I know that summer isn't over, but the last coffee is always the signal that is coming. It was also in the 40s here last night for the first time in months, and it felt glorious! We will still hit eighty most days, but the temps can't hold once evening comes, and I love it! From right now, til my birthday, (Sept 30) it is my very favorite time of year, the time where summer melts into fall.

If you have followed along from the beginning, M is the little girl in the angora hat from my skating stories, although we weren't friends until a few years later. Our contact has ebbed and flowed over the years, but in the last several we have done Wed coffee in the summer, and then occasionally during break times during the school year. This year we've decided to have dinner dates once or twice a month to keep in better contact, because why not? Life is short. As a rule, Gen X still doesn't keep in contact by texting. Oh, I'll shoot her an inappropriate meme a few times a week, but we don't chit chat. V and I are like that too. We do a weekly phone call to get all the news, and try to get together when she's in town, but we don't text back and forth regularly.

What is it that I love so much about this time of year? Well, it partially the weather, and watching the world go from the burst of harvest to the dying back of the leaves, etc. The sheer beauty of all of it. Also, having been a preschool teacher for so many years, it was the excitement of a new group of kids, and beginning a new school year. I get nostalgic, but not enough to do anything crazy, like start teaching again. Ha! I am officially too old for that nonsense.

I hope that you have had a wonderful summer! It has not been my favorite, but I have high hopes for fall! That's life. We ebb and flow, just like the seasons. The important thing is to enjoy the ride.

Be who you are!

Auntie loves you.

I've been spending a lot of time outdoors with our new pup, Liliana,and it's forced me back into an old routine of just being one with nature. When Covid hit I would spend several hours a day outside with the dogs, just “being”, or walking the property. Lili is too young and crazy to be walking the borders, but we do smaller, close to the house strolls. It feels good to have my toes in the grass again, and at least half the time my phone isn't in my pocket.

We refer to several of the trees on our property by name. There are “The Giants” by the entrance, the"Blue Jay Tree”, out back, “The Satellite Tree” on the side, “The 4 Horsemen” that were giant white ash in the valley by the creek, that are now dead from emerald ash borer beetles. They'll be coming down this summer. We also have the FU tree by the back corner. Every time The Uncle cuts it down it comes back stronger! I get really mad when he wants to cut down the live ones if they are just in the way of something. If they pop up where I don't want them, I usually move them to another spot. I will even apologize if I have to trim them for some reason. We have hundreds of trees, but those few we've named for landmark purposes. “Can you get me the wagon, it's over by “The Giants”.

I've been a tree hugger my whole life. I am, and will always be happier out amongst the trees. When life is hard, that's where you'll find me. They listen, and don't judge. They hold me quietly while I figure a way through.

The lot that my grandpa built our childhood family home on, (my brother owns it now) in the mid 50's was a cow pasture. There was not a single tree on the property. My Dad used to tell us that he planted all of the trees that were there growing up along with us kids in the seventies, but I didn't believe him. A few years ago I saw an old aerial photo of the area. Darned if he wasn't telling the truth! He also planted one for each of us kids when we were born, but they have all been removed. The last of which was my sister Ti-Ti's. It was so big that the four of us stood on the left over trunk for a picture. I'll see if i can find it to add here. I'm sorry to say that I don't know what kind it was, possibly a cottonwood. J's tree was a similar one, mine was a birch, and Bumpy's was a weeping birch. They had to take mine down, and the apple tree when the garage went up in ‘88. J still remembers me “bitching about it”. He doesn't remember his tree though. I think it was a poplar that was near Ti-Ti's. It came down before dad passed in ‘92, because it was dying and close to the house. Almost all of these trees were just transplanted from the woods near by, but I think Bumpy's was an actual purchase the spring after he was born.

I get my love of trees, and nature in general from my dad. My mother seriously would have been happier on a cement block in the middle of a big city. He would love my home here, she would not. The nice neighborhood on the edge of town, surrounded by woods was the closest he could get her to country living. I'm kinda glad, because it was the best of both worlds.

I get frustrated living in the sticks sometimes, and I put a lot of miles on my vehicle running to town at least 5 days a weeks, sometimes 2x in a day, but the trade off is definitely worth the hassle. (Don't ask me in the middle of winter though……)

Well, the potato salad isn't going to make itself. There'll be ham, beans, and corn on the cob too if you're staying for dinner! Of course I made strawberry shortcake! Is it not the 4th of July weekend?!

As always, BE WHO YOU ARE!

Auntie loves you

Left to right. J, Ti-ti, Bumpy, Me

I love this, because it captures who we are as siblings! There's a better one where I have my hands around Js neck…… but I can't find it at the moment. We are standing on the stump of the tree, with room to spare.

Hello there! Welcome to the corner. Grab a cup of coffee, or I can put the kettle on for some hot tea or cocoa. Sprinter still has its hooks in us. The day appears to be gorgeous, but it’s only in the thirties outside! There is chicken bacon ranch tater tot hotdish in the fridge if you need dinner, and there are homemade brownies on the counter if you want dessert! As always, if you’ve been to the corner more than twice, you are no longer a guest. Help yourself.

Yes, it’s unnervingly quiet here. This house is used to the whims and schedules of two very large, smart, bossy dogs. These days, The Uncle and I just stare at each other and wonder what to do with ourselves. Our cats, Mo and Gracie are hiding around here somewhere, and while they offer comic relief, and Grace actually slept near my feet last night, (Mo is always on The Uncle’s bottom corner of the bed.) it is not the same. Not even close.

A funny thing happened yesterday. The Uncle received an unsolicited phone call from one of the rescue groups in our area. He and Loki frequented a local country gas station, and the owner was a fan favorite of Loki’s. When she found out Loki had passed, she showed The Uncle pictures from this rescue, (that I am guessing she is involved with) getting his number to text him pictures of a young mastiff that had come into their care so he could show me. She thought this “little” lady would be a good fit. He forgot all about it, because he is pretty set in his breed requirements, and while we have lots of big dog experience, mastiff isn’t one of those breeds. The owner of the gas station actually called the rescue to recommend us and gave them his number. A volunteer was calling to encourage us to apply.

I took one look at her picture and said, “Let’s do it!” I mean, we have to start somewhere. They also have a litter of German Shep pups that will be ready in a few weeks. If someone is a better fit for the mastiff, perhaps we’ll go that route instead. We were going to add another dog in May or June of this year anyway, so it isn’t like we’re rushing things, even though it feels like it. There are so many dogs out there looking for a good home, and here stand the two of us, heartbroken, with all the love, knowledge, and the room in the world to give. It seems wrong to wait. It won’t bring the boys back if we wait.

I think for many of us, the grief over losing a pet is a strange thing, and I have gone through it more times than I care to think about. You love something so fiercely for ten to fifteen years, if you are lucky, and then you are absolutely devastated, only to turn around and sign up for it again. Instead of building walls, or needing time, that particular loss seems to break open your heart, and the only thing that can heal it is another pet.

Disclaimer: I wrote the above paragraph two weeks ago. I really haven’t felt much like myself, or like writing. We are still waiting to hear from the rescue. I assume that the Mastiff went to a good home already, but I did reach out about the pups.

Earlier this week The Uncle found a pair of Shepard mix brothers at a shelter that is about an hour and a half from here, in a little town I am very familiar with. I asked if he’d like to check them out on the weekend, since I knew I wasn’t working. and he did. On Tuesday I filled out the application, contacted our vet to let them know to expect a request for records, and by Wednesday morning we were accepted. The Uncle spent some time talking with the shelter staff about the boys, and although they are from a very challenging situation, we still decided to meet them.

I went into Saturday with no expectations, and no anxiety. I gave The Uncle the final decision on this one, and yes, he asked for that in writing. He is the full-time pet parent, so while I have veto power, the choice is ultimately his. It was a gorgeous spring day (finally), and it felt wonderful to put on some tunes and take a drive. We would either be coming home with a new pal or at least get to have Coops pizza buffet for lunch! Actually, in the end, we did neither.

Bruno and his brother Biscuit are two and three years old, respectfully. Biscuit was out of the running right away, as he showed a lot of dominance issues with his brother, and crazy barking at other dogs who were out and about the shelter grounds. This is what I know. These two dogs were chained to a tree their entire lives, until five months ago when they, and their mother were removed by the sheriff. They didn’t have room at this shelter, so the boys sat in the pound for four months in cages. They moved to this shelter for yet another month, waiting to be neutered so they could be adopted. They have never been in house, or part of a family. We spent a full hour with Bruno and a few of the shelter staff in a large outdoor area. For the entire first half hour he ran around trying to figure out how to get out. Biscuit was with us for about fifteen minutes of that time. Then finally, after listening to me babble on and on to him about what a good boy he was, he just came over and licked my hand! I was able to pet him, and walk him a bit, and he even gave me a paw to shake spontaneously. It was very clear that he wants love, and to please, he just hasn’t known much kindness. Two issues: One, he let The Uncle walk and pet him a little, but even when he got down on the ground to his level, Bruno wanted nothing to do with him. I have NEVER seen a dog react to The Uncle like that before. I call him the dog whisperer. They usually can’t get enough of him. Two: How would you even get a dog that is that frightened into your car? I would have run to the big box store in town and bought a large kennel, but yikes. He would have to be kenneled at the house at night too, I just thought I could gate him in the room with me and we’d be ok, but I don’t think so. Then the big one. The Uncle and I don’t have a fully fenced in area outdoors. We have a run, we have tie outs, and we have a large kennel, (none of which our boys used anymore) but we are both positive he would have bolted and gotten loose before we had time to bond and teach recall. While I hated to leave Bruno behind, I kept my word and let The Uncle have final say on the matter. It’s very obvious that if we start with a dog, over a puppy that we train up, we are not set up for anything other than one who knows the ropes a bit.

Hopefully in the next few days we get to meet some pups. I’m also going to call our local humane society in the morning, to get an application on file. There aren’t any pups in house at the moment that fall into someone’s specifications……. but you never know.

*Current day

Good Sunday morning! This has been the most meandering story that I have told you, because I just haven’t felt like writing, and the story didn’t yet have an end, so I refused to hit publish. Two weeks ago, we were invited to see the pups, and one week ago we brought home our new baby girl! The weird thing was, another rescue offered us a one-and-a-half-year-old Great Pyrenees, at EXACTLY the same time. Literally! At 2:46 the foster for the GP called us to meet him. If we liked him, we could take him right then. We set up a time for the next day. I asked The Uncle for his phone, so I could write down the number, because so many calls were coming from different places, and I saw that there were two calls at the exact same time. Then I realized it was a text, not a call, checked it, and it was the foster Mom of the pups, offering us our girl. I yelled, “We got her!” and I immediately burst into uncontrollable sobbing.

The Uncle and I tried to wrap our minds around possibly taking both animals, because we do intend to be a two-dog family again at some point, but the logistics of keeping the dogs apart, and the cats away from both until we all settled in would have been a nightmare. Obviously, in the end, we chose Liliana. She wasn’t even the pup either of us had on our radar. We were separately interested in two of her brothers, but the moment we met her, we both knew that she was the one. We would have happily accepted any of the pups, but there was just something about her.

Meet Liliana Jo!

One week of puppy snuggles, playtime, midnight potty trips, three a.m. potty trips, and all the love! I haven’ t had time to finish this up until this morning. Life with Lili is not going to be dull, and I hope you’ll stick around for it!

I often find myself wondering what Loki would have thought of her, if he would have helped train her up, or be more like Jacob was with him, urging him to get into trouble so he would have to go back on the tether, and leave Jake alone. Jake was less than thrilled at the age of six to get a baby brother. They did become the best pals, but it took time. I miss them both terribly, every single day, but I have enough room in my broken heart for this little bundle of fur that we call Liliana.

If you made it to the end, I hope you enjoyed the story of our adventure into puppy parenting! As always, you are so very welcome with us here in the corner!

BE WHO YOU ARE

Auntie love you!

I wrote about putting the roses to bed last fall, and how emotional that can be for me. I re- shared that post in a note this morning. I have literally waited six months to know their fate. Spring in the northland does not come early. I did also notice tiny buds on the lilac tree today, while I was uncovering the roses.

Who would have imagined last fall when the roses went to bed that our beloved dog Loki would no longer be with us when they woke up? I still can't make it through a day without tearing up about it. I think that is going to continue for a long time, and that's ok.

The promise of spring is that things will get better. Life awakens, becomes more colorful, and in some cases, new life begins. For The Uncle and I, that comes in the form of our new pup, Liliana, who will be joining us in a few days. We fully intended to bring a new pup home this spring, we just assumed Loki would also be here helping her learn the ropes. Her story, and the way the universe led us to her is something I'll share next time. It has been an unexpected roller coaster.

I think in a few weeks we will add another rose to this garden of memories, specifically for ”The Boys”. We have one that The Goovers help me pick out and plant after our cat Milkie passed, that I considered a memorial to all of our past pets, but I need something more for my boys. (Cue the tears.)

I often think about the endless times I have walked our property on a day like today. The sky is a gorgeous deep blue, and puffy clouds are sailing by in the wind. That wind would blow my hair while I ambled, looking for wildflowers that were popping out, and my boys would be playing by my side. They were the best days of my life, and at least I can say that I knew it, and appreciated it at the time.

Spring promises me there will be more days like that. It will be different, but not less. It won't take anything away from what I had, just add to the cozy memories I have and cherish so very much.

I hope this finds you well, I know that I have been absent from the corner of late. I just needed a little time, and a reset. Kind of like the roses. All is well.

Auntie loves you!

BE WHO YOU ARE

Dr. Becky began running tests, and bloodwork pointed to kidney failure. We will never know exactly why, because he passed shortly after the radiogram (I believe they expected to find a tumor somewhere, but no.) and the first bloodwork were complete. He showed antibodies from anaplasmosis, (a tic disease) but that isn’t necessarily the culprit. (With the amount of money I have spent on tic preventative over the years that really burned my biscuits.) Dr. Becky called with the news and told us that he needed to be hospitalized for care and further tests, and to prepare us that the outcome may not be good. I responded that we would okay whatever testing, or treatment she deemed reasonable, because I totally trust her judgement. I have entrusted every single one of the five pets we have had during the last ten years into her care. She helped me cross Milky over the rainbow bridge, she was with us for Jake, and she is the person who was with Loki when he passed. It wasn’t us, because it wasn’t expected. That is going to sting forever, I think. Dr. Becky was there though, and if I had to choose anyone else, that’s who it would be. The compassion, love and care that she has for animals is amazing.

I have never lived in The Cozy Corner without a dog. Every night when I have to rinse the supper dishes before popping them into the dishwasher I yell, “THIS IS BULLSHIT.” The Uncle went to his buddy’s house down the road for a bit the other night, and for the first time ever, I locked the doors. I have never, ever felt unsafe out here in the country with the boys by my side. It just flat out never occurred to me to lock anything. No one was going to sneak up on me, and no one in their right mind was going to challenge one of my boys. They would protect their Mama at all costs. Well, Jake would have anyway. He definitively ran the show. It was fun watching them work as a team. When Jake died, Loki stopped checking the perimeter and paid me no mind when I went for a walk. He might come along, but I definitely wasn’t being guarded. It was kind of crazy how he changed immediately and became The Uncle’s “little” sidekick. He was still a hundred-pound dog with the bark to match, so I don’t think anyone would mess with his Mama.

The Uncle and I were already in negotiations to add the next member to our family, prior to this happening. I was the resistor, because I didn’t want the extra work, and Loki seemed to really like being the sole focus of our attention. Now I’m just at loose ends. We still have the cats, but they barely need or want anything from me. They pay The Uncle almost no mind at all. Mo does sleep on the bed part of the night, but I’m used to at least one dog in the room at all times. I am used to getting up in the morning before I want to, tossing something on, and going outside. The boys were border trained, but never out on their own. I’m used to sharing the last bite of just about everything I have to eat. I’m used to my own personal hype crew charging out of the house to greet me every time I come home. I’m used to not going anywhere on the property alone, including to the kitchen or bathroom. I’m used to figuring every little thing I’m doing around the needs of another creature. I’m used to constant noise and nonsense. This house is so quiet! I’m used to not having to rinse the damn dishes, because the dogs lick the plates. I have also become used to grieving Jake, but this? THIS IS BULLSHIT. Breathe Auntie, breathe……

In my opinion, mid-May to mid-June is the best time to begin raising a pup. That’s when both boys joined our family. If The Uncle and I can come to an agreement, I’m sure we will open our hearts and home again. There are so many pups looking for a home, and we have a lot or room, and love to give. He wants a baby; I would prefer at least five months. He is pretty breed specific; I am not. I would much rather find a shelter or rescue pup that is already altered, vet checked, shots, ready to go. He wants another big dog, maybe less fur. I would prefer less fur for sure, and maybe a medium size. If another shep/pyr shows up, all bets are off. :) They are really rare around here in shelters or rescue. Jake was a rescue, we started looking for the same mix when he was four, and he was six when we found a new litter. Loki came from a farm in the middle of nowhere MN. I’ll never forget the day we brought him home. I had him in my arms the whole way, and he was heavy! He slept for most of it, but close to home he woke, looked in my eyes, and I could just hear the “Hi Mama, I’m your baby.” He was my baby dog until the end, and I will miss him forever. I still can’t believe this is real.

This picture was taken bout ten months ago after his physical. It was the first time I had taken him anywhere by myself. Strong, stubborn baby dog.

Thanks for listening. Sometimes even Auntie’s need a little support.

Be who you are!

Auntie loves you!

Buy Me A Coffee

The last time you and I sat down to talk, we were discussing my fool proof (for me) method of falling back to sleep when insomnia tries its best to keep me up. I pick a day in my life (childhood) and re live it from top to bottom, and I’m always asleep before the sun goes down on that day. Heck, I don’t usually make it to lunch. This particular time I thought “Hmmmm….. it’s 1979, what would I be doing today?”, and I immediately thought of Easter. Would we have been at home, or on the road to Uncle Joe’s in Madison? It was still March when I thought of it, just after St. Patrick’s Day, a little Early for Easter, and then I remembered, if I switched the year to 1977, I knew exactly what was going on. It was another early Easter year, and the year I had the chicken pox right at that very time.

I don’t remember a lot about it; it is so crazy what you keep in your memory drawer. I would have been seven years old, and in the second grade. I was itchy, of course, and covered in crusty, gross spots. I believe it was a two-week break from school if you got chicken pox back then, and then that ran up against Easter break, so I was out for a bit. I remember soaking in some sort of bath to help the itching, and I remember my best friend dropping off a giant pile of schoolwork and art projects that were sent home, but she couldn’t come in. One of those was a big, decorated shamrock that I created in art class for St. Patrick’s Day so that helps me narrow down the time frame. The other thing is Easter happened, and the fact that I had to miss dinner at Aunt Mary’s house because it was near the end of my contagious time. Thinking about it now, that made no sense. My brother and sister went with my mom, while dad and I hung out at home waiting for leftovers. They were exposed to me and hadn’t come down with them………yet. That must have been a delightful six (ish) weeks for my mother.

I don’t remember the bunny coming (but he did), or what was in my basket that year. I’m sure I hunted plastic eggs with my siblings inside the house. We never did that outside; remember I’m in northern WI where there is currently six plus inches of snow on the ground. What I do recall is lying in my mom’s rocker recliner, gently rocking it, waiting for my dinner, and watching The Wizard of Oz, which was often on tv Easter night.

Sometimes holidays are like that. Often times life is too hard to find the will to celebrate, or circumstances get in the way. We do the best with what we have at the time. I remember the Thanksgiving right after my niece Cece passed away. I just said “nope”, and that was that. We might have had pizza, and we didn’t go anywhere. One Christmas a few years back, prior to Covid, there was an ice storm, and we couldn’t get into town where my family was celebrating. The Uncle and I ate frozen pizza and played the family game over the phone. We still call it “frozen pizza Christmas”, and The Uncle says it was the best ever. I was so mad. I delivered hugs and gifts the next day. When Covid hit, we did frozen pizza Christmas again, and did a gift exchange over zoom. I delivered the gifts, minus hugs to everyone a few days prior, and we took turns finding out who our Secret Santa was and opening presents. I still can’t believe that really happened.

I did start this chat on Easter Sunday, but then life stepped in, and I’m finishing it on Tuesday. We didn’t get to do our traditional kite flying, now with the third generation, because of rain, but at least the temps stayed just warm enough so that there wasn’t an ice storm, and a frozen pizza Easter! We were able to be together, and that’s what’s important.

Here, make yourself a ham sandwich before you go! Kate had plenty of leftover and it is delicious! As always, drive safe, watch for deer, and BE WHO YOU ARE!

Auntie loves you!

If you would like to support my work:

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I really like listening to audio books while I’m drifting off to sleep. It’s very cozy, like someone reading me a bedtime story. The problem is that I usually fall asleep before the fifteen-minute sleep timer I set, and it takes way too long to finish a book that way. I end up borrowing the book multiple times, and you can’t always do that consecutively. My books come from the Hoopla, or Libby apps, which are connected any local library. Both apps had much more variety before this administration slashed funding, but I can usually find something I’m interested in. If I can’t, I borrow “Jane Eyre” on Hoopla to fill in the blanks. When the book I am listening to is really interesting, I might hit the timer on the app for another fifteen minutes, but after that’s finished, I’ll think about what I’ve read (listened to) and drift off to sleep. Does this work at 3am to get back to sleep? No, it doesn’t seem to, no matter how boring the book is.

Are you picky about your sleep space? I am the worst. No tv, no light, other than the book I am listening to. The Uncle usually comes to bed much later than I do because he wants the tv on all night long. He also wants to snuggle, and I had been miserable with hot flashes at night. He snores. He also will admit to being a general pain in the neck if he isn’t tired enough to sleep right away, so I am very used to curling up alone in my little cocoon. I also got a “Mellow” pillow a few months ago, and I am in love! It has helped me stay asleep even more than the HRT. I wake up with a lot less soreness, because it’s better positioning for your head and neck. Bonus! It’s also made with a cooling material and pillowcase, so you don’t get too warm.

So, what do I do when I wake up at 3am and I know it’s going to be a fight to get back to sleep? First, I swear about it, especially if The Uncle is in bed snoring. Second, I “gently” encourage him to roll over away from me. :) Third, I lay there for a while, going over various missteps in my life, or things that are currently irritating me, the state of the world, etc. etc. etc. I might turn the audio book on, forgetting that it’s not going to help. Some folks say that you should just get up if you are wide awake, but I don’t want to be up. I want to be snuggled and comfy. There is one fool proof thing I can do to get back to sleep. It keeps my mind busy, which for me is key. Will it work for you? Hard to say, but it’s worth a shot! Here’s my secret!

I basically create a story, well not that exactly, It’s a memory. I go back in time and think of something pleasant, or fun, but it isn’t that simple. The first thing I do is pick a year, and so far, it has always been in the nineteen seventies, because that’s where my best memories are. I ask myself, what would I have done today if it were 1978? How old would I be? What year in school would I have been in? If it’s a school day I think of the morning routine at home, the bus ride, the school itself, of the teacher, the classroom, my friends. I literally go through the entire day thinking about the smallest detail, until I fall asleep. My mind never floats away on a tangent, and I always fall asleep before getting to the end of the day.

I did flip the channel on myself the other night, and that was a first. It brought up a funny childhood memory that I will tell you next time. “Two Holidays, and the Chicken Pox.” I started out with “What would I be doing if it were 1975” as usual, and I figured out that it would have been spring in kindergarten but then realized if I flipped to 1977 it would be when I had the chicken pox. Then I remembered what I could and decided to tell you about it for Easter this year, before I drifted off to sleep. It really is that simple, but if you know how my mind works, it’s pretty complicated. I challenge myself to remember every little detail, and I have a pretty great recall. (Just don’t ask me what I’m supposed to finish up before the day is done.) Now, however, it’s time to say goodnight! If you want to stay over, your room is ready, as always. I’ll make sure The Uncle keeps the living room tv on low. If you’re heading home, watch for deer!

As always, BE WHO YOU ARE

Auntie loves you

If I seem a little frazzled, I am, and not just because the groceries that usually cost fifty dollars were almost eighty, although that, and the flat out lying about it, are really burning my biscuits. When I cruised through the doors of my local Aldi, where I love to shop, I was met with unfamiliarity, and immediate horror. The pulled pork was right there on my left, where the crackers and snacks should have been, and fresh produce was to my right. What the hell? Oh no……

Let me tell you what kind of shopper I am. I do not browse. The only store you might catch me wandering in for a minute is, in fact, Aldi, and only in the aisle where they put the seasonal and quirky “new finds”. I do also enjoy browsing the vast selection of cheeses, but they are always in the same spot. I shop with a list, and before cell phones, when I physically wrote it down, my list was organized by section, and by my walking path through the store. Get in, get out, get home. Even though my list is currently an ap on my cell, and it lists sections alphabetically I still have a path that I follow, and I know what to expect.

Expectations have always gotten me into trouble, and I have learned over the years to lessen them. While that isn’t always a good thing, it does save a lot of heartache down the line. I have a really vivid imagination, and most things could never live up to the way I think they could, or should be, and that’s on me. I also do not, I repeat, do NOT like surprises, or change. Change of any kind takes me a minute. So, when I walked into Aldi, I was immediately disoriented, and angry. Where the hell is my chocolate??? Why would they do this to me??

First, I had to check myself, then slow my pace, and accept the fact that I was going to have an adventure, whether I liked it or not. I was hovering near the cheese, which is one of the things they didn’t move, when a very young employee asked if he could help me find something. I laughed and said, “Uh, everything, but I’m managing.” He reminded me that he was there to help if I needed it. I thanked him and continued on my way. No need for my inner turmoil to spill over onto an employee who had no control over the situation, I will never understand folks who do that.

So, I slowly ambled up and down the aisles, trying to learn the new layout, adding various items to my cart, when I realized I hadn’t grabbed the deli mac and cheese, you know, the kind you just re-heat. Hmmm…. it used to be by the pulled pork, so back to the beginning we go! Nope. Not there. Well, cheese and crackers! Where else would it be? After letting out a giant sigh, I rolled my cart up to where I had encountered the helpful teenager. Oh, you know he wasn’t there, just an empty cart from which he had been unloading things. I stood there, frustrated, for a moment. Mac and cheese was going to be part of dinner, and I do NOT want the boxed kind. As I turned to find someone else to help me, I noticed what was in the case next to the one he had been filling. You guessed it, my mac and cheese. Was he ever really there, or just a spirit guide to remind me that when we get into tough or frustrating situations it’s ok to ask for help? (That’s a joke, but hyper independence is a giant issue for me.) Cue eerie music. I guess we’ll never know.

When I reached the checkout gal, she asked, as always “Did you find everything alright?” Now, I could have said my piece, let out some of my angst, but again, not her fault. I just smiled and said, “I did! It was like a little treasure hunt, and I got everything.” I am proud of myself, because it was “crabby girl” and she would have been an easy target.

GRAB A CUP OF COFFE AND SIT.

I started writing this the night after shopping, so it was Thursday morning. A funny piece about my anxiety, and how something like changing the aisles in a grocery store can throw me (and many others that I know) into a tailspin. Now it’s Sunday morning, and we are at war, having attacked another country without congressional approval, etc, etc, etc. Innocent people are dead. CHILDREN are dead, and it looks like very purposefully so.

I want to be crystal clear that I am fully aware that being able to be irritated by someone changing the layout in a grocery store is a “first world problem”. I am fortunate to have access to food, and the means with which to buy it. My original thought was to just kill this piece; it has been so difficult to write humor with this shitshow of an administration wreaking havoc on everything, but instead I’m using it as perspective to shed a light on how we think our tiny little issues are so big an important, when people are actually suffering.

We still need humor, and we definitely need a break from (gestures wildly) all of this. So, I’m still here in The Corner, encouraging you to “Be Who You Are”, and offering you a break from the madness once in a while.

Speak up, speak out, call your reps, help where you can!

Buy me a coffee!

Auntie loves you

I fight the good fight in the real world, and on my other social platforms daily. I also post politically in notes on here, but I feel like this writing space needs to be softer. I need to keep this part of me softer, for balance.

So I'm about to do what we Wisconsinites do when things are uncomfortable. We talk about the weather!

Each year we get a little peek at spring, and then a good six more weeks of winter. That peek ends today, in about three hours, when freezing rain begins, and a winter storm with 15 inches of snow predicted for parts of our area follows. The wind is already raging straight off Lake Superior. The storm warning begins tonight at 9pm.

This morning, when I was out playing with Loki, in a light jacket, no hat, no mitts, and tennis shoes on, I stopped to soak up the sun, and admire the light blue sky with feathery clouds whisping across in the strengthening winds. My mind goes to where it always does when it's gorgeous, yet I know for certain a storm is coming. How on earth did people survive in these harsh winters without warning? It's hard enough sometimes when we have good information.

It has been soft weather for about a week now, it actually hit fifty twice. If you were new to this area in say the 1800s, you wouldn't know not to ever trust that and stray too far from shelter. You wouldn't know to always be prepared. If you made that mistake it could very well mean your life.

My Great Grandmother followed her husband here from Belgium, with two small children, around 1900. I can't recall the year without looking it up, but that isn't the point, so we'll leave it. The point is that she arrived in the fall, and in the spring, after one winter here, she and said children were back on a boat to Belgium. My Great Grandfather followed, and thankfully for me (not her, gosh she had a rough life) he somehow convinced her to return to the US with him, and a few years later they had my Grandpa. Emma was her name. Emma and Edward from Belgium. Geez, I certainly wasn't going down that road today. It's funny where my mind wanders, and I just drag you along for the ride. Her whole story deserves to be told though. One of these days we'll grab a cup of coffee, a box of kleenex, a few old pictures, and I'll share it. Just one story of immigrants on my family tree. There are so many others.

I hope this finds you well, and warm! Till next time, be who you are!

Auntie loves you.

Buy me a coffee!

Buy me a coffee

Many of you know that I am located in Northern Wisconsin, and we sit right on the border with Minnesota, our two cities are called “The Twin Ports.” The Uncle worked in MN for most of his career before retiring. We have family and friends in the Minneapolis area. I stand in solidarity, rage, and grief with my brothers and sisters there. I would, no matter what part of the world I lived in, actually, because that’s who I am. I would hope it is who most of us are.

The world feels so heavy right now, and this is the harshest time of the year, at least in our area. I know many of you are in middle of a snowstorm, but that missed us this time. The arctic air (it’s sixteen below at almost nine in the morning) pushed down onto us and sent our snow down onto you. Sorry, not sorry, my car won’t start, the kitchen pipes are actively trying to freeze, no matter what we do, and Loki is continually asking to go out and play, because he can’t get a lot of outside time right now. The weather has been this way since Thursday. Temps will come close to zero today, and then a few degrees above zero tomorrow. Little by little we’ll get back to our normal. You can keep the snow, we have enough, and our snowiest month is actually March, so you can bet we’ll be getting more!

I just looked up the term bleak midwinter; I always have it in my head at this time of year but never knew where it came from. I collect a lot of nuggets like that. It is actually a hymn! I’ll give you the beginning:

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan

Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone

Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,

In the beak midwinter, long ago.

Christina Georgina Rosetti c.1872

Yep, that fits.

I remember one winter storm from when I was very little, the power went out during the night, and the house was freezing. In the mid 1970’s our home was only about twenty years old, but it didn’t have the best insulation. My folks had it resided and well insulated, along with putting in new windows in the early 1980’s. It may have been a snow day for me, but just me. This is a very early memory. My Mom had us all in our warmest footy pajamas, bundled up in blankets in the living room. I know it was a weekday, because my dad was home from work, and that was rare, and odd back then. He used some kind of a torch to heat up tomato soup for us for lunch. That’s all I remember, being amused at the weirdness of the day, snuggling up with my siblings, listening to the wind roar, and being amazed that dad could heat up soup like that. I’m sure that he went out to shovel every hour and came in frosty and full of snow. He was obsessed like that when it snowed. Possibly because his second child was born in a blizzard, and he and mom had to walk two blocks to the main highway where a police officer met them and brought them to the hospital. No, we weren’t rural, the plows just hadn’t been out yet on the side streets. The doctor rode a snowmobile in to work that day and delivered their second child, safe and sound. Can you imagine trudging through deep snow, in a blizzard, while in labor? Yikes.

I just remember being cozy and safe. Would that we all could be.

Take some time to do something for yourself today.

Buy Me a Coffee

Be who you are.

Help where you can.

Auntie loves you.

We also have a Sunday brunch tv series that we regularly watch. Currently it’s Northern Exposure. We were interchanging that with Supernatural, but they took it off of Netflix. Boo. It isn’t like we haven’t seen all of it, but still. There will be football today, but that part of the Sunday routine is coming to an end for the season. NASCAR will pick up for The Uncle, but in the last few years it has been primarily on channels we don’t have, so “la di da.” Two years ago, I paid something like eighty dollars a month for Sling so he could watch on all of the channels that NASCAR uses now, but he didn’t watch much. Last year I told him, “Cough up the cash or forget it.” He chose the latter and just watched the few races that were on network tv. No skin off my nose. To say that racing is not my thing would be an understatement.

I can’t tell you how much I am enjoying this cozy time with you. The snow is lightly falling outside my large patio doors and the chickadees and bluejays are having breakfast at the feeders. There’s the occasion sound of Gracie chattering at the birds, and the furnace kicks on and off (it’s 3 below outside). The blue jays are so striking against the new white snow. Loki has moved to lookout position; he might need to pop outside to patrol for squirrels. Yep, just open the door and let him go. He’ll stay back here where we can see him. He’s border trained, and while I don’t trust that without at least an eye in his general direction, it has never been an issue. Smart boy. Yes, it does take a lot of training time to achieve that. Jake was border trained too, and he loved to patrol the entire perimeter, usually with me tagging along, several times a day, and at least once in the middle of the night, which was usually The Uncle’s turn. Loki, of course, came along too. The minute Jake died last Spring, those walks stopped. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who was being bullied into going.

Back in the days of newspapers being delivered to your doorstep, The Uncle and I would read the paper after Sunday brunch and work the larger Sunday crossword together on the couch, while we watched whichever sport was on. I happened to be at the gas station last Saturday and picked up the weekend edition of a local paper, so we did that. Newspapers just aren’t the same these days. I already knew all of the news articles, there really weren’t any ads to speak of, the comics section was still there, but there were three shorter crosswords, no giant Sunday one. The Sunday paper back when I was a kid in the seventies, was a thing to behold. Each section was as big as the entire paper I bought last weekend. A person would have to have a strong arm to deliver all of those! That’s how we got the paper back then. A newspaper carrier (the paperboy) would deliver the evening edition, and/or the Sunday paper to your front door. Usually, it was a boy on his bicycle. He would also have to “collect”, stop at each house and collect money for the paper each month too. Not a fun job, but many young boys started out their working lives that way. Either to help their family, learn work ethic, or provide for their own wants above room and board. Different times, to be sure. My best friend V had a route (or it might have been her older sister’s job, and she filled in) delivering The Manney Shopper on Saturday mornings, it was a special paper full of ads and classifieds. The internet wasn’t invented yet, so job postings, and things for sale were all in the papers. I helped her from time to time, but it was boring, and hard work. No thanks. I stuck with babysitting. (beginning at age eleven)

I try not to have too many chores around the house to do on Sundays, but the weeks where I work six out of seven days, it’s hard not to. Even so, I will break them up between times of just relaxing, inside or out. I’ll toss my snow pants on later and just spend some time sitting outside with Loki and the birds, breathing in the fresh crisp winter air. It’s so important, especially right now, to have downtime. Unplugged downtime in particular.

Sunday dinner is also a tradition in our house; one I’ve carried over from childhood. (breakfast is too) Mostly I do it because who in the heck wants to figure out or cook dinner on Monday night? Not me. Whatever we make on Sunday is going to be Monday night dinner too, guaranteed. I say we, because sometimes The Uncle makes chili during the winter, or in the summer we’ll do the grilling together. Tonight, it’s going to be hamburger soup. We had roast beef dinner in the crock pot last Sunday, and I saved the drippings. I’ll put that in the pot, (or use beef broth or stock) a pound of cooked ground beef, and a full can of several vegetables, (whatever you like) juice and all. So simple, and so good! I heat it up to boiling, then I turn it off. Season it to your tastes, and voila, two nights you don’t have to figure out what’s for dinner, or it would feed a family of 6 easily. Sometimes I make grilled cheese on night two, but we have so many left-over crackers from Christmas around here that we’ll finish those up!

Look at that, a chat and a recipe! Aren’t you the lucky one this morning? :) It’s almost time to wake up The Uncle, and get this lazy day started, but there’s nothing better than this Sunday quiet time with you! Funny, I was going to tell you a story about the seventies and winter, over this cup of coffee, but that isn’t where the conversation went. Next time love, promise. We just go where my mind wanders.

In other news, putting steel wool into the gaps where the mice can get in seems to have done the trick. Cross all your fingers and toes! I still can’t believe I tossed a mouse in the sink….. hilariously disgusting.

Buy Me A Coffee

Have a wonderful Sunday and a fabulous week!

Be who you are!

Auntie loves you.

True to form, I planned to write something on my one year substack anniversary, so I was all set to publish something today. No set agenda or plan, just a thank you to my subscribers. Something to mark the passing of time, and wonder at the volume of people who follow and/or subscribe. So here I am, ready to go, and it's the wrong day. 🙃 I'm literally a day late and a dollar short. (Car repairs) January 12, 2025 (yesterday) is the day I first published on Substack. No goals, no expectations, just me sharing ideas, life experience, or stories from growing up in the 70's and 80's.

I often wonder why some things take off, and others lie flat, there honestly doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason to it. Do I take it into account when I write? Nope. I write for one person, me. I'm not trying to be anything I'm not, what you see is what you get, and I think that might be what resonates with people.

I'm excited to see what this next year will bring! I've added the “buy me a coffee” feature to my work, although it probably won't be on this article because I'm writing with my phone, and true to form, I can't figure out how, or if I can add a button. If something I write moves you, makes you smile, or laugh out loud, I surely would appreciate the gesture!

I may add some other features as we continue that would be subscription, but I have firmly decided that these articles will always be free, no matter what the future brings. If there's something else you would like to see, or something else you'd like me to chat about feel free to reach out!

I try to keep these articles free of politics, but my notes on substack certainly aren't. With the way things are tipping, maybe I can provide a few minutes of sanity, and comfort from times when things weren't so complicated, but make no mistake, I do not stand with this regime. I am very vocal on my other platforms, and in life, but that isn't what this space was built for. I figure we all have enough of it everywhere else. At least for now.

I've met some wonderful people here on substack, and I subscribe to some pretty amazing writers. Do yourself a favor, and check them out! No matter how gloomy the day, I always see something inspiring.

Thank you for being here! Be who you are!

Auntie loves you ❤️

I have three issues with country living, snakes, giant spiders, and mice. Living out in a very rural area, especially with the property being surrounded by hay fields on three sides, mice are going to get into the house, period. I, being a city girl (albeit a smaller city) was not used to such things, nor do I care for such things. I am, however, getting used to them, or so I thought.

We live in a newer ranch, and I don’t want it to sound like we have mice in the house constantly, that is certainly not the case. It is just something that is bound to happen. In fact, when we brought Gracie home almost three years ago the mice totally disappeared. She patrols the area where we believe they can sneak in, and the mice just stayed out. Perfect! Finally, a cat who can pull her own weight!

So, let me take you back a month or so to when our temps started dropping into the teens below zero at night. The first thing we do when winter really arrives, is leave the cupboards open under the kitchen sink. This lets the warm air from the house get in there and helps to keep the pipes from freezing. When it’s bitter cold we put an electric (safe) heater right in front of it, and it works like a charm. The only issue seems to be that the warmer area will draw mice. The insulation around those pipes was never done correctly, and when the house was new the pipes froze solid. The Uncle cut a hole in the cupboard floor to get to reach the problem and unthaw them. When he “fixed” it he left a gap where a mouse could squish through if they really wanted to. I thought we had it secure. I was wrong.

Every time we’ve had to use the heater, we’ve woken up to a dead mouse, or to the cats chasing one around the house. I have lived out here for twelve years, and I’ve finally reached the point where I don’t run and hide in the bedroom, putting a towel under the door so the mouse can’t get me, but ish. Just ISH! No thank you.

That brings us to New Years Eve. We had a few friends over for snacks and beverages, nothing fancy, just a cozy new year gathering. I made boozy hot chocolates, and those mugs really can’t go in the dishwasher without soaking them. In fact, I’m better off just washing them out by hand, which I did not feel like doing at 11:00 pm after watching the ball drop. (We’re central time) So I set them to soak in the sink.

I actually worked on New Years Day, and I wasn’t feeling “dishes” when I woke up, so I stacked a few in the left-hand sink that I wanted to hand wash, dumped the water out of the soaking mugs, and added them to the pile. No clients the next day, so I promised myself I’d get to it the next morning. You think you know where this is going, but I assure you, it’s much worse.

Saturday morning, I woke up and did my regular routine, dog out, feed the birds, dog in, feed the cats, clean the litterbox, supplements for the dog, feed the dog. Is the water dish full? Then, since I was actually home on a Saturday, I thought I would make breakfast for us. While getting that started, I ran water in the empty sink to wash the dishes that had been waiting. I popped a few fancy serving dishes from the party into the sink and washed them up, no problem.

It all went south when I grabbed a hot chocolate mug and plopped it into the water. In the span of one second, here are the thoughts that ran through my head. “Huh, that’s odd. A line of chocolate in the mug? I rinsed that out already. This mug feels heavy. OH MY GOD THERE’S A MOUSE IN THE MUG!” Plop. Now there was a mouse swimming in my soapy dishwater. I was screaming at the top of my lungs, while it was desperately trying to climb out of the sink. “There’s a mouse in the sink! I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what to do” I can hear laughing from “the hero” in the other room. No help is coming, and I can’t watch it drown, IN MY SINK! I flew into action, scooped it up into the mug, along with the dishwater, and flung all of it out the patio door.

After sterilizing everything, and finishing the dishes, I checked out the door, expecting to see a mousesickle in the snow, but it was gone. I hope it lived somehow, just outside of my house. Can you imagine? You snuggle up for a nice nap, hiding from the resident mouse killer in a cozy mug that smells of chocolate only to be suddenly dropped into a sink of soapy hot water. You’re immediately swimming for your life, but not able to gain any purchase on the sink wall. Some crazy woman is screaming at the top of her lungs, and then you’re back in the mug, clinging for your life on the edge. One second later you, and the water are flying through the air, only to land, soaking wet on a snowbank in the freezing cold. I felt bad. I still feel bad. Ew….

I have since gotten down on my hands and knees and investigated the area under the sink myself. There was still an area behind the drainpipe where access was easy enough. It is now filled with steel wool. Supposedly they won’t chew through it, and it should still allow the warmer air to flow into the area to keep the pipes from freezing when we dip way below. Thankfully we haven’t seen any of that weather in the new year, but I know it’s only a matter of time. February in northern Wisconsin is brutal.

How I ever thought the mouses tail was a line of chocolate I will never know. It was probably my brain protecting me from the reality of the situation. Brains are funny like that.

Here’s hoping for a better week. I hope you had a laugh or two at my expense. It’s ok. I can take it. :)

Be who you are!

Auntie loves you.

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Taking down the holiday decorations was on today’s afternoon list of things to do. I kept mentioning it, but not doing it, because I really don’t want to. My upcoming schedule is going to be really busy, so want and need are colliding, but the house just seems so bare after the holidays! In this case it really will be, because the shelf area above the tv (we have a built-in area) that has housed my village (I do fall/Halloween/Christmas), and other decor for the last year or so, will be totally empty for a few weeks. The Uncle’s nephew bought him a new surround sound for Christmas and is coming to set it up mid-month. Normally my snowman collection would go there, so I will split that up in other locations around the house, because somehow having other decorations up makes taking down Christmas a little easier.

My Christmas decorations are all special to me. They either were given to me by a specific person, are in memory of someone, or they are from a time that was special to me. My tree isn’t themed, unless nostalgia is a theme, and I suppose in a way it is. I have a brand-new ornament this year from one of my clients. It will be on my tree as long as I’m around, and I will always remember her when I see it. I have an ornament that I cross stitched for my parents in my later teen years that I snagged when my mom was pitching most of her ornaments. There’s a memory ornament for my mom, and one for my niece, Cierra. I put them toward the back, because it’s a painful reminder, but I know the ornaments are there. I have ornaments gifted from family, friends, The Uncle, and from my little preschool students. There is even one from the very first set of ornaments I ever bought for myself.

The things that are most precious to me are the ornaments that are NOT on this tree. They are the ornaments from my youth. They are glass, and very fragile, definitely not able to stand up to Gracie knocking over the tree, which has happened in the past. I’m not willing to take a chance with them, so I spent some time looking at each one when I took the ornaments out this year, and I’ll do the same when I open up the box to put them away. Gracie is also the reason we use the small tree. I do have a full-sized tree put away in the big closet.

The tree itself is full of memories. As you can see in the picture, it’s only four-feet high. My Mom bought it when she decided to purge all the old decorations and buy a pre lit, white light, simple tree that suited her better. The first year that I remember her using it, was the year of my first divorce. I guess that was Christmas 1999. I was living in my sister’s spare room, and Mom and I shared the holiday eve together, as everyone else was celebrating with their in-law’s. We didn’t do anything special, church I’m sure, she made me my favorite dinner, we most likely put together a breakfast casserole, and we probably watched “A Wonderful Life.” She used the tree for a few more years, until she passed in 2005 and it came to live with me. I’m not sure why I grabbed it, I had a bigger tree at the time. The first time I used the little tree was in 2007 after divorce number two, in my cozy apartment. I actually decorated it for several years before buying a bigger tree, but I still couldn’t part with it, so the little tree remained in storage until 2020. I brought it over to Cece’s house, and we decorated it with all the ornaments that she made in school or was given over the years. Her mom and I thought it would be fun, and she did enjoy looking at the lights, but she wasn’t thrilled about decorating it with us. After Cece passed in 2022 the little tree came back to live with me. I feel like someday, when someone has to go through my things for the final time, this tree, and most of these ornaments will still be in my possession. No matter what, no matter where.

Am I the only one who is this sentimental about Christmas decorations? The rest of my family certainly aren’t. Well, with the exception of Preston and his older sister, the Puggles Mom. I know that some of these things will go to them, and they will treasure them. I’ve already handed over the most special advent calendar to The Puggles Mom, and Preston has been asking for my village since he was a child! What about you? Do you save things with special memory attached, or do you do a theme tree? Do you care, or is it just another job to put up the tree and take it down? Enquiring minds want to know!

You’ll notice a new addition to the Cozy Corner. I now have the “Buy me a Coffee” button, thanks to Preston! If something I write happens to touch your heart, feel free to buy me a coffee! Everyone is welcome in the corner, so I have no current plans for content that is subscription only.

As always, BE WHO YOU ARE!

Auntie loves you!

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On the last day of this crazy year, I wish you peace. Peace of mind, heart, and soul. Let us step gently into this new year, with a firm resolve to actively make this world a better place.

I used the word resolve, which leads down the path to making resolutions, something I no longer do. I set intentions instead, and usually well before this night. On solstice I wrote them (as I always do) on a piece of paper, and tossed them into the fire with our Yule log.

I also pick a word for the new year. Last year I chose the word BRAVE. It led me to give Substack a try, and somehow I now have 2,500 subscribers and 7,000 followers. Thank you for that. I appreciate each and every one of you. The word I chose for this year is INTENTIONAL. I will be intentional with my time, my writing, my work, and my relationships. We'll see where that leads!

So I'm going to tip toe into this new year gently, with firm intent. I encourage you all to pick your own word, and set your own course. We'll be celebrating in the Cozy Corner with snacks and a few friends, then I'm right back at in in the morning. This coming weekend will be my Christmas with The Goovers, and I can not wait!!

That reminds me, while I have Preston here I'm going to finally set up the “buy me a coffee” button. My writing is never going behind a pay wall, but I'll make the option available.

So adios 2025. I'm glad you're done. May we all have a better 2026!

Happy New Year!

Be who you are!

Auntie loves you!

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You want to hear a Christmas story? Okay, I have so many to pick from. I was talking to my siblings about a few times I should have been on the naughty list, so let’s talk about that. Luckily for me I was not caught, or it happened after presents were doled out. I’m not sure if Mom would have actually tattled to Santa or not, but apparently, I was willing to take the chance.

Once upon a December 1976, I do believe, my sister got a Frankenstein, (Hmmmm what do you call those things?) punching bag. It was about four feet tall and had sand in the bottom so if you punched it over it would straighten itself back up. Our ages would have been 7,6, and almost 5. My best friend V was there also, and she had just turned 8. We were up in my and Kate’s room, playing with all of our Christmas toys, and somehow, I got the idea that just like in the cartoons, if we all sat on it and popped it with a pin we would fly around the room as it let out air. I convinced everyone this was the case, with no malice intended, I really thought it would work! I don’t really remember my brother Jerry being a part of this stunt, but when I asked him about it, he remembers us talking about flying him out the second story window on it, so he probably was. (That might have had some malicious intent.)

I snuck downstairs, and probably pretended to use the bathroom, then beelined into the living room to the end table by the side of Moms rocker. She had a cloth “tomato” that had all of her pins stuck into it. I snitched the biggest one and scooted my butt back upstairs. Where was Mom? Well, most likely due to the early afternoon time of day, she was in the kitchen, on the phone with Aunt Pat. This would have been a day or two after Christmas, and we, of course, were on break.

I remember it wasn’t easy to get the dang thing to stay tipped over for all of us to get on. After several failed attempts we all managed to get a seat, straddling the punching bag. I was in the back, armed with my pin, and as God as my witness I thought we would fly. We all hung on tight, and I stuck the pin into the punching bag. Here we go! Nothing. I stabbed it a few more times, and we slowly sunk to the ground. Rats. Oh no…….. Now Katy was crying, because we ruined her punching bag, and she’s off on a tattle! I thought I was toast, but true to her “Silent Gen” parenting skills, all that happened was this. “Catherine Marie, if you are that stupid, that’s what you get.” Katy probably cried on the steps for a bit, and the rest of us more than likely bundled up and got out of there before we caught hell. Putting the needle back in its spot on our way!

Fast forward a few years, and I got my first camera for Christmas, complete with film. One of the first things I did was make Kate cry and take her picture. Why? I don’t know. I owe her some therapy money, I’m sure. Well, probably more for this next one, that she claimed earlier today as “the worst Christmas ever”. When we were about eleven and almost nine, I found the bag of Christmas presents that my mom had “hidden” in the upstairs closet in a big black garbage bag. Jerry does not remember this, and I don’t remember him being there either, but Kate and V definitely were. When I first found them, I just looked into the bag myself, Mom must have been home and I didn’t want to get busted. Then there was a moment where she wasn’t home, and Dad was absolutely oblivious, so I dragged the bag into our room, and we went through it. I had asked for a set of these little sample perfumes, there were maybe twenty of them. Kate vividly remembers me sitting on my bed smelling each one, as do I. Neither of us remember what she got, but she claims that because she knew what she was getting the suprise was ruined, and it was the worst Christmas ever. Me? No. I was excited to know that I was getting exactly what I wanted. Suprises are overrated. I am kind of awful that way. I know what I want, and if I have asked for what I want, I had better get it. After the “billfold” Christmas, (somehow, The Uncle misread bird feeder) I usually ask him for cash and buy my own. Everyone is happy.

Our baby brother was born in 1978, two months before Christmas. We used to love holding him up to the light up snowman to see if he would scream. He did not disappoint. Mom would yell “What’s wrong with the baby?” from the other room. “Nothing! hehehehe” would be the reply. That’s what you get with a nine- and eight-year-old in charge of the baby. Those were the seventies. Mom was probably finishing up making dinner and having a cocktail with Dad in the kitchen.

When my sister and I were in our teens, the Priest at church mentioned the lore, in which animals can talk at midnight on Christmas Eve. Kate decided that she would stay up and talk to our dog, Itsy, at midnight. I’m sure I was up reading, and she was bothering me, so I was probably less than kind about it. I’m sure I told her that it was nonsense, and to go to bed. At midnight she crept down to the basement, but alas, he did not speak. Upon her return I asked her how it went in my best snarky tone. She yelled at me that he didn’t talk, and it was my fault, because I was a non-believer. She went to bed sad. I laughed and continued reading my book.

The last one actually did get me in some hot water, but it is the Christmas gift that keeps on giving. My baby brother’s wife is named Elise. Now it’s a long story, but she lived with my mom and my siblings for a few years, so she is more like a sister than an in-law. One year it dawned on me that “Feliz Navidad” and “Elise is a snot”, sound vaguely the same. I may have sang it in front of her child, who then repeated it at the dinner table, (WHY?!) and got myself in trouble with Davy. However, every year I at least say the correct version, or hum it to her. She knows. We ALL know. (yes, I’m laughing)

I asked my siblings if they had anything to add, or any other things that would have landed me on the naughty list, and the only one who had anything to say was the baby. He thinks one of us put his name on a keyboard in a Christmas wish book (remember those) that we ourselves wanted. He got it, wouldn’t play with it, and apparently because of that mom wouldn’t get him a different instrument that he really did want in a future year. I don’t remember doing that on purpose, and I don’t think my sibs would have either. I believe he may have been the victim of our mother mixing up her children again. I, myself, asked for a keyboard one Christmas, that my brother Jerry got. I also asked for a telescope one Christmas, that my brother Jerry got. Etc. I would remember if I did that on purpose to get one for myself, as I am the ONLY child who plays piano. I was usually nice to Davy though, other than the snowman. Now if Kate was telling the story, who knows? Maybe Santa will bring her another punching bag! Maybe she’ll get an ornament with the crying picture on it? Oh, that would be good. I’m sorry I’m thinking of this so close to the holiday! Well, there’s always next year.

Wishing you a very Merry Christmas!

BE WHO YOU ARE

Auntie loves you!

I'm an odd duck, and winter is my second favorite season of the year. My preferences are:

1.Fall

2. Winter

3. Summer

4. Spring

Why do I like Winter so much? Well, first of all, it's stunningly beautiful. The landscape changes with every snowfall. Is there anything better than walking down a country lane on a cold, clear, starry winter night? I don't think so. On sweltering summer days I dream of it! The crisp, biting air on my cheeks, the sound of my boots crunching the snow. Starry winter skies in the country, away from city lights, take my breath away. (Sometimes literally.) I do not ever dream of sweltering summer days, I assure you.

Another thing I love about Winter is the inward pull that the season brings. It just begs you to slow down and be cozy, and there is nothing wrong with that. We're so conditioned to go,go,go! I'm all about the comfort foods, and cozy atmosphere that earlier nights, and cold weather bring. Now, by February I might be singing a different tune, depending on how harsh the winter has been. By April I will be well over it. The latest blizzard I have seen here was on May 7, and that is beyond rediculous.

I love the Winter solstice, and each year we pick out a Yule log, write down some intentions for the coming year, and have a bonfire. Winter bonfires:are the best. We haven't done one yet this year. There's plenty of cocoa on hand, plus I'm pretty sure there's some peppermint schnapps in the cupboard if you want a little "bump”.

In the past I have enjoyed sledding, cross country skiing, snowshoeing, and (my very favorite) ice skating. I guess I have been a snowmobile passenger a few times too. It's going to snow, so you might as well enjoy it!

Winter, to me, is also a season of life. I can't really give an opinion on it, since I'm not there yet. I'm still enjoying the warm early days of autumn. Am I afraid of getting older? No. To me it means wiser, and I'm all about that. I think the key to enjoying the winter of your life could be to fully live the other three seasons, as best you can, storing those memories away for the days ahead, then embracing whatever Winter brings. Just like the season of the year, be prepared, but meet it with a joyful heart and open mind. That really sounds pretty “Pollyanna” of me, I know. I'm just not willing to waste time worrying about it. Too many people in my life barely made winter. Some of the most important didn't get anywhere close.

I've mentioned before that my Mom used to say “Life is what you make it.” It was dismissive, and I didn't care for it, but in the right context, it's correct. You can be happy, or miserable. It doesn't change the fact that it's going to snow. Do you want to build a snowman?? Auntie will put the kettle on for cocoa. I'm sure there's a sled around here somewhere!

BE WHO YOU ARE

Auntie loves you

I had high hopes for this holiday; expectations have been an issue for me since I can’t remember when. Just when I think I’m getting better with it, the universe sends a little surprise. I had visions of a semi romantic dinner, (at lunch time because of the Packer game) snuggling up to watch the Packers win (at least that happened), getting some holiday decorating done while the Cheifs played, then making turkey sandwiches from the lunchmeat I bought and binging Stranger Things for the rest of the evening. Maybe a starlit walk, possibly a bon fire. What a cozy little scenario….

Here’s how that went. The meal was delicious; I would recommend the buffet one hundred percent. Five stars. We were seated next to a couple and their young adult daughter with disabilities. Now, before you judge, keep reading. I work with two young adults who have different abilities and are both very unique individuals. I love them both to death. I took care of another young girl prior to that, with different abilities, who was also very unique, and I began with her immediately after my niece’s death, without issue. She has a very special place in my heart. I know, I know. We haven’t really talked about Cierra. It’s because, in part, it’s too difficult for me. This young lady sitting next to us looked nothing like her, but something struck me and struck me hard. I can’t explain it, but I had silent tears throughout the entire meal. It was awful. I couldn’t stop it, and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t focus on The Uncle, the food, any of it.

My self-talk during this time was certainly not kind. “What’s wrong with you.?” “Knock it off!” “CeCe has been gone for three years, why are you doing this NOW??” The Uncle and I still haven’t talked about it. I felt like if I said one word I would start ugly crying and screaming the unfairness of it all to the skies. I’m sure he knew what was up. We listened to the game on the way home. I wallowed for the rest of the day, because I needed to, and he napped off and on.

I did manage to make eye contact with the mom right after we sat down, and I gave her my best “I see you, I know how hard this is, you’re so welcome here, and we’re glad to sit next to you.” smile. Then as I listened to the daughter babble, I lost it. I quickly gained my composure, heard her say “Mama” over and over and I lost it. Once again, I gained my composure, heard the kindness in the servers’ voice when the mom apologized for the mess on the floor, and I lost it. They finished before us, and I still couldn’t keep it together. Just silent tears spilling down my cheeks at random while I tried to eat and not be a crazy person.

Yes, yes, I know I’m not crazy. It’s grief. Grief came to Thanksgiving. A very unwelcome, uninvited guest, that I just had to set another place for. She’s funny like that, showing up when you least expect her. I hope she’s just visiting and not planning on hanging around for the entire holiday season. That would well and truly suck. I have no other words for it. I’ll give myself the grace I need, and a little kinder self-talk. Maybe she’ll head off down the road again or at least sit quietly by my side without causing a scene. Cheese and crackers.

I do intend to talk about Cierra more. I’ve never been able to write about her, because it just cuts too deep. My nephew asked if I would consider submitting a piece for his college magazine that comes out each Spring (he’s the editor) that is open to community members also. I think that’s the space for it, you’ll see why when it’s finished. It has to be an original to be published, so I’ll put it there first, then share it here.

I need to find the Kleenex box and go hack up the rutabaga. I truly hope you had a wonderful, relaxing holiday, and got to spend it the exact way you wanted to! Drive safe and watch for deer! They are definitely easier to spot with the new foot of snow we have on the ground!

BE WHO YOU ARE

Auntie love you!

I do remember a year or two back in the seventies and eighties, when I was growing up, where we didn’t have any snow on the ground at this time of year, but it definitely wasn’t the norm. As time has marched forward, it seems as like as not we’ll have snow for Thanksgiving, even a late one like this. The forecast shows that we might have some this coming Tuesday night, but I don’t think it’s going to be anything to write home about.

Thanksgiving? Well, this year, instead of spending the day feeding family and working my butt off I decided to take the day for myself. The Uncle and I will be heading into town to a local restaurant that does up a huge buffet. He started pitching a fit, until he found out there will be prime rib. (I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck.) We’ll be meeting his family for lunch out at his mom’s the day after. My family doesn’t do a big get together for this holiday. Sometimes my brother’s family comes over, if I’m cooking. Years ago, my siblings and their families all came to my house, but after the divorce I didn’t want all the nonsense and work and suggested it would be a good holiday for them to get together with their in-laws. Unless one of them wanted to do it.

With the lack of snow, we at least don’t have to worry about road conditions during our travels. It’s always in the back of the mind while making plans any time after November first. In fact, I’m traveling in two weeks to a Christmas festival in my favorite small town in Wisconsin, and I’ve got all my fingers and toes crossed that the weather co-operates. I hosted many family Christmas gatherings when I lived in town, but we don’t host them out here. There have been a few where the driving was dicey, and one year we had frozen pizza here alone because of an ice storm. We always refer to it as “frozen pizza Christmas” and The Uncle and I did that again on Christmas during covid when we all stayed apart and opened gifts on zoom. From that time on I’ve always had a frozen pizza here by Christmas Eve, just in case. Living out here also gets me out of bringing much, nothing they can’t stand to lose anyway, so it’s not a bad deal.

Growing up in the seventies, my mom and her sister traded off hosting Thanksgiving and Christmas. It was always more fun when Aunt Mary had Thanksgiving, and we hosted Christmas. They didn’t have kids, so there weren’t many toys at their house. Also, what kid wants to leave all the new stuff they just opened? Aunt Mary and Uncle Clate started wintering in Texas somewhere around 1980, and then both holidays were at our house.

My Mom’s brother and wife also came up from Madison for Thanksgiving from time to time, and sometimes, their son, who was old enough to be my father, would come by train, and we would pick him up at the station. That was kind of exciting. One holiday he brought my mom a bottle of wine, that broke in his suitcase. That was memorable! I remember being in my snow suit and sitting on a snowbank by the road waiting for Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Joe one year. I must have been only five or six. I also remember being eight or nine and waiting for them, but that year there was no snow. I had bundled up and went for a walk, ending up in the woods, as I often did. I think my brother Jerry was with me. I was boot skating on frozen puddles, killing time until guests arrived. Mom certainly didn’t want us under foot. She and Grandma were cooking up a storm!

Thanksgiving meal prep began the night before. After dinner and dishes we were no longer welcome in the kitchen. Mom would get out the big frying pan and sauté onion and celery in butter. It smelled so good when she added the sage! I remember watching her from the dining room, and sneaking in, grabbing a piece of dried bread that she had broken up in chunks in the big brown Americana Pyrex bowl on the table, soaking it in the butter mix, and hightailing it out of there. I burnt my mouth on my bounty, but it was worth it. She put apples in her stuffing, which was o.k. She put gizzards in her stuffing, which was not. In those days folks still stuffed their turkey with as much dressing as it could hold, and she did this right after she made it the night before, covered everything up with saran wrap, and let it sit overnight. I cannot remember a single one of us getting sick from that, but the thought of it now turns my stomach!

Now that I’m thinking of it, the pies were probably made that evening also, or that afternoon. Thanksgiving Day was for cooking the turkey, and then all the other sides that went with dinner. My favorite? I bet a solid half of you don’t even know what it is. Rutabaga! Mmmmmm the smell of Aunt Mary’s tiny kitchen when we walked in the door on Thanksgiving. Rutabaga! I am never without it for the holiday. Period. Even if we are elsewhere for the dinner I will make some to have with leftovers. It is a very pungent root vegetable. It also goes into my turkey soup!

That reminds me, it needs to go on my shopping list! I’ll be cooking up a little dressing, and a small ham on the weekend. There MUST be rutabaga! We aren’t really fond of regular pumpkin pie, but I have a great pumpkin cake recipe, so I’ll be making that for the gathering at his mom’s on Friday. I’m also working on a pumpkin/fall cookie recipe to call my own, so there will hopefully be some of those around too. It’s time to change up some of the old traditions. Last year we were talking about some of things that weren’t eaten and wondering why we even put them on the table. (Looking at you, cranberry gel.) The Uncle and I only like the breast meat of the turkey, and really aren’t all that fond of turkey period. We just do some things out of habit, or tradition, I guess.

As the sun sets over the field behind us there isn’t a cloud in the sky. It’s November twenty second, and the air doesn’t even feel crisp. You can smell snow when it is coming. Did you know that? Snow or not, the holidays are upon us, and I intend to make the most of them, whether it snows, whether we have to have a frozen pizza Christmas again, or if I can’t get to the festival. There is always something to be grateful for, and there are always memories to be made.

I hope that you have a wonderful week and get to celebrate with all your favorites! (people, food, places)

BE WHO YOU ARE

Auntie love you

Alrighty then, let’s get to it! I have some left-over burlap from last year, and I’m going to cut squares to fit over each of the five roses, but first I need to snip the bushes way back. The “popcorn” variety barely did anything this year, and is already really low to the ground, so we’ll leave that one be. The Goovers and I planted that one after my cat “Milkie” passed away three years ago. It represents all of the pets that we have loved. The pinks, planted in memory of our family members who have passed, were giant, as usual, so it will be left taller than the others, but we’re still taking most of it down. The mini reds, planted in memory of two who never made it here, were gorgeous, as usual, and Cece’s yellow roses were spectacular. It is always so hard for me to tuck the roses away, not knowing if they’ll make the winter, because each of the five plants are very, very precious to me.

Once each rose bush is at the right height, I’ll pop a square of burlap over them, and tie around it with some string. That sounds super simple, I assure you, it is not. It isn’t something you can keep gloves on and do, so you’re bound to get stuck with thorns a few times, the burlap is finicky about staying put, and the bending over and reaching is a real pain in the low back. This is the fifth year I’ve had the garden, and I do believe fall clean-up has gotten quicker each time! There’s something to be said for trial and error, and the final knowing of how to do a thing right

.

Time to get going on this, and you’ll need to grab the wagon and the rake. We’re going to use the giant leaves that fall from the Balm of Gilead trees by the driveway, so it’s a bit of a trek. They make an excellent cover, and insulator between the burlap and the snow. We’ll do four wagons full, then I’ll add more leaves during the week if I need to. This wind is really supposed to ramp up tomorrow and could undo all the work, but it can’t wait. I’ll try and block the area with my bench and see if that helps. We need a bit of snow to hold it all down, then my beauties will be cozy, safe, and warm all winter!

Do we rake the other leaves? No. This is the only leaf removal we do here. Oh, my goodness, we would be raking 24/7 for weeks! This is the country kiddo, they lay where they fall, and the later autumn, and spring winds will blow them away. If the leaves don’t fly away on the breeze they just break down into the earth, so…… why waste time? I wouldn’t rake if I were in town either, the downed leaves are home for a lot of creepy crawlies who hibernate. Mid-May I’ll rake these leaves off of the roses and just leave them in the yard to be blown away, or The Uncle will mulch them up with the first mow. Yes, mid-May. I know, it’s such a long time to wait. The temps just gets too cold here to open them up earlier. If we’re lucky it could be the end of April. Fingers crossed

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That looks great! Thanks for the assist. Why don’t you go see what The Uncle is up to, warm up by the fire, and give me a few moments to say goodnight to my beauties. It can get a little emotional, for so many reasons. We do the best we can, then just have to hope it was enough, and wait for Spring to come. So much of life is like that. Go on now, I’ll be along in a bit. Don’t forget, there are cookies for snack!

Auntie loves you,

BE WHO YOU ARE