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.

Almost all American-born citizens get frustrated with customer service people who don’t speak very good English, or legal immigrants we encounter who don’t know the language, people from other states on our roads who are driving too slow or too fast…the list is endless of what frustrates us.

Two mornings a week I do bookkeeping for an auto repair shop near my home. It provides me with a little extra pocket money since I’m retired and I keep up on my office skills.

The other morning the phone rang and the service manager answered it. From listening to only one side of the conversation, I could tell that the caller was not understanding a word that was spoken to him.

The service manager put the caller on speaker so myself and another guy in the office could hear what was going on.

It was obvious that the caller was very confused about our policies and procedures regarding emission testing. First he said (I think) that he failed an emissions test. Then he said (I think) he passed an emissions test. The service manager was very patient with him and wanted to set up an appointment to have his car looked at…but it’s important for us to find out if he really needs an appointment or if there’s another issue. The call ended shortly thereafter and since I was busy, I didn’t know the outcome of the conversation.

I won’t deny that we were all laughing about this call because the three of us were struggling to understand what he was saying so we could help him.

Several minutes later the phone rang again and I answered it. Guess who? Yup! He was calling back about his appointment that day. I knew he didn’t have an appointment that quickly because we book about two weeks out…and he just called ten minutes ago.

I went along with it and asked for his name so I could look on the schedule. His name was not on the books for that day and when I told him that, he said thank you and hung up.

That should be the end of this but it wasn’t. About twenty minutes later he walks in the shop office. He was about forty-five, well dressed, clean cut, and I could see he was really struggling to explain his problem to the service manager.

Instantly I felt horrible for laughing earlier at someone who I assume was in this country hoping for a better life. In person he was easier to understand and we could confidently direct him on how to handle his problem.

Would it be better for him to have someone with him who could help translate and understand? Probably easier said than done.

I simply cannot imagine moving to another country and not having a better understanding of the language. How many people like him are taken advantage of on a daily basis in this country?

Lesson learned here. Never too old to learn!

It’s hard to explain what triggers something in me when I get the urge to write. I get a bee in my bonnet about something and most of the time it’s none of my business.

I’ve recently started following a gal named Mel Robbins. You may or may not have heard of her but I recently stumbled upon her Reels on Facebook.

When she gives situational advice, I want to turn around to see if she’s behind me because I swear she’s living in my house unnoticed.

The other day I was watching one of her Reels about mothers. Before I knew it, I realized that I was transported into another dimension with my mouth hanging open. I had to watch the Reel two more times, then forwarded it to my sister and my husband for validation of what I was hearing. The words coming out of her mouth definitely proved to me that one, she’s living in or eavesdropping on my house, and two, that everything I’m going through with my mother has now been validated.

Within minutes I received a reply from my sister asking me, “Does she know mom?”

The great thing about Mel is that I am learning from her. Too bad she wasn’t handing out advice fifty years ago when I really could have used it. My adult years listening to Mel may have saved me a lot of stress, anxiety, and from making bad decisions.

So this this my shout out to Mel for validating my feelings and for making my golden years just a bit easier to live through dealing with various people in my life.

Now here’s what’s bugging me, shouldn’t be bugging me, is none of my business, is out of my control, and I need to let it go.

Our niece is getting married and they just bought a house about ten minutes from us. It’s got good bones but really, REALLY needs updating and such a good cleaning that the entire nationwide staff of Merry Maids would struggle trying to clean it. I can’t believe the owner before my niece could live in such filth. Not to mention they got the house for over $50k UNDER asking price.

Anyway, my SIL, the brides mother, is so on top of her game with getting things done and she has taken on the role of General Contractor. Although all the trades are very busy these days, my SIL has managed to get a plumber, electrician, tree service, garage door repair, and painters in that house all before the ink was dry on the closing docs.

It’s helpful that my BIL and SIL owned their own business for many, many years and got to know a lot of people, in a lot of trades, and probably had a few favors to call in.

Needless to say, everything is getting done very quickly.

So here’s what’s none of my business. A bit of a back story first. When I was eleven years old, my dad left our family. My mom had to work several jobs to keep a roof over our head and food on our table. With that said, I became the ‘lady of the house’.

It wasn’t long before I was planning meals, cooking meals, grocery shopping with the neighbors, cleaning, washing, ironing, shoveling snow, cutting grass, and going to school. I grew up really fast and learned a lot of household skills and repairs in a short order.

My niece had a very good upbringing in an upper-middle-class family. Good schools, college, travel, etc. But she was never taught any of the things I learned at a very young age…basic life skills.

In less than two months she is moving out of her childhood home and into this house that her mother found, decorated, picked out light fixtures for, guided her daughter in paint colors, hired the trades for, and everything else. She knows nothing about cooking, cleaning, washing, ironing, decorating, entertaining, yard work, basic house repairs, etc., because everything has always been done for her.

My niece and her fiancé both work full time jobs, have outside activities, my niece likes to sleep until noon on weekends, and as a school teacher, she puts in long hours…rarely getting home before 7pm on any weeknight. She’s dedicated to her ‘littles’ and spends a great deal of time planning future activities and lessons.

It doesn’t matter because our niece and her future husband will learn like all of us had to because it’s not my problem (thank you Mel Robbins), and most important…it’s none of my business. I need to let it go….

I’ve been putting off writing this one because for the longest time I thought I would get over it. But I haven’t.

I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume that every house exterior that is unkept, means the interior of the house looks like that also.

This assumption is not made only because of the community I live in, because I see unkept houses in the community in Michigan where my sister lives, and in the community where my son lives in Florida.

Anytime I’ve ever listed any of my houses for sale, the house got a good cleaning, a fresh coat of paint, and extra special attention to the exterior of the house including plantings, trimming, etc. And that’s on top of the daily / weekly cleaning I do.

Being raised in the sixties, everybody kept their yards in my community as neat as a pin. I grew up that way and continue that practice to this day.

Not only their yards, but their driveways, roofs, gutters, and windows. There were never twelve inch maple trees growing out of the gutters like I see today. Windows were generally washed in spring and fall.

I spend a lot of time at my son’s house in Miami. I know it’s a totally different housing market than where I live, but that’s only in the cost of the houses. The subdivisions that I go through while driving my grandchildren to their activities are primarily ranch-style houses with three or four bedrooms and two or three bathrooms. The majority start at a million dollars. I think it’s safe to say that about thirty percent of these homes look like they should be condemned. But they’re not and won’t be because when someone buys these houses for north of one million dollars, they tear them down and build a mini-mansion.

But in the meantime, why can’t your house and yard look nice?

Now let’s add cars to the equation. Since there are no basements in Florida, storage at home is desperately needed. What’s a family to do? You park your cars outside and use the two-car garage for storage.

So let’s say there is simply a family of four in the average house and each of these people have a car. That is four cars in your driveway.

It is so unusual to see a house without cars everywhere, including the front lawn, that your yard, kept or unkept, now looks like your million-plus dollar house could be from hillbilly heaven. I can hear the banjos as I’m writing this.

Now for added curb appeal, to go along with four plus cars in your driveway and front lawn, those expensive cars are baking in the hot Florida sun all day whether at home or at work. Like most people, you want to keep your car looking nice, even if the exterior of your house doesn’t. To protect the cars from the hot damaging sun, you call a canopy company to install canopies in your driveway to park your cars under. Another eyesore.

Since my son was raised in the midwest and once owned a landscaping business, he takes great pride in his yard and house. Not because his house is valued at $1.2 million, but because he likes how nice it looks and appreciates the compliments he receives.

I know that some of you will think I’m being petty and that it’s none of my business how people keep their houses. And you’re right. But it is my business when it affects me. I have neighbors on either side of me who do nothing to keep up the appearance of their house and yard.

Their wild violets, dandelions, and creeping Charlie are creeping into my weed-free, well manicured lawn. And there’s nothing I can do about it. Every morning I walk around my yard with my dandelion digger to try and keep up with the infiltration going on. It’s not a big yard because I live in the city.

My age and upbringing have made me this way but I was raised to believe that your home is your most valuable asset and you should take care of it.

The difference in my house versus my sons house, other than his being worth a million dollars more then mine, is that nobody will buy my house to tear it down and put up a mini mansion like they might do someday with his house.

So in the meantime I will keep fertilizing, trimming, weeding, edging, pruning, and planting flowers.

I hope you will too! Pride of ownership!

As an example, I took the attached picture last week. The exterior looks pretty nice but lacks flowers and curb appeal. It’s a 3 bedroom / 2 bath house with a pool. Two blocks from my son’s house. It’s for sale and can be yours for $1.3 million.

They suck you in. Some are funny. Some are heart warming. Some don’t make sense. More and more are AI-generated. And some are down right mind boggling.

If you scroll thru Facebook you eventually come across Reels. As you glance at each one, you get a feel for which ones you want to look at.

Not being a pet owner, I’m not interested in your pet that can wink or smile or snatch food from your counter. However, I am interested in the pets that destroy furniture, shoes, woodwork, etc. They serve as a reminder to me to NOT get a pet. If you’re a pet lover, don’t condemn me for that comment. There are people who know they don’t want children. I’m a person who doesn’t want a pet.

And then there are the Reels that prompted me to write this blog. They are short videos, and ninety-nine percent of the time created by newlyweds and young mothers.

These women act as if they invented cooking, cleaning, and child-rearing. I’m here to tell you they didn’t.

Let’s begin with the ones that have 7+ children and they want to inform the public how to pack school lunches every day. First, they come into the kitchen wearing their yoga leggings, hair and makeup perfectly done. And it’s 530am. 🙄

Next they bring out 7+ identical, new wave, hip-and-trendy, multi-compartment lunch boxes. They proceed to fill various compartments with pre-packaged, full-of-preservatives, snacks. Another compartment might have some fruit, then a home made sandwich made with white bread that has no nutritional value. Then let’s add to one of the compartments some M&M’s that have coatings made with artificial dyes. The icing on the cake will be an insulated drinking cup filled with Gatorade. Then it’s click, click, click as she closes each lunchbox as the perfectly coiffed kids come in the kitchen smiling at 6am, only to sit down to either a box of cereal or a recently microwaved frozen breakfast sandwich…while mom is sipping her homemade espresso.

Then I have to spend the rest of the day with my eyes stuck in an upright position from rolling them too many times while watching this Reel.

And if you thought I was going to stop right there, you were wrong. Let’s keep going.

Let’s talk about the Reels entitled Weekly Reset.

The camera is showing various rooms in a house that are so trashed that the average person might consider simply moving.

The ladies in the ‘reset’ videos are not always as perfectly coiffed and wearing yoga leggings as the lunch mothers. These women usually look like they just crawled out of bed and are wearing clothes they dug out of the hamper.

To save us viewers from dying of sheer boredom, they speed up the reel before posting it, giving us the illusion that this weekly ‘reset’ was done in three or four minutes.

The condition of these houses, after accumulating a week’s worth of dishes, clothes, toys, mail, garbage, etc., has me rolling over in my grave and I’m not even dead yet.

On my worst day, during my worst moments, married to the worst man on the planet, and crabby children, my house never, ever looked like what I see in these Reels. Yes, I worked full time. No, I didn’t have a nanny or a housekeeper. Yes, made-from-scratch homemade meals were on the table every night. Yes I coached Little League. Yes, I ironed my husband’s and children’s clothes. I could go on and on but I think you got the picture.

The point I’m trying to make is why is it necessary for these women to post these videos like they invented the concept of packing school lunches, and that they know how to clean a messy house? It’s like reinventing the wheel.

It’s not necessary and all they’re doing is showing the world, thru social media, their shortcomings. I would be embarrassed for people to see that I live in a pig sty.

Like salaries, religion, and politics, these things should be kept private.

Ok…I’m off my soapbox.

Is it a wonderful life? It’s not bad. Recently I’ve done some reflecting because I wasn’t going to get something I wanted. Was I being selfish or are my feelings justified?

Growing up my parents struggled financially. At least that’s how they made it seem. We had a very nice house because as an architect, my dad designed it. We were never without food. We took one vacation a year. But I remember always hearing rumbles of not having money.

College was never mentioned in our house. Mom raised two daughters to be housewives. And that’s what we’re became. No dreams or aspirations of a degree that would enable us to make lots of money and live on easy street.

Things only got worse once my dad walked out. My mom had to work multiple jobs to keep food on the table. At the age of eleven, I was learning about survival mode.

Got married at seventeen and if I thought we were broke when I was growing up, this young marriage gave new meaning to the word broke.

Not too long ago someone said the words ‘survival mode’ and it dawned on me that those words defined my entire adult life until about the last twenty years.

Very few of my dreams ever came true. Unfortunately dreams equal money and when there is no money, there are no dreams. So…has it been a wonderful life?

Absolutely!

When you stop thinking about what you don’t have instead of what you do have, it changes the perspective.

Did I get the hobby farm I’ve wanted my entire life? No, but I successfully purchased my own house twenty-four years ago all by myself.

Do I have my dream car! No…but I love the car I have. If I would get my dream car, I’d have to move. You see, I live in a tiny house, on a tiny lot, with a tiny driveway. The dream car wouldn’t fit!

Do I have a lot of friends? No, but the few I do have are supportive and loyal. See, it took me a very long time to realize that in order to have friends, you have to be a friend. I didn’t know how to do that because for so long it was all about me. I felt short-changed in life so I became selfish. When I stopped thinking that the world revolved around me, things actually got better for me.

I went to night school about thirty years ago after taking a three day test to determine my strengths and weaknesses. Found out that because of my attention to detail and my gift of organization, I should be an Office Manager or a travel agent. I chose Office Manager.

That started my almost thirty year career. I was blessed to find small, easy to manage companies that benefited from my skills. I made enough money to keep my head above water.

My sons were carving out their own paths and today are successful. I’m very proud. I have four grandchildren and let me tell you…there’s nothing better than being a grandparent.

While all of this was going on, I met my husband. The impact he has had on my life I can’t put into words.

He refuses to argue so I had to learn how to discuss things in a reasonable manner instead of shooting from the hip. He doesn’t believe in giving flowers but my car is always spotless and waxed. He doesn’t give me many compliments (my Love Language is Words of Affirmation), but he tells other people about my cooking, baking, etc. He’s my biggest cheerleader.

I never thought I’d get to travel because let’s face it, it costs money. That’s something that’s in short supply in most households. My husband is Greek, still has some first cousins there, and I’ve been there 7 times in the last fifteen years.

I’ve been to Italy, Mexico more times than I can count, Costa Rica, Belize, the Bahamas, Puerto Rico, to Canada three times on houseboat fishing trips, and probably a few places I’ve forgotten about.

But with most of my dreams fulfilled, I tend to forget about them when I’m in a funk and feel like I’m not getting what I want.

When you hear the saying, “Stop and smell the roses,” that’s when you need to take a moment and remember everything you do have, everybody who is in your life, every place you’ve been to no matter how near or far, and that’s when it will dawn on you that it’s been a wonderful life.

Have you ever heard that saying? My mom used to say that all the time when she wanted to talk about something. I don’t know where it started or why, so I decided to look it up:

The phrase “let’s talk turkey” is thought to have originated from colonial times, likely during negotiations or trade between colonists and Native Americans. One popular story suggests it arose from a hunter who initially avoided giving his partner a valued turkey, prompting the partner to demand a more honest approach. Another theory points to the phrase’s association with Thanksgiving dinners, where “talking turkey” could have meant engaging in pleasant and straightforward conversation. 

I guess it’s true that we learn something new every day.

Anyway, I want to talk turkey. About? Let’s just say there’s something going on that bothers me.

It’s bad enough that everybody feels the need to put their lives out on social media.

It’s bad enough that kids wear their pajamas to school, the store, the show house, etc.

It’s bad enough that kids don’t have respect for authority.

It’s bad enough that it’s ok to hate, yes hate, people who don’t have the same political views as you have. And ditto on this one about religion, and anything else that we don’t agree on.

I could be at this ‘It’s bad enough’ game all day so I’ll just quit right here.

I’ve accepted the things mentioned above because I’m not involved in any of it. I do not, under any circumstances, discuss politics, religion, or money. My parents told me at birth to never discuss those subjects. It’s probably the only thing they ever told me that I actually listened to.

But there is one thing that I cannot and will not accept EVER. Not acknowledging the receiving of a gift.

Let’s analyze this. Everybody, well about 99.9% of people, have a cellphone in their pocket. From said device you can call, text, email, FaceTime, Facebook messenger, Facebook video, and about one hundred other forms of communication are available for someone to send a thank you.

Many years ago there was a grandmother who wrote in to Dear Abby saying that her out-of-town grandchildren have never thanked her for gifts or checks for any occasion and she didn’t know what to do. Dear Abby, in all of her infinite wisdom simply said, “Stop sending anything.”

I suppose you can do that for birthdays and a few other select holidays where you’ve been burned before, but some occasions you can’t.

Case in point. About six or eight months ago my husband and I attended an upscale wedding…formal attire required. We dressed appropriately, gave a little more than the going rate with our cash (check) gift, and still have not received a thank you note. And yes, the check was cashed.

I also heard that it’s ok to send a thank you note up to one year after a wedding. Why wouldn’t you want to get this out of the way instead of waiting up to a year to send them out?

I have considered that this situation may be cultural. The families of the bride and groom are from another country. We’ve been invited to other events within the groom’s family over the years and have never received a thank you for the gifts. But…when in Rome…!

When my boys were little, if someone sent them a gift, they immediately went to the phone and called the sender to thank them. When they got older, they sent thank you notes.

Let’s face it, social graces, manners, etiquette, and more have simply fallen by the wayside today. Can’t we just hang on to one little thing?

I am retired but work a part time job a couple of mornings a week. This past Christmas I received a nice cash gift from the owners and managers. I sent thank you notes to both of them at their respective residences.

Please don’t let the last thread of dignity that we have left in our society today fall to the wayside. Send a thank you note…even if you’re in your pajamas on your way to a political fundraiser, school, or the show house.

Thank you for listening!

Yesterday morning my husband had a heart valve replacement. We live five minutes from one of the largest medical complexes in our state.

We arrived at 7:20am for a 7:30am check-in…and then you wait. He was scheduled for surgery at 9:30am.

We started off in a prep room where all the vitals are checked about every ten minutes. Staff is in and out of the room constantly. Multiple blood tests, portable EKG, he was shaved from his shoulders almost to his knees, and in between you are asked what seemed like one million questions.

Almost immediately we were told that they were behind schedule and we were not surprised. In between surgeries the doctor came in to see us and explain everything. He was very thorough and actually had a terrific bedside manner. And he didn’t make us feel rushed although he had to get to another patient waiting in the OR.

The attending nurse that was with us from the time we got there was terrific. We talked about Greece (our favorite destination), TV shows, and so much more. He kept performing the tests on my husband and chatting with us without missing a beat. It was a pleasant experience.

We were also told at some point that my husband’s procedure was going to be delayed by about an hour. Good thing I brought a little project with me so I started working on that while staff kept coming in for various reasons.

Finally they took him to surgery and I went to an area that was a family waiting room…which was about 4 times the size of my house. There is an ‘update’ desk where I had to check in, they took my phone number for texted updates on my husband, and I had to wear a wrist band to prove that I was allowed to be there and ask questions. There are large monitors on the walls just like the monitors in an airport.

Patients first name and last initial. There are five columns…each with a checkmark as to the status of the patient. Example: being prepped, in surgery, in recovery, in a room, etc. Plus I also received constant text updates.

Much to my surprise my husband’s sisters came to sit with me. We had lots to talk about since one of our niece’s is getting married, they just bought a house, and there’s a shower being planned. We planned the menu for the shower, and decorated the new house, in a few short hours. My niece will be happy to know that her house will be move-in ready!🤣

What nobody told us was that for six hours after surgery, my husband had to lay perfectly flat and still to make sure that the arteries were given a chance to start the healing process and prevent bleeding. I was allowed to see him for ten minutes (they timed me) and had to leave because he was in recovery and wouldn’t be getting his own room for a few more hours. I went home and waited for the call.

I got the call sooner than expected and went back to the hospital and that’s when our new ‘normal’ became reality.

He was in a different building than he was that morning which meant a different parking structure. When I asked for the address of the building, the nurse didn’t know. Seriously, you don’t know the address where you work? She did know the color of the color-coordinated parking structure though. When I asked for the room number, I was told that when I get to the front desk and give the patients name, I would be given the room number at that point. Seriously? Is this hospital being run by the witness protection program?

Trying to argue with these people is like arguing with the TSA at the airport. You just don’t do it. They have the upper hand.

I found said parking structure, took an elevator to the second/main floor, and had to wait in line for what seemed like an eternity. You have to show your drivers license, they take your picture, you are given a clip-on badge with your picture and a bar code, and head through security…which happens to be just like the airport. My purse was searched and I had to walk through a metal detector. There were three police officers. After the metal detector I came upon some glass doors that wouldn’t open and I didn’t know what to do.

Well, the bar code on my name tag had to be scanned and then the doors opened. I can’t even begin to explain what I was thinking and feeling at that moment. I came this close to calling my husband to tell him I was going home and I’d send an Uber for him this morning because this is bulls**t. It’s been YEARS since I needed to visit someone in the hospital and my first experience like this.

I got to his room but felt like a mouse in a maze trying to find my way through this building. Very intimidating. I got on the elevator with three members of the staff and asked them if there is a GPS tracker I can use to find my way around. They chuckled and helped me find my way. There are signs, arrows, color-coordinated circles, etc. to help you find your way.

I stayed about two hours and then left because I was exhausted. Got home, wasn’t hungry, checked emails, took a sleeping pill and went to bed.

Here’s the kicker…I get to go through Checkpoint Charlie again this morning to pick him up. 🙄

I met Cindy for coffee yesterday. I’ve known her for over fifty-six years. We met when we both started 6th grade.

Where I grew up was a farming community of less than a thousand people. Most of the farmers were Catholic, therefore birth control was taboo back then.

Cindy came from a family of eleven children. Cindy has eight children and currently has about forty-seven grandchildren.

When someone asks about my childhood and I start explaining about the large families my friends came from, their eyes widen and their mouthes hang open. I went thru this with my husband last night.

He’s never met Cindy but he’s heard me talk about her. We don’t see each other that often…just once every couple of years to catch up. The conversation started because my coffee visit with Cindy lasted almost 5 hours. He wanted to know what the hell we could talk about for that long.

Well, Cindy and I both love to travel so we talked about recent and upcoming trips. Then we talk about middle school, high school, and any updated information on former classmates. And of course we talk about our kids (I have two) and our grandchildren. As I’m explaining this to my husband, his eyes are still bugging out of his head and his mouth is still hanging open. So I decided to have a little fun.

I started out by telling him that Cindy isn’t my only friend that came from a large family. My friend, Mary, came from a family of nineteen kids and part of those nineteen were five sets of twins. My friend Theresa came from a family of fifteen kids. My friend Cora came from a family of twelve kids.

So, to make things even more interesting, Cindy (family of eleven) married Theresa’s (family of fifteen) brother. By the way, Theresa has eleven children. Don’t know about all the other siblings and how many children they have.

I don’t shake my head or think this is odd, or even think anything about this. This is where and how and who I grew up with. The people that lived ‘in town’ usually had two or three children. It was the farm families that were blessed with large families.

When Cindy’s siblings were marrying into other large families and everybody started having children, there were a lot of duplicate birthdays, lots of cousins, and huge extended families. When there was a baptism planned for a baby, there were other babies in the same family circle who were going to be baptized so they collectively held the party afterwards…at the firehouse. When you take the fire trucks out, there’s lots of room for tables, chairs, food, drinks, etc.

The town I grew up in was the equivalent of Mayberry. Right down to one milkman (Don), one mailman (Herman), and probably only two or three police officers. Where I lived was still dirt roads. The firemen flooded the firehouse parking lot in the winter so we had a place to ice skate. I also skated in my friend Lorna’s cow pasture. There was a penny candy counter at the local drug store. The post office only had one window for transactions. Our address was Rural Route 1, Box 365.

I’m glad I got to share this with all of you because the memories are simply magical.

I was blessed to start my life like this…

As parents and grandparents you sometimes question if you made the right decision’s, did the right things, and have we had an impact or made a difference.

Last night my phone rang. It was a FaceTime call from my second oldest grandchild, Vivian (16). Immediately I wondered who died. That child never calls me.

When she was born I was at work. My phone rang and it was my son and he was hysterical. He said they were at the hospital all night, and his girlfriend was just taken into surgery for an emergency C-Section. He said something was wrong.

I immediately left work and headed to the hospital…the longest thirty-minute drive of my life.

When I got there my son was pacing in the hallway and said that nobody had been out to talk to him yet. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, here comes a nurse caring MY baby. I reached for her and the nurse smiled and said, “Daddy first.”

We both checked her over to make sure all the parts came with the finished product.

My son has been up for more than 24 hours so we went into the room where mom and baby would be spending a few days. Immediately he headed for the couch and promptly fell asleep.

Well, since it was just me and Vivian, I decided to take advantage of the situation and sat in that comfy chair next to the bed and stared at her for hours. I rocked her, fed her when they brought me a tiny doll-size bottle of formula, and changed her diapers. I was blessed to do this for almost 8 hours.

Mom had to be put completely under for the procedure so when they wheeled her back into the room, she was in and out all day but mostly slept.

Since my son and his family lived so close to me and my husband, we were always available when they needed us. We watched Vivian grow.

When it was time for day care/school, they enrolled her into a Montessori school nearby. Occasionally we took her to school or picked her up.

Vivian tried soccer and unfortunately when you play soccer, you have to be on your feet. She could always be found sitting on the playing field picking grass or dandelions. She was about four or five at the time. That didn’t work out.

Other activities and sports were tried. None of these were going to be in her future. Let’s try piano lessons. That worked. Let’s try a singing and dancing troupe. That worked and is still going strong. We never miss one of her performances.

Vivian is a genius with a very high IQ. She wants to be an anesthesiologist and has been taking all the right classes in school in addition to some college prep courses. When you ask her why she wants to go into that line of work, her reply is because they make a lot of money.

Being as old as I am, I suggested to pursue something she loves because then she will always enjoy going to work. Not going to happen.

So back to the FaceTime call I received last night. She wanted to tell me that she interviewed for a medical apprenticeship for the summer. She applied but didn’t expect it to go any further. One of the questions she was asked was about the most influential person in her life…and it was me. OMG, I actually had an impact on someone’s life????

She proceeded to explain that she knew what a hardship it was for me to have a baby (her uncle) at the age of 17. I worked hard, went without, became a good cook and baker, worked outside the home, and did what I had to do to make sure my boys were healthy and happy. She actually said I persevered, was inspirational, and a good example of a child raising a child.

If I hadn’t been sitting during this call, I surely would have fell to the floor.

I guess I have made a difference and had an impact on someone’s life.

Every generation thinks the next generation is going to be the one that ends civilization as we know it.

Our parents thought we were too ‘fresh’, wore weird clothes, had strange hair-do’s, and followed up each criticism of us with, “What is this world coming to?”

I disliked my childhood but am grateful for it now. My standing joke to people about my upbringing is that my mother was trained at Auschwitz. She was tough, demanding, bossy, and stubborn.

My mother was going to raise two daughters who would have the advantage over anyone else’s daughters when it came to washing, ironing, cooking, cleaning, sewing, and setting a proper dinner table. She was raising housewives.

I believe she sent us to school because it was the law. Everything we ever needed to know about life we could learn at home.

College? Never going to happen so don’t even think about it. My parents never attended a parent-teacher conference, never saw a report card except to sign it…if we didn’t forge their signature. (Back in the day parents had to sign the report cards that were brought home from school, and then we returned them the next day). They also never attended a school function and never saw a progress report. Some genius thought it would be better to send progress reports through the mail so little Johnny or Mary couldn’t ‘lose’ them if they were sent home with the child. News flash…my sister and I got the mail every day on our way home. And yes, every one of those progress reports was ‘lost’.

Through all of this, I did receive a basic education with reading, penmanship, history, geography, science, arithmetic, etc. So not only would I make an amazing housewife, I could add and subtract! Someday some guy was going to be blessed to marry me or my sister!

The one thing that cannot be taught is common sense. You either have it or you don’t but even if you’re lacking in that area, some of it can rub off from the adults around you…providing they have it.

I am blessed with common sense. In addition to all of those household duties my mother taught me, I actually know that if I were to walk into a bank and try to rob it, that would be against the law. From what I’ve been seeing lately on the news, some people haven’t figured that out yet.

So, this morning I was scrolling through Facebook and saw a video that stopped me in my tracks. At first I was surprised, then shocked, then couldn’t stop laughing.

A roving reporter-type guy was stopping people at large and asking questions. He stopped two high school girls and asked them, “If you drive 80 miles per hour, how long will it take you to go 80 miles?” The answer is 1 hour.

One answered 2 hours and the other one replied one-and-a-half hours.

I almost peed my pants from laughing because the dumbfounded look on their faces was proof that they have not been paying attention in school for the last 8-10 years. I would think that this would be something a 4th grader could answer.

So although I have more common sense than book smarts, I’m further ahead than those young ladies. They better marry well…it’s their own chance at any type of success.

And to prove that some of me hopefully rubbed off on my granddaughters, I posed the question, via a phone call, to both of them this morning. Both replied 1 hour. One is 16 and the other is 25! I’m proud!

I’ve been playing Pickleball for about two or the years now. No, that doesn’t mean I know what I’m doing.

I’m not shy about announcing to anyone on any PB court that I am here to have fun and get exercise.

Playing at the Y this morning with my new friend, Jane, we found ourselves up against all men, and they knew what they were doing.

Some of them men enjoyed our not-on-purpose-antics, misses, as well as a few cuss words. And some of the men did not.

Jane and I got more advice and suggestions on how to play the game than could possibly be written in a book. I guess us not-so-good helpless females needed big, strong, tough men to show us what we were doing wrong.

We just laughed about it even more.

I met Jane while playing PB with our local senior center. When I joined the senior center about 3 years ago, there were so many people participating in so many activities, that I couldn’t keep all of their names straight.

Just so it’s understood, I’m not good at small talk, I want to play PB, and go home. I’m learning the game and don’t have a high tolerance for really, really bad players…although I’m not great myself. But I’m learning and taking constructive criticism as well as finding that I play much better when I play against highly ranked players in our group. But late last summer I learned a valuable lesson and it wasn’t about PB.

Every time I played with Jane as my partner or against her, she made a lot of mistakes. But it’s what she did when she made a mistake. She shout something like, “Oh man,” or several other common sayings we all say when we make a mistake. I actually found myself drawn to her self-deprecating comments about her game playing. I laughed along with her. This was uncharted territory for me.

Pretty soon we were making small talk. She has a shyness about her and when she asked me for my phone number so we could text, she followed that up with, “If that’s ok with you.” I found that anytime she asked me a question, personal or otherwise, she followed it up with asking me if I minded and that she didn’t want to be intrusive.

Since I find people interesting, as well as quirky, I like to try and understand what makes them tick. Pretty soon Jane and I were texting a couple times a week. But there’s something going on with her that I just can’t put my finger on.

About two months ago we started meeting for a mid-day coffee about every other week. We shared some of our history with each other and I got the impression that she doesn’t have many friends.

Jane is warm, caring, a good listener, and I enjoy her company. She is also opposite of me regarding our interests and hobbies. And she’s had a hard life.

Some of the things she has told me raise many questions in my mind but I don’t want to be intrusive. She’ll tell me if and when she wants to. I feel comfortable sharing my life with her…more comfortable than I have ever felt with anyone else.

So earlier in this writing I mentioned I learned something valuable. It’s not necessary for me to know all the details of Jane’s life story…just being there to talk to her and be a friend is enough. She is unlike anyone I’ve ever met.

Deep down I feel there’s a great story in her life but for the time being, we’ll have coffee, share, and drive those hot shot PB players crazy with our shenanigans.

You never know what someone is going through…so always be nice.

I travel to Miami about six to eight times per year to visit my son, his wife, and their two children. This has been going on for about three years now.

I’m definitely a people watcher and an observer of my surroundings…and these are my observations…being from the Midwest.

About seventy five percent of the houses either have a tall fence surrounding the property, a twelve-foot high hedge, a concrete wall, or another type of barrier to protect themselves from intruders.

Now, attached to each of those structures is an electric gate across the driveway so nobody can get onto the property.

The first thing that comes to my mind is that these folks don’t want anybody, for any reason, having access to their property, which would give someone from the Midwest the impression that these folks simply are not social. With all those gates I wonder how they get their Amazon packages??

However, that’s not the case. Miami is very family-oriented, friendly community, and no matter where you go, if you run into someone you know, everyone greets each other with a kiss on the cheek.

There’s more planning of play dates among parents for their children than there is a desire to have an immaculate house. Most folks with the right income have a housekeeper to make sure the house is clean and laundry is done.

Surprisingly there is a lot of green space. Lots of parks every few blocks. And they’re always full of kids with parents, grandparents, or Nannie’s.

When my son and DIL were house hunting, I learned that you choose an area to buy according to the school ratings. That’s a huge deal there.

The majority of homeowners have a lawn service, and from sun up to sun down, the streets are littered with lawn service trucks and trailers…seven days a week. Most houses have a built-in swimming pool, therefore there’s no shortage of pool boys or pool cleaning companies.

If you have a dog it’s usually a small designer dog that goes everywhere with you. And I mean everywhere. Fido is either being carried, or pushed around in a mini dog stroller. They are seen in grocery stores, malls, department stores, banks, and probably churches. There are many mobile dog grooming companies that go house to house to make sure Fido looks good and smells good.

And let’s not forget about the mobile car washing vans that come to your house to porter your vehicle.

Traffic is very interesting. It is non stop. In the Midwest where I live, I know I can drive to work in about 8 minutes if I make all the lights…and that’s to go about 4 miles. You are never going to go anywhere quickly in Miami. It just ain’t going to happen. One of the most mind-boggling things I’ve observed is any stop light where you need to cross US 1.

US 1 is a major thoroughfare. If you’re traveling on US 1, the longest you will wait at a light is two or three minutes. If you’re unlucky enough to be on a crossroad, with a stop light, and you need to get to the other side of US 1, plan to wait…and wait…and wait. I’m talking at least five minutes and that is a very long time to wait for the light to turn green. On the average I’ve noticed only about five cars are able to make the green light before it turns yellow, then red. It is a rare occasion if there are less than fifteen or more cars waiting to cross US 1, therefore you could be sitting at that light for a very, very long time.

At least ninety percent of moms are pencil thin, all moms wear leggings whether they’re pencil thin or not, their wedding rings are ginormous, they drive high-end SUVs, they all have long hair parted down the middle, and makeup is done to perfection.

While the malls in the Midwest city where I live are always empty, the malls in Miami are always packed…the valet parking they offer to shoppers and diners is a bustling business. Restaurants are always busy as they are where I live, except I’m old fashioned and still like to cook dinner every night. I’m not a fan of restaurants.

So if you’ve been thinking about a vacation in Miami, you should do it once. Many parks, beaches, sites, entertainment, activities, a fabulous zoo, and so much more. The great year-round weather allows this city to offer great things all twelve months. Almost everybody is always doing something.

Several months ago my oldest granddaughter told me about Reddit and encouraged me to look into it.

I’ve heard of Reddit but didn’t know what it was. However, several years ago we were on the island of Zakynthos in Greece and were having trouble with the wash machine in the house we rented. All of the settings were in Greek.

My husband had been texting with his very resourceful son and mentioned our washer problem. His son asked him to take a picture of the settings and text it back to him. A short time later my husband received a text message with all the words in English.

When asked how he did that, his son said he put the picture out on Reddit and asked for a translation.

This Reddit must be the greatest thing since sliced bread!

Back to where I started. As soon as I had a minute, I looked into Reddit…what it was, how it’s used, etc. I downloaded the app.

I started out by choosing the ‘categories’ I was interested in. Others are thrown in the mix but for the most part I get to read about things that interest me. What I’m not interested in, but keep getting inundated with is, ‘What should I name my cat or dog’? First of all, I don’t give a rats a$$, and most surprising to me, is the astronomical number of posts per day asking for help in naming their pet. Seriously?

Anyhoo…one of the categories (or subs as they appear to be known as) is about women over 60. I happen to fall into that category.

Women will tell a short story about something they’re struggling with and ask for opinions or suggestions.

Today a woman asked the readers about what we did or didn’t get in our life…something along those lines.

That got me to thinking. We start out as kids, go thru our teens, adulthood with spouses, children, careers, highs and lows, good times and bad, and pretty soon we’ve morphed into senior citizens. I personally never stopped long enough to ponder about what I did or didn’t get out of life. I was dealt a hand and played it to the best of my ability.

So now someone is asking me about what I did or didn’t get out of life.

What I DIDN’T get: the wedding of my dreams, the house of my dreams, a good singing voice, a skinny body (my sister inherited that), sympathy and empathy are not in my DNA, a green thumb, a filter for my mouth, or the patience of a saint.

What I DID get: two wonderful sons, a great husband (took a couple of try’s), four amazing grandchildren, frequent international travel, a cute house, the gift of baking and cooking (I self-published my own cookbook last year), a set of balls, and after a lifetime of insecurities about various things, I have found confidence.

I’ve eliminated some people from my life that were bringing me down, I’ve learned to say no (It’s all in the approach. I now say, “Thank you for asking…but no”), I’ve given up fighting for everything I’ve wanted but never got…so I found peace and contentment in what I have. I’ve played all my cards.

To my surprise, I’m still alive. I took many chances in my life and am surprised I wasn’t the next days headlines. Nothing illegal…just some very dumb decisions. You know…the guy who says, “Here, hold my beer and watch this.” Usually doesn’t turn out very well.

So here’s my suggestion…if you’re under forty and have a dream, try to make it happen. Surround yourself with people who believe in you and will help you achieve that dream. Travel if you have the means and opportunity. There’s a beautiful world out there. If you’re in your twenties, sock as much money away for retirement as you can. If you’re over sixty, quit fighting for everything you think you deserve and finish playing the cards you were dealt! I have found a lot of peace by just accepting who I am and where I am at this point in my life.

Let the planning begin! Where to start?

It starts with a diet. The bride’s mother (my SIL) and I.

In anticipation of the wedding since the engagement in November, my SIL has already been trying to lose weight and it’s noticeable.

I have an evening gown that I wore for my son’s wedding in 2018. I’d like to wear it for this wedding. It’s been in a full length garment bag for the last eight years so I hauled it out. For the last month it’s been hanging in my bedroom from the top of the closet. Looks good. Smells good. Doesn’t zip…by about an inch.

I know how that happened. I’m a baker and a cook. I bake about three times a week, have 2-3 pieces of anything I bake, and then take the rest to work where my SIL is. She gave up on my baking before I did. It’s been days since the dress didn’t zip and I haven’t used my KitchenAid since. I thought I heard it whimpering from the closet I keep it in.

The wedding is in seven months so if I behave myself and stay out of the kitchen, I feel confident about losing enough weight so the dress zips.

So as you can see, the wedding planning didn’t start with a wedding dress or anything else remotely related to the bride and groom. It started with dieting.

Our niece, Grace, is marrying Chris. They got engaged a couple of months ago while doing one of their favorite activities…hiking…in Colorado.

They’ve been together about seven years, completed their college educations, and got themselves established in their new careers.

Several days ago we went wedding dress shopping. I was flattered to get asked to go along. It’s been so long since I’ve been in a bridal salon that I didn’t know what to expect.

There were four scheduled bridal appointments over the course of two days. First appointment, first dress, Grace is in love. Hell, you can’t stop there! About six or seven dresses later, Dress #1 was still the top contender. We all decided to go out to lunch before hitting appointment #2.

I should mention to future wedding dress shoppers that when you make an appointment at a salon, they hold your appointment with a credit card. If you don’t show up or you cancel your appointment, there’s a $75 charge. That was news to me! So let’s say Grace decided to buy Dress #1 at the first salon, calling to cancel the other three appointments would have resulted in a total credit card charge of $225 for cancelling the next three appointments.

Off we go after a nice lunch to the second appointment. Praise God that Grace knew what she wanted. She was not, and is not, an indecisive bride. I think that makes it easier for the bridal consultant also.

Most of the dresses were very similar to the dress she loved at the first salon. However, one of the dresses was eerily similar with one noticeable difference. The dress at the first salon had a set-in waist. The dress at the second salon didn’t have a set-in waist and it shaved about twenty pounds off of Grace’s figure and she looked like a million bucks. We were all sold! Get measured, break out the credit card, we have us a dress!

Oh, don’t forget to call the two salons for the next days appointments and add another $150 for those cancellations on your credit card.

The reception venue, photographer, florist are booked, and all the attendants have been asked. My SIL found her dress the other night, the centerpieces have been picked out, and there’s still one or two taste testings with caterers. They’ve been making lightening speed progress.

What a fun time for a family. Everybody’s offering to do whatever they can to help. It’s going to be a beautiful day and their future holds so much promise.

Since my last post I was able to visit my son and his family for eight days about two weeks ago.

I couldn’t be more pleased at the progress my DIL has made since I saw her eight weeks before.

She’s calmer, bright, engaging, and almost back to the beautiful girl my son married. Without fail she takes her meds. At least three or four mornings a week she goes to yoga at Lifetime Fitness and stops for a freshly made acai bowl on her way home. She continues to eat healthy and organic. Her weekly sessions with a therapist are very helpful and she is encouraged by them.

One of her favorite things to do is to spend time in her newly planted organic garden. It’s starting to fill in and looks like a prairie full of flowers.

About twice a week she goes for massages. She’s struggling a bit with anxiety and this is helpful for that also.

This week she started back to work remotely and next week she’ll make the transition to the office. I’m not sure this is her dream job, although it’s an executive position with a well-known, world-wide company. But she knows she’s has options.

My son has his wife back and my grandchildren have their mom back. I continue to send her words of encouragement and love several times a week.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure this day would ever come…but it has…and my prayers have been answered.

They had it all. High-profile jobs. 401k’s that were busting at the seams. A beautiful home worth north of one million dollars. Two beautiful children. Worldwide travel. Tons of friends. Nice cars. Designer clothes, shoes, luggage, and handbags. A Nanny. A gardener. A housekeeper. A pool boy.

You can have the world by the tail but when mental illness rears its ugly head, all the money in the world can’t fix it.

The victim here is my beloved daughter-in-law.

My son and his family live out of state. I noticed something was ‘off’ about four months ago during one of our phone calls.

‘Off’ is our new go-to word to describe her when it’s not a good day. As things progressed, my son and his wife sought professional help. She was diagnosed as bipolar. This diagnosis came after a very manic week which landed her, under The Baker Act, in a facility where she was formally diagnosed.

If you’re unfamiliar with The Baker Act, look it up. I don’t know everything about it but what I have learned in the last three to four months is that the individual with mental illness has all the rights while the rest of us sit back and watch our world crumble.

Under The Baker Act the individual is locked up at a treatment facility for up to 72 hours and at that time they can simply sign themselves out and go home.

She came home from the first treatment center after four days. I was there when she came home because I flew there to help fill in taking care of the kids and keeping the household running.

When she walked in the door after four days, I saw the anxiety, the wild eyes, and her going room to room to retake control of her home.

She continued with her meds and therapy for about a week and then decided to go off of the meds. That is not uncommon. Nothing she did or said made sense but to her it made sense. It was the rest of us that were crazy.

Less than 2 weeks later she was Baker Acted again after a violent outburst and attack on a family member. This time she went to a different treatment center and stayed about four to five days. On new meds that appeared to be working much better for her, her arrival home looked good. The goal while in the second treatment center was to get her to acknowledge there was a problem and to voluntarily go into a 30-day treatment center.

All hands on deck, the family was scouring the Internet for just the right facility, recommendations from therapists were investigated, and the entire time all of this searching was taking place, my DIL was involved in the process. The thought process here was that if she was involved in choosing the right place, she would voluntarily stay for the 30-day treatment plan.

On a daily basis while in treatment center #2, she was given brochures and information on each facility.

After two or three days a facility was chosen that everybody liked. Hell, I loved it and wanted to go there myself. It was a spa-type treatment center with individual and group therapy, an equine center to work with horses, beach days to decompress, yoga, a chef who provided made-to-order meals, readily available snacks and soft drinks, etc.

This all comes with a hefty price tag and luckily my son has insurance that covered about 90% of the cost. Perfect.

I talked to her family members and my son for updates on her progress and she seemed excited to be there, liked all the offerings, re-found her spiritual side, loved the food, started journaling, loved individual and group therapy, and everything else they had to offer.

Again, the person with the mental illness has all the rights and can check themselves out at any time. After eleven days of a 30-day program, she came home. She felt she had learned a lot, knew the triggers of a relapse, knew she had to have one or two therapy sessions a week, and stay on her meds.

Within 3 days of being home she started to crash again. She’s using weed and alcohol to ‘decompress’. Both of those work against the meds she’s on.

Now she’s picked up a new hobby…pyromania. She can’t be left alone, she’s starting random fires, the kids are more then affected by all if this for the last 4 months, I’ve gone to help out three times in the last 8 weeks, and everybody’s hands are tied.

She’s discontinued therapy but claims that she keeps calling for appointments but nobody calls her back. We don’t know if she’s still on her meds. You’re probably asking why I can’t find this out from my son. He’s been severely affected by this and has withdrawn from outside contact with myself, his brother, his friends, etc. I talk to the Nanny several times a week to get updates as well as two of her sisters.

Living as far away as I do, it’s had an impact on my attitude, my sleeping, my eating, my focus, and God only knows what else. There’s nothing I can do. I continue to text my son with offers of anything and everything. He’s not taking calls. He’s trying to hold it together for the sake of the kids, his job, etc.

If someone with mental illness cannot be left alone, cannot be trusted, cannot follow doctors orders of staying on meds with no weed or alcohol, and not continuing with therapy, there’s not much anyone can do or say.

Right or wrong, for the sake of my son and grandchildren, I texted my son yesterday and told him to seek legal counsel and pull the plug on this marriage and get full custody of the kids. My DILs family supports him 100%.

Until you’ve walked a mile in our shoes, don’t judge me. This was a difficult story to tell.