Yesterday, I made myself a special treat or lunch: Tomato sandwiches. Earlier in the week, I made a special trip to a local farm stand for the tomatoes – perfect, round, bright red. I used to grow my own. But the longer I live here, the taller the trees become and the less sunlight there is to grow much of anything edible. (Not that I ever had a green thumb – If you know me at all, you know that’s true.) My mom always grew beautiful tomatoes. So did Grampa Wilson. But they’re both gone now. So, I buy them.

It’s the only time you’ll catch me eating white bread. Nothing else will do. Real mayonnaise. Lots of salt & pepper. I’m going to hell, but it’s worth it. I ate two of them. There was a napkin tucked into the neckline of my Tom Brady jersey to catch the juice that exploded out of the tomato slices. Heavenly!

The growing season for fresh produce is too short in southern New England. While I was at the farm, I picked up some corn on the cob. In a few weeks, that, too, will be but a memory. I made corn chowder – another seasonal favorite that brings comfort. Just like Mom used to make. Well, sort of. I never have been able to follow a recipe without a little creative free-styling.

In addition to my traditional culinary favorites, I added something new this year. Friends Deb & Ray invited me for dinner recently and served a delicious baked summer squash casserole. A few days later, my best friend of 54 years, Eileen, came to visit. She brought me two big squashes from her garden. Coincidence? I think not. 

One of the ways I take care of myself is by eating mostly real food that is both nutritious and delicious. Occasionally, I make allowances for foods that comfort me, either because of childhood associations or seasonal celebrations. These are some of my favorite late-summer treats. Only the squash dish required the oven, for which I am thankful, since summer’s humidity is hanging on.

As the weather turns cooler, my oven will be seeing more action. The scent of baked apple crisp will soon fill my kitchen. I can hardly wait!

Summer is over, for all intents and purposes. We stand at the threshold of a new season, anticipating all it has to offer: Cool mornings, crisp apples, colorful mums, early sunsets. Like it or not, life is a continuous cycle. The change of seasons is something we can rely on, although each one is a little different than the previous year, especially in New England. We’re never sure just what we’re going to get, no matter how many years we’ve lived through it.

My blogs have become less frequent while I’ve been dealing with life in the real world. Transition from summer to Fall is never easy for me. As much as I love Autumn and the coming holidays, letting go of summer does not come easy. I rail against the farmers who have pumpkins at the roadside stands that I pass on my way home from the ocean, my skin still salty, toes still sandy.

Life is always changing. Sometimes, the shift is subtle, so that we hardly notice until, one day, we look up and things are not the same. Other times, the bottom falls out and we land on our bums (hopefully). We take our time finding our legs again and courageously rewrite our story. 

Life holds many lessons and I am a good student – an eager learner. I am taking notes and this blog’s pace will return soon enough. There is so much to share as we travel our journeys together. 

Change is hard. We often make it more difficult by digging our heels in and holding on to the way things were. Long after I am wearing a sweater in the evenings, my beach bag remains in my closet, at the ready. I hope for that one last summer’s day. By the time I accept that it’s over, I’ve missed the opportunity to embrace Fall. 

My goal this September is to move forward, to accept that things change. Robert Frost said “The best way out is always through.” Instead of standing at the edge of the forest or wandering hopelessly in the middle, we should hold our heads up and forge a path – straight through the middle, until we emerge on the other side. 

I’m taking along some of my projects and goals – getting my manuscript published, for example. And my music, because it is also my sanity in those moments when I feel things starting to unravel. But I’m traveling lighter, so other dreams will need to be shelved, for now – But not forgotten. I will eventually return to them with sharper focus and renewed energy.

Some say it’s about letting go and I guess that’s true. It requires looking back, though, and I prefer to look ahead and press forward. There is one more beach day planned, etched on my calendar, if only Mother Nature cooperates. Then, I will put away my favorite towel, my sunscreen, my flip flops. I’m closing the door on that chapter, taking a deep breath and bravely opening the door to the next. 

Who knows? You might even find a pumpkin on my front steps.

(A great big THANK YOU to Connie for another awesome Guest Blog!)

Recently I attended a paint night with my daughter, Carmen. Now let me tell you that I am NOT an artiste! But here’s what I have learned!

 
Enjoying a creative outlet is a fun (and productive way) to give your mind a break from the day-to-day responsibilities. When we immerse ourselves in something creative we become distracted from our stressors and we walk away from our creative experience refreshed and feeling more relaxed. Sounds good, doesn’t it?

 
Looking back on my experience I realized that’s exactly what happened! Our artist, Cassie explained that we needed to relax and have fun. She said that there was no right way or wrong way to paint. Those of us who had Type A personalities, needed to “let it go.” I think she was talking directly to Carmen and myself. She said if we make a mistake, so be it! It can be fixed. We needed to be open and flexible.

 As we were painting, Cassie demonstrated how to make a pink sky but said if any wanted another color sky…why not go for it! And, that’s exactly what I did. My creativity light bulb went on and I decided to do an orange sky. The upbeat music played at various intervals when we were painting away. Before you know, Carmen and I stood up in our places (not only to better see the demo) but to have more freedom of movement in our places. What happened next is that we both, simultaneously started movin’ and groovin’ to the beat and painting our brush strokes accordingly. So much fun! We were having a blast and might I add, were the only one standing in our places doing so. The goal isn’t about the final product or creating a masterpiece. It’s about enjoying the process!

So what inspires you? There are so many ways to become inspired but what inspires one individual maybe completely different from what inspires another. Discover what inspires and ignites your personal creativity! Maybe spending time in nature does the trick or listening to music. Reading. Writing. Singing. Learning to play an instrument. Pottery. Knitting. Quilting. Acting. Dancing. Taking a creative class or lesson, kayaking, etc. The possibilities are endless!

 
Let go of rigidity. Remain as flexible and open as possible. Think outside the box! Focus on having fun, feeling refreshed and the pure enjoyment of the activity. Create as if no one were watching. Produce something that speaks to you and you alone. So now…anyone care to join in on the next paint night?

Asking yourself “What if?” is a double-edged sword. It can motivate and inspire, when used a certain way. Suppose you are having some difficulty in the midst of project. You might stand back and reconsider your method. “What if I tried it this way, instead?” Viola! Problem solved.

But it can also create fear and anxiety. When we ask ourselves the very same question about a future event, the outcome might not be as rewarding. For example, imagine you have an important job interview tomorrow. Despite your best effort, you cannot fall asleep. You close your eyes and a little voice begins. “What if I’m not qualified?” Or, “what if they ask a question I can’t answer?” Not only do you take the likelihood of sleep off the table, but you just might be sabotaging your chances of appearing confident at the interview.

I’ve always thought of myself as being pretty grounded and reality based. But I am still prone to a good case of the ‘what ifs’ every once in awhile. On my way to my writer’s group, there is almost always a moment of panic when I wonder, “What if they don’t like the piece I’ve chosen to read?” The easiest way to make the tides of terror recede is to actually answer your own question! “If they don’t like what I share, they’ll let me know, and I’ll rewrite it, better than before!”

The next time you find yourself wondering, “what if….? about a future event, STOP! As an alternative, think about what is. You’re snug-as-a-bug-in-a-rug in your very own bed, giving yourself the rest you need to rock that interview! Or, in my case: I’m writing! And I’ve got this great opportunity to give and receive feedback from other writers who respect and care about me.

Now, I realize the examples I’ve offered do not represent extraordinary circumstances. But you could use the same practice for more serious concerns. When life becomes uncertain and things are beyond our control, it’s a natural tendency to look to our destiny. We want to know that everything’s going to be all right. 

Rather than making ourselves crazy by asking hypothetical questions, let’s try to focus on the things that are certain. Asking “what if?” propels us into the future, where we cannot possibly know the answer. Considering “what is” keeps us in the present moment, which is really all we have. By embracing the now, we give ourselves the promise a better tomorrow.

​My vacation this year with my family was situated in New Hampshire, camping next to Lake Winnipesaukee. One particularly balmy day we decided to go to Ellecoya Beach in Laconia. The beach surroundings there are beautiful and a great way to enjoy nature at its finest! We settled ourselves in and as I was looking around, I started observing people on the beach…the many different types of people…not only physical observations but the way they were interacting with their families and friends as well. It was then that I had this revelation! Well not really a revelation, but a moment I guess you could say. Here it is… are you ready?

People are people!

That’s what it was…people are people and people are what makes the world go ’round! Each person in an individual with a unique personality, characteristics and strengths. 

                                                        And so it is with you and me!

Every one of us is unique and our uniqueness should be celebrated, don’t you think? After all, if we were all the same, the world would be quite a boring place. Your uniqueness is what makes you special. Think of all the amazing qualities you have. Maybe you are generous and kind or you are especially skilled at leading. Maybe you have the knack of making people feel good about themselves or are a great listener. Or are you great at “giving from the heart?” Maybe you know exactly what to say at the right time. Think about it. There are a zillion “maybes.” You need to remind yourself of the things you are exceptional at and how likely it is that others wish they had your talents!

 

                    

                                                              Celebrate your uniqueness!

I happen to know someone that publishes a blog every day, which I truly enjoy. These blogs contain information on how to be a fulfilled, self-satisfied, caring, loving person. One that not only lends supportive assistance to others, but also can find within themselves the true meaning of contentment and happiness. These blogs are beyond superlative and I know that I can never match the depth – but I have decided to give it a try.                                                                                                                    — Judie

Now I know that many of you are attempting to live a healthier, less sedentary lifestyle so the first item I would like to address is physical fitness. When your feet hit the floor as soon as you rise, bend down touch your toes or your knees ten times. Next, insert your iPod (or if you are over 70, turn on your stereo) to some lively music. While you are making your bed, do some twists and shouts around your bed. This will enliven your arterial system. When this is complete, (don’t you feel good already?) a speedy walk out to the kitchen and a large glass of juice, a cup of plain yogurt (yes I know crème brulee is tastier) and a side of coleslaw to get you going. The coleslaw is a boost to your colonic system which in the long run will help you lose weight. More on that later…

After breakfast, empty the dishwasher, which is good for the knee bends and stretch, stretch, stretch way up to the third shelf of the kitchen cabinets to return the wine glasses. Now, get out the dustpan and brush to pick up the pieces of the $2.00 wine glasses that you thought would last forever from the Christmas Tree Shop and that have fallen out of your hands while trying to reach up to the third shelf of the cabinet. This bending over and the sweeping motion of your wrists and arms will indeed bode well for the strength and muscle tone of your arms.

 Next on the agenda – a good rapid walk while carrying a fifteen pound wooden stick to fend off the neighbor’s two snarling Rottweilers. You will find that running is not the best method to bypass their house, however, it may help you to lose extra pounds. Be certain to wear your best pair of Nikes and a pair of armor plated shorts.  

Lunchtime is my favorite meal and you must know by now that this is the best time to consume your biggest meal of the day. A cup of clear beef broth infused with a shot of gin, two glucose free bread sticks and the aforementioned coleslaw make for a tasty and satisfying lunch. You may have as much of the slaw that you please, as long as it has very little dressing.  

 
By now it is probably 2 o’clock and you have spent an hour in the bathroom due to the consumption of the coleslaw – but just think how much weight you are losing! I’m sure you will love the results and no complaining about the flatulence. Just be certain you stay within the confines of your own home, preferably while your family is off the premises. They can be a detriment to your goals. Do not be affected by their jibes.

 As you sit in your favorite chair with your feet extended to your ottoman, watch Days of Our lives. I expect you to be raising and lowering your legs and bending your knees while you are in this position, then taking a short nap. The circulation will help your stamina while fending off the dogs for your run in the morning.  

 
I know it will be a painful task to cook that one pound sirloin steak and whisk up the Betty Crocker mashed potatoes for your husband in the evening, when you know damn well that you won’t be having the slightest taste of it. So, my suggestion is to cook it ahead of time, sneak a couple of bites, feed it to the dog and tell hubby that someone broke into the house while you were out in the yard digging a foundation for your new sauna.

Thanks to Jangelina for today’s Guest Blog!

                             – Babs

——————————–
“All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.”

-Abraham Lincoln

“A dad is a son’s first hero, a daughter’s first love.”

– Author unknown

I am an adult orphan. My father passed away about 16 years ago and I lost my mom just a year ago. I believe that they are still with me and I feel their presence and their influence in my life now every day. But I was never aware of how much that I would miss their physical presence. I was probably closer to my dad than my mom because we were so much alike but my mom was a very special person and I miss her every day.

I am working through my grief still although it is so difficult with so many reminders of the loss of their physical presence. 

I see the gardens that my mother worked in and loved so much growing and flourishing without her. I see my father’s face in his grandchildren and great grandchildren that he never got to meet. I feel the loss that my children feel in losing their grandparents who loved them so much. And I mourn the fact that my father never got to meet some of his grandchildren or any of his great-grandchildren. My mother was able to meet them and spend time with them, but in the last years of her life, she did not recognize any of us. Yet, for some reason, the Alzheimer’s that she suffered made her happier and more affectionate in the last years of her life. This brought great joy to all of us – particularly the grandchildren who relished the love and affection that she showered upon them. Her children appreciated the happiness that she showed and experienced in the last years of her life, even though when she was enjoying our presence, she didn’t know who she was or who we were. But it didn’t matter because she was so happy.

Life goes on for those of us who have experienced such a loss but it’s not easy. I never realized the role that my parents played in the reassurance and advice and constant support that they provided sometimes merely by being there. As an adult, a mother, a grandmother, I should be that person now to my family and I do try. But I am still trying to learn how to go on without that generation who made me a child again, the adult that I am now, and the person who was loved unconditionally. 

So what do I do with my feeling of being an adult orphan, I feeling that I never anticipated would come to me at my age? Of course I turn to Google, the Almighty source of all information and advice. At least since my parents are no longer here. 🙂

This is the information that I found that gave me the most peace:

Here are four things to do when faced with this kind of loss:
1. Acknowledge that it is a big deal.

Grief is grief, even if your parent is 100, even if you are 75. For most people, the death of their final parent hits them hardest. When your first parent dies, you are often focused on taking care of your living parent. When your final parent dies, there are less distractions and responsibilities. You have easier access to your own feelings. Give yourself the time that you need to grieve. Try not to minimize the loss.

2. Recognize that you have lost more than your relationship with your parent.

You have not only lost the role of child, but also that of caretaker. Remember when your kids left home and you were no longer responsible and involved in their day-to-day lives? Remember the soccer parents and your kid’s friends that you missed when the kids left? Well, you may miss the caretakers that you spoke to regularly. You will no longer hear about their families. What about the other residents at your parent’s apartment building/assisted living or nursing home? These people were a part of your life and losing them can be tough.

3. Reach out to others in the same situation.

There is nothing more powerful than the sense of being part of a community where we feel understood. Reach out to others who have recently lost a second parent. Tell them why you are reaching out and ask to meet for coffee. Those already in “the club” are usually happy to connect with you. The person you reach out to does not have to be a close friend or confidante. In fact, casual friends can often be more understanding and helpful in these situations.
4. Use the tools you used when you became an empty nester.

How did you handle your transition to the empty nest? What worked for you? Did you take time to let the dust settle or did you jump into making new connections? Some new orphans (there must be a better word for this) feel a greater need to get involved in something more meaningful. Some redeploy the skills they developed caring for their parents to become patient care advocates, drive the elderly to medical appointments or volunteer at eldercare communities. Others enjoy the freedom to take care of themselves and enjoy spending more time with friends and having fun.

Whatever you do, make sure that it is right for you. 
(http://www.huffingtonpost.com/author/barbara-wasserman-licsw)

As I read this advice what I seem to click with the most is time. And of course time is historically what gets us through grief and into that place where the anger and the resentment and the emptiness go away or at least fade. And the peace slowly comes to me as I look back and I laugh and I cry and I find myself smiling more than crying. An enormously cathartic practice has been distributing memorabilia of my parents to the grandchildren who never knew their grandfather and the great grandchildren who never knew my Dad and those of them who knew their grandmother or their great-grandmother when my Mom was well or only, unfortunately, when she was not. 

I share stories of my parents and family and the funny things that happened growing up and even sometimes the tragic things that happened in the histories of my parents so that they will live on forever in the lives of the generations that they produced and that were produced from them. I am finding that my children and my grandchildren enjoy the stories and we laugh and cry together and somehow my parents are there with me and that they know that I am keeping their memories alive and that they will never be forgotten because they will live on in the lives of the future generations.

I hope through my sharing that someone else will know that they are not alone in their grief and that it gets easier and it gets more peaceful and that they never really leave us, not really. 
 

 

Vacation has a different rhythm. The almighty clock becomes less significant. (The same cannot be said for the calendar, since we try desperately to prevent whole days and weeks from passing. But at least we don’t have to look at it and consult it every day to make sure we’re where we’re supposed to be!)

Although I no longer work, my routine is busy and somewhat structured. But not during my favorite vacation – Camping at the beach. The classes, lessons and social events are suspended for fourteen lovely days and nights. We spend most (all) of our time outdoors – except for sleeping, and even then we are separated from the night air by only a screen canvas.

My clock and calendar are replaced by nature. We rise each day when the sun becomes too bright to remain sleeping. We make very few plans. Instead, we rise and decide what to do, often based on the weather conditions or, sometimes, the tides. It must be somewhat like our ancient ancestors lived, long before there were offices to drive to on congested highways.

Our entertainment is not television or video games. In lieu of sitcoms, we watch the fishing boats return to dock. We look to see what birds stop to enjoy breakfast on the berry bushes that surround our temporary home. At night, we gaze into a roaring campfire and anticipate the appearance of local wildlife, hoping for a dropped morsel of tonight’s dinner. 

One of my favorite parts of this vacation is falling asleep to the haunting sound of a distant fog horn. I know it’s not Mother nature’s handiwork, but it certainly lends itself to whole experience of being close to the sea and all the dangers that come along with it.

We eat native seafood, caught down the road by local fishermen who rise before dawn and face whatever temperament the ocean presents. We visit a local farm and choose vegetables grown there, planted and picked by hand. We cook them over a fire (albeit charcoal) and dine outdoors.

As I enjoy my morning coffee, I listen to the cry of an osprey, circling above. I might glance up and see her carrying a fish in her claws, heading back to the high nest in the marsh that abuts this beautiful place. 

Our days here have a nice cadence, determined by the sun and the sea. It used to take me a few days to adjust to the pace, but not anymore. I slip into it like an old, worn flannel shirt. The fit is perfect. It feels familiar and comforting. I breathe in the salty air and feel the sun’s warmth on my skin. It’s like I never left. Maybe, in my heart and soul, I never did.

Dear Nantucket,

It wasn’t intentional – honest. I’ve loved the very idea of you for almost as long as I can remember. I’m sorry that it took me 60 years to visit.

You see, my nana had friends who vacationed and sent her postcards. That’s what they did back then: They sent each other postcards. There were notes from Bermuda and Myrtle Beach. There were color photos with scrawled handwriting on the back from England and Florida…. Vermont and Maine. But my most favorite were the postcards from Nantucket. They showed quaint little seaside cottages with weathered shingles obscured by climbing roses – Red ones, pink ones – beautiful roses. I could almost smell their gentle scent as it mingled with the salty air.

I suppose it reminded her of the English gardens she knew in her younger days. Nana gave the postcards to me, somehow knowing that I’d treasure them. After studying the picture, I loved to read the note on the reverse side. It always began, “Dear Florrie.” The signatures might be Agnes, Lydia or Bertha. I had a black scrapbook – The old fashioned kind with heavy, yellowed pages. I’d carefully affix each postcard using little black corners that were held in place with glue.

Someday, I would visit Nantucket and see the cottages, with their beautiful gardens and climbing rose bushes. Someday.

Life got in the way, as often happens. I went away to college and eventually married and left home. The scrapbook was long forgotten and most likely packed away in the basement and eventually tossed out during one of my dad’s cleaning frenzies. 

In my late twenties, I visited Martha’s Vineyard for the first time. It was nice and the gingerbread cottages were adorable. But it wasn’t Nantucket. I remember thinking that Nantucket would be next. It was no big deal, really, to hop on a ferry and cross the little bit of ocean that separates us from them. Now I knew how.

In my thirties, I visited Block Island for the very first time. By then, I had developed a good case of motion sickness. I vowed that I would never return home unless they sold Dramamine on the island. (Luckily, they did.) While the island was lovely and fun, it still wasn’t Nantucket. 

Someday.

In my forties, the daughter of a friend was going to Nantucket for the first time. I told her about my lost postcard collection and my desire to visit. She brought back a postcard for me – One with a little grey shingled cottage covered in roses. Someday…

In my fifties, I returned to Block Island. It became an annual day trip. Last year, I went to ‘the Block’ three times. Then, I returned to Martha’s Vineyard for a couple of days, where a friend was house-sitting. It was great! But it still wasn’t Nantucket.

A few years ago, I discovered an author named Elin Hilderbrand. She writes love stories that take place on Nantucket, where she is a full time resident. Her books are perfect summer reading. Through her writing, I became familiar with the villages and neighborhoods of the island, as well as the beaches and lighthouses. My desire to experience them for myself grew as I devoured each novel.

When I turned sixty, I made a list of things I planned to accomplish. Visiting Nantucket was on it. 

Monday night, I went for my usual two-mile walk, dragging along a reluctant nine-year-old. “What should we do tomorrow?” I asked Spencer. “Nana has the whole day free, so we could drive somewhere that might usually be too far for a day trip.” He had a couple of ideas, but nothing that we could get excited about. “How about Martha’s Vineyard?” He asked. 

Last summer, I’d bought him a yellow tee shirt from the Black Dog tavern store there. He loved it, especially since I had bought myself an orange one and we sometimes wore them together. Then, he scratched at a bug bite on his back and it bled, staining the shirt. “Nana travelled so far to get that shirt,” he cried to his mother. “She had to take a boat!” Now, he was clearly on a mission to get a new one: Preferably in green, his favorite color.

“How about Nantucket?” I asked. He shrugged. I was hopeful. Indifferent was better than opposed. “Maybe we can go to the Vineyard another time,” I offered. 

When we got home, I looked at the ferry schedules. If we got up at 5:00am, we could take an early, high speed ferry out of Hyannis. This apparently qualified it as an official adventure and Spencer was all in. I booked our round trip ferry rides before he could change his mind. I discovered that the cruise company also offers a one-hour bus tour of the island, so I booked that, too!

We arrived at the docks in time to check in and grab a quick breakfast before boarding. The 60 minute boat ride was pleasant and my Dramamine did the trick. We were thrilled to see that the boat deposits you right smack in the center of town, with enough stores, shops and restaurants to keep us busy all day. We wouldn’t even have to walk far.

Off the ferry and onto the cobblestone road, we took it in. About the second or third shop was a Black Dog store! Score one for the boy!

The bus tour was great, passing through the village of ‘Sconset with the weathered shingled cottages. The roses were fading but still blooming, climbing trellises that went up the sides of the homes and extended onto the roofs. It was just beautiful. But it was very warm and pretty boring for Spencer. He was a trooper and didn’t complain (much). Turned out to be worth his while, since Nana showed her appreciation by purchasing a green Black Dog tee shirt and a Black Dog cap. And a stuffed black dog. 

On the ferry ride home, I asked him what he thought of Nantucket. “I think it should be a regular trip, every summer!” he said

That sounds good, to me.

Summer agrees with me

Driving at night with the sunroof open

Swimming in the ocean

Lobster rolls

Ice cream

Rainbows

Days have a different pace

Friends are more spontaneous

Campfires

Baseball games

Fireworks

Freshly picked tomatoes & corn 

Life is easier

We grill and eat dinner on the deck

Pony tails

Flip flops

Watering cans

Fireflies

We fall asleep under a fan

Awaken with the sun

Drive-in movies

Outdoor showers

Lemonade stands

Distant lawn mowers