One year, Ms California came to Midwest to visit her aunt… we excitedly planned a gathering for the 3 of us. It didn’t work out. I tried to connect with her when we’d be in Ventura but that didn’t happen either. Seeing pictures of each other at ball games or the early morning walkers feeding squirrels were sometimes the highlight of my day. My Michigan friend, just 40 miles away…offered to watch out for my granddaughter when she enrolled at a nearby college. “If she needs supplies, I’ll run them over; help her study,” she’d say. We exchanged phone numbers and my grandgirl felt the connection…even though she never needed any help. Today I ask myself….why did I never drive up there?

Just found out she had cancer; passed away thIs morning. We hadn’t heard from her since February, but kept sharing things about daily life and wondering where was Joyce. She followed two of us here on Substack. She’d send me feedback via messenger.

I am devastated to lose this dear friend I never met. I feel it here on Substack with so many of you that I’ve grown close to. Whoever thought the time would come we’d become best friends without ever meeting in real life!

Hospice states it’s common for folks to withdraw, to not share their journey, to protect loved ones from feeling sad and worried. That’s why we stopped hearing from her.

All this time we could have supported her, prayed with her. A devout Catholic with a salty side… she cracked us up with cuss words interspersed with bible verses.

Luckily, our friend Kc reached out to her daughter a few days before. Added her to the messenger chat and asked if she could let her mom know we cared, we loved her. She agreed our comments would be read to her by family members when time was right. That was two days ago.

Now she is gone. We are devastated that she shut us out. I forgive her but I feel so bad, so helpless in not supporting her…she would have added humor and made light of it…but it would have meant a lot to know we were here for her.

She’s at peace now. Her daughter will let me know arrangements and I will drive up to celebrate her, honor her friendship and tell her I loved her one last time.

Oh yes, we shared hugs and kisses all these years when we had group chats going..we were all so close. I feel in my heart she would be delighted to know the three of us knew- because we never gave up; kept bugging her daughter for information.

Asking “Is your mom okay?” meant she’d been sick or busy with grandkids or caring for her husband and his health issues. Imagine hearing “ no, she is not, she is in hospice with little time left.”

I have so many online friends I’ve never met, the ones that get us, that have similar backgrounds and life stories… that connection you feel when you click right away with someone.

We will miss you, dear friend. Thank you for making us laugh, for cheering us up when needed, for venting when you needed to….if only you would have shared what matter most…the worst curveball life can ever throw!

Our other dear friend, captured it perfectly…”she’s off to make the Lord chuckle at her earthly antics as he tells her “well done, good and faithful servant!”

Be well, be happy, be kind!

Joan 💔💜🙏

I left early Friday morning to to see my grandson perform in the marching band competitions across the country this summer. It’s his third year in the brass line… all the horns from tubas to clarinets. This year he plays monophone and is a team leader, meaning he’s usually in front keeping everyone in sync.

I thought Friday was all-day rehearsals, with performance Saturday night. I grabbed his laundry bag at lunch time and used the washer room at my motel. Brought $10 worth of quarters, small packets of Tide and dryer sheets.

I asked if I could take him to dinner later. They practice after each meal so I planned to hang around and watch evening rehearsal afterward.

Clothes washed, but oh no! Dryer is out of order! The front desk suggested a laundromat up the street, so I carried the heavy mesh bag of wet clothes down the stairs and through the lobby. I asked if they had any plastic bags for when I returned in the rain. “Wait” said Brooke, working behind the counter. “Are they already washed? We can dry them here in the motel laundry room.” How nice was that!!

I texted my grandson I’d meet him near Ball State’s Stadium to hand off clean clothes. He said I had like two minutes to catch him because the show was actually tonight! Extra time needed for uniform, hair and make-up.

Muncie, Indiana has a curiously laid out road system…with streets zig zagging here and there…but all named Mt Bethel. Groups usually camp out in a nearby middle or high school gym; here they were all within a mile or so from the motel, but my Aussie GPS guy has to guide me every. single. time! Three years I’ve done this….and I cannot get from the motel to middle school, school to stadium, or back to motel again without him. I have no sense …of directions that is.

Did I mention it was sprinkling all afternoon? Then cooler and rainier? As I tossed him the bag, he nonchalantly mentioned the show may be canceled or relocated. Now what?

Back to motel with a Burger King meal, I filled my see-through-plastic-concert purse just in case, bought a last-minute ticket and sure enough… it came with a weather update: performance would be stand-only at the basketball arena. I looked up the address and even though it was a couple turns past the stadium, it sits on Mt. Bethel Street…I kid you not.

Next was the timing…get there early to park…but early means waaaay early…no spots left. Fuck it, I thought, and parked along a curb as others did before me.

Then find the proper entrance,

stand in line to be wanded,

follow the colored tape on floor to the seating area.

General seating was…“way up top” pointed a volunteer gentleman about my age. “I can’t climb that high with no railings and bad balance,” I whined. He kindly let me sit in the handicap section…third row from the performance floor. Good golly…I like going with the flow! These young folks are pretty low-key, learning patience and pivoting from day one….maybe it rubbed off on me a bit.

Several groups perform at these competitions, with a set time of 15 minutes from enter to exit to keep things moving smoothly. Four groups were ahead of mine…Carolina Crown is my guy’s team. Their logo is various 👑 designs on shades of purple. I was ready all day in my lavender tee shirt!

A stand-only performance means no marching, no choreographed dance moves, no props, no twirlers …just the drum line, horn line and percussion pit. There were sections of seating for the guard teams…mostly females in their uniforms or black leotards with swirling braids around their heads. I felt sorry for ours as they’d been to hair and make up earlier and chose to stay low-profile without a uniform.

Finally Carolina began. Each performance tells a story or theme …this year it’s called Doors of Perception. Judges look for things like timing, creativity, props, choice of music, solo brass players and spotlighted quad drums.

Instead of long lines marching in formations, the horns were in two lines behind each other. Amazing to me how this all came together when relocating was announced at 5:00 and show began at 7:00! These kids had trained for last-minute changes or glitches so they were ready. They were standing in place but constantly moving to the beat! After the last applause, Lane looked up at me and waved. All the folks around me said “awww’ in unison, turned and smiled at me as I kept repeating, “he waved to me!”

I didn’t stay for the next groups. I’d been up early, it was still Friday, raining hard and almost dark…I wanted to get back to my room and requested “motel please” to my navigation mate.

Saturday morning I waited a bit as I knew they’d be sleeping in. I wanted to see him and hug him before I started home. He texted after breakfast and said he’d meet me in the stadium. Clear and sunny day ahead. As I dressed and packed, it dawned on me that I had reserved two nights…thinking show would be Saturday.

How lucky for me that Brooke was at the front desk again, and graciously waived cancelation fees …which should have happened 6PM the previous night!

Then the hardest part of all… farewell.

I parked in the empty stadium lot, ducked under barriers that blocked the entrance to a corner of the stadium and texted a pic so he’d know where I was. On the opposite side were the food trucks and tour busses waiting to hit the road to their next city. That’s where he came from…met me in the middle for hugs and one last picture.

“Thank you for doing my laundry, for sitting where I could find you,” he said. I gave him $20 bucks and promised a rain check for dinner next time.

Who knows if I’ll drive further than four hours to see him again, but the schedule is on my fridge and I may just decide someday. Luckily, certain shows from certain cities are streamed on the Flo Marching website. I can watch him on TV!

Proud grandma here…thank you for reading this far. I mostly write from life experiences; things that help me grow and grasp by learning…still figuring things out by myself.

My son suggests I work on being more succinct, tighten up my thoughts and words…meaning not ramble so much. He is right, I will love to write that way. But rambling can also be like wandering …leaving me in awe, gratefulness and ability to chill in the moment!

Be well, be happy, be kind, dear friends. With much love, Joan 😊

Performance photos courtesy Drum Corps International and Smugmug.

Sale going on today for mid-priced “Destination” tires… 70,000 miles and great gripping for wet and wintery roads…$900! $300 on three cards…yay me! I didn’t dwell, didn’t ask my kids, didn’t overthink…I just knew. Peace of mind ain’t cheap!

I’ve been feeling different lately… like a different me emerging. I’m tired of dealing with chronic pain and issues from my feet to my back to reflux to peeing. I’m obsessed with root causes; natural healing protocols, questioning the meds and imaging tests that dominated the first half of the year.

No more steroid shots, contrast imaging, long-term meds and grazing through days instead of proper meals! My sister got me started on researching the intricacies of GERD whether acid or silent reflux. Mine is silent, also known as LPR. we learned about superfoods like açaí, cacao and flaxseed. We discovered the benifis of fasting …whether daily or once a week. Like retraining my brain, I’m helping my body learn new patterns and schedules. I’ve learned to be more patient with everything. Three meals a day, no snacking. Light meal by 5:00. No reclining or bedtime for at least three hours after dinner… four is better.

I’ve learned the more active and busier I am, the better. Wearing different shoes each day, core and pelvic exercises, diaphramic breathing, elevated bed, alkaline water, ditching donuts and alcohol and keeping track of it all on my calendar motivates me.

It’s been three weeks and I’ve lost a few pounds enough that my shorts fit now…what a win! ☺️

Slowing down and observing more, taking early morning walks and evening walks just before dark are keeping me at 5000 steps each day.

7:21 this morning…rain forecast; then it poured. Sun shining this afternoon! I do a mile early, another before dark. Easier but still doing the work to keep COPD at bay! More endurance and energy too!

I find it hard to balance reading and writing here without sitting too long. It takes me three-four days working on an essay; I’m piling my books and games higher and higher to stand and and write. I stay engaged with comments; reading others is important too; if you show up, quick glance and keep scrolling …remember to leave a ❤️…it says you’ve been there and that matters to the writer and the algorithm…what this platform is all about…raising others!

I’ve lived in a rental community for ten years; just signed the lease-renewal for another. Each time one renews, you get two things. I always choose carpet cleaning, but over the years I’ve asked for accent walls to be painted, new kitchen faucet with a movable spray wand, replaced the microwave oven and this year I asked for ADA toilets for both bathrooms- they said yes! They’ll be easier on my back even though I’ve practiced squats and sit-to-stands for years. I’m overdue for spring cleaning so that keeps me busy. Washing rugs and sheets and blankets, mopping floors, cleaning window sills as the fresh air blows through; rearranging room decor and getting new shower curtains and towels. Lots of small changes giving me more energy I guess! Another win…think I’ve been in lazy, poor-me-mode far too long!

I’m still in happy tears for all the joy my grandkids bring. How wonderful the 18 & 21 year-old boys call me…on the phone! I’ll be road tripping again next week to watch the youngest’s marching band performance in Muncie, Indiana…their first stop on cross-country touring. Here’s a video clip from their show last year:

He’s a team leader for brass section along the front. He plays monophone. I’ll know his place on the field when I see the dress rehearsal; they all look the same in uniforms!

I see the big girls here in town every day or so. Pick the oldest up at her work place most days. Those few moments in the car are so meaningful as we share our days’ stories. I see her sister at Starby’s where she’s a team leader. I now get açaí tea or refresher, no more Frappuccinos for me. No matter how busy they are, she comes around the counter to hug me! 😍At 28 and 25, they’re my favorite adult friends…still feel that cherished long-ago connection…even talking about our boyfriends! 😉

I didn’t intend to give a play-by-play of my life when I started this piece. My heart drives my writing and it’s so full of joy and this improved outlook of trusting I’m begetting. Thanks to my sister for opening this pathway to better health advocacy and encouraging me to speak up for root causes; natural healing!

I’ve just finished an early, light dinner of sweet potato, asparagus and sprouts with a raspberry frozen fruit bar for dessert. Trouble with eating earlier is wanting to start TV earlier. So I tackle closets and yard work and sweeping the garage. I turn it on after my walk and put my feet up, grateful for another wonderful day!

Shout out to new subscribers and friends. If you haven’t met these folks, here they are. Remember to recommend others, and if you can’t subscribe, you can buy a coffee for just $5 to show support. http://buymeacoffee.com/joanstommen

for foodies! for humor and life lessons .And some dear friends who’ve been beside me since the start… …I think everyone knows her! 🥰 The sweet and and a few others I don’t hear much from but these writers have such great content! poetry!

If you are here as a new reader, I hope you’re writing too! Many read before venturing into a post… but let me tell you, you can do it! I can’t wait to read you! Every one has a story! Just do it! ✍🏼✍🏼

Be well, be happy, be kind!

Much love to you all, Joanie/Joan

How about some upbeat nostalgic music… remembering the old, embracing the new!

“Hold on to the memories, they’ll hold onto you. Please don’t ever become a stranger…”

I retired first to help our daughter with a two-year-old and twin babies. Those babies just graduated high school and as we watched them cross the stage last week, all the feelings came rushing back. In tears, my daughter and I hugged so hard, so long as she said “we did it, Mom!” I was so touched by her words…recalling the early days when she was overwhelmed and me delighted to help. Her words and hug were the greatest gift ever… she’s not one to be mushy gushy like me!

“No climbing on the window sill….but wait, let grandma get a photo first!” How fast the years go by!

She went back to work and I watched them most days. Then time for preschool and I had more time on my hands…but always ready to pick them up if mom or dad worked late. The years went by and suddenly, there was one in second grade and two in kindergarten… we had it down pat! We loved having them on weekends.

They were almost five and eight when Grandpa died. Hardest thing ever was grieving (subtly in front of them) and hating how soon these three had to learn about death. I got through it for two years, but couldn’t stay in the home we’d built. Their other grandparents moved to Georgia and I made the decision to sell, to return to our hometown in Michigan.

And so, for many years I drove to Georgia for weeks’ long visits. They’d all come north some years and stay with me…Christmas with the cousins, summers on the beaches, visiting with extended family. A few summers, I’d drive to southern Indiana , meet my son-in-law at a fast-food place and pick up a kid. We’d exchange for another a few weeks later. As they grew older, I’d get an airport gate pass so they could fly home alone, with mom or dad waiting at the other end.

Journeys matters as much as destinations:

In recent years, I realized the road trip could be as fun as the destination, so I tried various routes; avoided highways, stayed overnight at motels to bypass interchanges, big cities, and discover the back roads through small towns and rural agriculture land.

I didn’t go last year as the boys had events near my home and their sister flew up to spend a week with me. I loved getting the cousins together; but wondered if it was a sign…did growing older mean it would be harder; could I do it again?

As soon as I had the graduation date, I received an invite to lunch with my retired Georgia teacher pals the week before! That was the sign I needed! Of course I could do It again!

Windmill farms in Elwood, Indiana; roads with no shoulders, just telephone poles!

I’ve always stayed at same locations; Hilton Garden Inns or Double Tree. Great restaurant, bar and a quiet room on the second floor. Two nights out, four hours driving time each day, two Cracker Barrel stops for scrambled eggs and a cooler filled with water, turkey sandwiches and protein drinks get me through to check-in-time and a healthy evening meal.

I time my drive between 9 and 3 so less traffic. I switch navigation to avoid highways when approaching Indianapolis and Chattanooga. It’s not fun crossing the Kentucky bridge and managing multiple lanes to get through Louisville and Nashville… but it’s flat and straight and I stay in my lane/the center lane! Same with the four miles through the mountain curves and winding uphill, downhill drive. Sometimes foggy, rockslides or too many trucks, but I can still do it!

Unexpected Pleasures:

Teacher pals I hadn’t seen in years.

Walking and talking with my sister clocked 6000-7000 steps most days.

The horse ranches through Kentucky.

Learning how to mirror my phone photos onto the TV screen.

The woodsy trail that led to a lake at my nephew’s new several -acre home.

Chatting with the man who bought my house years ago. I drive by to see it whenever I’m in town… they keep it up so well; my yard art bike and bench and birdbath-turned-planter still there. This trip, Dutch was working in the yard. He noticed me stopped in the cul-de-sac … so I rolled down the window and explained. I thanked him for loving and caring for the house and all the flower beds on the corner lot. “That’s my wife, Ruby,” he said. “She keeps it up and I do the hard stuff.” There’s a secret path between the hedges on the property line, where my grandkids loved to walk when returning from the pool. His grandkids use it too! We exchanged numbers and he asked if he could send me notes sometimes. I drove away with such a happy heart…our forever home is still thriving.

Games of outdoor pickleball with my family

Realizing my bond with the kids is still there, moving away didn’t change that!

Time with my oldest grandson who took me to see his girlfriend’s memorial bench… remember when she died of a seizure last year?

My younger grandson sharing his excitement about his third year with Carolina Crown marching band all summer; my music man’s a team leader for the brass section!

And my grandgirl drove me to Starbucks to meet her boyfriend! We watched the first Devil Wears Prada to be ready for the newest.

And lastly, my daughter’s reaction above the moment they received their diplomas.

My GA home today. Her bench overlooks the Chattahoochee River. Me exclaiming over the mallards and beauty of my nephew’s property.

I left the next morning, wanting to get home before the Memorial Day weekend. I was pretty tired and overwhelmed being busy the whole time. Thinking I’d make it easier on myself, I booked three nights out. I didn’t feel the same anticipation and energy when I began this trip.

But it was a gorgeous Thursday when I woke up the second day on the road. After the first three hours, I knew I could keep going to Indiana! Little traffic, a courtesy cancellation ( no fee) and a breeze going over the top of the bridge…scarier than the lower southbound lanes. I was able to use reward points both nights; something I’d never considered. An unexpected mood booster!

From now on, perhaps I’ll fly to Atlanta, Uber to my sister or daughter’s homes. As easy as the drive was both ways, the focused attention, trying not to grip the wheel too tight, finding places for bathroom breaks, dribbling from my water bottle …that takes a toll on eighty-year-olds. I’m just grateful my car with it’s original battery and tires kept me safe.

I saw this tee-shirt ad from various Etsy sellers and thought…hell yes! It gives us confidence and brings the grit; but it also reminds us there’ll be a time when wisdom and self-awareness step in …the accept and adapt part of life. Here’s to never underestimating ourselves! 😊

As always, thank you for reading this far! I’m writing on my phone, so excuse the poor alignment and presentation; posts usually appear more polished from my laptop.

Be well, be happy, be kind! 🥰 Joanie/Joan

Not the best way to meet new friends, but there are some lovely widows and widowers here who reached out and shared; who felt and understood me so well. Thank you for that! It takes a lot of strength and willingness to open our hurting hearts, spill the feels, “let the words fall out,” as says. ☺️

I’m happy to have reached a thousand subscribers and half as many followers…reassuring me I am worthy as a writer. You gave me the confidence to teach a writing class for peers at our Senior Center. It was a learning experience for me as well. Those attending had a purpose; to receive feedback and quiet time to get their thoughts down. I did give a prompt or two; then sharing time to pull us together with praise and follow up questions for each writer. At the third session, I realized I’d made an assumption…that older adults would know verbs and adjectives and sentence structure. When a few asked for instruction on how to use better words, if a letter or memoir had to be in beginning, middle, end order…I changed course and backed it up a bit.

That’s when the fun began. We brainstormed interesting word choices, changed random sentences into catchy turns of phrase, added humor and skipped editing in favor of rewrite so their stories held a sense of pace and rhythm. I watched courage and confidence grow as the rawest feelings and life experiences poured out …not only on paper but the spoken word as they shared aloud…oh the sense of accomplishment filling the air each week! I wrote notes to each member on the last day; Judy was ill so I sent her a photo of it. The class will be offered again this fall

I’ve been catching up on reading your posts and keeping in touch, my friends. I am here. I’ve had many days of tests, appts and physical therapy for my sciatica/spinal stenosis pain…which is improving every day. Magnesium cream is my newest favorite friend!

This is another post with no plot or theme. Just letting you know I’m dealing with a lot right now. My son has stage 1 stomach cancer with laparoscopic surgery scheduled May 22nd. Please keep him in your thoughts that day.

My daughter in Georgia can be pretty stoic but I feel her heart as her two youngest graduate high school, head off to college in fall and her oldest will finish his senior year at UGA. She did not appreciate my words about empty-nesting freedom. Too soon, mom.

I’m off on a road trip next week to Georgia for graduation, time with the kids, my sister and my retired teacher friends from years ago. Another of my enduring, endearing tribes of friendships that mean so much! I will miss my guy friend, my son’s surgery and Friday happy hours with the pickleball tribe.

Somehow, the open road seems perfect right now. Just me on the back roads of America …avoiding highways when I can. I’ll take my time and stop often to stretch my legs. Time to think and sing-along; time to gather memories, ideas and new adventures along the way. I’ll share on notes perhaps, or maybe there’ll be a great story gift… who knows.

Thank you all for being here with me, for reading, caring and getting me! I’ll see you when I see you …take care!

Be well, be happy, be kind ..and gentle! Much love, Joan ❤️

A few new recommendations for you to check out…the reader-writer connection at its best!

April showers bring May flowers…spring cleaning with windows open, drying sheets and towels in sunshine, my lunchtime Birthday gathering with so many friends; it’s hard to make reservations anywhere! I’m grateful winter is pretty much behind us, but the feeling that time moves too fast lingers. My guy friend was here every winter week…a sweet diversion to watching snowplows pile it into slide-down hills and wishing we had a sled! “Frozen four” time for our hometown hockey team; the “final four” in basketball…and definitely my “fourth quarter” with eighty-two around the corner!

April means continuing my writing class, signing up for tai chi and making plans for a road trip in May. New tires and the inside of my car needs detailing…it’s full of salt, dirt, crumbs, dried muddy slush and a few spilled lattes I never wiped up quite right. (You don’t know this is you live in year-long warm climates) Did you know there are local companies that detail in your driveway for $150-$250…a pricey home service I’d love, but my hand-held Shark and I will do it well enough.

I’ll be driving south to see my family; my youngest grandkids graduate high school! The twin toddlers…how did that happen? That’s been the hardest part of growing along…kids grow too! Five littles; now five young adults!

Right now, I’m keeping an eye on the weather; hoping March will fade into tomorrow without roaring. April may have a rough start, but being born a child of grace on a Tuesday keeps me calm. April brings concern for my son and daughter…they’re both adjusting to empty nests and their own health issues. I continue to get tests and procedures to rule out any more ailments. The chronic pain subsides as I sit here and write…I imagine interesting psychobabble as to why!

I am so very grateful to all who read and commented on my last post about grief. It will always pop up here no matter how many years go by. Because of that post I met many new friends, realized how our words can be so meaningful and found different kinds of content that drew me to subscribe.

My birthday discount goes till April 6th.

$35 annually forever

Please give these writers consideration;

Be Well, be happy, be kind! Love, Joanie/Joan 💐

Riding our bikes in Ventura

All this is coming back after reading and ’s pieces about aloneness, independence, silence and grief. I

I find it hard to share my grief story because it’s been thirteen years.

Because my husband took a nap and didn’t wake up.

Because my grief is tightly tangled with guilt.

He took naps most days…that twenty-minute rest many people use to reenergize and pop up ready for whatever the afternoon brings. His were either favorite sports shows, grandkid ball games or preparing dinner…he was the cook in our family. (Proper dinners died with him…I’ve never made one since.)

He wanted me to snuggle sometimes; but I said no that day as I had a blog deadline to finish.

He asked for a paper bag to blow in… called it hyperventilating, but remembering it was for hiccups had us both giggling together.

It was a hot August day with the AC on and the overhead fan swirling…but he said he was cold. I tossed him the folded-up blanket and closed the door.

It took many years to overcome the guilt of not recognizing the signs that something was horribly wrong.

I went to wake him. I shook him, I yelled, I slapped his face, I pulled him to the floor, with the 911 dispatcher counting with me as I did CPR so very hard.

Paramedics couldn’t save him either.

I was in shock and insisted the hospital could do a better job. They wouldn’t let me drive; I rode up front in the ambulance…but took a moment to let our cat out of the guest room where he’d hidden when several responders came through the house.

I waited alone in a small seating area. Nurses came to check on me, doctors sat with me saying he was gone… but I said no, they’re working on him right now. By this time two hours or so had gone by and I said I was worried about brain damage. Another doctor finally kneeled down in front of me and took my hands and said your husband is dead. Repeat it to me, please. He made me say it out loud several times. I knew it in my head, but something was blocking reality.

I’d called my son in California as soon as the medics took over compressions. He told my son-in-law. My daughter was at kindergarten parent night …school was starting the next day for all the grandkids. She arrived an hour later and they took me home. His life…over and done just like that. Shock protected me somehow. I calmly sent them home to their babysitter, wanting to be alone.

I curled up in the bed where his heart stopped beating. Called both our kids again and begged they wouldn’t tell the little ones until the next afternoon…after the first day of school. Two starting kindergarten, the others beginning third grade, middle school and high school. As a teacher, I knew how special first days are. Brand new outfits, meeting new friends, finding their seat, learning new routines…an exciting time every single year.

That evening is when I finally cried. Crying for my kids who lost their dad; so very brave in telling their own kids who shouldn’t have had to learn about death yet. Our whole world changed that second day. How could I ever go on without grandpa around.

Over the years I attended grief groups and counseling sessions. At the five-year mark, I was asked to speak to a church group of the recently widowed. I did it. I shared how keeping busy and being brave for my grandkids saved me. I went back to work, helped care for the twins, took the long-planned visit to NYC with my middle school girl. It was grandpa’s idea we take each child on a trip of their choosing. I needed to honor that.

Every summer we had all five together. This was the previous year before he died

I sold the house and moved back to our hometown near the lake where his ashes had gently floated away. I still drive by to talk to him. Getting through the days seemed easy…it was the nights; the dark and lonely times each evening, the quietness, the empty side of our bed, the feeling that part of me was missing. I’d started over in a new home, but for many years I left lights on in every room. I fell asleep well, but the middle…middle of the night was the worst. The missingness comes back and your brain spins and you try sleeping pills or journaling and fret that you’ll have puffy morning eyes. Like a whole other me in the deep of the night wondering how I’d gotten this far year after year and yet I could function each day. A song on the radio still triggers tears. I like the song below that says falling apart is healing for a broken heart. My oldest granddaughter lived with me during a college semester. I stayed nights with my brother’s family, with girlfriends and the guy at the lake. Peaceful chaos of someone nearby helped me make it through most nights…and I stopped leaving lights on.

Ten years gone by and there I was, sharing with another grief group that yes, you will survive. You realize independence can be a good thing; not having to decide with another what or where or when. You can have both sorrow and joy at the same time and that’s okay. You just keep growing through it somehow. You model to family and friends how to live alone. How to manage things all by yourself. I believe we are equipped to carry on; that inner strength I never needed because he did everything and I depended on that. Up there in heaven now, watching over us… he knew I could handle it long before I did.

The thirteenth year is here, and while aches and pains require modifying the same active lifestyle I aways had, I am also thriving in exercise classes with the help of physical therapists. I’m involved in social groups, on an advisory board and facilitating a writing class for older adults.

Funny thing happened on the way to prepare for this class. ✍✍🏻✍🏻

I’ve kept binders of paperwork since college days. The press pass from the campus newspaper, a letter acknowledging I was an assistant dorm director. My diplomas and certifications through the years, all the course work and assignments when I presented writing workshops. I’ve been going through these recently. Heavy old binders tucked in bins that lived in garages for fifty some years. What a surprise to find I had applied to Harvard for my master’s degree in School Administration, but in spite of all the recommendations, I did not get accepted. I attended Salem State University and never looked back. I found what I needed for this month’s classes… (it’s really going well I’m happy to say.) Flipping through the other binder, I found our letters to each other from a Marriage Encounter weekend in 1976…ten years after we’d married.

My kids always told me in the first year of grief that dad had equipped me to carry on, giving me peptalks and assuring me I would be okay. I needed to hear it again and again, but eventually my confidence increased and I could feel proud of myself for figuring things out, eating and traveling solo and making decisions about my future. And guess what? I wrote about that in a letter to him during that long ago weekend. The prompt was something like “Why we want to go on living.”

“I would go on living because of what you’ve already given me, sweetheart, like the feelings I had the time you went to Washington, knowing I could do it because you knew I could do it…take care of things when you’re away. You’ve given me trust and confidence and direction in how we work things out. “

I was learning by osmosis maybe! In all the years to come…twenty, thirty, forty-seven years together…so yes, he did equip me, he knew I would be able to keep going as soon as he left. I knew he had an 8:00 deadline that next morning and I went into his laptop and sent it to his boss. And then I made the hardest call to say it was the last. My husband trusted I would do that; I felt it, I knew it.

Makes me teary now, after reading those letters, after realizing I always had the power, I just had to work through it the best that I could. I miss him right now, feeling melancholy. I’m grateful we all talk about him as often as we do. How many times the kids say, “dad would love that!”

Thank you for reading this far. Thanks to those who continue to write about grief, the loved ones you miss, the painful moments, the understanding. In spite of this sad but beautiful song …let’s celebrate this first day of Spring! Let’s take a beat and hug yourself if you’re going through something. Let’s be here for each other, friends, hand in hand, heart to heart as always says.

Be well, be happy, be kind. Love, Joan

You know how it goes; our annual doctor appointments, lab work, maybe a few scans or procedures.

In the office… doctor comes in and asks how are you. They go over general questions…safe at home? Any falls, need med refills, sexually active, use alcohol, drugs etc. They go over results and they’re either better, same or worse than last time.

And then they ask what’s new; any complaints?

That’s when it started for me… around age 79. Mentioned getting out of breath playing pickleball to my cardiologist…so he sent me to a pulmonary doc for a CT.

COPD! You may need an inhaler. Ah, no I say indignantly. “I play in a league, do Zumba, stop to catch my breath once in a while, but so does everyone else on the court or dance class!” I tell the lung lady.

Had trouble with my balance and went to Physical Therapy. Did all the things and I still walked funny. Therapist said, “may be vestibular” and sent me to an ENT! Sure enough…my inner ear was the culprit. A different approach to balance and gait therapies now. I’ve had knock-kneed skinny legs for years…great for skinny jeans but walking funny never occurred to me.

As the ENT doctor walked in and said good morning, I responded same…in my froggy, rasping voice. I said it’s my morning voice. He said “let’s have a look.” (why didn’t I just nod hello,or suck a couple life savers first!) I had thickening vocal cords and needed voice therapy at age 80! I went twice a week working with college students at the campus speech and language center.

A test we need every few years is bone density…so off I went complying with my health upkeep. Results showed strong bones for my age; but generative back issues…and a hiatal hernia on my diaphragm! WTF? Wish I didn’t know what I didn’t know!

Now I’m 81 closing in on 82 and suddenly back pain sets in. Was it overextending in yoga? Walking for miles in Australia? (I’ve never needed the inhaler but took it in my backpack just in case.) Shoveling snow? Too many down dogs getting up from the floor?

Shared this during my annual PCP visit and she advises I see an orthopedic doctor. It’s true, you know… if you mention anything, they will find something!

If and when I ever need one, this is what I want, a blue or green hippy VW walker! Courtesy of scrolling too long on Instagram.

Orders for an X-ray, then CT then MRI …and there it was! L4 and L5= bilateral lumbar down both legs. Physical Therapy starts up again and some relief with traction and wet heating pads. Meanwhile, I’d been dealing with pain all over at times…not joints…but nerves on fire in arms, calves, feet. A rheumatologist visit yielded negative on several autoimmune blood tests and a long list of questions. Results were sent to my primary care doc who said, “negative for all autoimmune diseases except fibromyalgia; which has no black and white test; it’s process of elimination.” She prescribed Cymbalta…still sitting in my drawer. I’m not convinced, since my current pain med is working and I don’t need another concern right now.

I’m going to back up a minute and say two things: all my doctors are quite good looking… which always makes things better 😉and the female docs are young and pretty with bouncy ponytails like fun new girlfriends! Both matter in my opinion (too rizz aware or just shallow?) Plus, they all know better than to call me honey!

Secondly, in 2009 I had a total hysterectomy, wherein my left ureter was nicked, killing it on the vine. A surgery oops they said, because ureters live right next door to ovaries. Ever since I’ve had but one goal…protect my right kidney; never need dialysis. My urogynecologist monitors it with ultrasounds and blood work every six months. My one job was to watch salt intake. So about fifteen years of one health concern.

You can see why all these other ailments…coming bang, bang, bang are frustrating, upsetting, depressing! If my body tried to tell me years ago, I missed it. Did it whisper to stop doing 5ks, over stretching, that two miles were good enough, fast walking not necessary…I would have listened, modified long before it became an old people word, before listening to your body was a thing. You can see why steroid injections, contrast and NSAIDS are dangerous for me.

January I had the steroid in my left leg, it worked about 40%. Then right leg became painful and hurt to stand. Doctor will give a second injection on right side next week. But three nights ago, both legs stopped working. I could not rise from the restaurant chair, lower myself into my car. Shuffled across the room at home by leaning on walls and counter tops. Crab walked up the stairs groaning loudly all the way. Felt like knives in both hips/buttocks. Slept flat on back as it hurt to move to either side. Using bathroom was worst; I slowly dragged a heavy chair near the toilet to pull myself up to a bending position, then slowly straighten all the way to standing posture. I took the pain med more frequently, tried red wine second night to relax a bit. Google said keep moving, so even though it was a shuffle/sliding, one foot then the other, I made my way around the house. Could not lift my foot onto the first stair step. Had to lift my legs with my hands to the footstool to lose myself in the Song Sung Blue Movie. Once in my car, I could drive okay to pick up grocery order. Haven’t had a proper shower in days…could not trust my legs.

Today it’s getting better. I’m able to raise both knees high like marching and getting around without holding on. My mind won’t stop swirling if a second shot will be the fix, or is something more wrong with my back? Does fibromyalgia hurt like this? I made appointment with neurosurgeon next week. Washed myself and hair in the sink. Whatever comes next, I’ll find a way to handle it. Staying positive is helping.

I wanted to document everything for MyChart…it also ended up here. A bit of humor or a lot… depending on your own issues and perspectives. It’s just so hard accepting all these changes; second guessing how I could have avoided long ago if my body was indeed trying to get my attention. PT and the second steroid injection are helping. I can climb stairs normally again and follow med instructions where it says take as needed; not every twelve hours. Geezus Joan…pay attention.

Pollyanna is back! Positivity is the only way to go. I know my limits, I’m grateful to keep walking, no need for walking sticks yet. I’m in a new Pilates class working on strength, balance and endurance. Started Monday and by Tuesday a lot of muscles ached…but what a relief to know that feeling of a good hurt!

Next up are cardio results from wearing a heart monitor ten days, an echo and CTA for arteries. I see Dr Gus and his Keith Urban hair next week! While I’m on that side of town, I’ll follow up with pulmonary doc and lucky me, a new doc …a neurosurgeon to consult on my back issues. All three in same day! Traveling across town is no fun, just cross your fingers the brain and spine doc is good looking too! (Better leave that off of Mychart!)

I remember my mother and her friends playing cards and all the chatter about health and pains and how many medicines they took. Mom used a walker and wore backpack oxygen; so she felt superior in that she had the gear to prove her ailments mattered most. Never in a million years did I think I’d write about mine!

But here’s the thing …I am still an active ager. I can still do yoga poses, dance, climb to higher floors…no elevators for me! Still doing all the things, with my kids saying they just don’t get me. I don’t get myself at times. I wanted to go sledding during the January blizzard, but no plastic saucer for me. Look what my granddaughter got me at the thrift store. Pretty cool, huh. Alas, no snow and now that I see it up close …decorating my entry way…I know I won’t do it. I know it wouldn’t be wise. She said sitting on it next snowfall will be a fun photo; but not gonna lie. Just tickles me that she really thought grandma could do it!

One more month and I’ll be another year older. I’ll do what I can...if you follow me you know I have an exercise guy! 😉( this is already in my chart.) Doing our best in the time that we have…keep moving against the wind my friends; against the pain.

Older now and still running against the pain and limitations. Still moving; back up to 4000-4500 steps a day. I have 800 subscribers now and a Birthday coming up. How about a birthday discount gift for me… I mean for anyone who likes my rambling/gets-off-track writing style…😅and is able to pay. Remember I bragged about the writing class that starts soon…still can’t believe they chose me.

Keep moving! Don’t let the wind knock you down. Bob’s message from long ago hits different now, dance to it one time and you’ll feel it!

Be well, be happy be kind! Joanie/Joan

$35 forever from now till April 6th, 2026

Simple solution I’ve decided.

Wondering how my eighty-second year unfolds is not about resolutions, but more of a reset in how I want to live and handle things. Two, three years ago I was fitter and full of energy and enthusiasm and shared it in everything I wrote…Polly-active-aging-Anna! I’ve learned to write better through readers’ eyes; become close with so many Substack friends; admire their honesty, vulnerability and faith…helping me realize it’s best to remove myself from whatever rocks my inner peace.

I’m taking myself out of situations rather than always being nice and just going along. No more letting it roll off my back, get my feelings hurt, questioning, ‘do some people not like me?’ Perhaps I’ve always been this way or waited too long to recognize how easy it is to let go. We know listening to our bodies helps when something hurts, when something doesn’t feel quite right. It’s the same with mental health, quieting our minds, pausing…asking do I really want this?

It started awhile back with the girlfriend group from high school. Group texts that ignored my comments. Monthly Zoom meetings when I’ve a chance to share, I’m cut off, interrupted or corrected. “Stop Talking Joanie,” one gal shouted. I immediately left the meeting in tears and have not done another. Notes are taken and emailed to us, so I’m able to read up on everyone’s news. Group threads ramble but I read them because I care…just try not to engage. My phone has a mute button next to the thread, so I don’t hear the dings for each acknowledgment nor be pulled into a conversation. (If you swipe left as if to delete, you’ll see it…try it!) I can read it all later if I wish. So freeing! Why is that do you think? It seems the older we get, some folks lose filters, empathy or are impatient to have the limelight. Maybe I don’t do well in groups as I grow along. Or I’m more aware that snappy comebacks and rudeness from friends are showing up as we’ve watched our country become less kind. One sweet friend wrote me a long heart-felt letter acknowledging it all and feels the same way. She too wants to remain behind the scenes instead of hearing “We just talked about that! Pay attention!” As someone begins to share a travel experience, there’s another finishing their sentences or cutting them off to talk about their trip. To be honest, I miss our friend that passed away. She was my buddy and had my back when these things occurred. She’d be the first to wonder what I thought. So maybe this is simply grief calling for low-profile right now.

And then there’s the guy, my sweet man whose been with me since we lost our spouses. Fit and healthy, good looking, funny, smart…so many years behind us. He’s not doing it right! Not buying in to thoughtful quotes and the happy lifestyles we’ve earned as widows in our eighties. Why am I bothered? I have a lot to say and maybe directing it at someone makes it easier. We don’t have more years ahead; we have less years! Here he is after the new year, catching up on things. I ramble on about the gifts I got…pretty blue tee shirt, seat cushion for my tush, it’s a sunny day…happy to begin another year, yada, yada, yada.

I like thinking of life this way. My sister sent me the shirt; it says Winter is For the Birds! She also sent this support cushion for pinched nerves in my back. Thank you sis😊

His turn and what does he say… “Just waiting’ for the other shoe to drop.” Geez Louise! “Do you mean you’re grateful to wake up each morning?” I ask. Exactly what he meant. Why so negative?... shrugs: “gettin’ older, time runs out.” And boy did that set me off!

We need anticipation in our lives! Something to look forward to:

plan

prepare

enjoy

savor

Have a purpose, responsibilities. Like the board meetings we each have in our communities. Part-time work like I did as a substitute, and he taught journalism at the local college. I bowed out at age eighty when the weight of shooter drills and free-flow parental-pickup in the driveways became too much. It was hard for him to watch print newspapers die and responsible journalism not offered the same way anymore.

Get out of comfort zones! Do not be stuck in the same old routines, depend on our kids or others to give marching orders, tell us what to do. We are perfectly capable of living on our own. New things, hard things I say, raising my voice! He’s more used to quiet me; leaning in, listening to his sports talk. Travel is my answer for everything; his not so much. I respect his old-school ways, letting him be him is what I value; he surely puts up with my annoying ways. I say it all anyway and he listens. He’ll mull it over, surprise me another time. Give me a thought I think when I don’t hear from him in a while.

I shared this with him; trusting he would still come see me. He did! He knows I’ll always be here.

Push Ourselves gets harder as we grow along. But that’s exactly why we can do what we are doing in our eighties! He’s better at it than I am. I shovel a little, he shovels a lot. I’m easy with most things, like spur-of-the-moment invites...he’s a planner; likes to fill his calendar with times and places to be. He has his routines, set in his ways. Why do I care if it bugs me sometimes? I know, it’s the chemistry— active aging! He helps my anxiety, pointing out how much better it is to be positive, don’t dwell. You know that Joan, I think to myself…but the feeling I am cared for matters.

My family is another source of frustration for me. Neither of my kids seem to get me…they see me as so busy with exercise, my guy, chance to teach again, driving for hours here and there, figuring things out on my own…. like getting stuck in the snow! I learned that traction control on a vehicle is always on…you turn it OFF when stuck or going up steep hills. Bragging on myself afterward was no big deal in their eyes. No “good for you, Mom!” On days I feel stiff and achy, need a nap or pass on a 9:00 movie night, it’s because I’m getting old. Which way do I want it? Busy and capable; absolutely! Their dad aged differently; he was fine using a walker, sticking close to home…until the day he didn’t wake up. I understand their feelings not to lose me…cheering me on like no tomorrow. I am so very grateful for them both…they look after me in all the right ways. So…no more frustration, Joan! Allow it all to be. Allow my buddy to be himself and my girlfriends to be whom they are.

My choices come from sensitive me, from pre-worrying and the age-old question if someone likes me or not. From wanting what I can’t always have. From wanting to be better at coping and reacting.

Writing this is therapy, seeing myself from the outside in, understanding myself…knowing when to step back, pause, think, let go. Maybe I’ve thought about this over the years; never really changing. Maybe I’m in a refresher course and need this again right now. A work-in-progress no matter how far along we grow. I’ve accepted being an older person, adapting to slower, easier workouts and needing assistance with grabbers and whacking things with a knife handle to open. Everything else is just rousing rounds of applause…grateful for being alive and living the life I never knew I’d have. From a lost and weary widow to the strong and thriving woman I was meant to be.

Thank you for being here, for reading this far. For helping me through it again. Seven hundred pen pals from around the world giving me confidence and resilience. God Bless you all.

Be well, be happy, be kind. ❤️ I Am Joanie /Joan

\

Every May there was a convention in Minneapolis…either The American Heart Association or The American College of Cardiology. It was held at the Sheraton Hotel across from Target Field. I’d share the buffet breakfast with him, browse all the vendor tables and then set out to explore the city. The concierge handed me a map highlighting which streets I’d enjoy through the business district and get myself back to the hotel. I was sixty-something at the time and long-distance walks were no problem. The first year I made sure to find Mary Tyler Moore’s statue outside Macy’s…now Dayton’s I believe. I had a cell phone, but no camera; did phones have cameras in 2005? I bought a tam like Mary’s at that Macy’s. Not much of a hat person but seeing hers, remembering that smile and every episode I’d ever seen…seemed like a good idea at the time.

My cousin worked at Target Headquarters and graciously met for lunch most years we were there. She suggested the corner restaurant next to our hotel. Her daughter joined us once; a journalism student who wanted advice and tips from Jim. He made sure she knew that curiosity and courtesy mattered most in a reporter’s world. He was delighted when she received internships in the field. I can’t recall the name of that lovely outdoor eating area…I always loved their burgers and fries! Wonder if it’s still there?

Another year I saw my high school girlfriend and her husband who kindly took the train from Rochester to meet me at Brit’s Bar…an old-style tavern near Orchestra Hall. I recall a dark and vintage interior with heavy tables and comfy cushioned chairs. We talked for hours, catching up. Her husband was a doctor at Mayo Clinic; knowing why I was in town led to interesting health-filled conversation! I’ll aways be grateful they took the time to come to Minneapolis for me. By now I knew my way around the CBD; all I needed was Nicollet Mall and 11th Street as my base. I remember walking up to Hennepin Street; must have counted four streets over, watching for landmarks to find my way back. What would have drawn me there do you suppose?

Photos courtesy of Meet Minneapolis, MLB.com and britspub.com

As you can imagine, seeing and hearing these street names and places in this city under siege, all this remembering started. I reached out to my sweet friend , to help jog that afternoon together. I asked Jim’s boss if he could shed light on what years this might have been; the names of the publication Jim worked for. The protesting, the whistle blowing, car horns and theft alerts making noise. Neighborhoods gathering, more numerous and stronger every day. It got worse and worse…still is! Millions of nice Minnesotans in these streets protesting peacefully, marching forcefully! Reels and reports of ICE agents in your face, yelling obscenities and shoving folks around. The courage and bravery to stand still and film…to video all the violence. I watched through tears all day long. And then Renee. And then Alex. They were murdered…it’s so clear.

I wanted to write something to show love and support for Minneapolis…the city I’d walked in and fell in love with because of niceness, vibrancy, work ethic, friendliness. To do something besides sit here and cry. I asked my cousin if she was safe. “We are safe, but Minnesota is not okay,” she replied.

Convention offerings included Women’s Heart Health one year…and guess what? Jim asked me to cover it as he was on a panel discussion at the same time that day. With my family history of heart disease and coming off of menopause… it was an easy yes! I took notes, quotes, and asked questions just like the other attendees. I learned a lot about technology advances and how being proactive can prevent heart disease. Jim had daily deadlines, so he was on his laptop between sessions and well into the night. The last time we were there, I wanted to go to Mall of America…or so I thought. The light rail station off Nicollet Mall was nearby. I found it, waited with the others ready to board, but kept thinking why? Didn’t really want to shop, it’s a really big place to wonder on my own…so I turned away and decided to see Mary one more time. I walked several other streets, found a gift shop for postcards and whatever street that had the chocolate shop…See’s? Someone had said next time you’re there, bring back a box.

I wanted to call this Streets of Minneapolis, but Bruce beat me to it! And just now as I’ve been finishing and polishing…comes Liam’s story. I’m glad it took me so long because he is home now! ❤️ Keep up the good fight, my friends. You’re showing the country how it’s done…ICE OUT!!

God Bless you all!

Joanie/Joan

I like to add some music each time…this one is gentle and reminds us to always see life with eyes wide open and childlike awe.

Like waking up! I’ve been changing my morning routine lately…make bed, turn on coffee pot, floor and standing exercises, open blinds, check messages. The same things but in different order. If I go straight to my yoga mat for twenty minutes, I feel energized…a bit naughty or freeing if I don’t make the bed as soon as I roll out! The pot is hot no matter how long I wait to fill my cup; I’m looking out the windows to see what the day looks like, what neighbors are doing. Lately I’ve been grateful the driveway has been plowed. The old way…every single day…was to pull the covers up, stretch a bit, grab coffee and toast and settle down to go through my phone…meaning… I sat too long. Thankfully, I’ve broken the cycle, and do you know how interesting it is to see various paw prints tracking across my patio? 🐾 I am noticing so much more by not having set routine. On the floor I can spot crumbs or cobwebs so there’s that; but I also have the quiet time to feel my body respond, getting stronger. I’ve started reading a book or magazine while sipping coffee and little wake-up bites. Reducing screen time has made a huge difference…the phone tells me so. No more “last week you averaged 6 hours a day!”

Believing begets hope and positivity and I’m saying “wow, thank you, or how ‘bout that” more and more when things delight me. The other morning my sister texted, “are you awake, can I call?” It was 7:15 AM and I felt that jolt of something’s wrong. She called and said, “guess what, I’m going to Australia!” She was so excited; just booked it and wanted me to know. Remember when I was there last March, reminiscing with my brother about our childhood, our parents, seeing all the rellies? Now it’s her turn and I’m happy for her...and for our brother. I know it’ll mean so much to our family to see her. How wonderful is that!

Possible deer track and either a squirrel or kitty trail…so graceful with one paw in front of other. My sister riding in Grand Canyon…she likes adventure too.

My guy’s in town for the winter months and I love the anticipation of wanting to see him again. It’s a wonderful feeling knowing the history and chemistry we have. Eleven years and he’s still my friend…always in the background of our busy lives. You can imagine my joy when his text pops up…Can I come over Tuesday? I always expect something wonderful to happen…and this may be the one manifestation that really works…faith in knowing I’ll hear from him when I least expect it.

Cute little tote I can use for my class! These two years ago finally gave me a smile at the same time! Love them so much.

So many spam phone calls or auto-calls from doctors reminding of appointments ring each day…and then suddenly... it’s my grandson calling! Did not see that coming and I drop everything to listen to him…them actually. My oldest is away at college and likes to talk when he drives to his off-campus apartment. I get to hear about engineering classes, computer science and math courses. He’s the one who lost his girlfriend last spring…she passed away from an epilepsy episode. I ask how he’s doing and he shares so openly…his heart still hurts. I get teary easily and a bit mushy but also can be straightforward as to soldiering on. He was nine when grandpa died and he’s watched me handle grief and grow and learn to live without him; he knows I know.

His younger brother likes to talk rather than text, and guess what again? Big news grandma: he’s been accepted at IU…go Hoosiers! He’s our musical guy; performing across the country again this summer with Carolina Crown. How lucky am I to have two grandsons who care and take the time to talk with me. There are moments in every day that tickle me…my belief something wonderful will happen. Finding left-over Christmas M&Ms I was grateful for in that moment! Green lights, an open parking space, the last loaf of Ezekiel Bread…little delights that have me saying thank you.

As the new year begins, I must pay better attention to my spending. I’ve worked out a couple payment plans to reduce debt. That’s why my big news is so cool… fell right into my lap. Our Senior Center offers crafts, art classes, music lessons in addition to the fitness classes. Now they want to offer a writing class. I am on the Advisory Board and when a member suggested it, mentioning that this college town may have someone; the director said wait a minute...we have Joan. Joan is a writer. Wow, I was impressed she knew that. (I have passed out business cards to senior friends, and many follow me here.)

I sent the program manager my credentials and a blurb how I’d like to present it. She said yes and I will become a paid instructor for the March/April session. Now that’s pretty wonderful and totally unexpected. But I believe things will work out, just happen for me. Is that my Pollyanna complex? Manifestation? Luck? Sometimes I think it’s my guardian angels up above. 😇

✍🏻✍🏻✍🏻✍🏻✍🏻✍🏻 WRITE HERE, WRITE NOW ✍🏻✍🏻✍🏻✍🏻✍🏻✍🏻 Have you thought about writing someday: letters to your grandchildren, stories from an unforgeable adventure, or reflections from a journey of healing, loss or growth? Someday is now. This writing experience offers the time and support to put pen to paper and preserve your voice and memories. Guidance, one-on-one support and supplies will be provided. (Copyright: Portage Zhang Senior Center, Portage MI 20024)

That’s our working info for the course-offering newsletter that goes out every eight weeks. I will have more to share when time is closer. I’m excited and feeling blessed to have this opportunity. I can do it! I’m touched by comments from readers who felt inspired by an essay, and I think “wow, they liked it!” I ask myself how can that be? I have no dependable schedule, and it takes many rewrites to feel confident enough to send into the world. Someone wrote a post a while ago about no competition here; there’s no judging who’s best, better, the very best. I know this and will make sure my class does too…but there’s a moment of hesitation before hitting publish….do you feel it too? Remember this: “Each word you write has been written before; each word you speak has been spoken before. But your thought is a creation…a statement bursting from within. As a flower blossoms, so our creation unfolds.” Lynn Clarkin

Halfway through January and I’m wishing Happy New Year! It’s still fresh in its beginnings, right? Let’s live gratefully every day. Let’s keep a smile on our faces and kindness in our hearts. Thanks for reading me, reading this far. I have over 700 subscribers and I vow to make an effort to connect with you all! Several of you are paid which keeps me believing- (builds confidence too!) If you are able, please consider an upgrade. Mostly, I appreciate our friendships, the caring and sharing, recommendations and restacks. So many ways to support each other! Hugs 🤗🤗

Be well, be happy, be kind. Joanie/Joan

Grandpa’s favorite as you can guess! We had Gary for nine years; he was nine when he came to us. Every night he’d try to curl up between our heads, we’d move him down near our feet where he stayed put. But every evening he’d do the same routine again. On nights one of us was away, he laid on the other side. When he stopped eating, couldn’t jump up on our aps as well, we knew time was running out. One afternoon he laid on the office floor panting, we wrapped him in towels and sat with him, whispering what a wonderful life he had for eighteen years. Jim buried him in the backyard, covering the spot with a decorative metal kitty. When the twins came over and started calling for him, we took them out to see…” Now Gary’s an outdoor cat!” my grandson exclaimed; delighted at last that Gary didn’t have to stay inside when we all gathered on the deck. An extra purchase just for us the year the twins were born; buy three, get one free was the deal. We spent every autumn on Pierpont Beach in Ventura for years.

Handmade ornament from our Aruba days. There were several in the shops around Oranjestad; many depicting divi-divi trees, ocean waves, surfers and the colorful houses on this happy island. I just wanted traditional Christmas decor. Our Australia visit in 2002 and again when I went in 2016. Didn’t buy one this year. Think that’s Santa’s sleigh in the middle, made by our second granddaughter in preschool. she is twenty-four now, a recent graduate of ASU!

Handmade stocking (with mommy’s help) from my oldest grandgirl; ornaments from room moms and fourth grade students during my thirty years of teaching. The sweet angel doll hanging on my wall right now goes back to 1999. After many notes home and parent conferences, I received this letter from a little stinker who seldom followed through on assignments. Bright as can be but not motivated. “Dear Mrs. Stoeman, my mother knowes your tricks about the notes you rote that I don’t do my work. That is not true. I hope you know I care about my work. If you would give me time to fininsh my work, then I can do my next assinment. I only go from one subject to another when my work is complete. That is my main goal. If you could do that we could help each other and get more done. That is the way all my teacthers treted me turugh K-3. It worked for them it should work for you. That is the method I use to get my work done and I hope you will work this method to. Sencirly, xxxxx And so I did. We talked it over and they agreed to use a wind-up timer on their desk to work a little faster and that something from the treat jar would help as well. This mother is the one who made me the angel gift that Christmas. 😊

The ones we love never truly leave us…message on the sand dollar that my daughter gave me the first Christmas after her dad died. Sweetest Grandma Ever says the shiny purple bulb from my grandson…the one who excels in musical performance. And the cute heart that says Sisters, from that little girl born when I was thirteen. Today she is a grandma with two littles; my best friend and favorite person; always looking out for me. Love you, sis! 😍

After we lost Gary, we found Burney, a one-year-old rescue. We loved his black and white coloring but not his energy and stealth. Jump scare moments when we thought he was sleeping, running through the house at full speed, bumping into things. Funny, not funny at times. We were growing older; Jim used a cane…was this a good idea? It took a while, but he finally settled down with us, recognizing he could be more active when the littles came over and chased him through the house. He was closest to my guy as he had a bigger lap and the cozy love seat in his office to hang out. After Jim passed away, he started sleeping with me…he had not done that before, preferring the fuzzy kitchen rug. He sensed my sadness, loneliness. I was never a pet person, but I was happy to have that sweet boy with me during those first years. Today Burney lives with my sister. I sold the house and moved back to our hometown. I had no idea where I would end up; what was ahead for me. We knew he’d be happier at her place with a huge backyard to be an indoor/outdoor cat. Every year when I visit, he still jumps on my lap…he remembers! Woodstock was on the bottom layer of ornaments, my daughter’s favorite as a child. One of the grandkid trips was dogsledding in Alaska…can you see it in between the branches?

So many more, so many stories to recall. But it’s time to wrap it up, my friends. I’ll be back in January, ready for a brand-new year and new chapter. As always, I’m so thankful for each of you who take time to read me, to comment and share…that’s what Substack is to me…a loving and supportive community with not only cheerleaders but those that teach, guide and tickle me with something new each day. If you’re new recently, read my welcome page to learn more about me and what others have to say. I love learning new things, love that subscriber numbers keep rising…over 700 right now, that delightful feeling when I get the message, “new paid subscriber!” Thank you all for being here, being my friend!

Christmas and Hanukkah Holiday Blessings! ❤️💚 💙 Love, Joanie/Joan

Christmas morning, daddy would creep down the hall with his flashlight, turn the tree lights on and exclaim ‘Santa came!’…our cue to come rushing into the living room. I remember hugging Chatty Cathy first thing. Cathy talked when you pulled a string… a big deal that year. Another year I had the Toni doll all of two weeks when I cut her hair way short. And then I lied; said I didn’t know anything about it. I shouldn’t have had my own scissors at whatever age I was. My brother loved getting trains or planes that could move…after daddy figured out how they worked. We had a rule that one person at a time would open a present…then we’d oohh and aww till our turn again.

As I got older, I ran straight to brand-new white skates…which were probably at the top of my list; ice skating in our backyard or nearby park was the best fun all winter. Another thing Santa brought me each year was a diary… with the little key to lock it. I still have a couple from 1957 and 1958…when I was twelve and thirteen! Reading them today tells me when I started my period, what “the rabbit died” meant and when boys became a thing! I used two pages to write about tall, handsome Kenny stopping by my locker to say, “Hi Joni!” (how I spelled my name in high school.)

Family games and school clothes became our gifts as Santa had more to do at our house. At age 13, little sister came along, two years later, a little brother. I think back now how the spotlight turned to them; how our family dynamic changed forever. In a good way of course, but having to share our bedrooms, babysit, and me being the oldest, kept close to home when mom decided to work. Women in the workplace appealed to her; but having four kids was not in her plan. She worked days, daddy worked nights…but it seemed I was the responsible one when it came to the two littles. I didn’t date, drive, go out with pals much…but I didn’t know any different. It just evolved that way till I went to college.

Me being second mom to little brother. My little hockey players at ages five and eight. Hockey equipment was on their lists, new sticks, goalie pads…and wise ol’ Santa knew he needed a left-handed glove too!

Christmas in my twenties I recall were with my boyfriend, soon-to-be husband. It was December 17th, 1965, when he got down on his knee and gave me the diamond ring…said he couldn't wait till Christmas Day! We’d go to mom and dad’s house and join the opening ceremonies with everyone. My grandparents came over or we visited them. More presents, big dinners, caroling with the church group after Christmas services. We flew to San Francisco to be with his family one Christmas. My first flight…all dressed up! His parents sent us the tickets as our gift that year, but riding the cable cars and driving over the Golden Gate bridge were great gifts too. Santa visited Jim’s nieces and nephews, giving us a peek into how it all worked. We bought our first Christmas tree the year our son was born. It was time to buy decorations and combine memories to make our own traditions. We were Santa and Mrs. Claus now…adulthood and parenthood, ready or not.

Three years later our baby girl was there! Oh, what fun those early mornings were. Jim would peek to see if Santa came, then turn on tree lights just like my dad did. Not many photos back then… only in my heart can I see them rushing, hear the squeals and shouting “I got it, Santa remembered” … so much joy! Jim and I exchanged gifts too; surprising each other with things like a record album of his favorite Broadway musical and a bottle of expensive perfume for me…either Wind Song or Tabu; the light and flowery scents I liked. It wasn’t till later years that house or kitchen necessities became the wrapped gifts. A new coffee pot, toaster. New toolbox! Pretty kitchen hand towels, cutesy salt and pepper shakers. The kids didn’t pay much attention …she found a Cabbage Patch doll under the tree, board games and paper-doll cut-outs. Her brother got an Evil Knievel wind-up cycle and wow… an electric train set that went all around our living room, ready to chug with a slide of the lever!

One year, we decided to go to Disneyworld! Because we had the time off from work? Or the least crowded time in Orlando🤔? We left early on the day before, putting our kids and suitcases in the car, then taking turns pretending we’d forgot something back in the house…we quickly arranged gifts under the tree and around the room, all set for when we returned. We drove all day and spent Christmas Eve in a motel, assuring the kiddos Santa finds us no matter where we are. We had several gifts in our suitcases and a little mini-light-up tree on the dresser, ready for dawn’s early light. Things like this are what lives in my heart; the times when Jim and I felt closer and more in love than ever. After our Disney fun, excitement grew as we got closer to home…sure enough, when we opened the door and the kids ran in, I heard it again…. Santa came!

The years of sports equipment were on the list as they grew older. Santa always knew what families needed and made it so…that’s the magic of Santa Claus. We moved a lot during our thirties. In January 1978 we packed up everything and moved to Kentucky. Eleven months later in December 1979 we moved to Massachusetts. Before the movers were even done, we bought a huge twelve-foot tree for our high-ceilinged family room in an old New England home. The kids still believed for a while …but even after learning the secret, they kept right on believing in our morning traditions and thanking Santa.

Christmas morning in a motel; years later in Aruba where Santa/Dad was the Editor.

In middle and high school, they still made wish lists, going through magazines and flyers with red makers circling what they liked. The big thing in the 80’s were video game systems like Atari and Magnavox Odessey, record albums, books, a wooden dollhouse and cool clothes like blue-jean jackets. Jim and I both turned forty while in Massachusetts. Little did we know time would pass by faster now. Suddenly they were teenagers and growing up! We kept up the traditions, but not-so-early wakeups, nor as many presents. They wanted more costly things and understood wish lists were shorter now. I remember the nights when they’d gone to bed; the hours spent arranging gifts just so. Santa delivered large or play-immediate-gifts unwrapped. Wrapped ones were from mom and dad and relatives. I tried hard to make it look like a lot…wrapping things like socks and underwear, kitchen gadgets or movies to watch in the DVD player.

My favorite memory is the night Jim had to assemble a professional drafting table for our son. Of course, it came in a little box with directions to connect A to B and then B to both C and D; and lots of screws, nuts, bolts all over the floor when he tore opened the bag in frustration after reading it all. The only way that beautiful piece of furniture with a white board that tilted at different angles finally got together were the swear words Jim uttered…louder and longer as midnight came and went. If the kids heard him, they knew enough to stay upstairs! I stuck a red bow on top and pulled a still-mumbling-fck-Santa to bed.

During their college years we lived in different places; kids in Michigan, me in Georgia and Dad in Aruba a few years, then Pennsylvania. Christmas in Aruba was pretty special; we all gathered for a week with a decorated divi-divi tree, bought gifts from the island shops and attended Mass with our local neighbors at the small Catholic church. The service was in Papiamento language, the native tongue of Aruba but we followed just fine with words we’d learned and recognized familiar hymns.

Another year Jim and I flew to San Antonio on Christmas Day for a University of Michigan bowl game. In our sixties now, we had a few quiet mornings at home, easing in with coffee and opening a few gifts without squeals or chaos. I think of it now as romantic rememberies of our time before kids. And then came the biggest life shift ever as they married and became parents themselves. We were grandparents now …and guess what? The magic of Christmas lives on; Santa comes to grandma and grandpas’ houses! We were in business again!

The family room filled with presents again; layered under the tree, along the wall, tucked behind the drapes and stockings hanging from the fireplace. That glorious sense of magic mornings my parents instilled rose again. Even with suggestions from mommy and daddy, we went way overboard! Fisher Price toys, Legos, American Girl dolls placed front and center to greet them when they rushed in our front door shouting Santa came! I miss the piles of tossed wrapping paper, ribbon, lost instructions, missing batteries. Grandpa’s job was to get breakfast in them before they devoured the candy in their stockings

Our lives were enriched and reenergized when the grandkids came along. Jim loved 💙lights and 💛 bulbs on our tree. It’s the same as when I was young…messy floor, stop and play awhile, shouts of “Cool! Wow! Santa did it, he got me what I wanted!”

When the older girls moved to California, we’d fly out there for Christmas; red-eyed it back that night in time to see the other three next morning. Double Christmases a day apart…we made it work! Those were the days, my friends, we felt blessed to have these times again, thought they’d never end.

But they did.

It’s just me now.

He passed away in August. As holidays drew near, I knew it was going to be up to me to be Santa now…could I do it on my own? My oldest grandson helped get the tree off my car and settled near the window. At the sweet age of nine, his heart knew how meaningful this was to me. The twins loved going through the bins getting all the stuff out…but then came the questions. What about Grandpa’s stocking? Does God tell Santa when people die? We discussed whether to hang it or not. “Yes!” they exclaimed together, and if Santa didn’t fill it, they’d share their stocking stuffers. I wrote how we filled Grandpa’s Stocking here.

All through my seventies I got to see them during the day and share Christmas dinner with everyone. Watching them open gifts made me happy; they surprised me with sweet gifts too. Seeing the traditions continue…dads checking first to see if Santa appeared, taking turns to open packages… warms my heart and touches my soul. Both families added another, opening one gift on Christmas Eve…usually pajamas. It’s been a long time without you, my love. Twelve years. I had them all together at my house recently…all five grandkids, the cousins! How wonderful it was to hear noise and laughing, the kitchen buzzing with my son and son-in-law in charge.

Eighties now…no plans for presents this year. They can all use money and I will do that creatively…love a fun challenge! Sometimes it’s been just the four of us, my son and his girls. Sometimes I’d travel south to be with my Georgia family. Time marches on and I’ve learned it’s their turn now; their chance to grow into the fabulous futures that lay ahead. I’m okay being on my own the night before Christmas. I love sitting in the dark with the tree lights feeling nostalgic, curious, grateful, and still the anticipation of what the next day will bring…even a fresh snowfall is a thrill! I’ll always be celebrating with my people in some way, a bit misty maybe…nothing stays the same. But I still believe. I know Santa is real and makes Christmas magical wherever we are, whatever stage of life we’re in.

Using their stockings as decor now. Listening to Spotify and playing these two over and over…The Eagles “Please Come Home for Christmas,” and Michael Bublé’s “Maybe This Christmas.”

Guess I’m more sentimental than I thought proofreading this…but these are joyful too if you give a listen. I’ve so many friends and so many activities but remember this…a walk on memory lane now and then is always okay. Wishing the best for all of you, however you celebrate this season.

Be well, be happy, be kind! Much love, Joanie/Joan

There is order in life that sets routines and schedules. Numbers, the alphabet, hours, morning, noon and night, do re mi, school days, church bells, traffic lights. It’s the exact opposite when your mind fills up with stuff that does not connect in any way!

Here’s what’s knocking at my brain door …I want to go to Australia again. My dresser is a catchall dump of a mess; dirty dishes in one side of the sink is okay; dark starts at 4:30 now; my daughter is in a milestone year with her kids turning twenty-one and eighteen, and I feel the emotions with her. My second grand girl graduates next month from Arizona State and her family and friends are going. Not me…I booked her flights with my Delta miles. FOMO? Not really, it warms my heart to buy tickets rather that a gift. Right now, I’m eating ginger cookies dipped in ginger tea while contemplating no one’s coming to grandmas for Thanksgiving because my oldest granddaughter wants to host us at her house…another hit to the matriarch label!

How strange to feel relieved, disappointed and proud at the same time. That’s as it should be and I’m delighted to bring my vintage tablecloth and extra chairs along; that her dad’s getting a makeshift table ready, and a group text suggests what each of us can bring.

Have you noticed why it takes me awhile to publish…learning! I love learning new things and I discovered how to write on photos, hide faces and clean up the parts I don’t like…all to protect these young adults of mine.

What does it mean that I keep looking back at memories one day and the next I’m planning ahead for exercise classes and possible trips? November is for gratitude and I am blessed and grateful for so much…yet I’m content to let the holidays slide by without gift shopping and baking. Will I decorate the tree soon? Is this what depression looks like? Writers block? Overwhelmed or overthinking? Help me out here, dear readers, is this normal seasonal doldrums? Seems I was just back from Australia, merrily dancing along to classes and lunches and seeing my guy all summer; accepting blue days when grief crept in and that the longer our fourth quarter stretches, the more aches and pains we’re awarded!

Maybe I’m just whining…but it works in how much I’ve managed to write without any particular place to go! I’m coping with pinched nerves at the moment, but adapting is my new favorite thing. (hope you’re catching the sarcasm, humor here) I may have COPD, pinched nerves and arthritis, but they don’t have me! Remember, just keep moving, modify, but don’t stay home, don’t sit too long. May not be in any order, but it can be an order…. just do it!

Quote from Ram Dass. Coolangatta Beach, Queensland, March 2025

I’m grateful to be writing this nothing piece here in my supportive Substack neighborhood. Grateful for being my honest self and trusting you all to roll with it! If you just keep scrolling, no worries. I see the views, love the hearts, love all of you who subscribe, upgrade, leave comments and restack…but this need not be shared folks. It’s a wonderful feeling to have tried and failed and tried again. I feel a holiday story brewing so wait for that one! 😂

Happy Thanksgiving Wishes! Be well, be happy, be kind! Love, Joanie Joan ❤

I’ve been dwelling on grief and nostalgia in recent posts; time to get back to what my Substack is all about…active aging in my eighties. I’ve been exercising my whole life, but it wasn’t till I chose Accept Adapt Applaud as my title at age 79 that I realized how very important it becomes as we grow along. And boy did that prove true as soon as the 80th Birthday video arrived. Everyone I’d ever known had a message for me, as if turning eighty was a milestone, like you’re getting old, girl; like this may be our last chance to wish you well! HA! Same ol’ me just growing along.

I try walking a mile each morning and again in the evening as dusk fades to dark. I see more sunsets than sunrises these days. I was using hand weights as I walked, but this summer I switched to a weighted vest. I can tell my legs are stronger and I’ve better endurance and stamina; both important as I have COPD. The vest is recommended for bone density and shoulder strength. Wondering if it was something trendy or actually helpful…I checked with doctors and my physical therapist for balance, and all gave it a thumbs up.

Three-pound weights in agility class and a four-pound vest for walking or hiking. I started using every other day, but now each day for about 20 minutes.

You can purchase in higher weights; and some come with narrow pockets all over to keep adding more weight. Mine came with a click-in latch across my chest, but my arthritic fingers couldn’t grasp it tight enough to release, so I had it removed and replaced with a strip of strong Velcro instead.

Trails along the Portage Creek are soothing and meditative. I was wearing the vest but moving slowly to just listen, snap photos and watch the geese families nearby.

Walking early is my best time; before coffee, just in case I sit too long! Our Midwest summer lingered longer this year, so autumn’s fashion show of colors is just starting to appear mid-October! I’m teaching the Matter of Balance class at the senior center again. It’s science-based, twice a week for two hours. Second hour is basic exercises for strength and balance. PTs come in to demonstrate getting up and down on the floor. This is the greatest fear among older seniors who think they won’t be able to get up or help a partner up from the floor. First…we need to help them find reasons to get down on the floor.

Watch television Do yoga or palates Play with your grandkids or pets Gardening and yard work Gets us outdoors on knees or bottoms Floor play invites foreplay as well ! 😉She’s been writing about sex over seventy and other topics you’ll enjoy at Check her out!

The second thing we need to know is how to fall. This too is best learned from a professional; one that will help you practice and understand the dynamics. I learned how…and sure enough, it kicked right in when I fell in the grocery store (you can read it here: I slid right into it.) my first attempt at humor making fun of myself.

Somedays I ride my bike first, then start my walk to soften my knees and thighs. I hope you get the chance to stomp through crunchy leaves this year; the crackling sound and the way your feet sink in…pure joy from childhood, remember? Anything we do outside helps us sleep better, can improve our mood and outlook.

Temperatures dropping Rain not stopping 🌧️ Leaves barely have time 🍂 Showing colorful design Before falling to ground 🍂 Yellow brick road bound 🌿 Pinefield is home Filled with evergreen trees 🌲 Sitca Spruce, Balsam Fir 🌲 Bristle Cone label the streets 🍂 Leyland Pine among the names No pines, no cones in between 🍁 When colors change 🍁 🌳 Autumn reigns! 🍂 👑

I miss the early mornings of summer when I could walk with the sunrise, stopping here and there for sun salute. I like evening walks as the sun is setting…watching the yellow ball drop lower and lower on the horizon, and gorgeous skies that spread forever it seems. I have made these two walks my routine and I’ll miss it come winter. Active aging means being wise and winter is the one season I’ve had to let go…no more ice skating, no kids to sled with. Wait, I can still sled on my own, right? Just need to borrow a strong, plastic oblong one and talk one or two adventurous pals into coming with me: we’ve the perfect starter hills right down the street! I still do a snow angel when the snow is deep and moist. Mostly I stay active with fitness classes or mall walking. Our high schools let us walk their indoor tracks twice a week. Socializing is part of the deal too!

Crunchy leaves and snowflake season not far behind…this sounds like a fluff piece for sure! 🍂❄️ I am one of many writers here on Substack who believe growing older is just another chapter and we want to ensure it’s a good one.

Seriously now, I have recommendations for authors, researchers and physicians who share important and meaningful health and wellness knowledge. of keeps us fit day after day with step counts, squats, knee and ankle challenges; and now balance exercises beginning November 1st! Thanks for keeping us accountable, Patricia!

by is a delight to read…she makes sure we’ve no excuses with… “You’re never too old” to do anything posts! She’s an adventure traveler and athlete that practices what she preaches; her essays will definitely motivate you! is an orthopedic surgeon and author who shares his take on midlife health and resilience and the path to longevity at . I love his easy-to-read posts on building resistance through strength training…do it for our grandkids he says on his second site; . These are some of my reads each morning; I don’t always comment as I’m busy taking notes to better myself! But I know you’re there, friends.

does a wonderful job defining the transition from older to elder…a subject often discussed…what draws the line? How do we slow our lives down to elderhood? Wisdom, purpose, engagement, the way we think about life and ourselves. This is a good place to dwell if you like philosophical thoughts and discussions. We’ve all been there…. wondering how long we have, how to maintain quality of life. Another of my favorites is by Jo Linney. She calls herself eccentric and is proud of being older; encourages us to take risks and find the humor in everyday life. Same with as she writes on . All of these folks are the best kind of writers; knowing their audience and the content we need, a writing style that is easy to grasp, makes us think. There are so many of you, my apologies for stopping before this becomes too long again. Next time!

Aging is natural, we all do it. Those of us in the fourth quarter, shall we say, have experience, have dealt with loss and health issues feel an obligation to smooth the path for those coming along. I know I do with my two fifty-something kids! If I can offer anything to make lives better, my writing matters.

Please give these writers a read. I am always so grateful when I am recommended by someone or find new friends and great story tellers because someone referred them! We’re all in this together…learning something new each day, enhancing our writing and connecting so closely from reader to new best friends! 😊

Be well, be happy, be kind! Joan/Polly I think of myself as a Pollyanna most times…love this new word I found from Australian author . She too is a delightful writer on the challenges of growing along! It’s not as easy to say as Polly, but I’ll take it! 😂

Here’s me jumping in mid-story…let’s see if it works 😉

I was in a middle lane, the wipers on full speed, trying to focus ahead, eyes on my mirrors… always have an exit I was taught. I said it louder; “Jim, just stop…chastise me later, never let me drive again but right now I need to keep us safe!” I knew the last thing he wanted was me crying while driving so he finally shut the fuck up. I could feel him fuming, tension building with him trying not to coach me.

Four lanes of traffic at rush hour on a dark and rainy night on an interchange I’d never been through. My turn to drive started the last time we switched at a gas station hours before. My husband rode shotgun trying to tell me which lane to use, hollering which one was clear, when to speed up a bit, be more aggressive. “You’re a better driver than this!”

Not the kind of help I needed. He made me nervous. I could feel my tear ducts filling as I asked him to just let me drive, do it my way. I was being cautious while keeping up, focusing everywhere on high alert. Eventually the highway opened to a few more lanes and soon we saw the sign that our exit was a few miles ahead. In an irritated voice, he suggested changing lanes soon as if I didn’t know better!

I felt a twinge of relief; all I had to do was use my right blinker, and sure enough someone let me in. One more time in pouring rain, I blinked the blinker. It took a while, but I finally saw an opening, got over in time and headed down the ramp to the red stoplight.

And then I cried.

I yelled again.

I was completely done in by the stress, constant nagging; not breathing through it all. I’ll never forget how angry I was, how I couldn’t stop shaking. We’d never fought/argued so loud and passionately before …only disagreements now and then.

We’d been to Florida for spring break… not sure what big city we were passing through on our way back to Michigan…or maybe it was during our Massachusetts years. The kids weren’t with us; either my parents were staying with them, or they’d started college. I wish I could ask him about this evening. I felt fearful, losing my confidence when I needed calm and support and he of all people should’ve been the one.

We found a motel for the night, not sure if we spoke at all or if he comforted me in anyway. But he’s not here anymore, so I’m writing the best rememberies I have. All our years together and we got on so well. I hope it’s close to true; I know it never happened between us again. Yelling was for Monday night TV, the losing team, our kids when close to dumb or danger.

He took over the driving for the rest of the trip. Little by little he acknowledged how bad the storm was, how grateful he was that I handled it well…eventually admitting he was frightened too and that was why he kept after me. He was never one to flat out say sorry, but reaching for my hand and squeezing tight said so much.

I thought of this recently as I was driving in the rain… told myself to pay attention, think about it later. But it’s lingered in my head for days, so here I am…from floating in my mind to standing firm in print.

I miss you, babe. I think of things as I grow along; moments in time that were meaningful or not… just us being us. Just now I had another vision of your softer side; if we’d been watching DWTS’s dedication last night, I know you’d be shedding tears into your T-shirt just like Robert did.

Always in my heart 💞 Joanie/Joan

“It takes a leap of faith to get things going It takes a leap of faith, you gotta show some guts It takes a leap of faith to get things going In your heart, you must trust.” Bruce Springsteen

I’ve lived most of my eighty plus years with a sensitive nature, self-doubt, overthinking, anxiousness…but a hidden strength and positivity I didn’t recognize until it slowly rose to the surface in widowhood. Little by little I toughened up, learned to trust myself, to believe everything will work out. I may step into the unknown, but my heart and gut usually guide me.

Credit unknown…from my many screenshots off social media 😏 Mea culpa to author.

I knew I wanted to move back to my home state, but after 28 years living in Georgia, I couldn’t think of any good reasons to tell everyone. As soon as my house sold, I had thirty days to get it together…it was happening! Would I be ready? I hired a moving van and reserved a storage unit for the truck to deliver my belongings. I’d find a place to live when I got there. Little did I know it would take two months before I was settled in the perfect condo. It was the first time I recall thinking leap of faith. Sure, I had family and friends in Michigan, but I hadn’t seen them in a while. My car was packed with everything an unhoused person would need. The motels I liked near the area I’d come from were still there, so I’d find a place night by night. I was not daydreaming, not planning the gypsy life; I really thought it would be that simple.🙄

As I got on the highway that August Sunday in 2015, I remembered my granddaughter’s first time on the high dive. She’d been nervous and I asked how she worked up the courage. “I started smiling to give me some brave “she replied. And with that in mind, I smiled and knew everything would fall into place.

Missy on the high dive; wandering old Sydney’s narrow pass-throughs to the docks and with my brother in the Harbor with the night lit up from cruise ships and Opera House.

I slept on friend’s couches, guest rooms, various motels and days here and there at a lake house. I found the community I wanted in just a few days; a deposit held my place till October when a unit became available. I decided renting with a two-car attached garage would buy me time for a year or so. And there I was, 71 years old starting over; my leap of faith beginning a major new chapter.

Six months later I did it again; took another leap over the equator and another hemisphere to visit my family in Australia. There was plenty of planning for this, but ten years ago, women traveling solo was not a whole industry like it is today. I had to be brave when the morning came to leave; my son driving me to the airport with last minute reminders and cautions as well as “you can do this, Mom.” I smiled every time I felt unsure; had to ask for help and through two nights in LAX due to a flight cancellation. You can read about that journey here. The month-long stay built my confidence and grew me up a bit more. It had only been three years since my husband died, and grief popped in every day or so as I saw the things he’d loved when we’d been there in 2002. It helped to talk to him out loud when I could, take photos of the same things I had in the album back home. Somedays I could feel his presence right next to me…giving me an extra boost in addition to my heart and gut. I didn’t feel leap of faith until after I was home a few days and savoring it all… “wow, I did it,” I kept saying to myself.

The on-and-off years with my guy friend played a part in all this taking-chances-stuff. I wonder if he was one of the reasons I moved back?… a long slow leap for sure. I never wanted anyone else; I couldn’t handle the guilt let alone grief in caring for the guy who was my husband’s best friend. Years went by without seeing each other. I returned to substitute teaching and joined community groups like the InterCom Association of Professional Communicators, Hometown Reads and the Senior Center Advisory Board. I thrived doing the things my husband did, always involved in local affairs. Was this another kind of leap…. slowly getting me out of my comfort zone?

After the pandemic subsided a bit in 2021 and we’d all been vaccinated, Mr. Sometimes asked me to meet him and his family in Myrtle Beach that summer. It hit me hard in so many ways. Should I, or shouldn’t I? I said yes of course, and as he picked me up at the airport, I said “this is a huge leap of faith you know!” “How’d the others work out for you?” he replied.

And I realized in that moment that I had done okay with every one of them. I could trust myself. I was a confident, independent woman who could handle things as thy came along. I had grown so much, I didn’t seem like the same person that fretted about moves, worried about the impact on my kids, when in fact the many moves enriched our lives!

As I’ve gotten older, I can feel another change coming. Slowing down, aches and pain, COPD, slippery streets…it’s another slow leap accepting aging. Wise to know when to stay home, when to say no. It felt like a leap of faith when my best friend passed away recently. I would have to take the highway to her funeral. I was asked to read at her funeral. I owed it to her to be there, but I was so sad. Nervous too as she’d died from injuries in a car accident. The old me wanted to stay home and watch the service live streamed. But I did it…I found a way to get there on back roads. I practiced my vocal cord exercises to keep my voice smooth and calm. Doing the hard things keeps us strong, more resilient as we grow along. I always feel better afterward…why do we get anxious when tough decisions must be made; reasons to say no swirling in our brains?

The first step is the hardest, they say…like a key that activates the go button! My daughter ran up these steps in Sydney, curious where they led. “Be right back,” she said. Twenty-thirty minutes went by, and boom, mom fears kicked in. Didn’t matter that we’re 52 and 81; always gonna worry 'bout out kids, right? Holding the railing, I climbed in determined mission mode. Buildings and pedestrians were everywhere. I paced back and forth at the top; glancing down, checking my phone, wondering if I should head to our hotel. She came out of the crowd, excited to find a better route back to our room and a place for lunch. My intuition had been right…she was glad I came up this staircase. We shared a burger and fries at the little pub tucked between shops; never mentioning how long I waited, wondered, pushed myself to find her.

I’ve wandered off the topic, haven’t I? What a knack I have. The other stairway was in an elementary school where I subbed long-term a few years back. They were third graders and every time we climbed them back to class, they’d take turns telling what these words meant, used them in a sentence, explained an example. I remember being impressed that admin had wanted this so all students could absorb and be inspired daily. My photos together are metaphoric; perseverance pays off, success begins with one foot in front of the other, action speaks louder than words, faith gets us through, beginnings lead to unknown endings and that’s okay.

My essay started with leaps of faith; I truly believe trusting and believing in ourselves is how we grow along in age, how we keep going when the going is tough. Call it whatever you like, but stay steady, my friends, stay with it, you will do it, you CAN do it. Never did I ever think I’d have 600 subscribers! Eighteen paying me as a worthy writer! So many great authors and creatives here who offer gifts, extra content, personal calls or zooms, writing tips or adventure trips! My favorite of those I subscribe to are the ones who find ways to meet in real life! Wouldn’t that be grand! To have coffee or wine with in New York City, and in Minnesota, @Patricia of and in central California, and up north of me here in Michigan, in Hawaii, in the Boston area, my over-the-pond pals and those down-under in my home away from home. Ghaaaa…wish I could recall where you all live! Tell me in the comments!

Someday, friends, someday! Remember, age has no limits! If we get the chance to travel, visit, dance, take it! Thanks to all for reading this far, for accepting and adapting to my twisty, get-off-track way of writing! I applaud you all…embracing this wonderful life in my eighties! 😊

Be well, be happy, be kind! Joanie/Joan

Courtesy Neera Seeds.Com

Getting groceries this morning, I was not at my best; heavy heart, no makeup, old sweatshirt. The six-pack of zero Sprite cans slipped through my hands to the floor, two of them leaking immediately. As I stood guard over it until staff came with towels and mop, I started tearing up…this is the store where I fell and broke the wine…remember? Not another scene Joan, I thought.

I continued gathering things on my list… the last being cheese slices. As I reached past another cheese-seeking lady, I commented on the beautiful bouquet of yellow gladiolus in her cart. “They’re for my new granddaughter, the first, who’s been in NICO for a month and just now is home.” We talked about little Layla and her yellow-themed nursery. That she lived two hours away; was here for a few weeks, wanted to help with food and cooking but not sure what to buy. She was worried about meddling, overstepping.

I told her the ‘grandma rule’ means we can do just about anything. Or “It’s the job of grandmothers to interfere,” according to Violet, the Countess of Grantham. We laughed about that, and she asked if I had any grandkids. Mine are young adults now, I replied. But the best time I had interfering was when my daughter had twins. Twins! She exclaimed! “I’m a twin!” Boy-girl twins like my daughter has. By now I wondered if the cheese was softening, her flowers wilting…but we’d inched our carts over here and there so other shoppers could get by.

She took the words right out of my mouth when she said her daughter was going by the book, reading all kinds of how-to articles. I shared how my daughter sat on the floor reading a stack of books on multiples. The babies were hungry, so I warmed their bottles; propped one on a pillow and the other in my arm and fed them both as my girl read about feeding methods. She looked up at me in awe, “how did you know to do that?” she asked.

My twins will soon be eighteen. She and her brother, obviously old enough to be grandparents, are still referred to as ‘the twins” in her family. We talked about this next chapter in life, brand new for her. It keeps us youthful and active I shared, wanting her to know how precious grandparenting can be. Wish I hadn’t mentioned not to blink.

We introduced ourselves and I wished Julie a wonderful time with her newborn grandbaby, assuring her that stepping in to change a diaper, sing a lullaby, make dinner some nights would be okay. We’ve had the experience; our moms did the same for us. We want our kids to learn as they go, but we can gently guide, not push, no taking over. Finally, we steered our carts again, me to the check-out lane, she to the frozen food aisle. She waved and called out, “so nice talking with you.”

As I reached in my purse to pay, one of my business cards fell out. I grabbed it and said to the cashier hold on, ran to the frozen veggies and said, “here Julie, please keep in touch. I want to hear more about Layla.” We threw kisses and back I went to gather my things…having made a scene after all!

The best kind of scene when you mesh so strongly with strangers. I’m still smiling, and my heart is so much lighter. I needed something wonderful after grieving all week. I needed the sign that Julie was a keeper when my card fell out…I keep them in a zippered place. 🤔Thank you, Julie, for brightening my day, listening to my memories. And thanks to the gorgeous gladiolus prompting me to gush.

Be well, be happy, be kind!

Joanie/Joan ♥️

I Want you to listen to this first, dear readers …my close and caring friends. Listen; cherish all the moments and people, the happy places and faces in your lives.

I’m having a hard time these days. I’m fearful of falling, of driving, of dying. I can’t get myself back just yet, it’s all been so fast and hurting.

Last week my beautiful teacher friend in Georgia, who worked just down the hall from me, passed away. Our beloved art teacher, Margaret. We stayed in touch as retirees too. Lunches and outings sharing our grandkids; emails and Christmas cards with life updates. Margaret had a hard fall…her only fall ever. Surgery and rehab they said…then suddenly, gone; her heart not strong enough to recover from broken bones. It was heartbreaking…how quickly life ends.

I teach the balance class to prevent falls; and yet I’ve fallen. Now I’m being overly careful on stairs and walks and watching my feet to not stumble. Maybe it’s a normal reaction.

Yesterday I learned my high school friend Jolie was in a horrible car wreck. She’s in ICU clinging to life as I write this. Prayer warriors can step in here. if you read my piece on the Vegas… the group of twelve who’ve gathered annually for sixty years…you know this is sisterhood too. Don’t be the first, Thelma, please open your eyes, squeeze a hand.

And now I’m fearful to drive, a car T-boned her…how quickly life can change. I think of friends who’ve had cancer, strokes, transplants and recovered. I think a lot about what might happen to me. I’m sad, worried, scared, superstitious about a third person. Is it because we’re in our 70’s and 80’s… the guy I see is 85. We stay close, we stay apart… knowing someday the dance will end again. My head knows it’s true as we grow older; my heart wants it all to go away. I want to keep walking and leave my phone home so no more text updates.

Faith is a strong healer. Fit, feisty, and a fighting spirt are too. You have all those, my friend. We are here for you, but only God knows what’s next. Jolie too, has a heart too weak for surgery right now. This is my prayer…it will not work so hard and reserve its strength to undergo what’s necessary. Prayers that doctors will make right decisions. Prayers for her family to get through this.

We all know writing is cathartic, unleashes what’s inside, opens us to support and feels a bit peaceful when we’ve said all we can. My daughter has helped, listening so long to me rambling on. Thank you for letting me cry here, for knowing I’ll be okay whatever happens. My subscriber and follower community is right up there too with so much love and caring. Thank you for being here.

Listen to the song again and cherish every moment with those you love.

Joan ❤️‍🩹

Words in Bold are previous pieces:

I Went Limp

We Came From a Magical Era…

Road Trip…Thelma and Louise Style

It was mid-September, just a few weeks into the school year and I had my classroom on my mind; hoping the substitute, colleagues and student helpers would have it running smoothly since I hadn’t left specific plans. But as soon as we stepped outside and headed toward the trees; I felt all the tingling feelings of excitement, doing something unexpected, time with my boy, being a bit naughty as I shrugged off “I should know better.”

Our yard beyond the pool backed up to woods; an off-limits place for both our kids unless we were with them. We’d made a trail that zig-zagged through the trees to the neighbor kids’ backwoods home so they could ride bikes, and the parents could stroll back and forth for a swim, evening drinks or borrow something. We did not go to that trail!

An updated photo of our pool; courtesy of Red Fern Realty.

Almost eleven, I let him take the lead. He started down the gravel driveway that led to the neighbors, turning on to a dirt path while encouraging me to follow, ignoring my questions and concern about getting lost and trespassing. I probably kept mumbling all the mom things but kept going anyway…curiosity getting the better of me! The dusty truck path led to a logging area; and a few minutes and several-branches-in-my-face later, a clearing that had three well-worn trails… leading naturally…in different directions. We took all three!

I didn’t know it at the time but turned out we had a local celebrity in our neck of the woods. The boys had taken the trail several times to see his airplane; “we never got caught!” he said nonchalantly as we walked into *Crocker Snow’s yard. We crossed over to a large clump of evergreens, and crouching low, peeked between the branches. Sure enough, the blue two-seater I’d so often heard flying overhead was parked at the end of a private roughed-out runway. Geeze Louise! I was stunned standing there, a grown-up mom, teacher, nice person; stunned my little stinker had been taking these trails without our knowledge! Parent failure big time. And yet…my feelings of foolishness and anxiety gave way to doing the daring; to feeling pretty pleased and proud my son had asked me to intrude into his world…what a privilege!

Love this aerial view from the historicipswich.net archives. You can see our home/pool on the lower left; the gravel driveway to neighbors has been paved, and the Ipswich Woods Drive area appears to be a subdivision now. If you zoom in, you can see the still private Snow Airport.

We hurried back to the woods and as I was about to say let’s go home, he exclaimed, “the pits are next!” He and his friends had talked of playing there, but we’d strongly forbidden it because of how dangerous a deep hole can be. By now he was delighted that I was really into this afternoon adventure, but as I climbed the hill and pushed my way through the hanging vines and leaves, I was shocked to find myself at the edge of an enormous pit! It dropped hundreds of feet down…not a “deep hole” at all! An old quarry you could barely see to the bottom of. I immediately became his mother again and loudly warned that ‘pitfalls’ meant a hard, rocky surface where he could break every bone or bang his head, never to be found again. Not wanting to lose his new-found pal, he quietly said, “Okay Mom, I won’t come here anymore.”

You’d think I’d steer him straight home at that point, but he had “just one more thing; if we hurry; we can see the 2:30 Boston and Maine cross over the bridge!” The bushy third trail led to the Ipswich River. We walked along the riverbank toward the train crossing, spying wild animals and an occasional fisherman. The old wooden bridge where the train crossed the river before it got downtown was the perfect spot to watch…from the branches of a tree! I couldn’t believe it! How in the world did I do it I think now, but I did it…we climbed up into a huge old maple and propped ourselves on a branch to wait.

Close enough: -cheering on my granddaughters in a climbing tree! My son and me when I turned eighty. He still encourages me to do things.😊

I was impressed that my pre-teen oldest child knew so much about the train schedule; which way it would come and how it would begin to slow down because of the rickety condition of the bridge. And just like that, we heard the shrill whistle and felt the rumbling vibrations as the B&M came through! I’m pretty sure I waved just as he did. It seemed like such a let-down as we got down from our perch and found the sidewalk leading to the popular penny-candy store called Kazubas. We bought a few goodies and headed home along our small-town street. As we licked our blue popsicles, the specialness of this day began to wear off. We were tired but happy we’d done it…he surely was! I knew he’d want to tell his pals how his mom found out what he’d been doing… and she did it too! The next day, I made sure my principal and fourth grade students heard how he’d recovered and that I suggested we take a little walk together.😉It’s been forty-three years since this spontaneous September outing that brought me closer to my son…and to myself perhaps. It’s still high on my list of life’s favorite things.

🌲🌳🌲🌳🌲🌳🌲🌳🌲🌳🌲🌳🌲🌳🌲🌳🌲🌳

This story was first published thirty years ago in an anthology made possible as I became a National Writing Project Fellow. It began in 1997 at Kennesaw State University in Georgia. This summer institute is offered to educators across the country to enhance writing for students of all ages. I have updated it from memory, a bit of enhancement…but mostly true to the original.

📝✍🏻📝✍🏻📃✍🏻📝📃✍🏻📝📃✍🏻📝📃✍🏻📝📃✍🏻📝📃

*Crocker Snow Senior was an aviation pioneer who continued to fly his 1947 Navion single-engine plane until he died in 1999 at age 94. Among other things, he was Chairman of the Federal Aviation Advisory Commission, which bestowed upon his backyard landing strip the honorary name ‘Snow Airport.’ We didn’t know this or meet him while we lived there. His son, Crocker Snow Jr grew up on this property we just trespassed. As a young man he helped his father plow the airstrip. The family flew the six-minute trip to nearby Crane’s Beach and landed in the sand. Graduating Harvard with a journalism degree, Snow worked at Newsweek and several newspapers before having bylines in the Boston Globe; and later in life, The World Paper. Most of this took place before the 80s; the years we spent in New England. It intrigues me that our paths never crossed; were the elder Snows aware of the young family with wandering kids? Was the blue two-seater junior’s plane? Did he know my husband was editor of the Salem News…just down the road? This is when grief creeps in a bit…I can’t ask him. The neighbors are gone too. My son decided to inquire years later…this is short version of what we found. Sources: Historic New England. Historic Ipswich, Harvard Magazine, Wikipedia, Aeronautics Magazine and Crocker Sr’s autobiography, Log Book: A Pilot’s Life

Thank you for reading and caring my friends! I am blessed to have almost 600 subscribers…just wow! I appreciate all the recommendations, restacks, hearts and encouraging comments that encourage and inspire me. Thanks for being patient as I work and rework drafts into readability and worthiness. It takes time, but it feels good when I’ve touched someone, somewhere, somehow. ❤️

Be well, be happy, be kind! Joanie/Joan

For my kids and grandkids and yours too…here’s my wish! 😊