Hello 2021

For the past few years, we've had a standard New Year's Eve with a family we've known since our oldest girls were six years old. They played on the same soccer team through high school, and we love getting together with them. Every NYE, we play cards, eat, and drink. Last year, their daughter missed out on the celebration, and this year, due to COVID and work, we pushed the festivities to New Year's Day, where we could sit outside.

That left us on our own for the eve, and after our family Zoom, much to Oleg's dismay, we were boring. We did nothing, and it took him whining to get us on our feet five minutes before the ball dropped in Times Square. We filled our champagne glasses, toasted 2021 with Madison's new Christmas gift, and watched the fireworks all around our house. Then, the firebugs got out the sparklers that weren't used on the Fourth of July and rang in the year outside my front door while Elliot and I stayed safely behind the glass. 

On New Year's Day, we slept late, then welcomed our friends for a penny card game that our family did not win. Not a bad way to say good-bye to the old and hello to the new! Well, I guess winning the pennies would've been better, but hey, not complaining! We will get them back on New Year's Eve!

No NFL recap but Steelers are 9-0!

This month I'm writing daily--no excuses--with the intent to have a complete manuscript by the end of the month. The blog post on that is tomorrow's entry. Since the Steelers played later in the day, I did not watch the early football games--gasp!--but instead wrote. I have eight hours of the Redzone Channel recorded, but this morning I'm back at the computer writing.

For years, I've spent Steelers Sunday with my buddy, Scott, and usually one other fan. First, it was Grandpa Bob and then when he married and moved, Vince. Sometimes it was just the two of us, on our spots on the couch watching our boys. Scott's wife, Krista, told people I was Scott's football wife. Like Tom, she watched the games, but it wasn't live or die like it is for the rest of us. 

For week one this year, I didn't go to his house for the first time in years. Vince was in Pittsburgh for several months, Grandpa Bob was quarantined, and I was contemplating the Sunday NFL ticket purchase. Maybe too, I had some apprehension about visiting the house where Krista would no longer greet me with one of her hugs. 

Then we won. My superstition immediately kicked in, and when we kept winning? Yeah, I was content to maintain the status quo and communicate via text with my guys. 

Saturday, Scott texted the group, all three of us, and invited us to come for dinner and watch the game. The others accepted. I whined about my superstition and had every intention of not going. That morning, I rose and began writing like a fiend, and two hours before the game, while I was doing some procrastinating research, I ran across the comment section of my blog.

It's a section I forget about. It used to alert me when people commented on my entries but somewhere that disappeared, and I rarely think to look at it. Oops. People are so nice! Thank you for your comments!! 

I should be checking this daily because it made my heart sing! I read the comments, and then I re-read my entries, especially regarding Scott's wife Krista, and suddenly I heard her voice. She gave me a stern talking--something along the lines of phooey on the superstition, so they lose a game, isn't friendship more important, life is too short, I should know--in her voice that I hear so often. 

So, after a bit of a cry for his loss, my loss, our Steelers Sundays where we caught up with one another, and the fact I'd never hear another story from her lips that would have me laughing so hard my sides would hurt, I texted I was coming. 

Sunday was spent with my Steelers friends social distancing six feet apart, eating pulled pork sandwiches and other stuff, and watching our boys (please, we are the worst undefeated team) add another W to the win column, and I didn't once take notes about the game. 

All of the above is my excuse for no Monday NFL recap this week. Because I was hanging with my Steelers peeps and enjoying the day. 

Nine and O BABY!

Nanu Nancy

In the city recreation department where I worked years ago, we were a misfit group of aquatic professionals at different junctions in our lives, who meshed. We were a special group. Murphy recognized it first. He was our number one patron, and while he came to swim--riding his bike from home--for exercise, he came to check up on us more often than not. He lent an ear, kept us entertained, and was a father figure, even to those of us who had one already. A mediator in the court system, he used those skills to help us work through our issues, and when the topic strayed too far out of his comfort zone, he'd tell us: 

Murph: "Talk to Nancy."

While I doubt she had a choice, Murph's wife went with the flow when it came to his strays. He collected strangers like she did shells, and she opened her door wide to us. Nancy was one of my water-walkers, and like her husband, she listened to my woes and my stories, and if I asked, she gave her opinion. We've been friends for over thirty years.

Three years ago, Tom and I celebrated Nancy's 90th birthday with a room full of her friends and family, and afterward, I blogged the event, but never posted it. It sat in my draft pile until too many months had passed because I wasn't satisfied--the post didn't convey enough how deeply her friendship--and Murph's--means/meant to me.

We mingled that day in the beginning, with everyone I met wanting to know about my relationship. How did I know Nancy? The question stumped me. Here were her family, her co-workers, her childhood friends, her neighbors, and me. Those from out of town didn't get the reference to the pool. Those who knew it didn't understand the connection. I finally just started telling people I knew Nancy through her husband. 

Ah. They'd nod with a knowing look in their eye.

But that was the thing. My friendship with Nancy is more than the one I had with her husband. Back in the day, she offered a different perspective, cheered us on silently, and told her own incredible stories. I filed away things she mentioned, information that helped me navigate married life and raising my children. She humbled me, never taking me too seriously, but I knew, if I ever needed something, Nancy was a phone call away.

We sat at the table with her school friends, where I learned a little more about her as a young woman through their stories. The pics in the slide presentation made me smile, laugh aloud, and shed a tear. While I knew her children and her grandchildren were number one in her life, it was interesting to hear how vital Nancy was to all of them. She let Murph shine, but we all knew who backlit him. 

Murph: "Nancy's the boss. Whatever Nanu says, I listen and do. She knows best."

I thought about all of that through the celebration. How blessed I'd been with the friends I collected through that pool job. How we don't see one another daily, but how we know they are there. How lucky I'd been to have Nancy as part of my story. 

I don't think I've seen Nancy since that celebration, but she reads my blog. We've talked on the phone. Recently, Nancy called me to come over to show her some water aerobic moves so she could stay active in her backyard pool. I'm afraid I talked non-stop the entire time, catching her up on my personal life and those lives of everyone I knew. Some things never change! Sorry about that, Nancy.

But thank you for sharing your life, your husband, your home, and thank you for the years of friendship. Here's to many more, and I promise not to talk to your ear off the next time we're together.

Krista Jane

We met in Lamaze class on the first day. Her husband Scott wore a Steelers shirt and, in his introduction, professed his undying love for Pittsburgh's professional football team, so, of course, I had to talk to him. He introduced his wife, Krista.

She and I gave birth two days apart. We were still in the hospital when Scott and Krista arrived in delivery. We didn't know how things had gone until a week later when the visiting nurse arrived at my house. I was still in my pajamas in the late afternoon, tired, sweaty, hair mussed. I inquired as to whether or not she knew the family, and the nurse gleefully told me she'd just come from there. Krista had been bathed, dressed, and wearing make-up.

I hated her.

Only later, did I learn the truth. Krista had hysterically begged her husband to come home so she could present herself as a woman fit to be a mother. It was the first shower she’d had since arriving home with her newborn.

We became fast friends.

Recently, in a conversation with another friend, I mentioned how this COVID quarantine wasn't much different from my norm. I stayed home after my first daughter was born and have been alone at home since then. Only, thinking back I realized that wasn’t entirely true because I’d had Krista. The two of us spent those first years of motherhood side by side. If we weren't physically together, we were on the phone, and sometimes we did both.

I made a note to check in with her. I never got the chance.

Yesterday, Krista had a heart attack. She died. She was my age.

Even now, I grapple with the news. Krista was larger than life. Full of energy and laugher, she’d enter a room full of strangers and leave with everyone's numbers on her phone. My dad always said, like him, Krista never met a stranger she didn't know. It's unimaginable to think that light has been extinguished.

I'll miss her stories. God, she had stories! She was the best storyteller with incredulous, entertaining tales told with the right inflection and humor or sarcasm that always left us with aching sides. A few of her stories have been retold on this blog over the years. Even now, I can hear her voice and her laughter after she’d one of her tales.

Family was her number one, but pictures came second. She always had a camera in the diaper bag, in her purse, in the car. Every single event in life was documented through her lens, and if you were with her, you’d get copies. I have many hard copies—later digital pictures--of our times together. Photographs adorned her entire home—on the refrigerator, on the mirrors, on her shelve--and when she ran out of wall space, the joke was she built another room.

She loved passing down family traditions almost as much as she did making new ones--pumpkin carving at Halloween, number candles on the birthday cakes--and every holiday she decorated with a mixture of her past and her present. She was the one who kept our Lamaze group get-togethers going, documenting every moment with her camera.

We shared quite a bit. Krist held me together when my father died. I kept her sane when she was bedridden during pregnancy. We spent 9/11 together, glued to our television, our husbands out of town. We celebrated birthdays, and recently, our kids' graduations. We navigated motherhood together, through the good, the bad, and the ugly, talking everything to death, and while we didn't always agree, we listened to one another's side.

Life had us moving in separate directions as the girls grew but we kept trying. We vacationed together--Pompano Beach, Disney World, North Carolina. Those trips were full of crazy antics, much laughter, and a lot of great conversations, not to mention stories. They are well documented on this blog. Our group never had a dull moment!

For the past decade, we spent the football season together. Krista and Scott had me over to watch the Steelers play, and catching up with Krista was just as important as the game. No matter how many months we’ve been apart, we’d always pick up right where we’d left things. We used to say we remained friends because we knew too much about one another--that we knew where the bodies were hidden.

Krista is in every room of our home. In the master bedroom she helped me remove and replace wall border. My husband didn’t believe we could accomplish the project without him. We petered out in the corner above the door, so close to finishing, but we agreed to stop, figuring Tom would never even notice.

In bedroom number three, she caught me on a step stool when I was nine months pregnant, putting stickers on the baby's fan. She lectured me until I got down, and I decorated the bookshelves instead. Several weeks later, she would miscarry her own pregnancy only days before I would give birth to Darcy. I hesitated to call her with the news, but I shouldn't have worried. She heard the baby in the background, and her screams of joy made me cry. 

Her favorite memories took place in my kitchen. She loved to tell the story of her daughter Brianna hanging on to my husband's pants leg, her neck stretched to her back, to exclaim, "Tom, you're as tall as a tree!" Or the time after Madison's first birthday when my dad laughed so hard at the two girls feeding themselves spaghetti, the sauce getting all over their faces instead of in their mouths. 

In my Steelers room is memorabilia she gave me when I told her of my plan to convert the playroom. At my front door, is the storm door Krista convinced me to get, and in my dining room is the picture she snapped of our two girls on the beach that we swore would’ve worn photography contests had she only entered. This morning, it was the first thing I saw when I filled my water glass. 

I'm dazed, stunned, going from denial to rage to sadness. Krista had been on my mind this past week. There had been a Facebook response where she'd told me she'd missed me. Then the realization I mentioned above, and even that very morning, before Scott called with the terrible news, I had brought her up in a conversation with the girls.

Krista believed wholeheartedly that those who’d died before us watched over us. We talked a lot about feeling their presence, and we both agreed we'd do the same when our turn came. We had an agreement to watch over each other’s family. Yesterday, without warning, Krista reminded me of that promise.

No worries, dear friend. I have your back, and I welcome your haunts.

I will miss you dearly.

Here comes the bride

My friend, SueG's eldest son, is getting married. Funny enough, he swore that was never going to happen, and he now refuses to acknowledge how right we were back in those early relationship days when we told him he was wrong. Whatever. We're thrilled for him. While I don't know him like I do her other children, as this one was off to college by the time we met, I'm part of the family now and thus included in the wedding festivities.

Including dress shopping for the mother of the groom.

One of my favs...not.

But I've put on a brave face and have gotten in my steps going from one dress shop to the other in search of the perfect mother of the groom dress. I've taken countless photos, have texted back and forth with my SIL whose opinion on these matters way exceeds my expertise, and have encouraged the purchase of several dresses. By now, she has enough for several weddings, not to mention her son's in April.

A couple weeks ago, the bridal shower was held in Orlando. We made it a girls' weekend, got one of my Wyndhams, and had way too much giddy fun in purchasing presents. I had to remind SueG this was not the bachelorette party, but the woman has a mind of her own, and truthfully, her Spencers gifts were the hit of the party. The bride-to-be cried; she was laughing so hard.

She should've been with us shopping in the back room of Spencers.

I was assigned the job of the event photographer. Guess I'm more like my father in that hobby than I knew. I did what I'd seen him do back in the day. I toured the facility and took pictures of everything. I waited for the bride to be, who was blindfolded and made sure to capture that on digital too.

The afternoon was delightful. The full, open bar might have added to that, but the bridal party was full of great women, the families mingled nicely, the weather was great, and the food was delicious.

I got the bride and groom aprons since they enjoy cooking. His apron read, "Mr. Right," and her apron read, "Mrs. Always Right," and to go with the bibs, I got them a cookbook.

Okay, so maybe that trip to Spencers wore off on me. Or perhaps it was all the hours I spend on romance writing. Either way, SueG and I received compliments and thank yous from the bridal party who had been too timid, despite thinking along the same lines.

Maybe this will get us an invitation to the bachelorette party!

Drama and friendship

When Darcy was in middle school, she overheard a conversation I was having with a friend on the phone. I don't remember the gist of the conversation, but it involved a relationship with another friend and some trouble within our mother's group. Darcy was horrified.

Darcy: "Do you mean to tell me that this girl drama continues as ADULTS? I was hoping this was just a middle school thing."

Sorry kid. Relationships--all relationships--are messy. It only stops when the relationship is over.

I'm reminded of this daily as I navigate through the perils and joy of friendships.

I tend to keep my friend list short. Groups were never more than a handful. Relationships with good friends happened individually or in twos, and as time and life intervened, came and went. The great ones--those that no matter how much time has passed between visits, are picked up right where they have left it as if zero time has passed--those I still hold near and dear to my heart. I can count the number on one hand.

I've lost friends. Some through death. Some that faded slowly and vanished. Others that ended abruptly and without warning. All have been mourned. I've been told I rehash relationships much longer than the other person, and while I believe communication is vital, many times, I've been too afraid of the repercussions of opening a can of worms. So instead, I blame myself and go back over things until I drive myself crazy.

I've made plenty of mistakes. I have faults, despite my humor in saying I'm always right. I don't have the answers, but I sure try to help. More so than I'm probably needed, but I've lived a charmed life, and maybe, just maybe, that's why I gravitate toward friends who haven't. I'm a good listener. Unfortunately, I take after my mother. I want to solve the problems.

When Darcy made the comment above, I told her the secret was finding friends who gave as much as they got. Real friends are there in your times of trouble as you are there for theirs. If you're lucky, you have a handful. If not, all it takes is one.

Darcy: "It still doesn't cut down on the drama, though, right?"

Nope, but if it's still standing after the fires are extinguished, you've got yourself some gold.

PA trip 2019 - Oopsy daisy

The plan was to have dinner at Stephanie's house in Hershey on Sunday. Lois gave us the assignment to prepare a potato dish. She had a recipe on a card and potatoes from her neighbor's homegrown garden. We would need to make a run to the store for cornflakes.

This dish is one that my MIL makes often. It's one of Darcy's favorites. I offered up that my MIL uses Simply Potatoes hashbrowns, therefore, eliminating the time of peeling and boiling potatoes. I'm all about ease of time management when it comes to cooking.

Lois: "But then what would I do with those potatoes?"

We set off for the grocery store later on Saturday. I remarked at how I would like to exam the price of bacon being as it was nine dollars in Florida. This is an area that drives my brother crazy when he visits the Sunshine State, and he is always comparing the price of bacon in Florida to other parts of the world. From the produce department, we passed by the bacon neatly lined in one of the refrigerated displays in the aisle. FYI - bacon in Pennsylvania ranges from four to seven dollars.

We had other things on our list, but I was in charge of the Simply Potato hashbrowns, which Lois was willing to try. I later learned that she was humoring me. At the time, I liked getting my way, and so I marched through the store looking for the hash browns.

Shopping in a different grocery far from home shouldn't be complicated. I mean, there are the usual departments; meat, produce, deli and bakery. From there, are the in-betweens. It isn't rocket science, but for the life of me, I could not find the Simply Potatoes brand in Karn's Grocery. I resorted to asking in customer service where a nice lady directed me to the deli area and to the very refrigerated display, albeit the opposite side, where I had studied the bacon. Armed with my Simply Potatoes hashbrowns and a massive box of cornflakes, Kim and I were ready to cook.

Lois made us peel and boil and add her potatoes. Whatever. They were delicious. We ate them, and the cornflakes, for days.

Later on Saturday, Kim and I took Maggie and Kevin to Chocolate World. As we left, Stephanie texted that she would like us to stop at the Giant grocery store nearby for buns. We ran directly to the bakery and secured the buns.

One day later, I was dropped off at Giant again to secure a few items, including bacon and more Simply Potatoes hashbrowns. Since I knew where everything was, I volunteered to be let out at the curb while Lois, Kim, and Maggie sat in the car. The plan was to have breakfast for dinner, and so I stopped in produce and picked up some fruit and then moseyed my way toward the refrigerated display where I knew the bacon and hashbrowns resided.

The display was there, but the items I needed were not.

I checked that I was in the deli section. I checked the display. Nothing but meats and cheeses. What?  Muttering under my breath, I hoofed it around the area, looking for the bacon and hashbrowns. Nothing. Slowly, irritation seeped its way into my veins. I marched on to the meats where our bacon is housed in Florida's number one grocery, Publix.

Nothing.

There was; however, an employee hiding down a hallway where restrooms were located. She wore a shirt that said, "Questions? I have the answers". Fabulous. I approached her. She acted like she didn't see me. She turned her back, where I could read the slogan on her shirt more prominently, and studied the wall. I moved in closer. She spoke to a mother going into the restroom. I continued edging her way. She peered over one shoulder to see if I had gotten tired. I pounced.

Me: "I'm looking for Simply Potatoes hashbrowns. Could you tell me where those are? I was here yesterday, and they were in a case by the deli, but now they aren't there."

She sighed, wrinkled her brow in thought, and then spoke into a small, black device attached to her collar.

Her: "I have a customer looking for hashbrowns."

Me: "The Simply Potato brand. They aren't frozen."

Her: "In aisle 23."

Me: "And bacon?"

Her: "Same aisle, with the hotdogs, by the frozen stuff."

Muttering about incompetence and piss poor employees, not to mention shirts that lie, I walked to aisle 23 and discovered this grocery had refrigerated cases like our frozen cases, and there was the bacon. There were no Simply Potatoes to be found. I headed back to the deli, where I was sure I had bypassed the damn hashbrowns.

Again nothing but meats and cheeses.

I spied another employee sitting in between the deli and produce at a small kiosk selling wine. He sat, chin in hand, looking bored. He was not wearing the t-shirt alerting me to his helpfulness.

Me: "Hi. I'm looking for Simply Potatoes. It's a brand. They sell hashbrowns and diced potatoes. They were in the display case right there in the deli yesterday. I was just in here yesterday. I bought some from that case. Now they are gone. Can you help me?"

Him: (sighing and speaking into his small, black device attached to his collar) "I have a customer looking for hashbrowns."

Me: "Simply Potatoes. It's a brand, and they aren't frozen."

Him: "Simply Potatoes brand. Not frozen. They were in the deli yesterday. Uh-huh. Okay. My manager is checking. He moved them yesterday but doesn't remember where. He's checking."

Me: "Great. Thanks. I know I'm not crazy. I just bought them here yesterday."

He didn't care. He went back to contemplating his life or whatever he'd been contemplating before I'd approached. I moved out of the way in case customers wanted wine. I stood nearby. Three minutes went by. No one bought wine. The kid rolled his head and saw me. Back into the device, he went.

Him: "Uh, the customer is still waiting on the hashbrowns. Okay. Ma'am?"

Me: (ignoring the ma'am comment) "Yes?"

Him: "My manager said, aisle 23. If there aren't any there, then they are sold out."

I thanked him. Maybe I rolled my eyes. Then off I went muttering under my breath very unkind things about Giant Grocery and the employees and the managers. I checked by the deli again. I went to where I thought the damn Simply Potatoes brand should be. Nothing. I gave up and went to the checkout line.

Where I found Kim and Maggie entering the store.

Maggie: "Grandmother sent us in to look for you. She said you'd been gone for half an hour. What have you been doing?"

Checkout Girl - "Did you find everything today?"

Me: "No, I did not. I could not find the Simply Potatoes hashbrowns. Which I purchased in here yesterday. Apparently, the damn store was reconfigured between my visit yesterday and my visit today because the items I needed have been moved. I mean, what the what! That's craziness. And I know I'm not crazy. I had to ask yesterday at customer service to find the potatoes. You guys could seriously benefit from studying Publix brand grocers in the south. And, the only reason it has taken me so long is that the employees here aren't willing to help. Present company excluded, of course."

Checkout Girl - "I'm so sorry."

Me: "I mean, it's nuts. I was just in here yesterday. I'm not crazy."

Kim: "You mean when we bought the hashbrowns?"

Me: "Yes, exactly. Yesterday. We were right here."

Kim: "We bought buns here. We bought the hashbrowns at Karn's."

OOPS.

Maggie couldn't wait to tell the story to everyone we ran into.

Yeah, yeah, kid, I'm from Florida. We have a lot of senior moments in that state.