Not Sherry

As I write we are nearing the end. Only a few more days and Christmas will be upon us. This is one of those short seasons that catch us all a little off guard, and if you are not careful these last few days will be more stressful than merry.

I thought I was so clever this year. I bought my Christmas cards in January. I had plans to sign and address all of them before the end of the month. January slipped into August, but hey, still way early, right? I sat down to write my Christmas letter in October. We were already 10 months into the year and though not over, it would be easy enough to just add a few lines right before Thanksgiving to wrap it up and pop them in the mail. A little Christmas music was added for motivation. I was proud of myself for being right on target, but I couldn’t see around the bend.

Kim bought me pretty Christmas stamps that I was sticking in their appropriate place in the corner of each envelope. Guess I should have put my glasses on for this part. Didn’t think I needed them. I know where the stamps go! Not so hard. I saw the word, “Forever”, and assumed that was printed on the bottom. I was wrong, so about half my cards went out with the snow globe sideways. Do you suppose anyone noticed? “By the way Kim, how much is a stamp these days?” $.73 cents!!!! Add that to a box of cards and you have to re-evaluate your budget just to send a Merry Christmas greeting and a few words to catch up with friends. I’m beginning to understand why Facebook floods with Christmas wishes, while my mailbox holds only one or two cards every few days. I imagine there will be a future when I will have plenty of free time, because Christmas cards will be a thing of the past. I understand, but I think if that happens we will have lost something more significant than a tradition.

It was mid-November when I inserted my letter in their respective cards and stuffed envelopes. This is where I got derailed. I turned the envelopes over only to discover they were not self-sealing!!! What the heck!!! Who bought these?! Ok, I did! Why would I do that?! Rookie mistake, but I’m no rookie! I’ve been sending Christmas cards for the last 45 years! Argh! Where’s the sponge? They didn’t make it to the post office until December 9th! That’s right! You heard me!

This was going to be my year where I would spend the season relaxed, drinking cocoa, and watching Hallmark movies instead of checking my list, searching all over town and on the internet for just the right gifts. I ordered my first Christmas present on November 6th. I waited and waited, but it was lost! As in the mail lost! Okay, it happens. Just cancel that and order another one. This one coming too late for me to deliver it myself, but carefully timed to be intercepted on the front step of my son’s house….or not. It didn’t arrive. “Delayed in transit”, the message said. “Expected tomorrow”. Okay, all still good, or was it? The next day came and went, and still a no show. “Looks like it may be lost.” Lost!? How can they be so casual? We’re a week and a half out from Christmas and my package is MIA again!!! Sure I got a refund, but it doesn’t fix the fact that the clock is ticking and I am empty handed! I don’t know exactly who is to blame, but I’m blaming someone, anyone, everyone!!!! Third time is a charm, right? We’ll see. I’m watching and waiting while my well planned out schedule of being prepared before December is circling the drain. And before you chastise me for not buying local, I tried. Chasing it down locally became an adventure in itself and a story for another time, since at some point I expect this present to be a surprise whenever it arrives.

So today, the first day of winter, the gifts are wrapped, the cards sent out weeks ago, and here I sit. I’m ready for the 25th four days ahead of schedule. Not quite how I planned it, but I made it. I have the music on, the cocoa steaming, the feet up and the lights on with time left to reflect on the true reason for the season.

I hope you are ready as well, for no matter how you celebrate Christmas it waits for no one, not even the U.S. Mail. May your hearts be filled with the spirit of this special season. See ya next year.

A year ago our son, daughter-in-law, and oldest grandson handed us a gift bag. In it were two lanyards, each with a picture of our grandson, Apollo, standing in front of a backdrop showing a cruise ship, and on top was printed Alaska! Our 49th state has forever been on our bucket list, but it was always more of a far off dream than something that would ever be a reality. Kim and I looked at each other and then at them. I didn’t know what to say, so instead I cried.

We would be joining them on this adventure. They had given us one year to prepare and plan, and believe me there was plenty to do. There were excursions to decide on, plane tickets to book, but more importantly we had clothes to buy! We’re talking Alaska in early June and for the last 10 years Kim and I have lived in Florida! Those two states couldn’t be more different in scenery and temperatures. Oh no! The temperature! I didn’t even own a pair of pants!

We’re no strangers to the cold. We lived for over 3 years in Wyoming and 23 in Colorado, but it’s been a while. 65 degrees used to feel like early summer. 65 now means winter. We watched YouTube travel videos to see how other people dressed for the Inside Passage. Each one showed people in hats, coats, sometimes even parkas. With each one came the same question as we looked at each other with wide eyes, “What time of year was that?” which was followed by nervous laughter. Obviously we were going to freeze!!!

I checked with friends and family who have been there before. Good friends from Colorado told us we might be “chilly”, but not cold. I didn’t believe them. Did you read the part where I mentioned they live in Colorado? What do they know? I asked my sister-in-law who lives in Hawaii. Surely there were similarities between us on what we might consider cold. She said she remembered it being “pretty chilly”, which I thought was pretty vague, but I was fairly sure I understood. We wouldn’t likely freeze. Another friend was actually on that cruise when I texted her the same question. She said, “It’s chilly, but not freezing.” Funny, every picture I saw of her and her husband he was wearing a stocking hat and jacket. She had on a parka. That outerwear says cold to me. A sweater would say chilly! They did all agreed on one thing. Dress in layers. Got it!

The Inside Passage is not the interior and the climate they say is fairly temperate. Do you know what temperate means? I looked it up. It means balmy, pleasant. I don’t think so!!! 75 to 80 is pleasant and balmy. You drop below 70 and now you have entered the chill zone! I was seeing average temperatures for our dates that topped out at 65! In reality, they never made it. I was going to need to go shopping, and shop I did.

I needed shoes that were actual shoes, not flip flops! I needed pants. The Inside Passage is a rainforest, so we needed to prepare for rain. Here in Florida the rain is warm. It would be handy to own a raincoat, but instead I have an umbrella, which I rarely use because of lightning. If I have to be out, I usually just run for it. I was pretty sure the rain wouldn’t be warm in Alaska, so I bought a poncho should I need it. Kim told me when walking I looked like a wizard. Not sure if that’s a good thing, or a bad thing, but I let it go. Fortunately I still had a jacket, hat, and gloves from our former lives in Colorado, but don’t forget socks!! When was the last time I wore socks?

It was in the 60’s the morning we were to set sail in Seattle, and just to make sure we noticed there was a pretty stiff breeze to accompany it! We were already “chilly” and Rebecca was sure she did not bring enough warm clothes. The thought had crossed my mind as well, but we would survive even if we had to buy an $80 sweatshirt while onboard. The excitement of what was to come quickly overcame any of our concerns as we climbed aboard our home for the next 7 days. We were going to Alaska!!!

The horn blasted three times indicating that we were on our way. Leaving the dance party behind we headed outside to watch as we left port and began our journey. The breeze generated by our movement forward, joined with the one already blowing in Seattle, and now we had a pretty decent wind! Smiling we hunched our shoulders, pulled sweaters tightly, zipped up sweatshirts, and huddled close together to stay warm. “Chilly” they said! We weren’t even out of Puget Sound yet?! Hmmm!

The morning we arrived at the Inside Passage the five of us stepped outside on the deck after breakfast to take a deep breath and get lost in the view. The three crew members who were working there took one look at me as the cold air hit me in the face and laughed, “You’re in Alaska now!”, one of them said. Whoa! I was going to need more than a heavy sweater if I planned to spend any time in the open air. This wasn’t cold. It was frigid! I don’t remember anyone using that word when I asked about the temperature! You’ve seen those weather reports that give the temperature with the “wind chill”? I think people are being fairly loosey goosey with that word, “chill”. Let’s go with “frosty”. Not only is it more descriptive, it’s more accurate.

We encountered small icebergs in the water in Tracy Arm Fjord. You don’t see icebergs when it’s “chilly” out! Icebergs in the water screamed as they passed, “Put on every layer of warm clothing you brought if you wish to survive!” We were getting on a much smaller boat to take a closer look at Sawyer Glacier. Visions of the Titanic drifted through my thoughts. I heard others murmuring about it as well. It didn’t help when the guide announced that these mesmerizing, azure blue, innocent looking icebergs were bigger underwater than our boat! Wow! Be careful! If I thought it was cold onboard, I’m pretty sure swimming in that water was going to be well down below the “chilly” range, so let’s not entertain a Titanic re-enactment. In spite of the cold, this was by far my most favorite experience of our cruise. It didn’t boast the towering, rugged mountains of the Alaska interior, but rather soft, rounded mammoths that had been scoured through the ages, molded by glacial silt that were equally magnificent. Throw in more harbor seals and their pups than I could count, a few bald and golden eagles, waterfalls, a calving glacier and this place was magical.

In Skagway we were treated to some legendary Alaskan peaks, the Klondike trail, the Yukon, and more wind!! That worked well for the tourist shops as we ducked inside in order to get some warmth back into our hands and cheeks. Walking back to the ship we got as far on the dock as the bow of our ship when we could see the rain making its way across the water. We thought it was coming toward us, but I turned around and looked at the mountain pass behind us. I was fairly sure it might actually be snowing up there, and as I squinted into the distance I realized it was getting closer and gaining ground! We were not going to make it! Rebecca and Apollo scurried ahead. “Save yourself!” Ben chose not to abandon his parents. We stopped ever so briefly for me to unfurl my poncho, wizard-like. Kim and Ben zipped up their coats, putting on their hats and gloves as well. The wind worked itself into a frenzy in front of the approaching rain. We stepped lively now, hoping to beat the squall to the gangway, but it was too fast for us. It pelted us with freezing, wind whipped rain! My gloves were soaked, but my poncho did it’s job. Turns out I was right. Alaska did not dish out the warm rain of Florida. By the time we made it onboard we were more than a little cold!… “Chilly” they said. Hmmm?

Though Juneau started out with a cold breeze that required extra outerwear, this proved to be our warmest stop, which is a relative term. A short while later we were able to remove some cold weather gear, and I was free to enjoy sitting in the sunshine admiring Mendenhall Glacier with just a heavy sweater and polar fleece vest to keep me comfortable. Ketchikan proved similar, though I preferred sitting in the sun to the shade. That’s something we don’t do here in Florida, opt to sit in the sun, unless you’re at the beach. None of us ever stripped down to shirt sleeves. I would describe these two places as “chilly”. Well done my friends. Two out of four. You were only wrong half the time!

Our last stop was at night in Victoria, Canada. We didn’t get caught off guard here, though many did. The wind, our perpetual and uninvited traveling companion, seemed very angry here. Ben, didn’t hesitate to take matters into his own hands and immediately bought bus tickets to take us downtown, rather than endure the walk we had initially intended that surely would include a souvenir of frostbite! Even the border patrol commented how cold it was that night. He wasn’t getting an argument from me.

It wouldn’t be long now before we were headed back to the “balmy” state of Florida, though by definition by mid June Florida had probably blown right past “balmy”. We had an amazing time! We played games, danced, and enjoyed the onboard entertainment with three of our favorite people. We ran into some mildly rough seas where more of the pool water seemed to be on the deck than in the pool. Our nights were illuminated by the nearly Midnight Sun, and morning came shortly after 3:00 a.m. Crazy, right? We saw glaciers, remnants of the Klondike gold rush, and encountered histories of a time gone by. We were treated to sightings of countless humpback whales, bald eagles, harbor seals, dolphins, two bears, and a new one for me… a large school of giant ocean sun fish, otherwise known as Mola! They are huge, freaky looking, and can weigh up to 4,400 pounds!!! What a delight!

We enjoyed a small taste of Alaska. A state so large that you could put California, Montana, and Texas inside of it and still have room to spare! Texas!? We drove across the wide part of Texas once. Took us nearly two days and I thought I’d never be looking at it in my rearview mirror! Using that as a yardstick Alaska is ginormous!! Alaska is raw and wild. I can find no other words to describe it. Like the state itself, there are no words big enough to fully illustrate it. Whether you are viewing it from the water, immersed in its huge mountains, or taking in the wide vistas of the open tundra it is the frontier, and regardless of how many people move there it likely always will be. I thought this trip would satiate my appetite for Alaska, but instead it only made me hunger for more. Thank you Ben, Rebecca, and Apollo for making it possible. For sharing your adventure with us. For being outstanding travel companions. I hope we get to do it again sometime.

I recommend it at least once for everyone, but if you go just know that “Chilly” is a relative word.

One of the things I really enjoy about living in southwest Florida is the wildlife. Birds have a huge presence here and they come in all sizes and colors. Then there are the bigger mammals like bears, bobcats, and panthers. I have never seen those in the wild here, though others have. I would love to see a panther in its native habitat, but one should probably be careful of what they wish for. There are possums and armadillos, iguanas and snakes, and without alligators it simply wouldn’t be Florida.

Living on a decent sized pond we have all sorts of waterfowl, and the fish attract a number of birds of prey. An osprey lives in one of the trees on the edge of the shoreline, and on occasion a bald eagle may stop by to check out the fishing, or a red shouldered hawk may snack on a small turtle that wasn’t quite quick enough, or fully paying attention. Saw that once. Fascinating, but ewwww! I understand everyone needs to eat, but I didn’t really need to see that while I was eating my own breakfast. Don’t judge me for being a hypocrite!

The other morning we had a new visitor. We had heard he had been here a few years ago, along with a buddy. A neighbor had even provided us with a picture of him sitting on the steps leading to our back door, but the pair had moved on after thoroughly fishing out the pond, and those aquatic residents lucky enough to remain were probably not big enough to make a decent snack. That was until now.

Spying something large swimming in the water my husband, Kim, thought it was an iguana making its way to the other shoreline, but it didn’t look quite right and it appeared to be playing in the water. Iguanas are amazing swimmers, but they don’t play! The water for them is just another avenue of travel. They are mostly just looking for a quick way to get from one side to the other. No, this was something else.

He was fast and moved with ease, obviously very comfortable in the water and having a good time. Of course our own survival instincts are on alert. You don’t want to be caught off guard by an alligator who may have taken up residence. Alligators are freakishly fast in the water, though most of the time they move with the slow, self-assured, strutting confidence that they are the most powerful and feared predator in these parts. They seem to relish knowing that everyone around is watching them, and quietly backing out of their way. However, alligators are distinctive looking in the water, and this wasn’t it. But, what then?

He swam fast, diving deep, appearing here, then over there. Swiftly he was making a beeline for the shore and then suddenly here he was, standing in my backyard! A river otter! He was bigger than I than I expected. I wish he had stayed longer, but he looked around, looked at me, and was quickly on his way, using the runoff pipe between our pond and the one on the other side of the street as an underground highway.

They are cute, though not as cute, or as big as their cousins the sea otter. They don’t float on their backs like sea otters, and they’re faster on land than their fluffy relatives. Experts say they are friendly if you don’t bother them. They have sharp teeth and impressive claws, and I’m not convinced that when he shows you his teeth he is smiling, or issuing a warning! You decide. My neighbor was sweeping her lanai when she heard a low growl. Turning she saw him sitting there between our two houses looking at her. I’ll bet that gave her heart a quick jump start!

We were glad Mr. Otter entered our neighborhood, even if only for a short while. The fish and turtles are likely pleased his visit was short and he didn’t bring friends. There was a raccoon down there yesterday afternoon taking a long, cool drink. This morning a large iguana made his way across in search of a warm sunspot. Kim and I were out sitting in the sun, which often hypnotically lures me into closing my eyes. Snap out of it!!! That’s probably not a wise idea!! Who knows who might pop in for a visit.

Christmas was a few days ago. The excitement has begun to ebb as the last few remaining days of the year dwindle away like spent candle wax from the Advent wreath that still adorns my table. These days get lost between the old and the new as though the sun is just putting in time until it drops below the horizon on the 31st and rises on the 1st. It is fitting then that the last several days have been gloomy here with clouds and rain. I was hoping to get to the beach before the year was officially over, but it’s as though what’s left of 2023 is pouting, feeling like leftover scraps. Everyone is waiting for what’s to come, barely noticing these few days as an opportunity to finish the year well before sliding into 2024. Well, it would help if the weather would cooperate and put a little sunshine into what we have left, or else I’m going to have to dig deep to find an excuse to shed these sweatpants, slippers, and cozy sweater myself!

I too am pouting I suppose. The number of Christmas cards that brought me news, and the joy of hearing from old friends at Christmas were not as many as in the past. More and more people are relying on social media to send out a blanket Christmas greeting, and less and less on the old fashioned pony express. I can’t be the only person who eagerly awaits December mail, knowing that December is the month you are guaranteed something more than advertisement flyers from here, there, and everywhere that go directly from the mailbox to the trash can, providing nothing more than a walk down the driveway to get some fresh air. It might also constitute exercise if your driveway is long enough, and maybe you take a lap around the yard while you’re out. No, December means “real” mail, or does it?

I received an email from a dear friend which included an apology for not getting a card out this year. A lot had happened during the past 12 months and her heart just wasn’t in it. As I read about her life I understood why her heart had taken a powder on the tradition this year. Some years are like that. It was the simplicity of one word that finally helped me to understand what I felt missing from my mailbox. It wasn’t that I needed a card in return for the ones I sent out. Sending a Christmas card isn’t about that. It’s about “heart”. I was missing that glittery card with the colorful envelope that even with nothing more than a signature somehow said, “I’m thinking of you”. Okay, okay I’m not a fan of “just” a signature which somehow conveys that you’re barely trying, but I will take it in the spirit of which it was sent. You still have to address the envelope, affix the stamp, and if you chose poorly, lick the envelope! Nothing says you care like having to lick an envelope!

It is arrogant of me to believe the recipients of my card are happy to get it. Perhaps some secretly wish there was an “unsubscribe” opportunity included. After all, I do include the dreaded “Christmas letter” that is the butt of all Christmas card jokes. I’ve lately thought of giving the tradition up altogether. Sending cards seems to have become antiquated, and with the price of postage who could blame anyone for going the Facebook billboard, blanket holiday greeting route? Well, maybe someday, but not today! Instead, as the dawn of a new year sweeps towards us I am writing names on my Christmas card list for next December. It is in my heart.

Peeling off my sweats and donning “real” clothes, I drove to Hobby Lobby to score next year’s cards at a discount. Though other castaway decorations that missed out on being chosen for the holiday still lined the shelves, I didn’t find a single box of Christmas cards anywhere. I’m not sure if I was disappointed, or somewhere deep inside of me there glowed an ember of joy to know I am not the only dinosaur.

I was in the midst of doing some routine household chores the other day. Looking for the fastest way to get through them and onto something more fun I may have cut a few corners, going around instead of under I could hear my mother’s voice, “Sheri, don’t just give that a lick and a promise!”

I’ve been married for almost 45 years and she left for heaven 4 years ago, yet I recognized a familiar shadow coming from within my heart, admonishing me about the shortcomings of taking shortcuts. I haven’t thought of that old adage of hers in years. She didn’t invent it, but she used it often. It originated in the early 1800’s when servants would skim over a hard task to do easier ones first, promising to come back and complete it later. I don’t know about then, but now those “promises” are often broken, or at least forgotten.

I don’t remember ever saying it to my kids. They had it pretty easy. I only demanded they pick up their rooms and their bathroom. I wanted their toys put away and didn’t care how they did it, just that they did. I was savvy to when they tried to pass off clean clothes as dirty so they could just throw them in the hamper, instead of putting them away. I was young once too, you know! On occasion I threw in washing the dishes, but I don’t recall making them do the heavy lifting of scrubbing the tub and toilet. The only dusting was done by Ben. I insisted he dust his models and Star Wars figurines. They were so fragile and delicate that if I even thought to bring a duster close to them one would drop a missile, another a propeller; someone would lose their laser blaster, or a Jedi’s light saber would suddenly be MIA. From time to time some complicated character would decide to fall apart altogether and end up in a heap of alien legs, arms, and weapons on the desk! Oh my! After being chastised way too often, “Mom, stop breaking my stuff!” Ben was on his own for those. Rather than a quaint expression that left you wondering exactly what it might mean, my motto was clear and to the point, “Make it happen!” Now, if they remember it differently…well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

My mom was like others of the 60’s…Old School. If there were chores to be done we all chipped in no matter what they were. As my sisters and I remember it we were the worker bees. Mom took on the supervisory role. Hmm? I didn’t like chore day. It was always Saturday, making a serious unpleasant dent in the weekend! Weekends were supposed to be fun. Chores are not fun! If they were we would say that we “get” to do them, instead of we “have” to do them. I particularly didn’t like dusting. I found it tedious. Still do. Mom didn’t believe in feather dusters, swearing they only moved the dust around. Dusting was even more dull and never-ending when wiping down everything with a rag. Often I would dust around things, but not under them. After all, who was going to be picking them up, looking for telltale signs of residual dust? Mom was, that’s who!

An inspection always followed. My bed would be made, clothes were either hung up or in the hamper, and the floor vacuumed. Bathroom mirrors were polished, the tub and toilet were cleaned, and the trash emptied, but more often than not I failed the dusting test. “Sheri Lynn, you get back in here and do this right! We don’t just give things a lick and a promise!” Getting frustrated she would often throw down that other saying well known to many suggesting that, “If you want something done right, do it yourself”. This did not, however, indicate she was waving the white flag of surrender to my persistent lack of diligence and was actually going to do it herself. It would have been a grave mistake to assume as much.

I wasn’t convinced that dusting was worth all the effort. Growing up in the desert southwest dust managed to creep through every crack and crevasse of every window and door no matter how small, especially after a dust storm. Dusting seemed to be a battle one could never win. But, if you didn’t dust every week it wouldn’t take long before things began to look like a haunted house rather than a home. I have a friend who claims to use accumulating dust as a DIY white board, leaving messages for her family in it. Clever, I’d say! Sighing heavily, I went back to do it again. Leaving the room I could hear Mom saying, “If you don’t like doing it, do it right the first time and you won’t have to do it twice”. Yeah, I know. I just figured maybe once it might slip past her.

Those chores of my childhood are still my chores today. A time or two, maybe three or four I find myself taking those same shortcuts I tried as a kid, only this time there’s no one here to send me back to do it again, or is there? As I clean the bathroom counter, wiping around the bowl of various lotions and the basket that holds the toothbrushes instead of picking them up to clean underneath them, I hear a familiar voice that isn’t really there, “Sheri, don’t just give that a lick and a promise.” I smile into the mirror and silently answer, “I know Mom. I’ll do it right next week. I promise.” And if I don’t I know I will likely hear from her again, haunting me from heaven. Maybe a “lick and a promise” is my way of keeping her close. I can live with that.

How many times have you heard someone say, “I miss the good ‘ol days when things were less complicated, more honest, easier, and not so terribly wrong”. I have said it. You may have said it. I know I’ve heard my parents say it, but were they? Let’s take a look, then you decide.

I’m going to take you on a short walk through history so you can see what was so good about the days behind us. We won’t go far, but we could. Instead let’s start with the pilgrims and the Mayflower. This wasn’t your modern day cruise ship, all inclusive package with private staterooms, deck chairs, all you can eat, and onboard casino. No, the Mayflower was a cargo ship. Hauling passengers was not what it was designed for. The 102 passengers who made the 66 day voyage across the Atlantic didn’t do it in style, but rather squeezed together below deck where it was damp, cold, crowded, and miserable. The “all you could eat” menu wasn’t exactly all you could eat, and the choices were few. So few in fact as to not be any at all. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner consisted of hardtack biscuits, dried meat, and beer. Beer was considered safer than water since bacterial microorganisms can survive in water, but not in alcohol. I don’t like beer. Not even a little. Drinking beer every day would have been a horror. I would have made a better pirate than a pilgrim where rum was the beverage of choice. But not even beer, for those of you who enjoy a pint, could have made that voyage anything more than something to be endured.

Moving on to the frontier, pioneers, and wild west. This is my favorite time period. I used to think I would have liked living back then. Those people were tough and self sufficient. Doing what was right was a matter of honor, and honor was valued as much as gold. Let’s face it though, it was those long full dresses, made all the more beautiful, and princess like with layers of petticoats underneath that caught my eye when I was a young girl. I would have been thrilled to wear one of those, along with the pretty, yet practical sunbonnet that went with them. Never mind the weight, or the heat of all that fabric! I love reading Louis L’Amour, watching True Grit, the Magnificent Seven, and The Rifleman. Those were the days! Today though, instead of seeing that era through the rose colored glasses of nostalgia and the glamour of Hollywood, I see them through the eyes of age and experience, otherwise known as reality. Those lovely dresses dragged through dirt, mud, and manure. There was no running water and no electricity, which means there was no washing machine! Those big dresses and petticoats had to be handwashed and hung on a line to dry! If I see a label on clothes that says “handwash only”, forget it! I ain’t got time for that! The biggest issue, no indoor plumbing!!! I don’t even go camping anymore without demanding to know, “Are there flush toilets?” In case you men think this time in history was all about swaggering through the saloon doors with a revolver belted low on your hip, and bellying up to the bar for a shot of whiskey think again! Those guns weren’t for looking badass, nor was the rifle in the scabbard on your horse. They were for survival: game and varmits, not all of which were four legged. If you wanted to eat you were going to need to hunt and often, because there weren’t refrigerators either! However, there were stoves. The cast iron kind that needed to be fed wood or coal to keep them hot. You think preparing Thanksgiving dinner is a chore now?! Just how much wood does it take to keep the temperature precisely at 350 degrees for hours?! There were no dishwashers, except the two legged, two handed kind. We take a nice hot shower for granted, but no running water, meant no shower. If you wanted hot water for a bath you got that the same way you got hot water for those dishes, by pumping water from the well and building a fire! Good Lord, what was I thinking imagining I would have loved to live back then?! The innovations of the 20th and 21st centuries have made me soft!

Do you prefer the Roaring 20’s? That decade started off well enough with economic growth and widespread prosperity enjoyed by all. Seemed like everyone was having a good time, with the exception of that nasty thing called “Prohibition”. Bummer! The end of the decade, however, dove straight off a cliff with the Great Depression in 1929. That lasted 12 horrific years, ending with the advent of WWII. Speaking of out of the frying pan and into the fire. Or in this case, was it the other way around? Hard to tell. These poor people endured desperate times when there were no jobs and no money. Many lost their homes and didn’t have the means to feed their kids. In anguish they sent them away to orphanages or relatives that were better off. With WWII came jobs and the hope of getting back on their feet, but rationing goods for the war effort came with it, not to mention all the usual sacrifice and heartbreak that accompanies war! Hmmm….that was a long period of time that fell far from “the good ‘ol days” banner. There was nothing easy about them, and I for one do not want to repeat them!

Skipping ahead we have Vietnam, numerous race riots, the counter culture movement, and the Cold War. The apex of the Cold War was the fear of a nuclear attack, which led to school duck and cover drills. As if hiding under our desks would somehow protect us from nuclear holocaust, but it made sense against flying glass. I doubt broken glass would have been our biggest problem in the event of an actual attack, but it made us feel like we were doing something. Something was always better than nothing.

Violence has always been a part of history. As far back as we can go there has been good guys and bad guys. Some were very bad, some were heroic, and some straddled the line. They say Wyatt Earp might have been one of those in the middle. Maybe Doc Holliday too. There did seem to be less of the senseless violence that we see today against the innocent and defenseless, which I attribute to a breakdown in mental health care, but I’d have to research the past on that subject to see if it is actually true. Jack the Ripper of 1888 London comes to mind, so it wasn’t non-existent, but that’s a deep, dark hole I don’t want to peer into.

If we add in diseases like smallpox, polio, and the Spanish flu I believe you would be hard-pressed to find anyone who lived through those years to agree with you about how easy things used to be. So what makes us nostalgic about them? What makes us think that the past was any better, safer, or easier than the present? I found a lot of hardship in them.

It could be what we are really remembering is a past where we were young and the problems of the world were not ours to fix, or even deal with. We left that up to our parents and trusted that the toughest thing we would face was solving a math problem on the board in front of the whole class! That’s right, that was my nightmare! Pick your own poison.

I suspect the advent of rapid fire news communication is the real problem. We all know that inflation has stolen our dollar making things tough for a whole lot of people, and that there is a boatload of wacky going on in society today, but the 24/7, force fed news at a rate not possible earlier in history is coming at us all day, every day. How many newsworthy things could there possibly be to report all day long? News people are under pressure to produce, so they turn over rocks looking for anything to put out there, and lace it all with hyperbole to make you look. If you get sucked into their cyclone of bad events that’s all you can see and hear, and pretty soon you’re circling the drain with the absolute belief we are going to Hell in a handbasket! There’s no time to search for something good, look for the bright side, smell the roses, or believe that roses even exist anymore.

If you want to find hope and happiness I implore you to limit how many hours you spend a day listening, reading, watching, or having someone on social media regurgitate and interpret the news for you. If you can do that, I believe you will come to imagine that even today might eventually become one of the “good ‘ol days”. For every time and every season brings both struggles to overcome and reasons to celebrate. If it didn’t, if everything was easy and joyful, this would be heaven. And if this were heaven… well, you know what that would mean.

Recently my sister and brother-in-law took a trip back to Boston and found themselves at Cape Cod enjoying the beach with their daughter and son-in-law. It was a stormy day making her photos look more like winter than the middle of summer. Both of them were sporting light rain jackets rather than swimsuits. In fact, I didn’t see anybody in the water. There could be two reasons for that. For one Susan said the water was cold, but secondly they passed this sign on their way to the beach. That would do it!

That’s a fairly serious sign and large enough to make sure you can’t miss it, with “WARNING” in all caps and highlighted in a RED banner, a color significance not lost on me! It would have been enough to give me second thoughts about heading to the beach at all, except for perhaps the chance of seeing a great white up close, but not too close. The picture of “JAWS” wrapped the whole warning up in a nice tidy package. If that wasn’t enough for you the words, “People have been seriously injured and killed by white sharks along this coastline” punctuated the warning with unseen exclamation points. The Chamber of Commerce might give some serious thought about reorganizing their tourist division, or hiring a new promotional team. I don’t think this one is working in their favor. If they are trying to say “Welcome to Cape Cod”, they missed the mark by a mile, but then again if you end up as lunch you can’t say you weren’t warned.

Welcome to Shark Week! It is my understanding that there are roughly 126 different shark species. I wonder how many sharks in total that adds up to? Just thinking out loud. I don’t want the answer. Shark week spends an entire week teaching us all about sharks and telling us how we have an excessive and unwarranted fear of them. How they are really misunderstood and they are afraid of us more than we are of them. I’m pretty sure that’s a lie! Then once they have you believing that maybe you need to give sharks the benefit of the doubt they end their week by spotlighting people who have survived an attack! It’s like they don’t even believe what they are peddling! Of course when you take into consideration how many people are in the oceans around the world shark attacks are few indeed. But if you draw the short straw, get mistaken for a seal and end up on the menu you don’t care too much about statistics now, do you?

I am always amazed by people who have suffered a shark bite and then say how they plan to get back into the water. Hmmm? Not sure I could let bygones be bygones. I did see a 8-9 ft hammerhead shark a couple of months ago. A fisherman fishing from the shore on Siesta Key reeled it in. He was specifically fishing for sharks. He had a partner who took his heavy line and large piece of bait out to deeper waters with a kayak, while he tended the line from shore. He wasn’t far from me, maybe 15-20 yards. I wasn’t unaware of what was happening until he pulled it in close enough that the thrashing caught my attention. I saw the dorsal fin first and thought he had accidentally caught a dolphin, but then I saw the tail whipping about! The tail tells the tale. Wrong shape and moving the wrong direction. Dolphins move up and down, sharks side to side. This was a shark and practically on the beach! For more than several minutes both fish and man battled each other. In the end both were exhausted, and once the line was removed they let him go. I was impressed by the shark’s incredible strength and raw power, but what I noticed most was how quickly he disappeared. He was only feet from shore and yet in a flash he was gone!

What followed surprised even me. I got back in the water!!! It wasn’t like I didn’t think about what I now knew was lurking out there, yet I didn’t hesitate. Why? Beats me. I’m always scanning the water when I’m in it, even though I know it’s an exercise in futility. If a shark is tempted to find out if I’m tasty I will never see it coming. Even if I do, I can’t out swim it. I just witnessed that, but somehow my delusions make me feel better.

You always hear people say, “We’re entering their home.” Well yes we are, but if we’re being honest that doesn’t gate-crash into our decision making. No one waltzes into the water, or steps onto a trail expecting, let alone accepting that they might become a snack for the predators that live there. Well, except for throwing the dice in gator country. You always expect an alligator will eat you given the chance. What’s up with that?

We are apex predators ourselves and we expect professional courtesy among other apex predators. For the most part we recognize the risk, even a small one. It’s up to us to choose whether to take it or not. Now, back to that huge Great White warning. I’ve seen “Jaws”. I think I’ll pass on the water. Cape Cod is known for fried clams. An ironic twist on whom is getting eaten, but I choose that way over the other.

Several weeks ago I was listening to the radio in my car, and heard a song that was new to me on my way home from the grocery store. I wasn’t paying all that much attention to it, as traffic was demanding the lion’s share of my focus. It was a pleasant tune, but the lyrics took a weird turn. What did he say? That can’t be right, can it? Did I misunderstand? I turned it up. But the volume of the radio was not the solution. I heard the same words of that refrain again, only louder this time. “Sausage and roll…” What the heck? That doesn’t even make sense!

I looked at the heads up display on the car’s dash, hoping to catch the name of the artist and the title of the song. I was only a few blocks from home, which was fortunate, otherwise there would not be a chance on God’s green earth that I would remember the name of either by the time I got there. YouTube to the rescue! I needed to look it up, because “Sausage and roll” was ridiculous! Those of you that are country fans will know this song, because it has been at the top of the chart for far too many weeks now. Not that it isn’t a good song, but it is played at least twice every hour, all day, every day! Which by the way DJs, is not appreciated by anyone! Don’t care how popular it is! Nobody wants to hear a song over and over again unless you’re 3!

Turns out what I heard as “Sausage and roll” was in reality, “Thought You Should Know”. It’s hard to image how these two very different lines could be confused with each other, but trust me, it can be done. When you take Morgan Wallen, who has a fine voice, but who slides his words into each other, because it’s….well music, there can be a lot of rolling and bumping around of sounds, until in your head one word becomes another. I asked my daughter, son-in-law, and husband to listen to it with me to see if they heard the same thing I did. Mariah pulled it up on her television, but because that in itself is a delicate dance between one controller that you click, and another controller which you scroll, I didn’t know how to do that! Big surprise. I had to tell her the title. Consequently, when they listened to it they heard the correct version of the refrain. When I told them I heard “Sausage and roll” they laughed, yet asked to listened again. This time, unanimously they heard “Sausage and roll”, even though they knew that was wrong. That song is played incessantly, and still “Sausage and roll” is all I ever hear, until I force myself to form the right words in my head. My husband, Kim, can now only hear it my convoluted way too. Doesn’t matter that we know the words are, “Thought you should know”. Forever our ears will hear, “Sausage and roll”. Can’t help it.

Why is it we oftentimes hear things that are not there, but they sound so strikingly clear? It probably happens more often with musical lyrics than anything else. I believed for the longest time “Hot Blooded”, by Foreigner was “Hot butter….” I sang it like that for I don’t know how many years. Guess no one was listening. Hmmm! More likely I don’t make a habit of singing when anyone is around to listen, except God. Good thing! Even now I have to think about it to get it right. Another one is the chorus to “Fancy Like”, by Walker Hayes. You know it as the Applebee’s song. Cute song, catchy tune, easy to tap your toes to, but can be a bit of a tongue twister. I heard, “…whipped cream on the tot-toe…” like in potato and thought, gross! Who would put whipped cream on a potato? There’s another line in that song that caused my ears to do a double take, because I was darn sure you couldn’t say that on the radio. I had better take a look at those lyrics! Turns out my tot-toe was, “…whipped cream on the top too…”. The other line I heard wasn’t spot on either, and we will leave it at that. Kim heard the correct lyrics without any help from YouTube, until I sowed the seeds of influence in his brain. He now hears the bogus version as well, proving that fiction might actually be more persuasive than truth. Let that sink in!

I’m not the only one who sings along with my own version of the hits. Mariah admitted to singing, “Save the whales….” until her husband, Dusty, looked at her, listened closely to what she was singing and said, “It’s not whales, it’s world! Save the World!” Well now, that makes a difference. Though, when I watched the music video for this one I wished it had been about saving whales. Good message, but a little dark.

My granddaughter tells me I’m singing “Row, row, row your boat” wrong. That was a surprise to me! I’ve been singing this one since I was a kid. I was pretty sure I had it down. She cheerfully sings “…life’s a butter dream.” Butter dream? I don’t know what a butter dream is, but I like it! It makes me smile. If she happens to hear me singing, “….life is but a dream”, she will stop singing to set me straight, and get me back on track. If I continue the way it was written she’ll suggest I don’t sing along at all. Okay! I sing it her way. By the time she outgrows that song I will no longer know the real words, though I hope I’m around when she discovers them on her own. I would love to see the look in her eyes, and share that grin of revelation with her.

For whatever reason our ears hear what they hear. There is probably a science to it, though I don’t know what it is. You can always correct your alternate lyrics, or be like my granddaughter and keep them the way you like them best. Your choice. When I asked my son, Ben, what lyrics he always get wrong he responded directly, “The words I’m singing are the right words.” Though I can’t prove it, I’ll bet they aren’t!

New Year’s Eve! We made it! The last celebration of 2022 before it’s over. Our planned celebration got derailed when half the family came down with head colds over Christmas. Only two of us are still standing here on the west side, and we’re not interested in partying with “Snotty”, “Coughing”, and “Sneezy”. Oh well, I have never been big on staying up until midnight to make sure the new year makes it here. What’s the plan if it doesn’t? Every time I have gone to bed before the official end of the year, the New Year has been there waiting for me in the morning. Whew! Who knew it could find its way without the drunken reveling of civilization to usher it in? Remember the eve of 2000, and the quivering fear of Y2K? That midnight I was awake, but it was a little anti-climatic as millenniums go. I was hoping for a little something more, but considering what “they” were predicting, I should be happy it turned out to be a bust.

Tonight my husband, Kim, and I will watch the sunset for the last time in 2022 from our lanai, overlooking the pond. In the morning, we will watch the sunrise on the first day of 2023 from the same place. We talked about going to the beach, but let’s face it, I’m lazy! Naples is still working on cleaning up the mess Hurricane Ian made, and now the beaches have limited access. Limited access translates to limited parking. With the number of holiday visitors in town, plus snowbirds, and in general how many people flock to the beach to watch the sunset on any given day, parking most likely will be challenging. I’m sure we could find something several blocks away, and yes I could walk, but I’m just not that invested.

I am usually up before the sun, so watching the sunrise is not a problem, but from the beach means I have to get dressed! Before coffee?! That doesn’t even sound like me! Besides, the beach faces west. We’d need to turn our backs to the water to see the sunrise, so what’s the point?! I can see a perfectly good sunrise from my lanai, in my pajamas if I want, and yes I want! Tonight I will raise a glass of wine to toast the sun for its diligence to duty this past year, and a cup of coffee in the morning to welcome the sun, encouraging it to show the same attentiveness in the new year. Easy peasy!

Here we are, riding the downhill side of 2022, about to land feet first into 2023. We have high hopes as we stand poised, at the stroke of midnight, to toss the 2022 calendar in the trash and pin up 2023. Nice clean squares waiting to be filled in with events, important dates to celebrate, and things to look forward to before it gets cluttered with appointments, bill reminders, and all the other things you need to put on the calendar so you don’t forget responsibilities. Come next December this pristine calendar, that holds so much hope for better days to come than those left behind, will look much like the one we toss out tonight. Battered, held together with paperclips, little squares filled with scribbles of places we needed to be, birthdays, anniversaries, funerals, bills, repairmen, first day of …, last day of…., and my favorite, vacations. But, there will be a big difference between the calendars of 2022 and 2023. The next 365 days will be like no others that have come before, because we haven’t lived them yet. Each one is new, and though in many ways they may be similar, like a snowflake they are not the same.

Tonight, however you choose to celebrate the coming of 2023, get ready to step into your future. Whatever it will be for you, my wish is that you will have everything you need to make it a memorable year; laughter, love, strength, courage, hopes, and dreams. God bless and Happy New Year!

It was the Sunday after Thanksgiving. The kids and grandkids had all gone home. It was now time to begin thinking about Christmas. The decorations, the cards, the gifts. We would go to Mass and then afterwards begin dragging out all things Christmas. Walking into church, I headed for an empty pew. As I looked toward the altar I missed a step, fighting down panic! This couldn’t be happening! Something isn’t right!

There, standing near the altar, dressed in purple and pink was the Advent Wreath!!! Wait! I thought we had another week! Doesn’t Advent start next weekend? This was still November! Something was wrong, and apparently it was my math, for all through Mass Father kept talking about the four weeks of preparation we have until Christmas. “Stop saying that! This was all wrong! Don’t we have five weeks?” But, then he said it again, “Christmas is four weeks from today”.

Advent means “coming”, or “arrival”, particularly of someone of great importance. Father was trying to prepare us for the coming of the Christ child. After all, that’s what Christmas is all about, and it’s his job. My heart was hearing that message, but…

What my ears heard were accusations, “Christmas is coming in four weeks! You are not prepared! You have no decorations up, no gifts, no cards, no ‘dreaded’ Christmas letter written for friend and family to read!” I needed to get out of there. Precious minutes were drifting away as I sat there, and I was already late! Then he said it again, “Christmas is only four weeks away”. I gotta go!

In a chaotic flurry of activity that only women know, and men can only hope to keep up with, the trimmings of Thanksgiving were stripped and boxed, Christmas ornaments were carefully being unwrapped, trees were going up as carols played in the background, wish lists were gathered, and the credit card was deployed for action! Things were heating up. Then things went a bit off the rails.

Next week we have a trip to Georgia with our son’s family to celebrate our grandson’s birthday. “Birthday!!” We have Christmas to prepare for, and now a birthday too!! It’s not like I didn’t know it was coming. He’s been around for awhile now. He’s going to be 8. These plans were made a couple of months ago. Time is up! All those gifts I have been “thinking” about required decisions and cash. It was essential they all get here in time for me to wrap and take with us, since we are not able to spend Christmas with them this year. Time to unleash “Amazon Prime”!

My sister called with a question, interrupting my shopping, and wanted to know why is it that you can place an ornament on the tree facing forward, and as soon as you let it go, it immediately swings around to face the wall? You try again, turning the hanger the other way, expecting it to face you now, but nope! It’s off in a flash, twisting itself on its own accord to face the wall again! It’s not gravity. It’s not some magnetic force. What gives? It happens to me as well, and I don’t have an answer for her. I suggest to her that we put them on, allowing them to face the wall, as though we don’t really care. Then when we’re done, simply turn the entire tree around. We’ll show them! There’s a reason we’re at the top of the food chain.

I step back to admire the three trees standing in the corner of our living room, with most of their ornaments facing forward. We have decorated them to look like a winter wonderland. Deep within the heat and humidity of southwest Florida, I imagine the cold chill upon my face, and the sting of snowflakes as they land upon my cheek, even though it is 84 degrees outside. The panic is left behind, and the true spirit of Christmas is fanning the flames of hope, peace, and joy in my heart.

Wait! I still haven’t written that “dreaded” Christmas letter!!!!