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When I think of all the aunts, mothers, and grandmothers in my life, most of them had a signature dish or a meal they made that was a family favorite, held in such high esteem you were afraid to try to make it on your own because you knew your version of “Grandma Cec’s Lemon Meringue Pie” or “Aunt Edna’s Swedish Meatballs” would pale in comparison.
“Most people that meet Trevor just think that he’s really shy,” his mom Stacy Guglielmotti told me. “He doesn’t always make eye contact. They don’t necessarily know he’s autistic, but they know he’s different.”
Music can make you feel young again, but it can also remind you how old you’re getting.
It’s hard not to follow the news all day, every day, as this Russia-Ukraine war continues to grow. It is half a world away, yet every movement and bombing is broadcast across news sites and social media as it happens, like a horrible action movie coming to life, a disaster we can’t stop watching.
I have heard those six words and the verse that follows them from 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 at almost every wedding I’ve attended.
A dozen years ago, when people were publishing books about cooking every recipe in Julia Child’s cookbook or the life-changing results of writing a thank you note a day for a solid year, I decided it would be a great time to start a blog about learning something new.
“I have 50 Christmas mugs filled with hot chocolate and an inspirational verse tucked inside. A lady named Yvonne said you might be able to find a home for them.” I love getting these kinds of phone calls, especially since a coworker and I had just been brainstorming about Christmas gift ideas for our residents.
I pulled a box of Christmas decorations out of the basement last week and found a bunch of old holiday cards at the bottom from years past. They were photo cards on heavy paper, with rounded corners and shiny foil lettering exclaiming “Merry & Bright” or “Peace & Joy.”
The hardest things to talk about are the most important. We all hope to live to a ripe old age, but not everyone get there. November is always my month to ponder life, not only because my mom and I both have birthdays, but because she died just after her 74th birthday of Alzheimer’s
“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this,” she says before continuing to tell me more stories about her 99-year-old dad over the phone. We talk about the farm he grew up on in the Midwest and what he did for work after World War 2, how he remarried after her mother passed away, and what life has been like for him since his second wife died.
Last week, I stopped into a local home improvement store looking for some mums to brighten up the frazzled summer planters on our front porch. As I walked towards the garden center, I noticed the clearance patio furniture was mingling with ghoulish zombies and inflatable front lawn witches.
I don’t like to think that I’m middle aged, but it’s true. Today, I got a telemarketing call wanting to talk to me about my Medicare Advantage plan. I made her repeat it before I realized what she was asking me.