two mornings a week at an auto repair shop about ten minutes from my house.

Yesterday morning I went to work and during the course of the morning I mentioned to one of my male co-workers how bad I felt about Rob and his wife.

He replied, “I have a different point of view on this.” I asked what that was.

He said it was fine with him that Rob was murdered because he didn’t agree with his politics.

I had to pick my jaw up off of the floor.

Are you serious? It’s ok for someone to be murdered if they don’t agree with your political point of view????

Again, because I don’t watch the news or much TV at all, I had no idea what Rob’s political affiliation was. By end of day yesterday, I knew.

With everything going on in the world and in this country, how can anyone justify a murder by a political affiliation.

Just when I thought I’d heard it all…I hadn’t.

Yesterday I was at a children’s birthday party while visiting my son and his family in Miami. Friends of theirs have twins, a boy and a girl, who turned seven.

The party was from 11am to 2pm at the children’s house.

From past experiences with other children’s birthday parties, I knew what to expect. Each party is a dog-and-pony show to try and outdo the last party.

Being from the Midwest and having my last birthday party as a child about sixty years ago, I can tell you there is an enormous difference between my birthday parties and the ones my grandchildren go to.

The Miami parties don’t serve hotdogs, Koolaid, a home-made cake, or play pin the tail on the donkey!

The first time I attended a child’s birthday party in Miami was for my grandson’s first birthday. They invited about one hundred adults and children, the food was catered, the largest bounce house (until yesterday) that I have ever seen, a large tent with tables, chairs, and linens, hired entertainers to keep the children entertained, a face painter, and a line of coolers with every imaginable soft drink, beer, wine, and water. And let’s not even talk about the decorations! When I heard that the helium tank to fill hundreds of balloons was $750, I about had a stroke. All in all, the total price tag was about $7,500. FOR A KIDS BIRTHDAY PARTY.

After my blood pressure returned to normal, I justified this dog-and-pony show with ‘it’s his first birthday and they got carried away’.

Nope. They repeated this performance every year, and when my granddaughter came along, they did it twice a year! Thank God my son and his wife are successful. But all of their friends do the same thing for their kids.

Ok…back to the Stepford Wives.

One of the things I noticed about all the mom’s of my grandchildren’s friends is that they all look alike. The only difference is hair color.

They are all a Size Zero, toned bodies, tan, long hair parted in the middle, HUGE engagement / wedding rings, designer aviator-style glasses, and clothes you won’t find at Penney’s.

The husband’s aren’t far behind. Nicely pressed shorts, designer polo shirts, leather loafers, and designer glasses.

Now that my grandson and granddaughter are seven and five, I’ve seen this many times. It never changes.

Oh, and let me tell you about the birthday presents. The majority of the gifts are ordered and sent to the residence. God forbid you show up carrying a wrapped present when it can be sent in an Amazon box!

And if you’re lucky enough to be the brother (s) / sister (s) of the guest of honor, you may also receive a gift because today parents don’t want children to be disappointed or left out.

When I heard that, I almost stroked. Are you supposed to wait to be an adult before you experience your first disappointment and then try to navigate thru that with no prior experience?

As a point of reference, there are anywhere from one to three of these dog-and-pony shows almost every weekend. You simply pick and choose which ones you want to attend.

When I first experienced all of this I wanted to know how you manage to go to all these parties AND get your house cleaned, laundry done, and get groceries.

It’s easy…they all have housekeepers and Instacart.

There you have it!

I’ve lived in my house about twenty five years. The house to the west of mine has had three different families live there during that time.

Shortly after I moved in, a middle aged couple moved into the house. It was evident from the get-go who was in charge of that household. He was. His name was John. From the neighborhood grapevine I found out he was retired career military. His favorite past time was to put on his bib overalls, tuck both hands inside the ‘bib’ portion of said overalls, and walk the neighborhood telling every homeowner and contractor what they were doing wrong with their house and / or yard.

He did not endear himself to anyone to say the least.

At the time my son owned a landscape company. As a gift to me he wanted to update my backyard with landscaping and new plantings. It didn’t take John long to walk across that lot line to point out the errors my son was making.

Without skipping a beat, my son told John to turn around and look at his own yard which hasn’t been mowed in over a month. John returned home.

John’s wife was a very mousy woman who didn’t talk much. I never approached her for conversation while I was outside at the same time she was because John was always close on her heels. Talking to her would mean engaging in conversation with him and he knew EVERYTHING.

They stayed over ten years and then sold to a young couple. The new folks immediately put new siding on the house, did some landscaping, but like John, they rarely mowed their lawn.

They were friendly if we were all outside doing yard work but weren’t overly excited to engage. Found out they were both in the medical field and this home was kind of a ‘layover’ as they tried to get their dream jobs in another city / state.

About a year after they landed here I noticed she was pregnant. As a friendly gesture I crocheted a baby afghan for them and gave them my phone number in the event they needed anything with winter approaching.

Spring came and so did a baby boy. Their families from out of state came to see the new grandson so I baked some muffins and took them over.

One day she brought the baby over and a hanging plant to say thank you for everything and to tell me they were moving to Ohio. They were here about three years. The house was sold to a woman who bought it as a place for her son to live while he was in medical school.

I thought it was odd that she was buying this house for her son considering there are four bedrooms and two bathrooms.

Turns out that there are at least four medical students living there. They are quiet. I can see them studying at the dining room table almost daily. They had a party once and came over to let us know, in advance of the party, that if the music gets too loud, we should let them know.

Found out what they didn’t know was that they needed to mow the lawn, clean the leaves out of their gutters, and that they are responsible for shoveling their sidewalks when it snows.

They were surprised to hear all of this. I find it odd that these gentleman, who are going to be doctors and will be in charge of making medical decisions that could mean life or death, have no idea how to maintain a lawn or shovel snow.

It scares me to think that someone’s life is going to be in their hands when they have no common sense.

In the meantime they’ve lived in the house next door for over two years and their lawn, with their invasive weeds, are spreading into my well-maintained yard.

I’m ready to try a new family who knows how to take care of a home and yard.

Should there be an annual driver’s road test for elderly people? If so, starting at what age?

I work two mornings a week for an auto repair shop near my home doing bookkeeping. It’s a family-owned business that has been around since 1975.

Last Thursday morning one of the guys said, “Come take a look at this.” I looked out of the window and there’s an elderly gentleman getting out of the drivers side of the car.

It took him several minutes just to get his feet on the ground, get his balance, and while hanging onto the car, he opened the drivers side rear door.

At that point he pulled out a walker from the back seat, closed both car doors, and slowly made his way into the office door. All of this took about eight minutes.

He was bringing his car in for an oil change and something else. The service manager asked him if he needed a loaner car and he replied that his girlfriend was picking him up as soon as he called her.

After all the information was given, he pulled out a cellphone and called his girlfriend. She would be there in about fifteen minutes.

In the meantime he was talking to the service manager and mentioned that his birthday was coming up and he will be ninety-seven years old.

It’s a good thing my back was to them when he said that because my jaw hit the floor. In my opinion, with his age, coordination, and reaction time, there’s no way in hell this guy should be driving.

Ahhhh…but it gets better.

He mentioned that his girlfriend is also in her nineties. This I gotta see.

She pulls up, he shuffles out the door, puts his walker in the rear seat, and gets in the front passenger seat.

Just for reference, our parking lot is long and narrow. You can pull in the lot but in order to get back to the street you have to do a Y-Turn to turn around.

We didn’t think anything about this when they left and we all got back to work. Ten minutes later one of the mechanics came in and told us to look out of the window.

The girlfriend is doing a “Y-Turn” but moving forward and backing up in six-inch increments.

One of the mechanics, per the elderly couples request through the car window, guided her until she could pull straight out of the lot.

As I’m writing this my blood is boiling just as it did last Thursday when I witnessed this in person. These two elderly drivers are a car accident waiting to happen.

Fast forward to Friday night. On the local news is a story about a car accident. Two cars involved. Head-on collision. Two people in one car died at the scene. The other driver was taken to the hospital with non life-threatening injuries.

The two people who died were a husband and wife who turned into oncoming traffic and hit the other car head on. This accident happened about 7pm and it was dark outside thanks to daylight savings time.

The husband and wife were about ninety years old, well-known and respected in the community.

Driving at night is difficult enough for a lot of people. Then you factor in age, reaction time, distractions, glaring headlights, and a host of other factors.

So, should elderly people be required to take a road test each year after the age of seventy-five? Eighty?

None of us want to give up our license and driving privileges. Me included. I struggled with my mom to give up driving at ninety. Why? Because she couldn’t walk without a walker, refused to go over thirty miles per hour no matter what the posted speed limit was, and she was diagnosed as profoundly deaf. If there were emergency vehicles with sirens or someone beeping their horn, she couldn’t hear them.

Is it the responsibility of the driving public to turn in elderly drivers that appear to be a danger to themselves and others? We call in drunk drivers, impaired drivers, reckless drivers…why not elderly drivers?

My twenty-five year old granddaughter FaceTimed me last night. I was thrilled to see she was calling. That is until I accepted the call.

She was crying. This can’t be good.

The first words out of her mouth were, “I got fired.”

I’m thinking to myself, how do you get fired from a job that you just started a week ago?

Bella is my oldest grandchild, is married, and lives in a very small town a couple of hours away. She is very articulate, artistic, tenacious, and private.

Her previous job was in a city about a half-hour from her home and recent management changes encouraged her to look for another job.

This new position was about two minutes from her home. It was in the medical field, she went through several phases of interviews, and was thrilled when they offered her the job.

The salary was the same, PTO was non-existent, she’d have to work for a year to get any type of vacation days, no benefits but her husband has her covered, and she has Fridays off.

I left her alone last week, meaning I didn’t call her to see how things were going, but I did send a text message wishing her luck and telling her to contact me when she can.

One of her concerns was learning medical coding but she found a book online that would help her. It was $200.

Now, if you only knew how frugal Bella is, she would never buy that book.

So instead she was writing down the codes every day at work and in the evenings she was making ‘flash cards’ to take to work to learn the medical codes.

She also read their company handbook cover to cover so there would be no surprises. Example: the company handbook stated that there can be no visible tattoos and because she has some, she went to buy new clothes to make sure they were always covered.

During our conversation last night she was telling me through tears that she liked the job, thought she was doing a great job, everybody seemed friendly, etc. Then out of the blue on Monday night she receives an email from her boss telling her they are going in another direction and are letting her go.

Her husband came home from his second-shift job and found her crying. She cried herself to sleep and the next morning her husband went to the clinic to retrieve a couple of items Bella left at work and proceeded to tell her boss that he needs to provide her with a better reason than ‘you’re going in another direction’.

So yesterday afternoon she received another email stating that they are a family type office and that she didn’t fit in. I don’t know the exact wording but he also said that she appeared to not be interested in sharing things about herself when the other gals asked her.

Bella explained to me that they asked her lots of questions and at one point one of the questions was if she was planning on having children.

Personally I think that’s gray area but it didn’t come from management, it was girl talk…the other girls in the office chatting and trying to find out about their new co-worker.

Her reply was that it was a personal question and she keeps her personal life private. Apparently they didn’t like that answer, reported back to her boss that she ‘wasn’t sharing’, and he mentioned that in his ‘cowards-way-out’ email explaining why they were letting her go.

I understand co-workers wanting to find out about the ‘new kid on the block’, but Bella said she felt that they were firing too many questions at her and she wanted to keep her nose to the grindstone and learn this new job. That’s what I love about my over-achieving granddaughter!

Trying to stay neutral while listening to her story through lots of tears, I mentioned that she may have come across a little snobby when she told them that she preferred to keep her personal life private. She said it was said in a very professional manner. I knew no matter what I said after this, she was going to stick to her guns and not admit that just maybe she had a little part in how she was being perceived by her co-workers.

So her first day of unemployment was spent crying, sleeping on and off, searching online for another job, getting two appointments for interviews in totally unrelated fields than she’s ever worked, and with my encouragement to put this behind her and move forward. I’d be willing to bet my 401k that she stayed up all night, cried, she scoured the internet for another job.

I love that girl to death and wish I could help her in some way, but she has to work this out for herself.

I’m sure we all have a least favorite word or two, and it changes for all of us each time we hear a word that’s over-used.

For a while the word ‘whatever’ was painfully over-used and occasionally I still hear myself saying it. To be honest, it is a convenient word.

“What do you want for dinner?” Whatever!

“What movie do you want to watch?” Whatever!

Almost everyone under thirty (and I’m being generous with that number) inserts the word like into every single sentence. Sometimes as many as ten times in a sentence if they forget to take a breath.

“I’d like to like go to the mall.”

“Where are you like going and can I like go along?”

How in the world did that ever start and is there anything we can do about it? If you’re one of those who use that word all too frequently, I am sure you’re unaware of it because it has simply become part of your vocabulary.

By now I’m sure the suspense is killing you about my new least favorite word.

Drumroll please. The new least favorite word of the day appears to be cute.

Cute can describe many things. Things like a puppy. Or a kitten. Or a baby. Or a dress. Even guys and gals are cute.

What cute doesn’t apply to is dishes, pots, pans, bakeware, new siding on a house, a car, and the list is endless.

All of a sudden that word is popping up all over the place to describe things that simply aren’t, or cannot be, cute!

My niece recently got married so of course there was a wedding shower. Since my favorite room in the house is the kitchen, and I do lots of baking and cooking, my gift to her was a variety of bakeware, pizza pans, pie plates, cookie sheets, etc.

Each gift, including mine, she opened and gushed, “Isn’t that cute?”

From where I’m sitting, there’s nothing cute about a bread pan or a pie plate or a cookie sheet.

Last week I sent my daughter-in-law a Christmas cookie cookbook. She has small children and I’m sure she will want to bake Christmas cookies at some point with them.

I got a text from her thanking me for the cookbook…saying it was cute. This particular cookbook doesn’t have a single cute cookie in it…you know like cut-out cookies that are decorated really cute?

My sixteen year-old granddaughter is covering all bases. She’s using cute and like in almost all of her sentences.

Oh how lucky am I to have a conversation with her…

With the holidays right around the corner, the annual tradition of sending Christmas cards to friends and family, near and far, just might include a Christmas letter.

Some folks include a letter with their Christmas cards. It’s sort of a recap of the year…highs and lows, births, deaths, marriages, etc.

About thirty years ago a friend of mine shared a Christmas letter with me that she received in one of her Christmas cards.

The letter was broken down by months, starting with January, and each for month there was a sentence or two about something that occurred within the family who sent the card.

I had to read it twice and was dumbfounded how many bad things happened to this family in one year.

Thinking it must be a joke, I asked my friend who received this letter if she knows for a fact that all of these things happened. She assured me they all happened and followed that up with ‘if it weren’t for bad luck they’d have no luck at all’.

Here’s just a few things they shared with family and friends:

~Someone had two surgeries for glaucoma and both were unsuccessful

~This same individual had another surgery due to complications from the first two glaucoma surgeries which then caused an eye to collapse and left him totally blind.

~There was a wedding in the family and apparently it was for a more mature couple. The groom had already had five open heart surgeries, forty catheterizations, and numerous angioplasties. The pastor officiating the ceremony made a comment that they were lucky it was a wedding and not a funeral.

~Another relative had heart surgery and had complications with her legs.

~Another relative was stabbed over two hundred times by her housekeeper of twenty years. Fingers and nose almost cut off, heart nicked, lung and liver punctured, and numerous other injuries. The housekeeper was found in another city three weeks later.

~The woman who was stabbed, her husband had a benign tumor the size of a grapefruit removed from his sinuses.

~And last but not least, another relative is receiving chemo for pancreatic cancer.

The letter is closed out by the writers thanking God for all their blessings.

Now, that my friends, is called faith and optimism!

Personally I would not have sent a letter like that in a Christmas card but obviously these folks felt comfortable sharing all of that. I respect that.

It’s a little early but Merry Christmas!

A few minutes ago I saw a picture on Facebook of a vanity license plate that read HATEPPL.

I don’t hate people…I just prefer to not engage with people. It’s not all their fault. A lot has to do with me and my low tolerance of people.

Being that we live in a country that has steadily gone down hill since Covid five years ago, it’s easy to understand the people we come in contact with everyday and everywhere.

I purposely use the self-checkout at the grocery store whether I have one item or forty items. Self-checkouts weren’t created so we wouldn’t have to interact with others but that is why I choose to use it.

That hasn’t always worked in my favor. First of all, my regular grocery store that I’ve been going to for over twenty-four years, has hired some middle-aged over achievers. All I want to do is check out and go home. But one OA (over achiever) insists on coming by when I’m looking up produce codes. She just rattles them off. It’s great that she has them memorized. I say thank you and thirty seconds later she’s back to offer me another produce code. Then she asks about my husband because she adores him and unlike me, he loves idle chatter.

So as you’re reading this you’re thinking to yourself, why don’t you just go to a full service checkout so you don’t have to be bothered? The answer is simple. The full service checkers, unfortunately due to lack of employees these days, are elderly, semi-retired folks who like to make idle conversation while I’m trying to get out of the store. I don’t want them picking up my bag of dried green peas to scan and asking me if I am going to make pea soup. Next thing you know we’re exchanging pea soup recipes.

You’ll never have to worry about running into me at a party or event where I mindlessly tell you all about my life and experiences. First, I’ve become a private person and share very little about my life with anyone…including my mom or sister.

Just to be clear, I wasn’t born this way. When I was younger you couldn’t shut me up for love or money. I’d talk to lamp post if it would listen. And then all of a sudden over the years it dawned on me that while I’m sharing my mindless dribble with people, they were scanning the room for the exits to get away from me. Took a few years to figure that out.

I went from that stage of my life to the stage of shutting up and listening and realized there’s a whole world of stuff I probably missed while I was flopping my jaws! It’s very interesting when you go from Chatty Cathy to a version of Helen Keller.

Now my sister who obviously has known me all my life recently asked me why I don’t call her as much anymore or tell her things like I used to. I explained that there are two kinds of people in this world…those who listen and those who are waiting to talk.

If you’re waiting to talk, that means you’re not listening. So if you’re not listening, why should talk? I discovered this by friend’s and family asking me about a particular event or date, etc. Now as I recall I’ve already told them about this at least once and if they didn’t listen or put it on their calendar, that’s not my problem.

This isn’t just me. I’ve had this conversation with friends who tell me the same thing. People don’t listen anymore, which in turn makes us (me) frustrated, which makes us (me) shut up.

The second part of this relates to people who interrupt constantly when someone is talking. I’ll save that for another day.

Now ask yourself, are you a listener or are you someone who’s waiting to talk? There’s a huge difference.

We all know someone, or several someone’s, who did everything right. You may even be one of them.

By ‘right’ I mean you listened to your parents, never caused them a moment of worry, hung out with the right kids, excelled in school, excelled in college, got a good job after college, met the right guy, planned the perfect wedding, and lived happily ever after!

I know lots of people like that because they’re all on Facebook boasting their perfect lives. It’s what they want us all to believe.

And then there are the rest of us.

I don’t boast the perfect life on social media because it’s not perfect. Yes, I post pictures of my perfect grandchildren and pictures of amazing vacations, but that’s where it ends.

My childhood was great growing up in a very small farming community but life at home wasn’t great. My parents fought a lot. At age eleven, my dad left the house for good…on Thanksgiving morning.

Appearances was everything to my mother. She wanted to make sure everything still looked picture perfect. She went from housewife to part of the workforce. None of our friends moms had to work. We kept this hush-hush…for as long as possible.

This isn’t what I signed up for. I didn’t want to come home from school and make supper…or do a load of wash…or vacuum and dust. But in order to keep things as ‘normal’ as possible, I did what I was told.

So as we become adults from a broken home versus an in-tact family, are there really differences?

I’m going out on a limb and say yes.

There was no college in my future. It didn’t even pay to try and get good grades. My future back in those days (early seventies) was for me to scrape by the rest of my life. At least that’s how I looked at it.

So while looking for love in all the wrong places to fill some void in my life, I was pregnant and married at seventeen. No money. Blue collar work for my then husband. A baby on the way.

My friends were making college plans or backpacking thru Europe the summer after high school. I was in a dingy apartment with second hand furniture and very little food. But those early years of being responsible for making the meals and doing housework after my dad left paid off. I knew how to cook and keep house.

I worked my way up to office jobs, cleaning houses, and whatever it took to make a better life. There were hiccups along the way but I’m a pretty strong woman.

Today I’m retired, own my own home, travel several times a year, have two successful sons, and have four amazing grandchildren. And I have a husband who has loved me for twenty years…and it hasn’t always been easy living with this strong-willed woman.

My life may not have started out the right way, but it sure is ending up the right way. At least I’m living my truth and don’t have to boast on social media about my perfect life.

Just me knowing how I got where I am today is just right for me.

No, not that White House. This is a white house near my home.

I first noticed this house about twenty five years ago when I moved into this neighborhood. You CAN’T miss this house.

It’s huge. It’s white. It’s two stories. I believe it’s on the list of National Historic Homes. It’s got massive columns in the front. It sits on an angle on a corner lot. And last but not least, it resembles Tara from Gone With the Wind.

I notice things in my neighborhood and the surrounding area. You could say I’m my own little neighborhood watch program. As a lot of people have today, I have cameras on the front and back of my house. It’s important to know what’s going on for the safety of my family and neighborhood.

Back to the white house. About fifteen years ago it went up for sale. I so desperately wanted to go through it just to see what this magnificent structure looked like inside. For whatever reason, I missed any open houses and it sold quickly.

Prior to the house selling, the house looked lifeless. There were never any inside or outside lights on. There were never Christmas decorations outdoors and believe me, with those massive columns on the front porch, I had decorated that house in my head a hundred times.

When the house sold I was happy there was going to be a new family moving in to breathe life back into this stately home.

I know someone lives there because there are cars in the driveway. The original garage is what might have been called a carriage house back in the day and is suitable for only one car. There is a fire pit in the back yard with chairs around it.

The first year I saw a guy scraping the paint off of one side of the house. Then he repainted it white. The next two years were spent scraping and painting the front of the house. The following two years were spent scraping and painting the back of the house. The following year the final side of the house got some attention.

Since then, about a half-dozen years later, it’s been crickets. I still haven’t seen any lights on the inside or the outside. There still hasn’t been a single Christmas decoration on the exterior of the house. Nothing.

Granted, it’s not my house…it’s theirs. They can do whatever they want, but if it wasn’t for the cars in the driveway or the fire pit and chairs in the backyard, you’d never know anyone lives there.

All of this is simply my observations of being a one-woman neighborhood watch program. I simply find it a shame to be lucky enough to own this amazing home and simply living there. The house exists…it’s not showing signs of life.

I have never been on a cruise in my life. Never wanted to. I call them ‘floating Petri dishes’ because thousands of people are in a confined space…breathing the same air, coughing, sneezing, and God only knows what else. But I went last week.

For a few years now I’ve wanted to take an Alaskan cruise…by myself. My husband wasn’t interested. My sister didn’t know if she could afford it. All my friends like to sleep late and stay up late. I like to wake up early and go to bed early. Besides, when you go by yourself, you don’t have to worry about another person…when they want to eat, what entertainment they like, how much shopping they want to do, etc.

After some hemming and hawing, my sister and I decided to go. I didn’t do a ton of research on cruise lines but I did know I didn’t want young people, loud music, or children. My husband suggested I call Costco travel. We’ve both heard many great things about them.

I called, told the gal on the phone that I was sixty-eight and my sister is sixty-nine, it’s our first cruise ever, and that we prefer a little bit older crowd.

She recommended the Holland America Westerdam. We figured out dates, price, packages, ships, and what kind of room I wanted. And for me that’s where the excitement ended.

It was suggested that I download the Holland America app to track my trip, excursions, the statement that shows what charges were charged to my room, daily activities, and so much more.

Both my sister and I did not find this app to help us at all. We did read thru the FAQ’s prior to leaving but almost all of those questions and answers were related to weather, how to pack, what to pack, formal night etc.

How about, “Where do I find coffee first thing in the morning since there isn’t a coffee pot in my cabin and the dining room isn’t open?”

How about telling us, “Take your room key-card with you EVERYWHERE because each time you want anything, including a glass of water, they scan your card.

How about, “There’s a bar code on the app which is more convenient than always looking for a little plastic card.”

How about, “Here’s a breakdown of your itinerary for the week showing what restaurants you can go to, the dress code involved, what dinners are included in your package along with the location/name of said restaurant, how many drinks are included in your package, etc.”

There were things we didn’t find out until one and two days before the end of the cruise. I guess we could have asked the friendly people at Guests Services but each time something crosses your mind, who wants to go from the 10th deck to the 1st deck. And by the number of people waiting in line at Guest Services, it’s my guess that things weren’t clear for other people also.

And just so you don’t have to haul your wallet around, they graciously add an 18% gratuity to your final statement, 19% if you’re in a suite.

Ok…now for the positive things. The staff was over-the-top friendly and helpful. The food was good and nicely presented. The ship was spotless every day. Non stop cleaning. The two gentlemen who were assigned to our cabin made sure our beds were made, towels changed, and ice bucket full every day. They were so nice and remembered our names from Day 1.

There is a game room on the ship that was so clean and organized, with beautiful tables and chairs by the windows to see outside while you were playing any one of dozens of games provided. Bar service was available anywhere and everywhere.

You either love cruising or you don’t. My sister and I knew in less than twelve hours into the cruise that we would never do another one. It wasn’t a bad experience, the scenery and villages we saw were amazing, and the weather was perfect. We’re used to traveling and renting houses thru VRBO, not worrying about time schedules, coming and going as we please, and not sharing a space with two thousand plus other people.

I wasn’t particularly popular in school and just didn’t know where I fit in.

I tried making friends with different groups…the cool kids, pom-pom girls, the music room, the various study halls, the business center, etc. Nothing really stuck.

The first five years of school, first thru fifth grade, my parents sent me to a parochial school out in the country near our home where all the surrounding farm kids went. I had the fear of God instilled in me and thought that if I looked cross-eyed at someone, I was surely going to hell.

Then our community built a new high school and the old high school became the middle school…sixth thru eighth grade.

So this made a mix of former parochial school kids and kids who came from other public schools who were simply more worldly.

I hugged those locker-lined hallways because I was so scared. This was the late sixties and some kids were swearing and I’d never heard those words before. Some kids were wearing blue jeans and I never owned a pair. I was still wearing my dresses below my knee, white ankle socks, and unattractive black or brown leather shoes. I was a fricking dork.

Most of my friends were the kids I went to school with since first grade at the parochial school who were also trying to find their way in this new world.

By seventh grade I turned the corner and started to blend in with the other kids. Still a little scared. Still being intimidated by the greasers. Still scared of my own shadow.

Once I got to high school I was able to navigate my way thru different groups, join clubs, and the only thing that scared me, and still does, were those greaser girls who hung out and controlled the ‘first floor can’.

No matter how bad you had to go to the bathroom, you didn’t dare go in that bathroom because you might not come out alive. There were no elevators in the school so you hiked up the stairs to use the bathroom on the second or third floor.

Needless to say, I survived. I made great friends, loved high school and all the opportunities it offered more than anything else. I actually looked forward to going to school. My home life sucked so high school became my refuge.

Fast forward to yesterday…fifty years later. A girl I went to high school with and am friends with on Facebook, reached out to me and two other girls from our class a couple of weeks ago to see if we wanted to meet for lunch.

Now, although we’re all friends on Facebook and we all grew up in the same small subdivision, it didn’t automatically make is life-long bosom buddies. We were never mean to each other but the other three girls were the cool kids. I wasn’t.

In fact when Jean reached out to me in the group message about meeting for lunch, I was 100% positive she sent me that message in error. So much in fact, that I messaged her privately and asked if she really intended that invite for me.

Yes, it was for me. Did I all of a sudden become a cool kid?

The four of us met for lunch yesterday and I had the time of my life. Catching up about our marriages, families, as well as the highs and lows in our lives was great. Fifty years ago seemed like yesterday.

We picked up where we left off years ago with the memories of detentions, suspensions, and the ‘smoking lounge’ in the woods behind the school, as well as the teachers who at that time were really one of us. They truly were. Today those teachers would be in hot water.

Over the past fifty years there were several class reunions but none in the last twenty five years.

Our lunch yesterday almost turned into dinner and as we parted in the parking lot we agreed to do this again soon. We discussed slowly inviting one or two other people to the next mini reunion but agreed to discuss this further. A couple of names were tossed around but we’ll figure it out.

Growing up with these ladies and sharing what we did yesterday, almost makes me wish we could turn back time.

Almost. I don’t want to go back to being that scared girl with ugly dresses and shoes who hugged the locker-lined walls.

Last night while scrolling thru Facebook, there was a Reel about Johnny Carson revisiting his home town, Norfolk Nebraska. It was filmed in 1982 and was in black and white.

Johnny walked, drove, and bicycled thru this documentary. The car he was driving in was the actual car his dad owned in the early forties! He stopped at various places that he frequented as a child back in the 1930’s and 1940’s. He talked with elderly people he knew as a young boy, toured his boyhood home, toured the grade school he went to, and went thru the theater where he once ushered.

While watching this forty-seven minute documentary, I caught myself smiling thru most of it because I absolutely love that era he grew up in. When things were simple.

I grew up in the late fifties and sixties in a small farming community about thirty minutes from where I currently live. As a child this little community was home. I felt safe and secure. I don’t recall hearing about crime of any kind. We didn’t lock our doors, or for that matter, we never closed the front or back doors during the summer when we went to bed. We left our garage door open, keys in the car, bikes on the front lawn, and they were all still there when we got up in the morning.

There were less than one thousand people there when I was born, one mailman, one milkman, one park, a woods with a small pond, and honestly I don’t recall if there was a mayor. One grade school and one high school. No public swimming pool so for swimming lessons we were bused to another small community about a half hour away.

On Facebook I follow a page for the county that my hometown is located in. Day after day, post after post, is nothing but crime, shoplifting, medical emergencies, high-speed chases down the highway that runs outside of town, etc.

And day after day, post after post, my heart hurts. Where farms once stood is now subdivision after subdivision, strip-mall after strip-mall. Where two-lane dirt roads were are now four-lane paved roads.

One grade school still stands, the high school became the middle school, and a new high school was built years ago just west of town. I graduated from that high school. Last year I was able to go back there because my granddaughter was in a performance in the performing arts auditorium. PERFORMING ARTS ???? What happened to the Home-Ec department? The shop department?

The school has been expanded several times, and to increase school revenue the kids who have cars and can drive to school must now pay for a parking space. The woods behind the school which also served as our ‘smoking lounge’ is now gone and replaced with commercial real estate known as the Industrial Park!

Main Street is still there but not the same. The drug store that had a soda fountain counter is now part of restaurant-tavern. The feed mill is gone. The farm at the end of Main Street is gone and is now a huge condo complex. The eight-lane bowling alley is no longer there but the building is.

Nobody in town gets a free quart of chocolate milk from the milkman on their birthday any more…only because the milkman doesn’t exist anymore. Farmer Brown is long gone so you can’t walk to his farm to buy a dozen eggs.

The little library which stood next to the old high school and was probably all of one-thousand square feet has been replaced with a HUGE library that is attached to the new HUGE police department next to one of the HUGE strip malls.

There are over forty-thousand residents now in what once was my sweet, safe, and secure hometown…that is now riddled with crime, speeding, drugs, and God only knows what else.

No…I can’t go home again. It’s not there.

In the last several weeks with the upcoming movie The Naked Gun opening today, the two stars of the movie seem to have ‘chemistry’ off screen.

Liam Neeson and Pamela Anderson are all over the Internet about the possibility of them dating.

He’s 73. She’s 58. Who cares. His wife died in 2009 and I don’t recall any reports of him being involved with anyone. Surely the paparazzi would jump all over that…just as they are with this budding romance between Liam and Pamela.

Now normally these Hollywood romances fizzle quicker than a lit match in a tornado, but there’s something different about this one.

They are actually refreshing to watch during interviews. Pamela looks fresh with the new no-makeup approach, she blushes…and gushes, and has a twinkle in her eye when she talks to him or about him.

Liam looks equally smitten and appears in several interviews to be her knight in shining armor.

They walked a carpet (not sure if it was red) with both sets of their respective sons on either side of them like bookends. Liam had his arm around her the whole time. It’s too soon to assume anything but they sure did make a nice looking family.

During one interview Liam was asked point blank about their relationship. He admitted they had an instant chemistry but then added, “We’re giving it time to breathe.” I about melted in my chair. I never heard it put quite that way.

So with a 15-year age gap, being celebrities, and maybe a little baggage they both picked up along the way, there’s no telling where this relationship is going but for the time being, I enjoy watching this new love blossom.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about a celebrity couple in my entire life. They are actually refreshing to watch.

Good luck and the best of everything, Liam and Pamela.

Now, if I find out that all of this is a publicity stunt to attract theater goers, I’m going to be as mad as a wet hen!

I’m going to start this off by asking you to picture a phone booth. You know the old fashioned ones that you could step into and there was a small bi-fold door you could close for privacy? Ok, keep that in mind for later.

My husband and I went to a funeral last night for one of his former co-workers, Tim. I knew this was going to be huge.

Tim lived his entire life (72 years) in a town that has a population of less than 12,000. In 1960, when Tim was a kid, the population of that town was 5,500. Small town America where everybody knows everybody.

Tim’s dad was Chief of Police and served on many committees in town. He was well known. Therefore, Tim was well known and also involved in many committees and activities. The obituary asked for donations to three different school-related programs in his town in lieu of flowers. Tim was very involved in the school system.

The visitation at the funeral home, which by the way used every available viewing room just for the expected crowd, was from 3pm to 7pm. There was a maze of roped off areas for people to orderly stay in line until it was their turn to pay their respects. A separate room was used for refreshments and small children’s activities. I saw no less than eight TV’s, while waiting in the maze, that were rotating pictures and video’s of Tim’s life, family, and friends.

We arrived at 3:45 and waited one hour until we could pay our respects. When we left, the line was longer than it was when we arrived. This in itself speaks volumes of what people thought of Tim.

By choice my happiest times are when I’m alone. It’s been that way for many, many years. Whether it’s watching a movie, working in my garden, baking, cooking, or anything else I can find to do, I am comfortable being alone.

That doesn’t mean my husband and I, as well as friends and family, don’t go out to dinner or travel together. I do know some people who need to be with other people 24/7/365. Maybe they’re not comfortable in their own skin.

My immediate family is very small. I mean SMALL. I have four or five friends that I consider good friends, and one sister.

Therefore, my funeral could comfortably be held in that phone booth I told you about. I wonder where I can find one???

I, who looks at the world through rose colored glasses, believes that everyone who purchases a gift whether it’s for a birthday, Christmas, anniversary, or any other occasion, actually puts some thought into it.

By thought I mean you will almost go to the ends of the earth to get that perfect gift.

You know the receiver so well that the gift you pick will be mentioned for years on how perfect it was, right?

Or you take the easy way out and buy a gift card. It takes the guess work out of shopping. It’s easy. They’re available online and in most grocery stores. This way the receiver can purchase what they want.

But if you go so far as to actually go into a brick-and-mortar store to purchase said gift, when you get home you wrap it so beautifully that it’s almost a sin to open it, right?

Let’s assume for a minute that money is no object for this gift. You will still search far and wide for the perfect gift, right? And when you get home, you’ll wrap it with the best wrapping paper money can buy, right? Of course we have to put the icing on the cake, so to speak, by putting the grandest of bows on the package, right?

I’m willing to bet that the majority of people will laugh at what I have just described as my ideal in gift giving.

But this describes me…except for the money is no object part.

Many, many, MANY years ago I heard that when you give a gift, present it in a way so beautiful that you would love to receive all gifts that look like this.

I worked for a small company about twenty plus years ago that gave gifts occasionally to the employees and it was my job to purchase these gifts and wrap them. The owner of the company was all about appearances so putting something in a gift bag was not going to happen.

I did some research on wrapping paper and found exactly what I was looking for at a place called The Nashville Paper Company. The roll was about 400+ feet long (just a guess), was somewhat shiny, very thick so it wouldn’t tear, and at the time it was $80. This roll should last a lifetime.

The next stop was at Michael’s or Hobby Lobby for all different widths and colors of wired-edged ribbon.

Every gift was beautifully wrapped and comments were made that it was too pretty to open. I have achieved my goal.

I also purchased one of these rolls for my personal use. It’s now twenty-plus years later and I’m just coming to the end of my roll. I purchased a solid dark teal color and then purchased rolls of ribbons to satisfy every occasion.

And then there’s the gifts I receive, and have received, all my life. I’m not having a gift pity party here because I’m very appreciative of what I am given. But here’s how my gifts have been given to me.

*Some were wrapped in the funny papers from the Sunday paper

*Some were put in a gift bag that didn’t coincide with the occasion, no tissue paper, and no gift tag

*Some were wrapped in previously used wrapping paper because there was old tape stuck to them and some minor rips

*Some were given to me in the department store bags with the price tags still on them

*One in particular stands out from many years ago that was a generic cheese and sausage basket that you used to be able to purchase at Christmas time from a large display at the entrance of K-Mart

*Last Christmas I received a regift because it was still in the box the giver received it in, with a To / From gift tag inside

If you’re reading this and condemning me for pointing out the obvious, it doesn’t bother me. I always try to give a gift, make a meal, or anything else I do, to the best of my ability.

I bake competitively and the judges have always said that we eat with our eyes. If something looks delicious, most people will be excited to find out just how good it is. The same goes for beautifully wrapped gifts. They should be appealing!

Now that I’m in my golden years, and because I’m almost out of wrapping paper, gift cards it is!

I was definitely born in the wrong era. I tend to gravitate towards older or historical times, ways, and architecture.

Baking and cooking from scratch is something I enjoy and do it almost every day. There is very little that I make using something from a box or a can. It wasn’t always this way. When I was in my twenties and money was tight, it was rare to have fresh fruits and vegetables. It was cheaper to buy a jar of spaghetti sauce than to make the sauce from scratch. Today it’s appreciated and a labor of love.

From April to November I’m watching the weather forecast daily to see if it’s going to be a good day to hang my wash out, or if it’s going to rain, or if I need to water my gardens with water from my rain barrel.

Nothing is better than getting lost out in the country so I have the opportunity to see new things while driving down new roads. I’m never really ‘lost’ because I have my phone with GPS that will get me home as if I’ve followed the yellow brick road.

There’s nothing better than driving the backroads through little towns, farming communities, and seeing what each Main Street has to offer.

While driving through the country and seeing the occasional thriving farm and some that are abandoned, I wonder if the last person that walked out of the front door of one of those abandoned farmhouses knew that there would never be another person to walk through that door or another family to make that house a home.

I truly feel something in the pit of my stomach when I see an abandoned farm…sometimes with broken windows where the curtains have caught a breeze.

But there’s always another town, and another back road, and another Main Street. In addition to Main Street, I think it was pretty common for small towns to also have an Elm Street or a Maple Avenue…or a Church Street.

I live in the city because I was never fortunate enough to be able to have a home in the country but it doesn’t make me stop dreaming and wishing.

The city I live in completely surrounds a small land-locked, quaint, historical, and loaded-with-painted-ladies village. If you’re unfamiliar with the term painted ladies, they are generally late nineteenth century or early twentieth century Victorian homes. They are called painted ladies because of the multitude of vibrant colors that some are painted. Some are shades of pink or purple while others may be more subdued shades of greens and rusts.

In this small village there is a street called Church Street. It’s less than ten minutes from my house and there is a block-long section that has one painted lady after another, and yes, there is a church on Church Street. It’s a Methodist church built with red bricks and the most beautiful, reaching-for-the-sky white steeple I have ever seen. At the top of the steeple are windows and there is a light that shines through the windows at night. I wish everyone could see what that light looks like from a distance…at night…in the winter…while a light snow is falling. Absolutely breathtaking.

Okay, back to the painted ladies of Church Street.

This particular block ends at a parkway. There’s not a lot of traffic on Church Street. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever encountered another car in either direction in the twenty years that I’ve occasionally driven there.

The homes are works of art. They are beautifully painted and maintained. If you were to walk up and down the sidewalks there, you might think you were transported back in time to another era. I feel at ‘home’ there. I can’t explain it but I can picture what it must have looked like before the roads were paved, before long dresses disappeared, and when children played stick ball in the street.

So if you’re ever able to take a back road, through a small town, and you see Main Street, also look for Church Street and see if it takes you back in time.