Taking the Time to Ruminate on the Importance of Experiences Over Things

It always amazes me how fast time flies – and these days it’s like time is set to warp speed. Seems like just a moment ago I was at the pool relaxing and enjoying the hot sun on my face and the cool water on my tootsies as I glided along in my float on the Lazy River.

 

But now suddenly it’s Christmas Eve Eve and I haven’t even started wrapping the presents I’m bringing to the Cordova family Christmas celebration tomorrow. Eek!

 

So what am I doing sitting at my computer writing a long-overdue blog, you ask? Well, I’m a procrastinator from way back, see, and I felt like writing a blog and didn’t feel like wrapping stuff.

 

But I’ll get it done. I usually do. Sometimes things don’t look quite as nice or fancy as I intend them to. We call these things “Pinterest Fails” – but I rarely post photos of them, so if there are no photos, then there is no actual proof that I’ve failed. Or so I choose to believe.

 

Truthfully, I think I don’t want to wrap stuff because I’m afraid I’ll feel like I don’t have enough. That’s what usually happens when I wrap Christmas gifts. And I seriously do NOT want to go anywhere near a retail establishment today. The 23^rd of December? You kiddin’ me, pal?!

 

So what I have for folks will just have to be enough. As they say, it’s the thought that counts. And “they” are always right. Right?!

 

As I’ve gotten older, I finally “get” what older people through the years have meant when they said it’s all about the experiences we have with our loved ones rather than the things we acquire.

 

When I was younger, I had so many wants and needs that I didn’t care as much about the experience of, say, the annual family trip to Parkwood Beach. I felt like I needed the new suitcase so I could take the trip.

 

Yeah, when we were kids, we didn’t even have suitcases. Our parents put our vacation clothes in paper bags. You believe that?! One bag per kid, so it was tough being a teenager in the Domian household. Ain’t no way I could stuff a hairdryer, stack of paperbacks and my numerous outfits with an appropriate selection of footwear for the two-week trip all in one measly paper bag.

 

I have to admit being a little envious of the adorable tiny suitcases with adorable tiny wheels they have for little kids today. Sigh. I was so deprived.

 

No, not really. I was, after all, able to travel to Parkwood Beach every year with my family. I didn’t realize that some families never took annual vacations to the beach.

 

But I digress.

 

Because now I cherish the memories of those family trips. And I miss them.

 

And I appreciate the time I get to spend with the people in my life.

 

Take the last couple of weeks, for example. I’ve had numerous get-togethers with various friends. I feel happy. And I’ve thoroughly enjoyed myself at every single gathering!

 

I’ve laughed. I’ve even shed a tear or two – but then the mood quickly shifted and we were back to laughing again.

 

We’ve shared meals, we’ve shared experiences – doing a little Christmas shopping, getting pedicures, preparing food, cleaning up afterwards, celebrating a birthday, enjoying a glass of wine, and talking, talking, talking. SO much talking!

 

You’d think we’d have run out of things to talk about, but noooo. (It’s a good thing I’m not talking to the same person every time. Then I surely would have run out of things to talk about and they would have had to say, “I KNOW, Jane. You’ve told me that same story five times now!”)

 

But I believe that these get-togethers have been worth more than 100 new suitcases. Uh, not that I’d want to go back to schlepping things around in paper bags, mind you. But the seven-year-old TJ Maxx suitcase I have suits me just fine.

 

So it may be too soon to set a New Year’s Resolution, but I’m going to do it, anyway. I’m going to focus on the experiences with friends and family next year rather than in acquiring new things. They are just things, after all, and are so not important in the grand scheme of this life.

 

Maybe it’s because I’m older now and I know that my life is not better because I have a big, impressive house and expensive furnishings in it. I kind of had that already – and I’d much rather have my Vince here with me in my small(er) flat with less expensive (but oh, so cute to me) furnishings, than in that big, impressive house.

 

I miss the house, sure. But I miss my Vince even more. And how much more special would it be to sit on the couch together drinking a morning cup of coffee with him and talking about our upcoming day than walking into a jewelry store and shopping for the most expensive bauble?

 

Hands down the cup of coffee experience would win over the bauble-shopping trip.

 

I’m not sure I could have made that statement a few short years ago.

 

I’m also not saying that I’ll never buy anything again. Because sometimes purchasing a little trinket when I’m on a trip or out with a friend means that I’ll think of that person whenever I look at that item because those things are tied up in the memory of my time with the special people in my life. But I don’t think I need the expensive things anymore.

 

In the meantime, while I’m staying out of all those retail establishments, I’m going to figure out what sorts of fun adventures and experiences I can take with friends and family in the new year.

 

Even at this advanced age, I’m thinking there are still new things to learn.

 

And maybe at this time next year I won’t be worrying that I don’t have enough gifts for people – but that I have just the right gift. Of time. Of the importance of family. And of togetherness.

 

We’ll see. Maybe first I need to take a class on how to stop procrastinating… But before that, I’d better get to wrapping those gifts. Tomorrow is gonna be here before I know it.

 

Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and all the happiness your little heart can hold in the upcoming New Year.

 

If I don’t get to another one before the end of the year, I want to thank you for reading my blogs this year. It means a lot. Sending lots of love from me to you.

Another Infernal Technology Update

Someday I’m going to figure out technology. Of course, the second I do, it'll change.

 

Why is this?

 

It has gotten to the point where I absolutely loathe updating my phone and anything remotely technical. Because whenever I do, apps do not work like they’re supposed to. Or I have to re-enter a password that is one of those “no hacker in the world will EVER be able to guess this one” created by the little bots hiding in my hard drive.

 

The only person who CAN’T guess those passwords is me.

 

And it usually happens at a critical time.

 

Like the other day. I was in a hurry and needed some groceries. I had overscheduled my day and needed to get gas, stop at the library, pick up groceries, get home, put them away – and then drive across town to meet a friend for dinner. All in a very restricted time span. 

So early that morning I sat down at my computer and placed an order for pick-up. It’s free if you spend a minimal amount – and I knew I wouldn’t have time to wander the aisles at Kroger.

 

But when I pulled into the parking spot, I noticed that they’d removed the phone number that you text when you arrive. Instead, the sign displayed one of those black and white QR codes that I had to scan to tell the store I was there.

 

QR Code for Jane's Domain!

When I scanned it, it took me to Kroger’s website where I was supposed to re-enter my password. That I couldn't remember. I mean, I was never one of those people who used “Password123” or something ridiculously simple that even a mediocre hacker could hack.

 

No, I used to try to create passwords that were a little more challenging – but were something that I could at least remember.

 

Not anymore. Like everyone else, I have about a bajillion sites that require passwords with numbers, letters, special characters and hieroglyphics. Not to mention the 2-step authentications, retina scans and a DNA test to prove I am who I say I am.

 

Yet, with all of that, how does my Facebook profile still get hacked??

 

Anyway, I was finally able to let the store know I was there by checking a text from them that bypassed having to re-enter a password. Fortunately, my frozen food remained frozen AND I was able to complete all my other tasks and get to my friend’s house on time.

 

Whew.

 

Recently, I noticed that my iPhone stopped recognizing my face. Yeah, iPhone, I AM a couple years older than I was when I set it up, but I don’t look that different, for cryin’ out loud.

 

So I figured I’d just start the process over again. But the very first screen where you move the phone around scanning your face didn’t work. So I fussed around with it for a while, then Google-searched possible solutions. Tried ‘em all.

 

Until finally – somehow – I was able to re-scan my face. Yippee!

 

Then I shut off my phone and turned it back on so it could get to the facial recognition screen.

 

And my phone refused to recognize my face.

 

Sheesh. Talk about a confidence killer. Now I’m old and apparently so ugly, iPhone won’t even talk to me.

 

During my research, I read that some folks had to take their phones to the store to be worked on. And that Apple wanted $200 to fix the problem. Uh, sorry, Apple. No can do.

 

I am fine with entering a six-digit passcode to get into my phone.

 

Except that I have an awful lot of two-factor authentications set up – and they require facial recognition.

 

Sigh.

 

But my iPhone is not the only technological culprit.

 

I recently had to update my laptop. It’s hooked up to a big screen so my poor little eyes don’t get overly strained while I work. But this complicates matters – because I’m never sure if I have to adjust the screen – or the laptop itself – whenever something goes haywire.

 

Like the volume/sound on my computer. I remember about a year ago after a computer update going through this same issue when I couldn’t hear anything. Videos would play, but there was no sound. I fussed and researched and tried multiple fixes and – miraculously – something finally worked and I had sound.

 

Figured that was the end of that issue – right? Oh, no, Skippy. Not so much.

 

Because the problem is back. I got on my computer the other day and clicked on a funny video (because the video maker told me it was funny – and they even told me to turn the volume up). But there was no sound. Even though I fussed and tried multiple fixes.

 

Guess I have to re-research audio solutions.

 

I wish I could remember the steps I took to fix problems when they occur. The only problem with that is that I end up fiddling around trying so many things that when I finally do get something to work, I have no earthly clue which steps worked and in what order.

 

If I tried writing down my process, it wouldn’t work the next time I tried it. Probably because I’m supposed to add steps in the middle like spin around three times, click my heels together and say a little prayer to those little bots hiding in this crazy technological world.

 

Maybe I should just go back to the olden days like my brother John. He is not “connected” in any way – doesn’t have the Internet or a router – and doesn’t have a single password he has to remember. I’m not even sure he knows what an “app” is.

 

He finally got a cell phone – except it’s a flip phone (I kid you not.)

 

He hasn’t mastered the “Press 4 twice for “H,” wait a second, then press 4 again three times for “I” – all to just say Hi. Hard to believe we used to do that to send text messages, eh?

 

But John has resorted to a complicated code of communication. He types “1” for yes/agreement/what he/she said and “2” for no/ain’t happenin’/don’t even get me started.

 

Fortunately, his college-educated siblings have been able to crack the code and the four of us have had actual conversations this way.

 

Nah. I can't go back. How would I express myself without access to emojis? And I'd end up thumb-texting in my sleep 'til I developed carpal tunnel. 

But I have so many more examples of the frustrations we all experience in the technological world, and no more time today. 

So I may write about them in a Part II. Or not. Depends on if my computer needs to be updated between now and then.

Is it Fall? Or Christmas?

I think Mother Nature is confused. It’s October, which is hard enough for me to believe, but some of the small trees in my neighborhood have already shed their brightly colored leaves. They were pretty for about a half a second – and then they were on the ground where Maggie and I have been crunching them underfoot on our daily walks.

 

Okay, that’s sort of normal for this time of year – maybe a little soon for the foliage to completely surrender. But it was also in the mid- to upper-70s last week. So which is it, Mother Nature? Late Summer or Early Fall?

 

Both, I guess. Because this morning the temps plummeted to the upper 30s. Brrr.

 

And now I have to say what I say every Fall: I’m. Not. Ready. For. This!

 

Of course, some people I know have been ready for Fall since sometime around mid-July. And others have even started in on Christmas. That, for sure, I’m not ready for.

 

But it does no good to complain as the changing of the seasons is going to come whether we’re ready for it or not.

 

Doesn’t mean I’m breaking out my warmest winter coat just yet. But I did unearth a pair of gloves the other morning.

 

And it also doesn’t mean I’m breaking out the Christmas tree and all my pretty, sparkly decorations either. I promised myself this year I’m going to let the fall holidays have their due before I haul out the tree.

 

Even if I’m not a big fan of orange.

 

Besides, I have a ton of pumpkins – glass, ceramic and fabric – and they do me no good tucked away in a tote in the garage.

 

And – c’mon – it’s me.  In addition to the one or two orange pumpkins, I also have hot pink and mint green pumpkins. Who needs to be realistic in Jane’s Domain?!

 

I have a neighbor down the street who is equally as confused as Mother Nature. Last night when Maggie and I passed their place, I saw an entire pumpkin and gourd display in their yard, complete with orange lights and Dollar Store scarecrows.

 

But, since their blinds were open and I could see past the kitchen and into their living room, I also noticed they’ve already put up their six-foot Christmas tree.

 

You can’t even fake that it’s their “Fall” (read: both Halloween and Thanksgiving) tree since red, yellow, blue and green lights shout neither “Trick or Treat” nor “Happy Thanksgiving”!

 

I don’t know whether or not they’ve decorated the tree with ornaments yet, mostly because I didn’t want to get caught staring. I’d have to maneuver through their bales of hay to press my nose up to the glass – and I’m not that curious. Plus, I don’t relish the idea of getting arrested as a Peeping Tom, er, Jane.

 

Who’d walk Maggie before I got bailed out?

 

I used to get a little grumpy when stores rushed the holidays. First, they put up Christmas decorations immediately after Halloween, along with their 50% off bags of Fun-Size Snickers and Almond Joys. Then they started putting up their displays before Halloween. Now, you can barely get through Labor Day without seeing a few garlands and ornaments and trees decking the halls by the first of September.

 

No wonder people get confused and start decorating for all the last quarter of the year holidays concurrently. It’s a HalloThanksMas kind of experience.

 

But, hey. In my old age, I’ve decided that people can do whatever they want.

 

I’ll just stay here in my little corner of the world enjoying my hot pink and mint green pumpkins.

 

And I’ll work on keeping warm. Or cool. Depending on what Mother Nature decides.

 

A Little Bit of Spontaneity Never Hurt Anyone

Labor Day weekend was always the time Vince and I took a trip. Whether it was a quickie overnighter to Hocking Hills or a week-long vacation to Hilton Head, we usually headed somewhere out of town for a little fun, relaxation and adventure. We’d celebrate our wedding anniversary and my upcoming birthday. And we’d just enjoy our time together.

 

I miss those trips. I miss the planning of those trips. And I miss Vince. But life goes on and I have to make do. Yet in the last couple of years, I haven’t gone away over Labor Day Weekend.

 

But this year, my cousin Cathy invited me to northern Michigan to visit with her and some of my other cousins at their family cottage north of Traverse City.

 

She was having a cookout on Sunday and said I should be there for that, but that I was welcome anytime during the week.

 

Since I’d just been to Ann Arbor for a visit, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go back again so soon. True, Northern Michigan is quite different from Ann Arbor. But to experience the beautiful lakes and countryside “up north,” I’d have to tack on an additional four hours of drive time, making it a 7-1/2 hour long drive.

 

I simply wasn't sure I wanted to make the long trek.

So instead of making a decision to go and start packing and getting ready, I procrastinated. I headed to the local pool and spent Saturday afternoon floating around the Lazy River with some friends. We wanted to get in that one last sunny summer day at the pool.

 

But then I got a text from Cathy telling me the offer was still good and that I really should consider it given that it was going to be unbearably hot in New Albany – but it was going to be perfect weather up north.

 

I am generally not a spontaneous person. Whenever I act spontaneously, I sort of surprise myself.

 

And, sure enough, I surprised myself this time, too.

 

I sent Cathy a text and said I was on my way.

 

I tossed some things in the suitcase, which truthfully, had been barely unpacked from my previous trip to the state Up North. I gassed up the car and was on my way.

 

But first I had to check Facebook. I saw some goofy meme and couldn’t resist sharing it on my page.

 

And then I was on my way.

 

Cathy, meanwhile, was already up north at the family cottage and was perusing FB herself. She saw my post and gave me grief about posting things on social media instead of driving.

 

 

Just a suggestion??

Nevertheless, I made good time. I donned my shades and enjoyed the beautiful sunny day. I sang along (badly) to the tunes on my playlists. And I marveled at the crazy drivers in Michigan traveling – at a minimum – 85 MPH in a 75 MPH zone.

 

As I neared my destination, I was on the lookout for one last potty break. Found a gas station, topped off one tank and drained the other. Hey, what can I tell you? As I get older, I’ve learned that the last thing I want to do is arrive at my destination, ignore every single person as I rush past their arms waiting to give me a welcome hug just to dash to the bathroom.

 

It’s embarrassing. Not to mention slightly rude.

 

So, there you go. Make one last pit stop before you arrive. Just a little Travel Tip from me to you.

 

(You’re welcome!)

 

Anyway, I was happy to see my cousins as there was a full house with everyone sitting around the table talking, catching up and noshing on some pre-meal appetizers.

 

Dinner was delicious. Spending time with my cousins was priceless.

 

But “perfect weather”? Uh. Not so much.

 

It was in the mid-80s and humid. And the cottage was built in the days before installing Central Air was a given. Besides, it’s not normally so hot and humid up there.

 

I was missing my A/C in the worst way. And Cathy was apologizing for her meteorological goof. (What? She doesn’t control the weather??)

 

The room I was staying in had a ceiling fan, which was helpful. And all the windows in the cottage had been opened to allow in whatever breeze was to be had.

 

But as we headed off to bed, I noticed an inordinate number of tiny flying bugs in the room. Whether they got in as people came in and out of the house or they were able to get in through the window screens, I have no idea. But anytime you’re in a place with water and lots of trees and vegetation, you’re bound to be in the midst of all manner of wildlife.

 

I am not a fan of bugs – but at least these were not the biting or stinging kind. They were just the annoying kind who were attracted to light.

 

Which meant I could not read to get myself settled down and ready to fall sleep. Instead, I was constantly slapping and swatting at them. Finally, I got up, found a small electric fan to aim directly on me and closed the windows to keep out any additional critters that might want to use me for dive bombing practice during the middle of the night.

 

After that, I somehow got a restful night’s sleep. And the bugs stayed away for the rest of the stay, for which I was exceedingly grateful.

 

And I had a wonderful time! We spent time on the deck looking out at Little Traverse Lake. We read a little. We all talked and laughed and reminisced. We had meals together with various groupings of cousins. We took a pontoon boat ride and let the breeze cool us down a little.

 

And Cathy and I took a drive through the state park looking at the sites and the majesty that is Lake Michigan. We drove by the sand dunes that we swore were so much bigger when we were kids. 

And Cathy would stop every so often and kick me out of the car to go take pictures.

 

I’m not the photographer Vince was. Sometimes I forget to take photos. Like we never got a group shot, which would have been so special. Instead, I’d take candid pictures that are in no way “frame-able” but will still evoke memories of the good time I had.

 

While on the pontoon, I tried to take a photo of Cathy and Mary Lou. My finger somehow got in the way and I completely blocked Mary Lou out of the frame. Uh, my only excuse is that the sun was in my eyes. (Yeah, that excuse doesn’t work in baseball, either…) But, still. The picture makes me laugh, so I keep showing it.

 

We spent a few hours on the pontoon. Some of the more daring folks jumped off the boat into the water. I hadn’t even put on a bathing suit under my clothes so that wasn’t a remote possibility. But back at the cottage, Cathy and I did wade into the lake and paddled around a bit while her dog Oliver kept a watchful eye from the dock.

 

So, all in all, it was a delightful visit and I was so glad I went. Despite the 7-1/2 hour drive-time. And despite the unrelenting heat.

 

By the way, it did cool down. The day I was leaving. As a matter of fact, the sky turned black and it absolutely poured. I later heard that the area got seven inches of rain that day, which is crazy. And during my drive home, it was a veritable deluge until I got halfway down the state. But then the sun came out and it turned hot and humid again.

 

But by this point, I did not care. My car is fully equipped with A/C – and believe you me, I had it blasting.

 

I arrived home tired but happy.

 

And so very glad I decided to be a little bit spontaneous.

A Visit to the State of My Birth

My birthday week is also my wedding anniversary, so the past couple of years have been a little tough without my Vince to celebrate with. But I’m pretty good at distracting myself – and I have some pretty great people in my life who help to distract me, too.

 

This year was no different.

 

I went to visit my cousin and friend in Ann Arbor a few weeks ago as a quick late summer getaway. And, okay, sure, it also gave me a bit of a break from having to get up at 6 a.m. every morning to walk my precious little Maggie Minx.

 

Hey, what can I say? I love the little stinker. But I also have to confess that I don’t love getting up before dawn to stumble around in the dark with a poo bag and a flashlight.

 

Anyway, Cathy and I spent hours talking and catching up on both current events in our lives as well as sharing memories from our childhood.

 

We spent some time exploring the area – including the campus at the University of Michigan. Yeah, yeah, my OSU brethren may boo and hiss – but, c’mon. Have a little respect. We’re rivals, sure, but we’re also talkin’ family here.

 

The day we drove around campus was Move-In day for the students, which meant we were dodging veritable throngs of children. Yeah, I said it. It’s hard to remember ever being that young. And yet, we were that same age when our parents released us into the wild that is a college campus.

 

What Cathy and I found amusing, however, was the way the co-eds were dressed. About 95% of them had on cropped tank tops and frayed edge jean cutoffs with the pockets peeking out of the bottoms.  (Which translates to short shorts. Very short shorts!)

 

Holy tomatoes – it was like we were transported back to the 70s! I wore the exact same outfits in high school. Well, not to actual class. But after school? Yeah, I sported that very look.

 

Now, of course, I’m amazed that my mother let me walk around like that. Guess she was picking her battles and that wasn’t the one to fight about?

 

I don’t know, but it’s too bad I can’t ask her now.

 

Another day Cathy and I took a tour of the homes our families lived in back in the day. While I could remember the name of the street my family lived on when we lived in Dearborn, I couldn’t remember the street number. I knew it had five digits, but all the houses on that street had five digits. Not helpful.

 

On the other hand, I was only six when we moved from Michigan to Ohio – so I had to give myself a pass.

 

Nevertheless, as we drove up and down the street that held my earliest memories, it was so familiar. I can remember my grandfather rocking in a rocking chair on the front porch. I can remember chasing the neighborhood boy across the street after he clonked my brother John in the head when the three of us were playing in the sandbox and John wouldn’t give up the toy Douglas wanted to play with.

 

Good thing I didn’t catch Douglas. What was I thinking I’d do to him? Clonk him back? I dunno. But I just knew I was fiercely protective of my brother and I didn’t like seeing him hurt.

 

And when I was five, I can remember morosely looking out the window at my brothers who were taunting me because I had the chicken pox and had to stay inside.

 

My revenge was realized shortly thereafter when I so kindly shared the virus with them. (Hee hee. No scratching, boys!)

 

Yeah, I was protective of him, but that didn’t mean he could tease me at will without any repercussions.

 

Anyway, it was a fun day with Cathy and it wasn’t something I would ever have thought to do. But, again, remember I was six when we moved to Ohio. I couldn’t have remembered the streets my cousins lived on back then, let alone the specific houses. I had to rely on Cathy’s superior memory. Plus, she’s a few years older than I am and she lived there a lot longer.

 

Hey, it’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.

 

Before I left to head back to Ohio, Cathy said she was going “up north” to the Irwin family cottage for Labor Day week and I should think about coming up for a few days.

 

My initial reaction was…But I’m here in Michigan now. You want me to come back?

 

And my next thought was Well…maybe.

 

She said she was hosting a cookout on Sunday, and lots of cousins would be there – so if I were coming I’d definitely want to be there on Sunday.

 

That was certainly an incentive as I love my cousins. And my cousin Margie who lives in Washington state was going to be there – and I hadn’t seen Margie in several years.

 

Still. I had to think about it and I told Cathy I’d let her know.

 

So…did I or didn’t I? (If you read my Facebook posts, you already know the answer), but stay tuned for more of the story.

 

The Great Scanning Project of 2023 Continues...

I had lunch the other day with a friend I hadn’t seen in a while and, during our conversation, she mentioned that I hadn’t written much lately.

 

True.

 

But that’s the kind of thing Vince would have said to me that would’ve spurred me on to write a blog – mostly because if I didn’t, he’d keep after me about it until I did.

 

But he – like my friend – only did it because he thought I had a talent and he wanted me to share it with the world. Or at least my little corner of it.

 

And, clearly, it works. Because here I am – writing.

 

I have written before about my photo scanning project. Yeah, that’s still happening and has seemingly taken over my life lately. The project feels interminable. I would estimate I’ve scanned maybe 4-500 photos, and I feel like I've only just cracked the surface.

 

Yikes.

 

If I were simply scanning them and throwing them all into a single computer file, that’d be one thing. But I’m scanning them for other people, too – so I’m labeling each one and adding them to multiple folders for multiple people.

 

Sometimes the ol’ memory isn’t what it used to be so I can’t always remember the year the photo was taken.

 

It’s a good thing we have the Latin word circa meaning around or about. It’s used in history to indicate an approximate timeline or date. And, sure, it’s used a lot to describe major historic battles or events that changed the history of the world during which accurate records might have been lost.

 

But I say I can also legitimately use it in Jane’s Domain to indicate when an epic Halloween bash was held and I can’t remember the exact year.

 

Not having to think so hard makes my head hurt a little less anyway. Seriously. I study the photo, analyzing the clothing, hairstyles and background and then I hypothesize about the season and year it may have been taken. It would have been SO MUCH EASIER if I had simply written the year and occasion on the back when I took the photo.

No wonder this project is going to take forever.

 

Sometimes it's not the year that stymies me - but the names of some of the people IN the photo. For example, I was scanning a photo from a friend’s wedding in the early 80s. There was a photo of me with two of our guy friends from the dorms at Ohio State. I could clearly recall the one guy’s name, but the other one eluded me. I was determined to remember it (and came close to calling my college roommate because I knew she would remember), but in the end I just didn’t include his name. Figured if it came to me, I could go back in and add it.

 

And then, a few days later I was at the doctor’s office – and the mystery guy’s name suddenly popped into my head and I actually blurted it out loud. Fortunately, I was in the inner sanctum by myself waiting for the doctor to come in. Had I said his name out loud while she was in there with me, she may have ordered a complete set of other tests that had absolutely nothing to do with the reason I was there.

 

Anyway, my “little” photo project is still ongoing. But I have had some fun moments reliving old memories and I’ve actually enjoyed the experience. Sort of. If only I didn’t have such a mess of containers in my office and living room. I’m afraid if I put them out of sight each day, I might not feel the urgency to continue the job.

 

One of the hurdles I managed was to get through the dozens and dozens of small photo albums of my parents’ travels. Little Post-Its are sticking up in the books of the photos that I intend to scan because they are good pictures of my parents and I think my siblings would appreciate having them.

 

My dad took the time to label almost every photo using the old manual typewriter he bought back when I was a kid and he hired me at a buck a page to type the abstracts he wrote and submitted to the Chemical Abstracts Service for publication.

 

Anyway, some of those photos made me laugh only because of my dad’s subtle sense of humor. I took a picture of the picture in the album (so don't judge me on my scanning skills - the following are not technically scanned!).

 

In one photo, Dad was standing in a pair of huge clogs typical of Holland. Dad typed, “My, what big feet.” I love the smile on Dad's face!

 

In another, they were sitting in an open safari vehicle in Africa when dad took a shot of a hot air balloon up ahead. He wrote, “At $360 a Trip, I would Rather Ride the Rough Roads.” Ha-ha.

 

My dad. Always the frugal one.

 

But I found myself a little verklempt when I saw a particular photo from a trip to Ireland that my sister and I took with mom and dad. It was a photo of mom, Denise and me in front of one of the many castles in the country. And dad wrote, “My three lovely ladies at Kilkenny Castle.”

 

Awww.

 

I had a copy of the very same photo, but I had never seen his caption before.

 

Dad didn’t always have enough travel photos to fill up each album, so in some of them he’d insert some random family photos. Various family gatherings that I had forgotten about, or hadn’t remembered we had taken photos.

 

So that was a nice surprise.

 

And then I came across a photo of Vince and me. It was the weekend Vince and I had driven to Alliance for my mother’s birthday and it was the first time he’d met my parents.

 

Vince had made it a wonderful birthday celebration for my mom (I’ve written about it here). And after dinner we were sitting in the family room and apparently my dad had taken our picture. He also took a photo of my brother and his wife. I had completely forgotten that they had come over after dinner to meet Vince, too.

 

I can’t tell you how thrilled I was to have found this photo as it brings back such happy memories. Which makes me exceedingly happy I didn’t just chuck the entire bin of travel photos when I was cleaning out Mom and Dad’s house.

 

Plus, Dad worked so hard on his little photo captions. I’m glad I was able to have one last look at them all.

 

So, anyway, that’s my update on the Great Photo Scanning Project of 2023. And speaking of…I should probably get back to it so that I’m not still writing about this in 2024.

 

Besides, those photos from that epic Halloween party circa 1983 are not going to scan themselves!

 

A Fun-Filled Weekend in Jane’s Domain

It’s Monday afternoon. I’m still finishing my morning coffee because, well, I slept over 10 hours last night. I kind of have a rule of not drinking coffee in the afternoon because I don’t want to be awake all night from the caffeine buzz.

 

Guess I’ll be testing that little theory tonight, won’t I? If I’m able to fall asleep with no interruptions, I may have to change my ways. You’ll see me with my hot pink coffee mug permanently attached to my fingers guzzling java at dinnertime.

 

Anyway. WHY am I drinking coffee in the afternoon and WHY did I sleep over 10 hours last night?

 

Well, it’s because I went to Steubenville for my friends’ daughter’s graduation party over the weekend. That’s the quick answer. The long answer follows.

 

See? Long time friends.
Nick had hair and I was cute!

I’ve written about him before – but I’ve known Nick since my first year at Ohio State and we’ve been friends ever since. Time used to be measured in years, but now we measure it in decades.

 

Yikes – how is this possible? And when did we get so old??

 

But it never matters once we all get together because we just fall right back into our decades-long friendship. Other OSU friends were there, too. Nick’s twin brother, Joe (of course) and Charisse from Cleveland and Butch and his wife Dragana from Columbus. (Whom I never see, by the way, even though we live only about 15 miles from each other.) 

Other friends I’ve known seemingly forever – the two Mikes and Randy and Chris and Deena and Nick. (I hate when I name names…I’m always worried I’m going to leave someone out. Plus, I’m never sure if people actually want me to name their name!)

 

Nick and Beth’s daughter is heading off to college in the fall and I just wish so much for her in her college experience. I hope she learns a lot. I hope she has fun. I hope she makes mistakes (because we all do), but I hope she accepts those mistakes and learns from them.

 

But, mostly, I hope she meets a group of friends that she will be able to laugh with, lean on and grow with for the rest of her life.

 

The party, by the way, was amazing. The decorations were incredible. There were so many pink balloons, my little heart was overwhelmed with joy. But, truthfully? I got tired just looking at them all because I know how much time and effort went into all that decorating. 

But Beth did not act exhausted in the least. (Unlike me during some of the mega-parties Vince and I used to throw. I’d sit down somewhere during the middle of the party wishing I could just take a nap!)

 

But I also know they had a lot of help and support. That’s the kind of people they are – will step in and give anyone a hand – so others want to do that for them, too.

 

They had food catered from all sorts of local eateries (Pastaio and Scaffidi's – if you’re ever in the area, you should definitely check ‘em out). Other places, too, but I don't remember their names. Nick prepped some of the food himself. And there were cakes and cookies and tiramisu, oh my! 

The pool table was covered in pink plastic and then covered again with snacks and crackers and meats and olives and other appetizers. So much food that I actually thought that was the party food.

 

How am I still making this rookie mistake? Italians do NOT stop at mere appetizers!

 

I only found out later that the lasagna, meatballs, chicken limone and all manner of Italian foods and pastas were being served in their outdoor kitchen. (I used to think we had a lot of space in our house what with our two kitchens both upstairs and downstairs. Yeah, right. We were rank amateurs. Nick and Beth have three…!)

 

But as the party progressed, we toasted our friendships with limoncello shots. We took lots of photos. I drank more wine in one night there than I had in the entire previous month. We got into serious conversations. We got silly and laughed. A lot. We chatted and caught up with one another’s lives.

 

There were a couple people there I hadn’t seen since before Vince passed who gave me reassuring heart-felt hugs and also gave me a chance to talk about him a little bit. So, even though I missed him (as I do every single day), I didn’t have too much time to be sad.

 

But he would’ve loved being there in the middle of it all. And he would’ve taken far more pictures than I did.

 

And it was after 3 a.m. before I headed upstairs to crash on the couch.

 

I slept for a few hours only to get up in the early morning, head out to the patio near the pool and hot tub – and do it all over again. Well, except for the limoncello shots and the wine. For me, anyway. Driving back to Columbus later in the day precluded me drinking anything but coffee and my ever-present 24 oz drink bottle filled with water.

 

Everyone else waited until the afternoon before they broke out more bottles of wine. And they also brought out the trays of leftovers for an afternoon meal.

 

I was inside looking at the pool table once again covered in pink plastic and large trays of foil baking pans. I laughed and said, “This would be the party food I had for one of my parties. Here, it’s your leftovers!”

 

Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Vince was of the opinion that it was far better to have plenty of leftovers than to run out of food to serve your guests.

 

He did not subscribe to the Anne and Henry Domian Food Serving Rules. Wherein a person was offered either a hamburger or a hotdog during a Saturday cookout.

 

That used to make Vince laugh as he and his friend John used to cook burgers and hot dogs and steaks and chicken AND crab legs on the grill. Concurrently. But, on the other hand, mom and dad didn’t used to waste food, either.

 

Anyway, it was a thoroughly enjoyable weekend. Nick supplied me with enough leftovers to last the better part of this week. And I drove home exhausted but smiling thinking about the conversations we had and my friendships with these special people.

 

How ‘bout you? What fun thing did you do this past weekend?

A Big Project in Jane’s Domain

Earlier this past week I had one of those days where I had many things I should have been doing, some things I needed to do and a few things I wanted to do. Instead, I sat here at my computer and started to write.

 

But, then, writing is something that combines all of the above. So that can’t be a bad thing, can it?

 

It was the 28^th of June, and if my parents were still alive, they’d have been celebrating 71 years of marriage. As it was, they were able to celebrate their 63^rd anniversary and were literally three days shy of their 64^th when Dad passed in 2016.

 

I still think of them every day and am so glad they lived good, long lives. And they were able to show us what a happy, healthy, loving marriage looked like.

 

That day I also learned that a high school friend, who has been fighting pancreatic cancer, found out the cancer had spread to his liver. Pancreatic cancer is one of those scary ones. But he was truly fighting – and I believed he was going to beat it. I still believe he can, but the news brought tears to my eyes. And this is a person I haven’t seen since I was seventeen. I can still picture him in Mr. Seavy’s World History class, giving me grief because if I didn’t know the answer to a question, Mr. Seavy was going to give the entire class a pop quiz.

 

(And, c’mon. I knew the answer!)

 

But if anyone can beat cancer, he can, so I’ll continue to keep him in my prayers. If you can, as well, I’d appreciate it. And if you don’t pray – then send good thoughts, vibes or whatever voodoo you do out into the cosmos for healing.

 

The subject of the blog I was intending to write escapes me now as I’ve just gotten back to my computer to finish it. Since I’m not a duck, I guess sad news is harder to slide off my back than, well, water would.

 

Or something like that.

 

Anyway, I ended up spending the day working on a project I’ve been meaning to start for more than six years when I cleaned out my parents’ house. And that is – to organize the boxes and bins of photos I have stashed away in the spare room closets. I want to sort through, toss the blurry or bad ones, scan the good ones, and then get rid of the hard copies.

 

These aren’t only my parents’ photos, but those two or three extra boxes and bins were enough to add to the scope of the project and make it really challenging.

 

Because I, myself, took many, many photos through the years. And in the thirteen years we were together, Vince took even more. But so did my dad. He brought his trusty camera with him on every globe-trotting trip he and mom took. And after he got those photos developed, he carefully labeled each one and placed them in a small album dedicated to that particular trip so that they had photographic evidence of them all.

 

If something came up in casual conversation about a name of a town in a foreign country, Dad would excuse himself, find the album and bring it down to show us the photo and describe the significance of that town.

 

When he met Vince and learned the spelling of “Cordova,” he stood up and left the room. Dad was not someone anyone would ever describe as rude, so I just looked at Vince and shrugged. But soon Dad came back to the family room with an album showing numerous photos of Cordova, Alaska, from a cruise he and Mom took years prior.

 

Sadly, these photo albums don’t have the same significance to us as they did for mom and dad – and no one wants a shelf full of travel photo albums to places that we didn’t travel.

 

That breaks my heart a little bit, but I simply don’t have the shelving real estate necessary to keep them all. And my closet space is at a premium, too, and I’d like to free it up for, oh, I don’t know, clothes, maybe. Or shoes. You know, stuff that’s supposed to go in a closet?

 

So my plan is to look through the books and find photos of mom and dad that we might like to have – photos from a time when they were healthy and able to enjoy and remember every moment of the particular trip they were on. Then I’ll scan those photos for my family members.

 

Great plan, eh?

 

Yeah, well. I’m now in the thick of this great plan and my living room is filled with small bins of photos that I have separated into categories. Photos from my childhood years. College years. Adult years. Family photos. Friend photos. Vince photos.

 

My living room looks like one of those old Foto-Mat kiosks exploded. (Remember those?!)

 

Yikes.

 

Now, of course, I’m torn because I have other things I need to do. There’s a stack of financial paperwork on my dining room table for a project I’m working on. There’s a stack of clothing in my bedroom that I started to sort for donation or resale purposes.

 

And there’s a stack of large, unmarked bills in a duffel bag that I need to count and then launder.

 

So I have a lot of projects going on.

 

Yeah, yeah. I know. Obviously that last one isn’t true. I was just checking to see if you were still paying attention. Besides, I’d be the person who’d actually put the bills in the washing machine because I didn’t understand the concept of “money laundering.”

 

Crime would NOT pay in my case.

 

Anyway, I digress.

 

And I procrastinate, too. So I’d better get back to those photos. Since I’ve gotten this far, I can’t stop now. It absolutely cannot be six more years before I start scanning them.

 

Wish me a little luck – and a whole lotta perseverance.