I always say that New York is a great place to be from. What I mean by that – in all its grammatical clumsiness – is that I’m happy I get to return so often because I really do love New York.

Although I consider my “Escape from NY” to be what saved my family, it wasn’t because New York failed us. It’s more like we failed New York. I knew it was time to leave when I couldn’t even get a library card there. So, I took my family’s sketchy history to Florida where I can proudly say we have not failed.

New York will always be a huge part of our family fabric, and my recent visit reminded me of why I love my birth state – the food, the weather, the accents…add to that fun with forever friends and a healthy dose of sibling bonding – fuhgeddaboudit!

The word gratitude is tossed around a lot these days. Don’t get me wrong; I think this is actually a good thing.

When I was recently sick with Covid I made the comment that I was going to remember how I was feeling so I would be grateful when I felt better. It’s such a simple thing really but with how busy everyone is and how fast everything moves, we forget and lose sight of the little things to appreciate, like feeling well.

In preparing for this post, I read a lot about gratitude (and believe me, there’s no shortage of stuff out there). This was something that resonated with me:

Someone else is dreaming about the things you take for granted.

So simple, but something to think about.

Really. Think about it. Think about what you have that someone else might dream about. It could be something obvious, like a home. Or something simple, like enough to eat. How about feeling safe? Good health? Or, to quote Eddie Vedder, “To count on both hands the ones I love.”

Try it. If just for one brief moment once in a while. Maybe when you lay your head down at night, or while you’re brushing your teeth; maybe even while pumping gas; think about something for which you feel grateful.

Just maybe the secret to having it all is knowing that you already do.

Whether or not you consider yourself a fan of the space program, I highly recommend the four-part, docuseries, Space Shuttle Columbia: The Final Flight. It’s sad, of course, but so well done. It reminded me of how fortunate I was to witness up close and personal much of the space shuttle program and how that experience culminated – go figure – in writing.

When it was announced that the Space Shuttle program was ending, I sat down and poured out my feelings for the space plane, which mesmerized me from the first moment I laid eyes on it. Originally titled, I Love the Space Shuttle, I submitted my “masterpiece” to our local newspaper’s Op-Ed page.

I, of course, felt that all 837 words were perfect. So, when the editor at the time, John Glisch, told me it was too long and would have to be cut almost in half, I said, “Are you kidding? I couldn’t possibly say everything in so few words.”

“The Gettysburg Address is 272 words,” was his response.

Years later I went to work at Eastern Florida State College and who would be one of my co-workers, but one John Glisch.

I waited a few weeks after we were introduced to tell John my story.

“I used The Address line on you,” he chuckled. “That was a good one. It never failed me.”

If I’m being honest, the article below which ran on January 8, 2010, is much better than the wordy original.

Touché, John Glisch.

Read, write and cook. That was my answer when asked what I planned to do in retirement. The read and write part I get, but cook? I think I was simply caught off guard and said the first thing that popped into my head. I do like to cook, but does it deserve “Do what I love and love what I do,” status? (https://susanscribbles.com/about-me/)

I don’t think so.

Many years ago, someone convinced my parents that a child who wanted to play piano should play the accordion first. Let me just say that if you ever want to squash someone’s musical aspirations, place in her lap a funny looking instrument that weighs almost as much as she does, and that she may or may not have ever even seen before.

Unsurprisingly, I have absolutely no memory of how this all went down, but when I picture me at ten with this contraption (no offense), it’s no wonder.

In my parents’ defense, perhaps it was simply the only thing with a keyboard that they could get their hands on. It was the Sixties after all. We were still a long way from having Amazon trucks zipping around delivering anything a heart desires.

Fast forward to the present where I just received a keyboard from my wonderful family to put into action my recently modified retirement plan:

Read, write and play piano.

Wish me luck.

As I sit in the hospital waiting for my neighbor who is having carpal tunnel surgery, I’m ashamed to admit that when she told me she was having the surgery, my first thought was why bother?

She’s 86 years old after all. Why would she put herself through this?

But then I thought about our family’s beloved Uncle Rudy who had open heart surgery at 88 years old. He lived ten more years after that. Ten great years, I might selfishly add, because they included five wonderful family trips to Curacao to spend with him and his lovely wife, Jackie, as well as a few visits they made to us. Would we have had all those great memories if he hadn’t had that surgery?

My neighbor works in her yard from sunup to sundown. And I don’t mean picking flowers. We’re talking cutting down trees, even wielding a chainsaw when needed. She’s the only person I know who would cram 15 bags of mulch and a wheel barrel in her Corvette. (And, yes, she drives a Corvette!) Need I say more? Hopefully this surgery will provide her many more years to enjoy doing what she loves.

So certain is she of her longevity that she even got herself a puppy this year.

Shame on me for doubting her.

Growing up I spent a lot of time at the home of my best friends (“the twins”). Their mother was kind of a loud, domineering woman whom I loved dearly. She treated me as one of her own, hitting me with the wooden spoon just like she did her real kids. (It’s okay; it was the 70s.) She’s also the one who named me fish mouth. A name I no doubt deserved then and apparently still do.

At a recent lunch with friends, the conversation turned to the subject of online dating when I staunchly proclaimed, “I would never use one of those dating sites!”

What I should have said was, I know quite a few people who are in great relationships that started online.

One would think after fifty or so years I might have learned to think before I open my fish mouth. What can I say? Apparently, I am still a work in progress who could occasionally use a good whack with the wooden spoon.

Whenever the Olympics roll around, I am reminded of a favorite person of mine, my father-in-law, Bob Christianson. He’s actually my ex-father-in-law, but he told me once that I would never be an “ex” to him.

I interviewed Bob in 1999 for one of my writing classes. I’ve attached it in its entirety, but I’ll summarize by saying he was a world renowned, avid collector of Olympic memorabilia who attended all the Games from1976 to his death in 2016 – even in 1980 when the U.S. boycotted the Olympic Games in the Soviet Union.

As he did with most of his “kids,” Bob treated me to the Olympics. I attended the 1996 opening ceremonies in Atlanta with him. This was back when those ceremonies were simple and elegant, so it was a night to remember with Muhammed Ali lighting the Olympic flame, Gladys Knight singing Georgia On My Mind, and then-President Clinton formally opening the Games with a flyover by the Thunderbirds.

Thank you, Bob Christianson, for the memory of a lifetime.

As an aside, I would later learn that my future husband was also at those Games and that we both had tried our hand in the batting cage which simulated a major-league-speed pitch.

Years later, in my romantic-comedy-loving-mind I conjured up a “what if” storyline that had us actually meeting at the batting cage that day where we had a flirty exchange. Then, two months later when we had our real-life blind date, he would be stopped in his tracks when he walked into the restaurant and saw me, saying “It’s you!”

Of course, in my fantasy romantic comedy, I would be played by Meg Ryan.

Olympic Spirit

There are a few good things about getting older.

First and foremost, for me, is I care a lot less about what people think.

In the 70s, when my girlfriends and I were in love with the Osmond Brothers, we were embarrassed to mention this obsession outside our tightknit group.

Here we are before our first Osmond concert in 1971.

I was fairly certain that when Donny caught a glimpse of me decked out in my new “smock,” he would be instantly smitten with the girl in the rafter seats wearing this blouse? Uniform? I have no idea what I was thinking.

When I showed this photo to my family, one of them said “I didn’t know you worked at IHOP.”

My father was kind enough to drive us to Madison Square Garden (in a clunker of a car from way out on Long Island, no less). I’ve been reminded that he walked around the entire time taking pictures.

As for me, I took a “whole roll” of pictures with my new Kodak Instamatic camera. When I returned home, I put the little plastic cartridge of film in an envelope and mailed it off to be developed. I would anxiously check the mailbox for the next two (maybe even three) weeks waiting for the pictures to be delivered. When they arrived, they were all pitch black with five white dots off in the distance. I was thrilled.

When I heard that Donny was coming to our local concert venue, I was excited. I told anyone who would listen that I was going to see him.

When I announced at a family get together that I was going to see Donny Osmond, my sister-in-law asked, “Where is he buried?” (Have I mentioned that I have a funny family?)

The show – that I got to share with my sister who was too young to join us in 1971 – was just as I hoped. It took me back to a simpler time, albeit a time when I was decades away from being able to admit that I love the Osmond Brothers.

I’m sure you’ve heard that old saying that goes something like “As a door closes / a window opens.” And, like me, you’ve probably said, yeah, yeah, whatever.

But sometimes a situation bops you over the head so hard that you can’t help but take notice.

I lost my sister a year ago today. Carol was only 68, so it was as shocking and sad as imagined.

But nine days ago, our family welcomed little Brooklyn into the world. Brooklyn is Carol’s fourth grandchild and a first for her oldest son and his wife.

Carol struggled with many things, but the one thing she embraced was being “Meah” to Christopher, Makenna and Jayden. She would have been over the moon with Brooklyn’s arrival.

And how fitting that Brooklyn is named after the city where her Meah was born.

Open a window, Carol, and have a look at precious Brooklyn.

I recently received my bathroom art, courtesy of one of the wonderful artists at Etsy.*

It gives me so much joy to see these images in the mirror each day that I felt compelled to write about them.

L.T., my first Golden Retriever. I never imagined I could love an animal as much as I loved L.T. He got me through my divorce and so much more. I am so happy that my Joe got to know L.T., if for only a year.

So distraught after losing L.T., I swore I would never get another. And then Bailey found us. We loved telling the story of how we went out for cat food and came home with an 80 lb. Golden Retriever. What a complete joy Bailey was.

After saying goodbye to our dear Bailey, it took two years before I felt ready to welcome another Golden. Six-year-old Gigi was at the Golden Retriever Rescue of Mid Florida having a difficult time finding a home. She didn’t like other dogs, she wasn’t wild about kids, and she had a bit of OCD. But when we met her at her foster home, we knew she was perfect for us. She brought us so much joy and made us laugh every day.

For a combined total of thirty-one years we were blessed with sharing our home with Goldens. And, we have not closed the door to maybe another…

*I must give a shout out to Fisart Design for the fantastic job they did with capturing the essence of all three of our Goldens.  https://www.etsy.com/shop/FisartDesign

Click on images below to see originals.