Day 6, Sept 19, 2024

Still oh so excited to be in Paris, I got up early to look out at the world below. A blue truck, so large it blocked all traffic, was situated under my window. On the side of it in big yellow letters: Net’Cuv. I googled it as I had no idea what the crew was doing besides smoking cigarettes. It stands for Nettoyage Cuves, a kind of janitorial service.

I decide to take a shower, relax, and go out later in the day because I walked 19,000(!) steps yesterday. Also I will join Brad and company on a boat ride this evening and I need to pace myself and not get too tired. Halfway to the pier, I will stop at the Maison de Balzac and eat ice cream in the lovely garden with a view of the Eiffel Tower. Sounds lovely doesn’t it?

I went to the boulangerie around the corner for a slice of quiche for lunch. Hahahaha, there was a very long line outside their door. I went across the street instead to the fruit & vegetable market and bought strawberries, bananas and figs from my grumpy boyfriend. I even gave him exact change and he still didn’t smile. Had a nice fruit salad with yogurt at home, listening to Amy Poehler, Yes Please on Audible. Very entertaining.

What happened on the way to l'Orangerie also happened on the way to Maison de Balzac. What should have been a 25 minute walk, with all the road construction, barricades, detours, etc turned into a 1 hour 25 minute walk. My phone kept telling me to Proceed to the Route. Exasperated, I stopped for an ice cream and regrouped. I eventually made it to his house, which at one time, was in the outskirts of Paris but is now well hidden by tall apartments. And yes, one can see the Eiffel Tower from his wild and wooley garden. He didn't have time to tend to it, he wrote literally all the time. He was a serious and prodigious writer. Someone I met recently said he learned French readng Balzac. I'm intrigued.

We walked home after dinner on the boat, by midnight, I had walked over 17,000 steps. ___________________________________________________

After I returned to the United States, I found the boarding pass for the boat tour from Sept 27, 2018. It was a very different experience: Charlie and I sat outdoors next to a very interesting couple from New Zealand. There was a great live band who sang throughout the entire trip, including the Ave Maria as we passed under the Notre Dame. It sounds corny but it was very, very moving. Seeing Paris by night this way is a must.







Friday, September 12, 2025

“I found myself adrift in grief, struggling with my new identity as a single person in isolation. I didn’t even know who I was anymore. Or what to do next.”

I can totally relate. I started therapy for the first time in my life this month. It’s been over 2 1/2 years, 900 days or over 125 weekends. I thought that, with time, it would get easier, instead everything is much harder. I guess I spent the first two years taking care of the aftermath and now that I have more free time, I realized I don’t have anybody to do things with. My goal in therapy is to address this but I am momentarily sidelined because my therapist doesn’t know anything about me. She has given me a bunch of homework to fill out and books to read. Time to practice patience.

In the meantime, last night I attended a dinner sponsored by The Grief House at the The Little Feminist Farm, an idyllic place on the tail end of a residential road in Stockbridge. Quiet, only the sound of trees & birds. There is even a trailer on the property for overnight stays. Good to know because the drive home in the dark was too stressful for me. Who knew there would be so much traffic on I-20 at 9 o’clock at night?

There were 5 of us at dinner, all with painful stories to tell and despite that, I instinctively felt very much at home with them right from the beginning. They all expressed their grief so eloquently. I realized that I see my life as a split screen, represented predominantly by a wide swath of static white noise and on the edge a tiny bandwidth in full color. The swath is my everyday interactions (survivng, meaningless/superficial conversations, going through the motions, doing things by rote/habit, eating, sleeping, rinse & repeat) and the sliver of color represents the meaningful interactions and the moments of joy I share with a very select few. I know it will always be this way but my goal is to widen the color bandwith just a tiny bit and fight for more joy.

Saturday August 30, 2025

I saw this on Instagram this morning:

Mi sono innamorata di te perché nei tuoi occhi ho visto un qualcosa che non avevo mai visto prima. Nei tuoi occhi ci ho visto un me felice.

I fell in in love with you because I saw in your eyes something I had never seen before, in your eyes I saw me happy.

Yep, that pretty much sums it up right there.

Thursday August 21, 2025

Exactly 50 years ago on this day, my father collapsed on the basement floor of my childhood home in NJ and died of a coronary occlusion. He was only 59 years old, making my mother a widow at 52. I was living in Kentucky at the time having just been fired unjustly from what had been my favorite job until then. My husband had moved out a few weeks prior and I was single and jobless in a town where there were few jobs for graphic designers. It was a very difficult time for me. And for my mother.

My father had closed the restaurant on Vandam St and had just finished converting the three brownstones into apartments and renting them. My mother did not want to manage the apartments. I offered to do it for her which would have been a job and my ticket back to NYC, my goal at the time. She refused, chose to sell the buildings and divest herself of all responsibility. As far as I can tell, she sold them right before the real estate market in NYC exploded. Had she waited, she would have been an instant millionaire. I had even suggested she keep one apartment as a pied-a terre. If only.

Slowly, I got my life back on an even keel. I sued for my state job at Kentucky Educational TV, won it, plus back pay. By then, I had moved to Atlanta with Charlie and a neurotic cat named Cassandra. We rented a crappy apartment, found jobs, got a dog and 2 more cats. I was an emotional wreck, fed up with the way I was treated in Lexington and just needed a clean slate. Atlanta and Charlie gave me both.

My Dad died before he could retire, collect Social Security, enjoy life and reconnect with his family in Italy. He often talked about going back to live. Over the last 50 years, I wondered what he would have thought of the Italy he left as a boy. And how much it changed since. I wondered if my Dad would have been proud of the person I became, of the choices I made, and of the life I built with Charlie. I like to think he would have been happy to know that things turned out OK for me. After all, he worked so hard all of his adult life to provide for us but did not live long enough reap the benefits. My mother remarried, had a nice few years with Artie until Alzheimer’s took him away, too. She lived to be 94, a widow for longer than her two marriages combined.

When I am in Italy, I stay in my Dad’s home town of Pescia and walk the same streets he roamed as a child. They stiill look exactly the same. I stand on the bridge over the river to enjoy the cold breeze descending from the mountains, like he used to do on hot summer nights. People ask me why I don’t stay somewhere more exciting. I tell them it’s because I feel completely at home there.

I am taking it easy today, mostly to honor my Dad, but also because I am coming down with a cold or flu. The thermometer is busted so I don’t know if I have a fever. To add insult to injury, yesterday I met with pest control about the noises emanating from the walls and ceiling of my house, Today the tree man gave me an estimate on trimming a couple of trees in the backyard. Plus I have property taxes and estimated income tax payments coming up. It’s going to be a very expensive fall. Notwithstanding important landmark dates, life and every day realities go on regardless.

Sunday August 17, 2025

Did I say I was going to take the subway this morning? Instead, I took the bus with Wes & Missy who decided to join me at the MET. But first we met their friends, Tinny & Myles, who took us through the Neue Galerie, a magnificent former residence with a fine collection of 20th Century Austrian & German art and design, including Gustav Klimt paintings, his lithographs and examples of his graphic design. It was amazing. We had a wonderful lunch in the restaurant, Cafe Sabarsky, on the ground floor of the Galerie. I loved talking with Myles & Tinny about everything. I wish they lived closer or we saw each other more often as we had exactly the kinds of conversations I crave.

From there, we walked to the MET, and saw the show I came to NYC to see, the Michael Rockefeller Collection of African Art. It was a full circle moment for me as I had worked the summer between my sophomore & junior years at college at a temporary exhibition of Michael Rockefeller’s Collection of Art from Africa and Oceania. Now it’s part of the permanent collection. It was like reuniting with old friends after so many years.

We also saw an exhibit of American Indian Art which just happened to be the collection of dear friends of Tinny & Myles. I realize that they are, holy smokes, real life movers and shakers in the art world(!) We also saw a small exhibit of paintings by George Morrison, with whom I am not familiar. Lastly, Myles took us up to the roof of the MET, a first for me, and pointed out all the landmarks of the NYC skyline. Truly magical!

We said our goodbyes, Tinny & Myles went back to upstate NY and we rode the bus back to the loft. Wes, Missy and I ate a magnificent dinner at Le Mercerie on the corner of Mercer & Howard Streets, an outdoor bistro with lush greenery. Best dover sole I have ever had. Another perfect day.

Saturday August 16, 2025

We arrived yesterday morning and immediately dived head first into looking at the works of Beauford Delaney at The Drawing Center, the EFA Robert Blackburn Printmaking Workshop and the staff that keeps it running, the Wilmer Jennings Gallery at Kenkeleba with the ageless and ever beautiful Corinne. Lunch at the oh so chic Biblioteque on Mercer St and dinner at Nom Wah Test Kitchen, the best Chinese I have had in my life. But the best part of it all was the non stop conversation about artists and just looking at their work. Something I sorely miss, even though back in Atlanta just last weekend, I went to The Warehouse with Alan, and we had great conversations then, too.

This morning I woke up in the awesome loft at the corner of Broadway & Broome Street in NYC that once belonged to Camille Billops and Jim Hatch. I am here with, and thanks to the good graces of, Wes, Missy and Mathwon. They will spend the day in New Haven and I will go see the Diane Arbus retrospective at the Park Avenue Armory this afternoon. I have the morning free to wander, first here in the loft, and then the streets of NYC.

After a leisurely tour of the loft, the artwork, photos, and countless awards, I planned to walk to The Cooper Union and its adjacent building, visit the Strand book store and revisit some of my old stomping ground. And then continue to the Armory by public transportation. To my surprise, it was the last Summer Street Saturday, meaning Broadway was closed to ALL vehicular traffic: no buses, cars, taxis, or motorcycles all the way to the Armory! It was heaven, no insults to the ears and nose, only festivals, colorful farmers/flower markets along the way. Broadway was filled with pedestrians and cyclists of every kind. Plus there were endless opportunities to window shop. it was like being in Paris again.

The Arbus show was definitely worth seeing, They had made some deliberate exhibition choices that initially felt disturbing (lots of mirrors, some on the backs of the photos) but, all in all, a beautiful tribute to my teacher. Lots of photos I had never seen, plus a film of an interview with Neil Selkirk who printed her work posthumously. On the way home, I stopped to see the apartment on East 50th Street where I spent the first 5 years of my life. It was still standing but the apartment buidling of the little boy this five year old was convinced she would marry someday was replaced by a newer, taller building. And around the corner, the building where he and I went to kindergarten and planned our wedding is gone, too.I wonder whatever happened to Laurence. The last time I saw him was on my wedding day as I was getting out of the limousine with my husband of a few minutes. Laurence and his girlfriend were waiting just a few feet away. I knew right then I had made a mistake.

Took the bus to Houston St, made a quick stop at Bigelow’s Pharmacy and then walked to the loft. The constant breeze offset the warm temperature and made walking a true pleasure.

Dined alone at a nearby bistro, Balthazar, and used the time to people watch. NYC is filled with smartly dressed people, if only they weren’t all looking at their phones. Fashion is definitely shifting towards either skimpy or skin tight with bare midriffs among teenagers and 20-somethings, and long flowy, effortlessly elegant dresses among women. Plunging necklines everywhere. The guys, I am oh so happy to say are no longer wearing baseball caps backwards. In fact, the only people wearing them are from out of town.

At 21,072 steps, I outwalked my personal best in Paris. Tomorrow I will take the subway to the Metropolitan Museum. For sure.

Coming down from an all day high as I write this, a good feeling.

Sunday May 11, 2025

Today is Mother’s Day. Until her passing in 2010, we celebrated the day with my sweet mother-in-law, Opal, as it often fell on her birthday. My mother was totally fine with celebrating one week later. After they were both gone, C and I decided the day really didn’t feel the same without them. For many years, it was just another Sunday.

Last year, to my great surprise and delight, Katie invited me to spend the day with her. We had a lovely breakfast and leisurely shopped the stores of West Side Provisions and environs. I bought a $9.00(!) dress at Anthropologie. Totally unexpected, fits me perfectly and I have worn it many times. Plus the day was FUN!

Today I had invited the Gkids to lunch here but plans fell through at the very last minute due to health issues. I wound up spending the day alone which I really didn't mind but what to do with the elaborate meal I had prepared for them? Couldn’t find anyone who was available for a last minute meal on Mother’s Day so I put the whole thing in the freezer and made plans for the following weekend.

This afternoon, i received a phone call from a dear friend whose wife, Jean, was battling brain cancer. I thought he was calling to give me an update as she had found it difficult to talk on the phone the month before. He called, instead, to tell me that she had passed away a few days before. I was devastated, she was the closet thing I had to a sister, we were so closely aligned in every way. And our husbands were, too! Here’s part of my letter to Larry:

“Words can't convey how Charlie and I felt about you two. We loved you both, we loved spending time with you, we loved our conversations, our dinners together, our walks/hikes, laughing, birding together. Remember the boat ride in the company of dolphins swimming along side us for the whole distance? It was magical and the euforia it created will stay with me forever. Truly happy times with two of our favorite people on earth!”

I cried and sobbed and wailed until I gave myself a raging headache. The day was a disaster and I wished with all my heart that it had been just another boring quiet Sunday.

But then, I received this sweet photo accompanied by a thank you note for chalk I had given to an exercise friend as a gag/housewarming gift.

March 24, 2025

I wrote this 2 years ago. It is more true than ever because these two years have take me further away from when you were here.

I miss holding hands. I miss hugging on the back porch. I miss cooking together. I miss eating together. I miss just being together doing nothing in particular. I miss birding together. I miss your scones. I miss sitting on your lap in your office. I miss your bread. I miss your pizza. I miss having to adjust the car seat after you. I miss your focaccia with olive oil & rosemary. I miss your French toast on a Sunday morning. I miss you telling me to please be careful each time I leave the house. I miss your flan. I miss that all we needed to be happy was each other. I miss your Caesar salad. I miss our kisses in empty elevators. I miss holding hands in bed until we both fall asleep. I miss waking up in the morning before you and watching you sleep. I miss you assuring me that everything is going to be alright. I miss you fixing things. I miss the scent of Acqua di Parma in the air after you shower. I miss our conversations at breakfast. I miss our conversations at lunch. I miss feeling safe. I miss feeling protected. I miss finding dinner ready on nights when I worked late. I miss feeling seen. I miss our conversations at dinner. I miss your stories about your childhood. I miss your wisdom. I miss you strumming on the guitar in the late afternoon. I miss you playing the bagbpipes outside. I miss your funny dog stories. I miss your funny Army stories. I miss making decisions together after your research. I miss your kindness. I miss you buying flowers for absolutely no reason. I miss your thoughtfulness. I miss how you say my name, I miss you giving people the benefit of the doubt. I miss watching TV together. I miss planning our trips together. I miss going on trips together. I miss the way you look at me. I miss you calling me baby doll. I miss you being upbeat. I miss your common sense. I miss you telling me you love me. I miss you doing the freaking grocery shopping. I miss your practicality. I miss your mind. I miss your heart. I miss how you could figure out just about anything. I miss your curiosity. I miss your silliness. I miss you sharing what you learn with me. I miss you fixing my email. I miss our joy in the everyday. I miss being tired together. I miss knowing what we can accomplish together. I miss you waiting for me in the doctor’s office. I miss ironing your shirts. I miss your empathy. I miss your compassion. I miss your willingness to engage in conversation with just about everyone you meet. I miss finding your doodles and empty coffee cups around the house. I miss the way you interact with my family in Italy. And they with you. I miss the way you drive in Italy. I miss your sense of adventure. I miss your advice. I miss your fearlessness. I miss your opinion. I miss your enthusiasm. I miss your passion. I miss how I am first to you. I miss your grasp of history and your understanding of the world around you. I miss sitting on the park bench across the street and watching the light change and the hawks circle above. I miss finding you asleep in the front porch swing late in the afternoon. I miss you building frames for my artwork. I miss taking care of you. I miss cooking your favorite meals and watching you enjoy them. I miss watching you make photographs. I miss the great care you took in printing them. I miss your clarity. I miss you telling me what that scary noise was and where it came from. I miss how your listened to me and heard everything I said. I miss your perfectionism. I miss your vision. I miss how you approach life. I miss how you need me. I miss how you understand me better than I understand myself. I miss how we agree on almost everything. I miss how well choreographed our life was. And how well it worked. I miss tackling our remaining bucket list together. I miss coming home together and greeting the house, hello Gracie.

taken at my cousin Leo’s house with his cat, Foofie.

C’s last photo, from the hammock in the backyard

Flowers on a random Thursday, his last day.

Friday March 7, 2025

One of my granddaughters got married recently near my house. The pictures of the wedding contained, as expected, the exquisite moments of a private and very intimate wedding. What I did not expect to see, however, was how much my house played a part in it, not just as a backdrop but overall. It’s hard to put into words how it felt to be perceived through the lens of the house I have lived in for over 40 years. The photographer, was visibly moved when she talked about how it made her feel. There was admiration and awe and respect in her words and in her eyes. I was surprised because that wasn't always the case.

When Charlie and I bought the house in 1978, we were derided for buying a house in a “transitional” neighborhood. Calling it transitional was generous back then, we found out later that most of the houses nearby were rented, not owned, some were crack houses, and many, like ours, had been abandoned for years. We were told that Grant Park would never amount to anything, succinctly reflected in the asking price at the time: $15,000 for what we affectionately called 4 walls and a leaky roof. Even my mother told us that, if nothing else, just the land was worth the price. We bought the house on the promise of a renovation loan that did not materialize, the first of several setbacks on the journey to home ownership. So we worked weekends and evenings in between our full time jobs, scrimping together money for lumber and tools. It took two years just to move in, we lived without heat, plumbing or a kitchen for another 2 years. It was hard, there was a lot of blood, sweat (mostly Charlie’s) and tears (mostly mine) as we navigated getting the house liveable in the decades before YouTube and DIY videos. Armed with a rudimentary set of how to books (plumbing, electricity, etc) Charlie figured out how to do what came next while I handed him the hammer or the scewdriver and made lunch in the backyard. Meanwhile friends refused to even visit, horrified at the enormity of the work left to be done. Only Bert Arps, a dear friend and former FBI agent, helped us put up the tin ceiling in the kitchen. Over time, we were able to hire out the rest of the heavy lifting but still did as much as we could ourselves. It became more of a work-in-progress, evolving to what it is today. The upstairs bathroom was finished in 2011. The front and backyards were completed in 2021. There are still a few more things we had planned to do, maybe they’ll get done.

We rescued the house from someone who tried to turn it into a duplex. He ran out of money before he could ruin it completely and then just left it standing for 13 years. The “duplexness” gave us the idea for a working side and a living side, a radical idea in the 70’s, long before Work From Home became a thing. We were told that doing so devalued the house and we would never be able to sell it “as is.” We were told the exterior red paint color was not appropriate. We were told by GP residents(!) “Oh, you live on that side of the park” as if there was an inferior side. Most recently, I was told that I needed to “rip out” (ouch!) the clawfoot tub and replace it with an “appropriate” shower. The list goes on. The thing is, when we first opened the door all those years ago, we saw neglect, sure, but also the potential to create a space that could be tailor made for us to work, design, tinker, build, experiment, learn, play, dance, entertain, create memories and grow old together. A house of our own. We lived here for over 40 years and worked for over 30. Blissfully.

I learned a lot about myself and a lot about Charlie, he could do anything. Anything. Even his own parents were amazed.

And oh yes, the mortgage of $142.34 was paid off in 1988.

Which brings me back to the happy newlyweds. I didn’t know how much the house meant to them. Or to anyone else who walks through our front door. I didn’t know that it elicited good feelings. And considering its history, I didn’t know anyone even cared or noticed. So thank you, Gkids and Crystal, for seeing it as a magical and mystical place, to be experienced, savored and shared. By the way, the house has a name, it’s Gracie.

Saturday March 1, 2025

This morning, I came across this quote from Jameson Arasi:

Rabbi Earl Grollman dedicated his life to guiding others through the darkest moments of loss, offering wisdom and comfort to those grappling with grief.

Among his powerful writings, one quote stands out: “Grief is not a disorder, a disease or a sign of weakness. It is an emotional, physical and spiritual necessity - the price you pay for love. The only cure for grief is to grieve.

Its simplicity is striking- deceptive, even because it holds everything a grieving heart needs to hear.

In three short sentences, Grollman captures the true weight of grief, dismantling the harmful misconceptions that it’s “something you get over” or a sign of failure.

Instead he reframes grief as something else entirely: a necessity.

Grief isn’t a flaw, and it isn’t weakness. It’s love in its purest, rawest form. It’s proof that someone mattered so deeply to us that their absence is unbearable.

When we grieve, we’re honoring the bond we shared, the love we still carry. The pain we feel isn’t a sign of something broken within us, it’s evidence of something beautiful that once was.

Grollman’s words also validate the overwhelming nature of grief. It’s not just emotional; its’s physical too, leaving us drained and exhausted. It’s spiritual, forcing us to wrestle with Life’s biggest questions. It touches every part of us, demanding to be felt.

But perhaps the most powerful part of this quote is the permission it gives us. To grieve fully, without shame or apology. To take our time, accepting that there are no shortcuts, no magical cure. And to allow ourselves to sit in the storm, knowing that grief isn’t a detour in life, it’s part of the path.

Because, at is core, grief is the price we pay for love - a painful price, yes, but also a sacred privilege. It’s proof of how deeply we’ve connected, how fiercely we cared, and how profoundly we loved.

In 24 days, we will observe the second anniversary of C’s passing. I miss him every moment of every day, now more than ever, but am oh so grateful for the “something beautiful that once was,” for almost 45 years. Actually it’s more like 50 years, we met in 1975 at the art department of KET, starting out a colleagues of a creative team, over time becoming good friends and, eventually, much more. It was a privilege I will hold dear for the rest of my life.

Saturday, February 8, 2025

Exactly one year ago today, I fell off the back porch, and after an overnight stay in the hospital, a CAT Scan and MRI, left with three stitches on my lower lip. I had a small accumulation of blood under the skull that, luckily, disappeared a month later. It was a huge shock to my confidence after having stepped on and off that very same back step literally thousands of times in the 45 years I have lived here. I simply couldnt’t believe it. And I can’t believe a year has passed since it happened.

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I came home from the second round of vestibular therapy this week which, thank goodness, was not as violent and traumatic as the first. I had been dealing with dizziness on and off since Christmas, and after a CAT Scan and MRI (again) I went to an ENT who diagnosed it as BPPV. Neither the therapist nor I believed that it was BPPV but she began a course of therapy anyway. I really need to get the dizziness under control if I want to continue to live safely on my own. VT is very unpleasant, frightening, and another huge blow to my confidence. Between my first and second therapy sessions, I had a fortuitously timed annual check up with my cardiologist. He suggested a much calmer course of action. He’ll decide on Monday after I take my BP twice a day for 5 days straight, if my dizziness is caused by a sudden rise in BP. If it is, he can adjust the medication and alleviate the dizziness without resorting to that absolutely horrible VT. Fingers crossed.

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This morning, Francesco and I met at Evergreen to buy pastries for breakfast. It’s a popular place so I arrived a few minutes early. The line extended along the front of the building and then curled on itself inside the bakery. A man who was standing behind me, but close enough, was wearing a black T shirt with a whimsical drawing of the Blues Brothers on the front and “On a Mission From God’ on the back. I complimented him on his shirt and he told me, quite proudly, that he brought Dan Akroyd and John Belushi to Atlanta to perform at the Tabernacle all those years ago. Wow, and he had a beautiful smile, too.

Francesco and I had a great time together, eating our delicious pastry and drinking cappuccino in my kitchen. He told me about his surprise visit with his parents at Christmas, his travels to London, Amsterdam. and Zurich. He even brought me a sweet ceramic miniature of a Dutch wooden shoe for my Christmas tree. He is such a dear.————————————————————————————————————————————————

It’s such a beautiful afternoon so I went to Candler Park to check out Space Queen, a boutique that Katie recommended. They were having a pop up show with artists set up inside and outside the shop. Found some cards and a silly gift. Walked around the nearby gift shops, specifically looking for silk flowers for my favorite straw hat. In the very next store, there was a silk flower right by the cash register. I inquired where in the store I could find some. The cashier said they didn’t sell them there! BUT the lady who dropped it just happened to be standing outside the store. I ran outside before she could walk away, she happily texted me the online info. I ordered the same, I’m so excited, all thanks to a very nice stranger and a confluence of timing and space. Sometimes things just go your way.

Sunday January 26, 2025

Vincent Van Gogh on the accumulation of small things:

“Great things are not done by impulse, but by a series of small things brought together. The trick is to focus on the first small thing. Starting small is still starting, and small beginnings often lead to extraordinary endings.”

Sunday January 19, 2025

Well, I finally did it last night. After keeping my plan under wraps for several months (with great difficulty, I might add), I invited 3 of my grandkids to Paris for a week, sometime in 2025. They will pay their own airfare, and I will contribute a 3 bedroom apartment and tickets to museums, etc. We’ll figure out meals, and incidental expenses in the coming months.

I had been worried about my timing as Katie was having issues with work and had been under a lot of stress for longer than was healthy. I felt that adding a trip to an already burgeoning work schedule would be too much for her. Serendipitously, she resigned her position a few days ago, taking bad timing as an issue off the table.

I may have mentioned in a text that I had some good news to share but didn’t think it would set off alarm bells. Almost from the moment they walked in the door, they were VERY serious and very curious. They speculated and took bets on what it could be. None of them were even close, their very improbable ideas ranged from my having a boyfriend(!) and about to get married to my being a lesbian(!) HA. I thought that Katie might guess since she printed the photos I used to make the card to announce the news. But no. So there were exclamations of genuine surprise, disbelief and, eventually, a sweet realization. It was priceless and too funny.

What led up to all this started last summer. After a family trip to Jekyll Island, I decided it was finally time to sell the Sprinter. As much as I loved it and wanted to keep it, it was costing me in storage and insurance. Worse, I knew that I would never travel in it alone. I enlisted what I thought would be expert professional advice from the folks at the Mercedes Benz dealership, AutoNation (do NOT get me started on them) and an online website that sold exclusively RVs. In the end, it was all a waste of time, money and energy. And a two and half month nightmare that was very lonely, emotionally draining and exhausting. Plus I almost got scammed. Once again, my dear friend, Tom, came to the rescue. He suggested selling the van on consignment and found an outfit that, true to their word, sold it to a retired couple who, like C and I, wanted to travel across the US. It was a bittersweet moment, I had a really hard time talking about it for weeks afterwards. A few days after I deposited the check, I left for Europe.

The idea for the trip with the kids was born out of my desire to keep traveling after such a wildly successful five weeks in Europe. But with whom? I had already asked everyone I knew if they would be willing to travel together. I heard every excuse imaginable and, yeah, I can travel alone but I would rather be with someone who shares a love of traveling. One of the kids commented after an early blog entry that they were so jealous. I knew in that moment who I was going to ask and, more importantly, how I was going to use the money from the sale of the van. It would be the beginning of a travel fund to be shared with three of my favorite people on earth. Best of all, I know Charlie would approve.

And oh, Ashley, if you are reading this, you and the girls will have equal time in the city of your choice down the road.

The kids right before I told them.

And after.

Thursday, January 9, 2025

Today our nation laid Jimmy Carter to rest. I had gone to pay my respects last Sunday with Jay and Crystal at the Carter Center. It was easy, no long lines, no crowds, shuttle buses between King Memorial Station and the Carter Center. It was very well attended and at the same time, so peaceful. I felt honored to be there as Jimmy Carter was, and always will be, one of my heroes. I wrote in the guest book, I nominate Jimmy Carter to be the patron saint of the United States. And while we’re on the topic of patron saints, I also nominate John Lewis and Elijah Cummings as the patron saints of Congress.

Earlier that very morning, my hearing aid gave out, something that Charlie often warned would eventually happen. I knew he was right, I just never got around to doing anything about it. So I attended the event unable to hear anything. It was an odd feeling, I was strangely comfortable in the silence among the crowds. Almost as if that was the way it was supposed to be. The way it used to be a long time ago. When I was a child, on the other hand, I felt apart and outside from everyone and everything, a feeling I still struggle with today. I didn’t know what I was missing. Jay and Crystal did their best to communicate, which was sweet, but almost pointless. And laughable. The following morning, my very reliable hearing aid guy loaned me a new one until mine is fixed. And yes, I bought a brand new spare.

I still have dizzy spells, especially first thing in the morning. My doctor thinks I would be a good candidate for vestibular therapy and referred me to an ENT. It will be interesting to see what the ENT thinks of my unique hearing situation and…if he /she can still do anything about the dizziness? My BP and cholesterol are still high and I am making some dietary changes, too.

The aftermath of Ashley’s visit hit me really hard, I was alone for too many days in a row. I reached out to others but everyone was either sick or out of town. It was brutal. Also very cold so I didn’t get out of the house much. I tried to keep busy with post Christmas chores. While it was all necessary, it wasn’t enough. I needed human interaction more than anything. Texts/emails didn’t help either, argh.

Bought another heater for the lemon tree enclosure today as it’s going to get even colder tonight. i don’t want the lemon tree to freeze, as it already has buds all over it! Amy came over and helped me set up the heater and give all the plants a drink. I couldn’t have managed without her. And the few minutes with her helped me, too.

I received a very heartwarming gift from Brad today. It was a donation to the Carter Center made in Charlie’s honor. So thoughtful, so meaningful. Very touching.

Wednesday January 1, 2025

Happy New Year! 2025 is only about 15 hours old and already it feels like it’s going to be a good year.

Christmas 2024. To borrow from Charles Dickens’opening of “A Tale of Two Cities,” it was the best of Christmases, it was the worst of Christmases. For the first time ever, I celebrated the day with all the grandkids together: Ashley and her 2 lovely daughters came from KY to spend the day with her cousins Katie and Josh, plus great grandkids and extended family members. But it almost didn’t happen.Two days before, I wound up in the ER with an allergic reaction to something I ate that must have had preservatives in it. I was released on Christmas Eve after a CAT Scan and an MRI revealed no abnormalities. Whew.

Spent my first day of the year doing laundry/ironing and miscellaneous chores around the house. Very quiet.

Sunday December 15, 2024

I miss Charlie at particular moments. Today, I needed for him to be on hand with his index finger ready to help me tie ribbons on Christmas gifts. It’s small thing and a brief moment in time but for 45 years he was there to do it. Add that to the long list of things about him I miss.

And I miss that he kept me young and I kept him young.

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Crystal and I walked to the Farmer’s Market this morning and by chance, met two very lovely people, both French. The first was a woman who was handing out flyers for the CFM Atl (Community Farmer’s Market Atlanta) cfmatl.org. Her name was Carine and, after talking with her for a few minutes, she introduced us to a French baker named Arnold. Based on her recommendation, we bought 2 of his pastries which we thoroughly enjoyed with cappuccino as soon as we got home. So good!

I always enjoy talking with Crystal, and oddly today we solved each other’s Christmas gift dilemmas! Ha. Yes, I am talking about you, Katie.

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I found this poem in the Isolation Journals called This Living by Amber Tamlyn 

It’s going to be a lunar eclipse.

It’s going to be critically acclaimed and win
none of the awards.

It’s going to start as an argument
over what’s buried inside the tomb
but end in silence
over what’s discovered
beneath it.

It’s going to happen on your birthday
in front of the mailman,
while you’re receiving the letter for your sister
sent by her murderer.

It’s going to appear once a week
in your back yard
for decades
without ever speaking.

It’s going to ruin the cake
when you throw an urn full of cat ashes
in your ex-best friend’s face
at her baby shower.
Do it.

It’s going to make you get under
the table
and drink there.

It’s going to explode
right there
in the dairy aisle.

It’s going to make you laugh.

It’s going to remind you
why you can’t go in mosh pits anymore.

It’s going to freeze to death,
right there in your arms.

It’s going to make all the kids
stare out the school-bus window
and sing to you.

It’s going to rain where he is.
It’s going to be impossible for you
not to flood.

It’s going to hurt for a while.
It’s going to have to.

It’s going to make you buy all the scarves
in his girlfriend’s favorite patterns.

It’s going to happen in the wind,
during the middle of fire season,
while he’s telling you
it’s going to have to end soon.

It’s going to be hard
to end soon.

It’s going to wipe out
your entire wildlife.

It’s going to be remembered fondly, your heart
unable to keep its hands to itself.

It’s going to be a strong love,
but only parallel his lover,
never perpendicular her.

It’s going to make you unable to quell
the bad thoughts
of his dainty gull
and her inkless quill.

It’s going to bring out the best
of the worst in you.

It’s going to outlast television.

It’s going to take the shape of poems
left under the doormats
of retired generals.

It’s going to happen any day now.

It’s going to be so good,
if it doesn’t kill us first.

The way things are going,
it’s probably going
to kill us first.

It’s going to be a nightmare
when the Pope gets here.

It’s going to change everything.

It’s going to make your metaphors make you,
even if you don’t want to.

It’s going to sound like coyotes
killing behind your back,
spook like a stallion’s ghost.

It’s going to cost you.

It’s going to sound familiar:
a truck driver
humming Schubert.

It’s going to have to be removed
by a doctor.

It’s going to go into too much detail.

It’s going to use your daughter against you.

It’s going to make you eat everything
on all the plates
at all the hours.

It’s going to fill you with sorrow.
It’s going to fill you with relief.

It’s going to show you
how you got here.

It’s going to say
something cliché like,
It’s going to be okay.

It’s going to be okay.

It’s going to hit any minute now.

It’s going to leave you speechless.

It’s something you’re going
to have to carry
for the rest of your life.

It’s going to get dark soon.

It’s going to feel
like it just happened yesterday.

It’s going to sit well with no one.
It’s going to be worth it.

It’s going to build you back up.

It’s going to get better every day.

It’s never going to give up.

It’s going to belong to you.

Friday December 13, 2024

First thing this morning, I washed my face with warm water from the newly installed bathroon faucet. It was glorious. I am so grateful.

Also that Megan helped put up the Christmas lights on the front porch, Miles changed the light bulb in the kitchen and set up the Christmas tree.

Thursday December 12, 2024

To add to the list of house things requiring my immediate attention, I received notification from the insurance company today that they are canceling my house/car insurance. Their timing, just days before Christmas, is inconvenient to say the least. I/we have been with them for well over 30 years and only needed to use our insurance a couple of times.

In the meantime, we are hurtling towards Christmas and I am scrambling to finish the shopping/wrapping/baking/cooking/hanging the Christmas lights/cleaning the house. I tell myself it will all get done. It will all get done. it will all get done, it will all get done. Stay tuned.

Tom came by to replace the upstairs bathroom faucet that mysteriously blew out a couple of weeks ago. The new one is very nice and, fortunately for Tom, it was not too difficult to install. I say that but he’s the one who had to work looking up while laying on the floor. I joke that he now has one and a half wives. He is one in a million.