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.

Yes, it’s the name of a movie and it just so happens to have popped in my head this morning about 6am.

I was hosting a lunch today with my mom and cousin. Nothing special…just been a while since we’ve all been together.

Here in Wisconsin, there’s nothing quite as good as hot ham and rolls on Sunday mornings. It’s practically its own food group. Right up there with Friday fish frys.

I decided to get the ham, rolls, and bakery from a well-known, 4th generation, Milwaukee institution known as Grebe’s. (Pronounced Greebee’s).

Several days ago I called them to confirm they still had hot ham and rolls on Sunday mornings since it’s been quite a long time since I’ve gone there. The gal on the phone said that hot ham and rolls is what they’re known for. I beg to differ with her.

They make crullers…and you haven’t lived until you’ve had a Grebe’s cruller. I pronounce them ‘crawlers’ as do thousands of other locals. I personally like mine frozen…they last longer when you’re eating them. Basically, any bakery item you get from Grebe’s is going to be amazing.

They are so amazing that when I visit my sister in another state, I always take a dozen of them along for her and my BIL. When my sister comes here to visit, it’s a given that I have a dozen of them here waiting for her. We used to travel internationally with a group of friend’s and I always brought a cruller along for each traveler and we would eat them prior to departure. Again, they should have their own food group.

After I got off of the phone with the gal from Grebe’s, I realized I didn’t ask what time they open on Sunday. “Ok Google…what time does Grebe’s open on Sunday mornings?” 5am. FIVE A.M. WOW! That works for this early riser.

I left the house, in the dark, at 6am. It’s about a 15-minute drive to get there. I’m never out and about at that hour, especially on a Sunday morning, so I took my time. Needless to say, traffic was non-existent. On each city block I drove, I was surprised at how many people were already awake because their house lights were on.

Now…this is the part where the movie As Good as It Gets comes into play. In the final scene of the movie, Melvin and Carol are walking in the dark, down a city sidewalk in the early morning hours. There are trucks making deliveries, flour dust filling the air from a delivery, and they pop into a pastry shop. There’s just something wonderful about that early morning stroll.

As I’m winding through the city on my way to and from the bakery, there were a couple of people out for an early morning walks, a few people were walking their dogs, and the biggest surprise was waiting for me at a stop light. Kitty-corner was a church parking lot with one light shining on the lot and there’s a guy on rollerblades just dancing around the parking lot at what most people would think is an un-Godly hour. I had my window down and it was eerily quiet outside except for some fallen leaves being blown around the street by a fall breeze. I just sat there watching him skate around the parking lot. I kept watching and not paying attention to the stop light turning green, and there was nobody behind me to give a friendly wake-up call to the green light. I was just mesmerized by the skater, who as they say, was skating like nobody was watching.

But I was watching…and picturing Melvin and Carol strolling down a city sidewalk to a pastry shop.

I sometimes make off-the-cuff jokes about empathy and sympathy not being my middle names. And they’re not. If someone has a problem or crisis that is not of their own doing, I’m right there to help. If your problem or crisis is self-inflicted due to poor decisions and bad judgement AGAIN, lose my phone number.

Cold? Uncaring? Probably.

The world is made up of two categories; givers and takers. So which one are you?

I’m a giver. I give until I have nothing left to give. And who do I give to? The takers.

We all have heard sayings that apply to different people and situations. My very favorite saying is, “Poor planning on your part does not constitute and emergency on mine.”

Say that several times. The more you say it, the more you live it. And I live it daily. I also say the Serenity Prayer at least five times a day to bring myself back to earth.

A couple of weeks back a friend was planning a party. It’s an annual party. That means it happens at the same time EVERY year. Kind of like Christmas for those of you who wait until Christmas Eve to start your Christmas shopping.

The night before said party, the hostess was still working on the menu…and there were 100 people coming. Since several of us were around to help and I, totally unaware that nothing had been planned, did not feel it was my problem to fix it or stress about it. This happens almost every year for every occasion. In previous years things were better planned than the day of.

Not only was there a great deal of tension and stress all around, getting food for this party was also going to cause stress for a deli, bakery, and God only knows who else.

It should be known that at least three to four weeks prior to the event, I spoke to the hostess and offered all of my get-it-done, pre-planning, organized wisdom. I was shot down.

Then another saying comes out of my mouth: not my problem. And it’s not. How many years is anyone going to keep bailing people out of self-inflicted jams?

Sometimes there are events that happened years ago that just stick in your head for just such an occasion. That day it popped in my head and I shared it with everyone.

About forty years ago, an old neighbor’s daughter was getting married and we were invited to the wedding. It was about 2 hours away and the weather was horrible. I called the mother-of-the-bride (the old neighbor) to find out how the weather was by them so we could better plan if we were going to need to spend the night.

I apologized for the call during what would normally be a very hectic morning with everyone getting ready for the wedding in about four hours. The MOB was cool, calm, and collected and told me that they were all just having their last breakfast together as a family. There were six kids in the family and the bride was the first one to leave the nest.

She proceeded to tell me that there was plenty of time for everyone to get ready and that she would see us at the church. When I saw the MOB at the reception I asked about our phone call earlier that morning. She said there was nothing to stress about because everything was planned and they wanted to have a nice family breakfast for the last time.

So back to an old feeling returning. Anxiety. When I was younger and unaware that pre-planning was actually a gift to ones-self, I used to be that person who was still running around the day of an event. Age and experience are what makes us grow, thrive and survive.

Most people will agree that leftovers are better than the original meal. Case in point: Thanksgiving. I have always prepared my Thanksgiving meal starting on Monday prior to Thanksgiving and completing it on Wednesday night. Thursday is for setting the table. The turkey is made and divided into two pans; white meat and dark meat. Some homemade gravy is poured over both pans. The same with mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, etc. Homemade cranberry sauce too. And let’s not forget about all the pies.

Two hours before dinner time, the oven is turned to 300 degrees and everything is getting ‘reheated’. Nobody is in the kitchen for hours and hours. There’s no dishes to do, the table is set, and you can enjoy your company.

You don’t have to agree with me and that’s fine. I just know who’s not stressed on party day and who is.

You may remember as a kid that your mom, grandmas, aunts, neighbors, and almost anyone else you knew did a spring and fall cleaning.

I remember it well. Twice a year every piece of furniture in the house was moved, cleaned, cleaned under, and cleaned behind. The drapes and curtains were washed and hung out on the line. All the bedspreads, blankets, comforters, pillow shams, and mattress covers were washed. Every closet was gutted and cleaned. It was also a good time to go through those closets and get rid of anything that wasn’t being used. All the kitchen cupboards were cleaned out also. Basically, there wasn’t a square inch of our house that wasn’t cleaned like this twice a year.

Early in my adulthood / married life, I followed suit. As the years went by, I probably did that thorough cleaning once a year. I’ve always tried to be a good housekeeper, so I didn’t see the need to clean that deep.

As more years went by, I think I skipped the once-a-year deep cleaning more often than not. Again, since I clean all the time and occasionally do cupboards, closets, and move furniture, I didn’t feel a spring or fall cleaning was necessary.

That is until a couple of weeks ago. It was a beautiful end-of-summer day. The windows were open and a nice breeze was airing out the house. I felt ambitious and decided to fall clean my kitchen and dining room.

Out came the refrigerator and stove which I knew weren’t going to be terribly dirty as I clean behind and under them several times a year. Now that appliances are made to just slide out of their designated area, it’s much easier to do this frequently. Curtains were washed and hung out, everything off of the counters, cupboards inside and out were washed, and the walls got a once-over also. When all was said and done, I felt a sense of accomplishment.

While I was doing the kitchen and dining room, I was pondering (a new word in a lot of people’s vocabulary these days) about the other rooms of the house. And that’s where it ended. Until yesterday.

What an absolutely beautiful, sunny, breezy, and perfect day to fall clean one of the bedrooms. The sheets, blankets, bedspreads, curtains, and anything else that wasn’t nailed to the floor got washed and hung on the line.

While doing this, I was once again pondering about how many people still do this…if any. Old timers like me might do it occasionally but I doubt if the twenty- and thirty-somethings do this. After all, is it really necessary and who does it benefit? After you’ve given your house a good cleaning and had company over, has anyone ever walked in the door and commented on how beautiful your spring or fall cleaning turned out? I doubt it.

I guess every now and then we all get a burst of ambition and decide to tear a closet or drawer apart…just because.

My house is small and it wouldn’t take much to complete this process I started. After all, I’m retired and between my two-mornings-a-week job, and the three to six times a week that I play Pickleball, what would prevent me from completing this?

Fast forward five to six months when spring arrives. Will I feel the need to do this again? After all, I just did the entire house so why do it again?

How come our mothers didn’t adopt that attitude? Mine didn’t. She made it clear early in the week, twice a year, that we better not have any plans for the following weekend because ‘it was that time of year‘.

I still remember the dread of coming home from school every day that week praying for some debilitating illness that would prevent me spending the weekend cleaning.

It never happened.

Yesterday Bill and I drove to Weston WI for lunch. That is 180 miles from our house or as Wisconsinites like to say, it’s 2 hours and 40 minutes. We’re known for giving distance in time rather than miles.

Our oldest granddaughter, Savannah, was throwing a surprise birthday lunch for her husband Nick. Just so you don’t think we’re the only ones off of our rocker, Nick’s parents came as did Nick’s Aunt and Uncle. They drove slightly further than we did. Savannah’s parents were also there, and they drove just a little less than we did. Some of the members of this group were staying overnight and others, like us, were heading home after lunch.

It was the first day of fall, the skies were blue, and the temperature was about 80 degrees. The ride wasn’t all highway driving…there were some county roads also. Seeing a few farms that remain in Wisconsin that dot the landscape was nice. Trees were turning, the last of the unharvested corn was still standing, and some wildlife was taking advantage of empty fields, rivers and creeks.

This isn’t the first time I’ve driven a long distance only to return home the same day. One time there was a daytime party in northern Wisconsin and I attended. That was a 5 hour drive each way. I stayed 2 hours and went home. It was important to me at the time to be there.

Several years ago my son that lives in Miami was going to be in Chicago on a business trip. He asked if I would be interested in meeting him for dinner. I wouldn’t pass up that opportunity for anything.

I left work early, drove to the Intermodal station to catch the train to Chicago, grabbed an Uber at the station in Chicago, and met my son at a restaurant. It was beautiful. He chose a restaurant that was near the top of a skyscraper, and the view of Lake Michigan and the harbor from our window-side table that was breathtaking. We chatted for a couple of hours, had a great dinner, and then I had to head home.

When I got to the train station in Chicago, I saw that my return trip was delayed. Not much you can do about that. Finally headed home about two hours later and by the time I got home it was after midnight. This was a Tuesday night and I had to get up for work at 5am.

Would I do it again? In a heartbeat.

When I told several people at work about the trip to Chicago, they thought I was crazy. I told my mom about it also and she actually said I was nuts. I disagree.

What if…WHAT IF…I hadn’t traveled to each of the destinations I mentioned above and something would have happened to the person or people I was going to see? I would have never forgiven myself for not taking a few hours…or even a day…out of my schedule to see loved ones.

Daily we read, hear, or see something about someone’s loved one passing away, and the survivors telling anyone who will listen to always say ‘I Love You’ each time you say goodbye at the end of a phone call or part ways with a loved one.

Sometimes it’s not possible to take these trips due to time, other commitments, or cost. As long as I am able I will continue to take advantage of seeing a loved one if a short trip is involved.

So how far would you travel? Think about it…