Pre-Teen Idols and Other Stuff

Today is the ninth anniversary of my dad’s death. It’s kind of hard to wrap my head around that because I can’t believe nine years has passed since that sad day. 

But thinking about my dad always brings up fond memories of my childhood growing up in Alliance.

 

When people around my age wax nostalgic about their childhoods having had the freedom in the summers to ride their bikes, play in and around their neighborhoods and hang out with their friends with little to no adult supervision (other than to be home at a precise time for dinner), I clearly remember those days as well. Of course, I’m probably putting a sepia-toned tint on the memories because I’m sure my mother knew where we were and what we were doing more than I recall.

 

But it was a good time to grow, to play and to dream.

 

Some of the fun memories I have as a girl were playing in either my basement or my next-door neighbor, Michelle’s basement. We’d create scenarios where we were planning to marry our pre-teen idols. At one point, it was someone in the Monkees.

 

Even though my favorite was Davy Jones, Michelle usually “called him” first. (Calling things – chairs, TV stars, window seat in the car so you didn’t get stuck in the middle – were a big thing in the ‘60s and ‘70s.) But anyway, if I didn’t call Davy first, I picked my second favorite and the next cutest Monkee, Mickey Dolenz.

 

Years later, I was searching for something in the basement and came across a couple of moving boxes decorated with crayons and markers that were our “homes” with Davy and Mickey. Yeesh.

 

After our Monkees phase, and before my undying crush on David Cassidy of the Partridge Family, my pre-teen little heart was captured by Bobby Sherman. I faithfully watched “Here Come the Brides,” which ran from 1968-1970. I don’t really remember any of the episodes, other than I recall that David Soul was also on the show. And Bridget…someone…whose hairstyle fascinated me. I even attempted the corkscrew curls a time or two when Michelle’s mom taught me how to use strips of cloth from a pillowcase to make the curls.

 

Fortunately, she must have let me keep the cloth because there was no way my own mom would let me cut up a pillowcase for my new hairstyle.

 

When Bobby’s big hit, “Julie, Do Ya Love Me” was released in 1970, we sat around the radio (or record player if any of us were flush enough to be able to afford the record), and belted out the words right along with him. Not well, mind you. But volume was seemingly as important as being able to carry a tune. Well, it was important enough – until our mothers told us to keep it down.

 

I read last night that Bobby Sherman died yesterday at 81. I haven’t thought about him in years, but the news still made me a little sad.

 

I do remember reading at some point that he was an EMT, and I thought it was pretty cool that he could transition from teen idol to a career that “regular folk” might choose – and still be happy not being in the spotlight.

 

When I look at photos or old videos on YouTube of all these teen idols, I’m struck by the innocence of it all. No wonder it was safe for little girls to have crushes on these adult men. They had shaggy hair – but they weren’t over-the-top with muttonchop sideburns and beards and mustaches. Most of them did not have hairy chests. I imagine as an 11-year-old, I would have thought a hairy chest was “icky.”

 

So they seemed safe. I have no idea what my parents thought of these infatuations, but I don’t recall them keeping me from watching the Monkees, or the Partridge Family or Here Come the Brides.

 

Sadly, all these teen idols are now gone. Davy Jones in 2012, David Cassidy in 2017, and now Bobby Sherman in 2025.

 

It could make a person pretty despondent thinking about all the losses we face as we age and time goes on. But this is life. It moves with or without us. And as I’m doing in this blog, I’m trying to remember the fun memories these people brought me. Like my dad. And Bobby Sherman.

 

Although…I would never try to compare my dad with Bobby Sherman. My dad didn’t have a lot of hair, for one thing. And he couldn’t sing. So there’s that. But he was an amazing presence in my life. And he was way more significant in my life than Bobby Sherman was. (Which would, frankly, be a little scary if he wasn’t.)

 

I think of you Dad, always, with lots of love. But I’ll probably be having a hard time getting the song, “Julie, Do Ya Love Me” out of my head today.

Rest in Peace, Bobby Sherman. Thank you for the memories.

Until next time, my friends...

Dates and Memories

Today I’m thinking about all the men in my life who have demonstrated what it is to be a good father. Or father figure. Like, for instance, my dad, father-in-law, guy friends, granddads, stepdads, pet dads, and even women who have had to be both mom and dad at times. I have seen so many wonderful examples, and I’m grateful.

 

I know there are a lot of us who are missing our dads today. May we find comfort and peace and remember all those years that we were lucky enough to have had them in our lives.

 

Today would have been my father-in-law’s 95^th birthday. We usually celebrated both his birthday and Father’s Day together even though the two occasions were off by a few days. But sometimes – like today – both events happened simultaneously. So I hope you are being celebrated today, Morris. We're thinking of you here.

 

And, of course, I’m missing my Vince and wishing him a happy heavenly Father’s Day. I hope his kids think of him today and miss him. I know he loved being their dad.

 

June is a month filled with significant dates and memories of my own dad. I’m missing him today on Father’s Day. I’ll be thinking of him on the 25^th as the day he passed in 2016. And then on the 28^th when he and mom would have celebrated their 73^rd wedding anniversary. And then a few weeks later on July 16^th, when he would have celebrated his 99^th birthday. (I think my calculator was working correctly.)

 

Even though he’s not here for me to call and wish him a happy day – I think of him daily. And I thank him for everything he did for me and the example he set for me and my siblings - and all who knew and loved him.

 

The top photo is a blurry picture of my dad and me that I discovered in my parents’ photo collection. Whenever I’d visit them at their cottage on Cape Cod for more than a quick weekend, Dad and I (and any other siblings who were there) went deep sea fishing out of Plymouth, MA.

 

That day we, um, clearly did not have a whole lot of luck. Dad’s mantra of “here, fishy, fishy!” apparently didn’t work, but hearing him say it always made me smile.

 

Anyway, he must have decided that the one puny fish we did catch (and, truthfully, I’m guessing he caught it rather than me since he was the actual skilled fisherman) could still serve as dinner for the two of them. I, on the other hand, was probably offered a hot dog or whatever leftover was hanging around in the fridge as I’m not fond of seafood. So he had the mate on the boat fillet the fish. Even though it's a little hard to see, the fish we brought home was in the small sandwich-sized baggie that we’re holding.

 

I love the wry look on Dad’s face as he’s showing off our “big” catch. It made me laugh then and it still makes me laugh now. Too bad mom wasn’t the best photographer in the world and it’s so blurry. But that’s okay – I still love the memory!

 

As I was looking for the photo under “fishing” I came across lots of photos of us fishing with dad. And lots of photos of dad fishing. They bring up so many happy memories of days gone by.

 

And those are the best memories.

 

Happy Father’s Day to all you dads out there. May you make lots of best memories!

Dad teaching granddaughter Chloe to fish.

And, okay, this is Andrew's big catch.

Proof that Dad caught more than puny fish!

Spelling, Grammar And Punctuation? Who Cares? (I do.)

I was scrolling through Facebook or Instagram or one of those (sometimes) waste-of-time sites the other day. Actually, I was waiting for my mini-bagel to toast without burning. I’d put one in the toaster and then walked away for a minute to start the washing machine. When I came back, the bagel was burned so badly that when I put the two sides together, it resembled a hockey puck.

 

Not exactly appetizing.

 

If I had been my mother (or still living with her when she was paying the grocery bill), I would have scraped all the burned bits off until it was semi-edible and my hands, knife and the kitchen sink were covered in black ash. But I’m not my mother and I’m responsible for my own grocery bill, so I tossed an entire mini-bagel into the trash can and dropped a second bagel into the toaster.

 

I knew I couldn’t be distracted again so I stood rooted by the toaster. Meanwhile, my technological brain had to be entertained for that nanosecond, so I started scrolling. (What has happened to us that we must constantly scroll social media? It’s mind-boggling. And it is a topic for another day…)

 

Anyway, there I was scrolling. I happened to have my air pod in because I’d been on the phone with my brother earlier, so a video started playing. At this point, I was mostly listening to whatever audio popped up so I could keep my eye on the toaster.

 

Naturally, it was an ad. Hey, once we eliminated ads on many streaming services, the ads had to show up somewhere, right? Seriously, though, it’s kind of out of control. Most of the time, I can scroll on by. But there I was, waiting for the perfectly toasted bagel to pop out of the toaster without incinerating, so I was a captive audience.

 

And what I heard made me scramble for the pause button.

 

It started off okay. The male voice asked me if I was single. (I know where your mind is headed – but you can turn back around. It wasn’t one of those kinds of ads!)

 

Turns out, it was for a food service. Their “master chefs” prepare these delicious meals for one – and they ship them to you at your convenience. No dirty pots and pans. No messy kitchens. No food waste.

 

No burned bagels as a meal, perhaps?

 

When I glanced at the meal he was talking about, it was a perfectly prepared delicious-looking meal. In 2025, we call it food prepared by a master chef. In the ‘60s, we called them TV dinners.

 

Nevertheless, it did spark my interest. I’m terrible at food preparation these days. I shamefully toss half-filled containers of mushy strawberries, blueberries and brown lettuce into the trash because I didn’t plan better – or I couldn’t bear to wash and chop and slice and mix up a salad. If the salad is the meal, I rarely think ahead to defrost the chicken in time to add to that freshly prepared salad – so I, oh, I don’t know, toast a bagel and call it a day.

 

I have a friend who calls those dinners her Raisin Bran meals.

 

Are meal kit delivery companies expensive? Sure, they are. But if we factor in the cost of the food I’m already wasting, then they might just be a little more affordable.

 

Vince and I had tried a few different meal prep companies in years’ past. We liked some of them and weren’t crazy about others. Eventually, we stopped them all. Mostly because it was hard to know ahead of time what our schedule was going to be like for the upcoming weeks. And we’d end up having a stockpile of food that started going bad before we could prepare the meals.

 

After Vince passed, I knew I didn’t want to subscribe to one of these food service companies because they are portioned for two. At a minimum of three meals per week, I knew I wouldn’t eat six of those meals.

 

I know of several other single women who have tried these meal prep companies and they had the same complaint. Too much food for one person, resulting in guilty waste.

 

So this ad had me a bit intrigued. Maybe there is a company that caters to a single person.

 

Once I tossed my slightly under-toasted bagel onto the plate, I turned my attention back to the ad. I pressed “play” again.

 

The narrator was talking about convenience. About carefully crafted meals with fresh ingredients. And then I heard…

 

…“Designed to be ate anywhere…”

 

WHAT??

 

Immediately, I dismissed this food service company.

 

Look, I know I’m not the most proper writer. I frequently use “And” and “But” to start a sentence. I’m fully aware that’s not proper sentence structure.

 

I can never remember what a conjunction or an interjection is, and I seriously doubt I could diagram a sentence with any level of confidence.

 

I am, however, pretty good with most of the basic rules of grammar. The use of past, present and future tense with the correlating verb is a pretty basic grammatical rule. One, I’m guessing, I learned in grade school.

 

So to have a company ad selling what I imagine are pricey food meal kits with such a glaring error in its ad? Well, that is simply shoddy marketing.

 

How difficult would it have been for someone to check their sentence structure? They would easily have discovered that “Designed to be ate anywhere” is incorrect and should instead be, “Designed to be eaten anywhere.”

 

Arrrggh!

 

One of my biggest pet peeves is whenever I hear, “I seen…” Doesn’t matter what he or she saw by that point. I don’t care to continue listening.

My friend Sue was driving behind a truck in Florida advertising Yacht Management. You figure anyone who owns a yacht probably has a pretty good grip on, oh, grammar and spelling - right? The first service they offered was providing a captain to steer the yacht. Only they spelled "captain" wrong. On the truck advertising their services. (Insert eye rolling emoji here.)

Wonder how many clients they've lost without even realizing it? 

 

Other things that drive me a little bonkers are apostrophes in the wrong place (or shouldn’t be used at all), the whole they’re/their/there and your/you’re errors. I try really hard to ignore them, though, because grammar, punctuation and spelling don’t seem to be as important in our text-to-speech and AI Brave New World.

 

I’m trying to be a little more understanding, lest someone toss the derogatory, “Hey Boomer” insult my way.

 

In the meantime, I’m going to toast another bagel for dinner. After all, it’s designed to be ate anywhere.

 

Isn’t it?!

Chasing Maggie Minx

I had dinner with a friend recently where we talked about a myriad of topics – from the mysterious rainstorm that deposited muddy dirt on cars all over Central Ohio – to tax preparation – to our arthritic knees. In between these eclectic subjects, we enjoyed delicious meals and drinks.

 

Somehow our conversation turned to pets that we’ve had through the years and we started talking about our various fur babies.

 

Of course, I couldn’t let a discussion about our pets not include a story or two about Maggie Minx. We laughed about all the times Maggie got loose in the neighborhood and all the lively chases that ensued because Maggie loved to run.

 

She’d take off like a shot if she found an escape route either out of the house or out of her harness. We’d see her pop up at the end of the cul-de-sac and moments later, she’d appear all the way at the other end of the street.

 

Most of the times our little escape artist got free were on Vince’s watch. I know he’s not here to defend himself, but he’d freely admit it if he were.

 

One time he and I were walking her together when he had leash duty. He wasn’t paying attention to her as she was sniffing the ground somewhere behind us, but he was pulling on the leash to keep her moving. She was stubbornly resisting as only Maggie Minx can.

 

I turned around just in time to see the entire harness/leash apparatus come over her head when Vince pulled on it. I think all three of us stood there momentarily frozen with our mouths open.

 

Naturally, Maggie was the first to understand that she was no longer required to trot along at the sedate pace we’d set – and she quickly stepped out of the harness and took off.  

 

We’d chase her. And then the neighbors would get involved. Treats were offered. (To the dog; not the neighbors.) And then another neighbor’s dog – with whom Maggie was best buds – would be brought out to join the chase to entice her home.

 

Nothing really worked until Maggie tired herself out and either came home on her own – or someone managed to scoop her up.

 

It was embarrassing.

 

I was pretty careful when I watched her and walked her. I didn’t leave the doors open for anything longer than 2.3 seconds – and, if I did, I strategically placed a leg in the doorway barricading her from possible escape. I didn’t let her back out of her harness – having seen it happen once, I was not about to let it happen again.

 

There were only a couple of times she broke free when she was my responsibility – and I would have to defend myself by saying that they were more mechanical failures than they were user errors.

 

One time was when we were walking and enjoying a beautiful warm, sunny spring day. Maggie was prancing along sniffing her neighbor doggie friends’ pee-mail and I was blithely unaware that a catastrophe was about to occur.

 

She stopped to leave a bit of pee-mail of her own when suddenly I noticed that I was holding the leash, but the other end was not attached to Maggie. It was another case of mouth open in frozen disbelief…but I was able to recover quickly and quietly walk up behind her and scoop her up in my arms before she realized she was not even remotely tethered to me.

 

Turns out the single D-ring on her harness had come apart with enough space to allow the clip on the leash to slip through.

 

Once my heartbeat returned to normal and we arrived home, I promptly tossed that harness into the trash and immediately ordered a harness with two “D” rings.

 

A backup D-ring is never a bad idea.

 

The second time Maggie Minx got loose on my watch was again technically a mechanical failure. I had put her outside on her dog run so I could vacuum in peace. She growls and bites ferociously at the hapless Hoover. Still does. Makes vacuuming ever so much fun.

 

Anyway, I finished my chores and headed out to get Maggie only to see her tearing off down the street with about a foot of plastic-coated cable bouncing merrily along behind her.

 

The cable had somehow snapped in two and, while the stake and most of the cable was still firmly planted in the ground, the hook and the rest of it was now attached to Maggie’s harness.

 

Oh sure - she looks all sweet and innocent

It was at this point that I seriously questioned why we were allowed to own a dog.

 

The facts are a bit blurry now, but I somehow got her back home and disengaged from the cable. How it snapped from the likes of a 10 lb Yorkie, I’ll never know.

 

When I finished telling tales about my little escape artist during dinner with my friend, I knocked against the wooden table and proudly stated that since I had been living at my new place, I’d never lost her.

 

I know I knocked firmly on that wooden table.

 

And then yesterday – not even a week later – Maggie escaped when she darted out of the sliding back door to the patio.

 

Plotting her next escape

It’s all because I’m tattling about Vince losing her so many times, isn’t it?!

 

This time it was definitely user error. I had walked Maggie earlier in the morning when it was still dark (darn Daylight Savings Time). Somehow Maggie picked up a piece of something, uh, no longer living – and promptly ate it before I could try to get it away from her. But, trust me, the Jaws of Life would have a hard time getting something out from between her clamped jaws if she doesn’t want to let go.

 

So I knew we were in for a rough day.

 

We came home and Maggie promptly threw up something nasty that I had to clean up. Which was both good and bad. Good, because I figured it was better out of her system. Bad, because I nearly tossed my cookies myself while cleaning up the mess. And I hadn’t even had any cookies to that point. Haha.

 

The next time we went out for a walk, it was light out and I could at least attempt to watch out for dangers lurking in the grass.

 

But that’s all Maggie wanted to do – eat grass. So, upset tummy it is.

 

When this happens, I let her eat a little grass to settle her stomach – to an extent. She won’t eat the pure pumpkin that I’ve been told will help. So I usually put her on the dog run outside the patio for a few minutes. She can’t get far because it’s not a long one. And I keep an eye on her.

 

Well, I opened the sliding glass door. Then I opened the screen door in order to go outside to fetch the cable clip, but Maggie was out the door before I could block her exit.

 

Since she (a) is older now and (b) was not feeling well, she didn’t go far. Just stood about a foot outside the patio searching for any tender new shoots of grass that hadn’t been decimated by the winter.

 

I was surprised that I didn’t panic. I calmly called her to come inside. She ignored me. I slowly walked toward her, but she kept backing a little farther away searching for grass to munch on. Finally, I got close enough while she was distracted and I was able to pick her up and bring her back inside.

 

So much for knocking on wood.

 

I was hugely relieved that it ended well. Perhaps, however, in the future I will refrain from mentioning who has lost her and simply concentrate on not losing her again?

 

I don’t think my new neighbors would be quite so willing to chase Maggie Minx.

 

Friendships as We Age. Part II.

A couple of weeks ago I had breakfast with a friend. We started talking about friendships and she described an article she had read (or maybe it was a podcast she listened to) about how difficult it is for older people to develop true friendships. That when you’re young, it’s easy to make friends.

 

Think about it – when you’re young, you meet kids in school and you become friends. Sometimes they’re lifelong friends and sometimes they may be just your friend from the third-grade.

 

But several things need to happen to make friendships “stick.” Some of these are: 1) shared interests or common ground, 2) continuity and consistency, and 3) similar priorities.

 

Kids are all in the same environment – they’re relatively the same age, they have school all day and homework to do and tests to study for. They’re all in the same boat, so to speak. They consistently see the same group of people every day for months at a time – long enough to build on budding friendships. And they may play the same sports after school or get together for play dates or birthday parties. So they’re together long enough to know who they want to become friends with.

 

Also, kids are in the same “stage” of life – they don’t have differing priorities. They need to discover how to diagram a sentence or learn the definition of photosynthesis. They don’t have spouses at home and they don’t have bills to pay. (And if they did, that would be a little creepy…)

 

Anyway, this is why it is sometimes difficult to build true friendships with workmates. Even though you are in the same proximity day in and day out, you need all the other elements to work together.

 

You can be friends at work and even meet for dinners or happy hours to unwind after the workweek, but if one goes home to a spouse and kids and the other goes to a quiet apartment, they’re in different life stages and may not develop true friendships.

 

Also, when one person leaves the company, they don’t have that same day-to-day interaction and their friendship may fizzle out.

 

Notice I’m using a lot of “mays” and “sometimes” here. There are occasions when true friendships are built with a workmate after only a few short months. It depends on the people and it depends on the circumstances.

 

This is where I’ve been lucky. I was in vastly different life stages than some of my work friends. Some of them were older, had kids, were married and had to deal with helping their children with their homework and putting dinner on the table. I, on the other hand, was single with few responsibilities other than to feed my cat once in a while.

 

Fortunately, I worked in a department where we enjoyed each other’s company and we had many outside activities, including department rivalry softball games, general get-togethers and holiday gatherings. I believe we named the first Friday of every month as a holiday that warranted a happy hour and dance party.

 

And, okay, by the way, I’m kidding about my cat. I took very good care of Tux – fed her every day and even cleaned her kitty litter box on the regular. She was apparently getting me trained to be a true servant to Maggie Minx several decades later – even though she probably would have been horrified to learn that I would be so devoted to a d-o-g.

 

Anyway, I digress. Somehow we built those work friendships into true friendships – and I cherish them even today.

 

I met one of my best friends on our first day at Ohio State. We had the components of shared interests (Elementary Education majors), continuity (many day-to-day classes together) and similar priorities (getting college educations).

 

Sue interrupted her schooling after our freshman year to get married, go to work and start a family. Interestingly, our friendship continued to flourish even though we were in vastly different stages in our lives. I couldn’t imagine being a wife and a mom. I couldn’t imagine worrying about paying the electric bill every month or making dinner for a spouse every night. Instead, I was still interested in meeting friends at the Thirsty-I and playing pranks on the guys in the dorm across the way from us.

 

A few years later, Sue and her young daughters moved to Florida and our friendship could have fizzled out then. But we made the effort to keep in touch by writing letters to each other. Yes, Virginia, there was a time before we had Instant Messaging and communication. Hard to believe now. Even calling each other didn't happen often because we were girls on a budget and long-distance calls were a luxury.

 

Eventually, Sue moved back to Columbus and remarried. And when I met and married Vince, the four of us became great friends, which is wonderful because it made traveling and hanging out together so special.

 

So it takes extra effort to maintain friendships as we go through life. But I, for one, think it’s worth it.

 

The friend who brought up the topic of making friends as we age and how it becomes more difficult? She told me about her own experience in this regard. Several couples who were close friends moved to other states and, while she and her husband were able to maintain those friendships long distance, getting together for a meal on a random Saturday night became problematic.

 

So they decided to explore other ways to meet people. They joined a pickleball league and play several times every week. Eventually, a small group from the league started meeting for happy hours or meals that didn’t include the actual playing of pickleball – and these people became friendly and started socializing more often.

 

Now, after 3-4 years, Susan would call some of these folks real friends. And that’s because all those elements – shared interests, continuity and similar priorities – are all present. They see each other on a regular basis, they all have common interests (besides pickleball), and they are all in the same stage of life – retired/no young kids to raise.

 

So while it takes some work to forge new friendships as we get older, it can be incredibly rewarding.

 

I’m grateful for the circle of friends I have. But I’m never averse to making new friends.

 

Just don’t expect me to pick up a pickleball racquet anytime soon. I've got bad knees and don't need more reasons to require surgical procedures.

 

Stay well, my friends. Until next time…

Friendships as we Age (Part I)

Recently I attended a birthday gathering to celebrate a friend’s 50^th birthday. It was one of those cold winter evenings where I seriously considered staying home wrapped up in my fuzzy jacket and fleece blanket. Maggie Minx would be snoozing in my lap and I’d have my latest novel in hand reading about the main character summering in Greece.

 

Two reasons made me unwrap myself and head out the door, which were: 1) I had already taken off the fuzzy jacket and put on my go-out clothes, and 2) Maggie Minx was driving me nuts as I’d been home with her for two whole days without a break and she was whining to go out for a walk every 20 minutes.

 

Actually, there was a third reason – and that was, I missed seeing this group of friends and hoped to reconnect.

 

And, yeah, Reason #3 was the most important because I hadn’t seen some of these folks in a long time. And it turned out to be a wonderful evening, even if I didn’t specifically have conversations with some of them other than to hug and say hello.

 

I realize that, since Covid and Vince’s passing, I don’t get together with large groups of friends as much as I used to. Part of it is my fault in that I haven’t wanted to immerse myself in large group gatherings, but I also realize that we don’t seem to get together in large groups as much either ever since Covid.

 

There was a time we used to gather for every and any little thing. Birthdays, anniversaries, happy hours, weddings, sports, trivia, wine tasting, the first random warm Friday evening after a cold winter. You name it, we got together for it.

 

Now, however, we seem to pick and choose what events merit our presence.

 

Don’t get me wrong. There are still plenty of get-togethers. Some folks are in the ski club with activities like bowling, Euchre, softball and, oh yeah, skiing. There have been smaller groups who get together for trivia or wine tastings or happy hours. Some folks play in fantasy football leagues and get together for whatever reason they need to gather together for in fantasy football. (Clearly, this doesn’t include me as I don’t have the first clue.)

 

And I’m sure there are plenty of times couples get together for Saturday night dinner and movie dates or what have you.

 

fuzzy group photo

But attending this party and looking around the room made me realize that I’ve missed this. Someone took a few group photos, which was great. But people kept joining the party. So even after the photos were taken, maybe another dozen people arrived.

 

So while it wasn’t a close-down-the-bar late night for me, it was a thoroughly enjoyable evening and I’m really glad Kendra had a birthday we could help celebrate.

 

While I may not regularly attend large group gatherings, I do spend a lot of time with smaller groups and one-on-ones with friends. Meeting a friend or two for a meal or to do a little shopping or just hanging out together has been my jam.

 

Recently I was invited to go a movie with two of my friends and former neighbors. I’m not sure if it was a spur-of-the-moment thing or not, but I had already made plans with another friend and couldn’t join them.

 

Later, Meg texted me and asked what specific days/times worked for me to get together and do something.

 

Yeah, I wish I were that organized a person who had specific days and times available for scheduling. Instead, the week ahead I look at my schedule and if there isn’t much on it, I proceed to fill it up. You might ask me what’s going on next week and I might say, “Not a thing.”

 

Then, a couple of days later, I’ve got no availability.

 

And, let’s be real – I don’t have something going on every single day. After all, I’m not 25 anymore. Heck, I’m not even double that age anymore.

 

Some of us need naps.

 

Nevertheless, the week did turn out to be a busy one. Initially, I had the birthday party at the beginning of the week and dinner with a friend at the end of the week. Good enough. But then another group dinner with my TWIG group was scheduled and a wine tasting I hadn’t known about was planned.

 

So I had a busy week – and even though I could easily have stayed wrapped up in my fuzzy jacket and snuggly blankets with my dog in my lap – I’m so glad I went to each one. Because connecting with other people is important, particularly as we get older.

 

A friend I had breakfast with recently talked about why people have a harder time meeting new people and developing true friendships as we age – and it was interesting enough that I may talk about it in more depth.

 

But right now…my fuzzy jacket and snuggly blanket are calling my name. And Maggie is, frankly, due for her walk even though she isn’t whining too much at the moment. Better take her out before she starts.

 

Have a great rest of your weekend, everyone. Stary warm. And maybe call a friend.

 

Until next time…

Decluttering and Its Impact on Charcuterie Efforts

 

Welcome to 2025, folks! Yes, it’s nearly the end of January and I’m just now working on my first blog of the year. Oh, the shame!

 

Actually, I had started two other blogs earlier this month, neither of which I finished. Considering they were mostly complaints about the negative wind chill factors and how much snow and ice I had to tromp through when I took Maggie for her daily walks – it’s probably a good thing I didn’t finish either of them.

 

Today is a balmy 31 degrees F and I feel like we’re experiencing a heat wave. Ooh, double digits! Now, instead of donning a hat, scarf, gloves, parka and winter boots with spikes, I only have to wear the hat, coat and gloves. Leaves me with a lot of extra time in my day, so let’s hope the warming trend continues.

 

Yeah, sure. I mean, c’mon. It’s still January. And I fear that Old Man Winter and Mother Nature have teamed up and aren’t done with us quite yet. Apparently, they’ve decided to show us who’s boss this winter. (And if you live in temperate climes, consider yourself fortunate.)

 

Anyway, since I’m not a fan of cold weather, I’ve been trying to stay inside as much as possible. Thus, I’ve been working on household purging this month. I still have Too. Much. Stuff! I’ve managed to clean out all my kitchen cabinets, although a second pass probably wouldn’t hurt. Just because everything fits in them neatly, doesn’t mean I need all that stuff.

 

Yesterday, I cleaned out the cabinets under the kitchen sink. Not that I rummage under there often, but it is a good feeling to open the cabinets and see order instead of chaos.

 

I have noticed, however, that on occasion I purge a little too much. Most times I don’t have the need for all the serving platters and bowls that we used to own. This is true because I no longer entertain the way that Vince and I did on a regular basis. Plus, I no longer have two kitchens with sufficient cabinet space to house all that stuff either.

 

So over the past several years I’ve greatly reduced the number and types of party supplies in my cabinets. But recently I was invited to a dinner party where I was asked to bring the dessert – only I realized I no longer had a nice serving platter. On it, I was planning to bring fresh fruits and a dip as well as brownies for the chocoholics amongst us.

 

Instead of having one big display of all things sweet, I had to bring two small trays. It didn’t have quite the impact I was hoping for, although I don’t suppose it would have been a good idea to have strawberry juice making the ooey-gooey chocolate brownies soggy.

 

On the other hand, I wasn’t able to pull off a Pinterest Win with my display either.

 

I blame the charcuterie craze. Now instead of being able to slap some strawberries, grapes and blueberries on a plate and be done with it, our food offerings must now resemble works of art.

 

Like I have any clue how to cut a strawberry so that it resembles a fragile red rose.

 

I even saw displays featuring the pineapple crown as a Christmas tree complete with a pineapple star and cranberry “ornaments.” I may have given it the ol’ college try, but I neither had a pineapple on hand, nor did I want to make a last-minute Kroger run. So while that entire idea was out, I did use my star cookie cutter on the cantaloupe. AND the brownies.

 

Hey, I tried.

 

Since I have no photos to share, I clearly wasn’t impressed with my fruit board enough to document it – but grapes pretty much taste the same whether they’re plunked down in a section on a tray or they’re swirled on a board so as to resemble a river amid the sea of fruit.

 

Can you tell I want to be the person who makes the sea of fruit display? Yeah, I have Charcuterie Envy.

 

But I’ll do my best to restrain myself. I don’t have room anymore in my cabinets for those big platters anyway.

 

And, once I finish this blog (and it’s looking good that it might actually get posted as I’ve made it farther than either of the last two blog attempts), I am heading to the spare bathroom to work on purging and organizing the closet in there. Old towels to be gathered and collected for donation to dog shelters? Check. Over the counter medications that expired three years ago? Check, check.

 

Wish me luck. If the temps rise much further, I may be outside luxuriating in the fact that half my face doesn’t need to be covered in a wool scarf that makes it hard to see or boots that took an extra five minutes to don.

 

Enjoy the rest of January, friends. Keep warm. And feel free to show me your Pinterest Charcuterie Wins. 

 

Until next time…