This time of year has me thinking of summers gone by, and the wonder of how on earth we all made it out in one piece.

Long Island beaches are unique in that they run east and west facing the open Atlantic Ocean, which means they generally have stronger surf, powerful undertows, and shifting rip currents. A rite of passage growing up on Long Island was getting caught in the undertow. This would have you scooped up and tossed around, much like I imagine it would feel being in a washing machine on the heavy duty cycle. Then the mighty Atlantic would spit you out depositing you on shore dazed and confused. I remember it well. Sand in every crevice of your body and a walk that was slightly loopy as you tried to make your way back to your towel.

One of my brothers experienced the washing machine effect when he was about seven years old. He swears he saw me standing on the shore and he wondered why I wasn’t rescuing him. I actually think he was seeing his life pass before his eyes.

We would then lie on a towel applying baby oil so we could get the best burn possible. The real fun was when the sunburn – which may even have been considered second degree – began to peel. We would entertain ourselves by seeing who could tear the biggest sheet of skin from each other’s back without it breaking.

That same brother fell into the pool of a family we were visiting one summer and sunk like a rock. Luckily another sibling saw what happened and jumped in, fully clothed, and saved him. While this was going on I was sitting up at the picnic table trying to find out how hot a napkin might get if I waved it over the candle. (I think I’ve been up front with the fact that Miss Scribbles wasn’t the brightest bulb back then.) I’m sure that family couldn’t get rid of us fast enough.

Good times.

We just returned from a summer road trip that had us reminiscing about one we took twenty-five years ago to Georgia, North Carolina, Long Island, Connecticut and into New York City to spend a few days with a good friend.

We strolled across the Brooklyn Bridge, went to Ellis Island, took in a Met game at good ole Shea Stadium, and walked in awe around Time Square where a little old man wacked hubby in the calf with his cane saying, “Move it, Sonny. We’re not all on vacation!” This made us step aside so we could laugh hysterically at the stereotypical New York experience. Actually, most New Yorkers were super nice even offering help as they saw us struggling with the subway maps.

We casually strolled past the World Trade Center (WTC) barely giving the iconic buildings a second glance. We did, however, buy this street art that highlights the twin towers perfectly. Little did we know that in just two short months those towers would disappear from the New York skyline forever.

Say what you want about Gen X or Gen Z, or whatever they’re called but they are far more evolved than my generation when it comes to sharing their feelings. I love how young friends hug each other and say I love you. Nothing bad can come from this. When I grew up the words, “I love you,” were not bandied about like this. Case in point: When I told a childhood friend I loved her, she said, “Oh god, Susan, am I dying?”

We didn’t hear those words growing up much in the 1970s. It just wasn’t a thing. But something happened when I left home that changed that. I started receiving letters like these on a regular basis, which still mean everything to me fifty years later.

There was no shortage of Beach Boys trivia a year ago when Brian Wilson passed away, so I waited to share some tidbits about one of my favorite songs.

Along with being regarded as one of the most beautiful pop songs ever written, Wilson’s masterpiece, God Only Knows, has an interesting history. Here are some things you may not know about this iconic track.

1. It was banned on release in parts of the U.S.

Strange as it seems today, there was a huge worry about using the word “God” in the title. Wilson said, “I was scared they’d ban playing it on the radio because of the title…” And, although it did get banned on the radio in some areas (mainly in the south) it generally escaped censorship.

2. It was originally a B-side

The record company issued God Only Knows as a single but then decided to put it on the B-side (as the flip to Wouldn’t It Be Nice), perhaps through fear of it being banned. This could be interpreted as a commercial mistake as it only reached 39 on the U.S. charts, whereas in Europe, Australia and Canada it was the A-side and a massive hit, reaching Number Two in the UK.

3. Brian Wilson isn’t the singer on the track

Brian Wilson is not the lead singer on God Only Knows. He originally tried singing the lead but later handed vocal duties over to his brother Carl, whose silvery tenor voice was better suited to the piece.

4. It was written in 45 minutes

The song is regarded as one of the most complex and unusual to have been written at that point in pop music’s history, but Brian Wilson claimed that he and Tony Asher (who usually wrote jingles) wrote it in just 45 minutes. Not bad for a song universally acclaimed as one of the greatest ever written.

5. It’s Paul McCartney’s favorite song

Sir Paul has commented on several occasions about his love of the song, and The Beatles were inspired to write Here, There and Everywhere after hearing Pet Sounds for the first time.

Do yourself a favor and give it a listen if you haven’t heard it in a while. You won’t be disappointed.

I’ve written about my crazy neighborhood that I kind of love. This feeling was validated recently when a beloved cat went missing.

The neighbor across the street enjoyed a wonderful vacation with her husband and son to the Grand Canyon only to return home to learn that the pet sitter had allowed their cat to get out and now Kenny had been missing for more than twenty-four hours.

I was in the middle of doing the dishes when the son rang our doorbell to show me Kenny’s picture. I immediately followed him across the street, dishrag still in hand, and joined his distraught mom in the yard of a nearby vacant house. We made our way through the overgrown yard searching for Kenny.

The radar of a pet lover on the block must have gone off because she came running over when she saw us all in the middle of the street. “What happened?” she asked. Another neighbor returned from his search with no good news, but I was heartened by how my neighbors sprang into action.

Then it started pouring rain and Kenny’s mom headed down the street, umbrella in hand calling out for her ten-year-old cat. That night on the advice of the neighborhood cat expert they put food on their front porch and left the doors to the screened in patio cracked open with a litter box, some of the owner’s clothes, and the cat’s bed, and lo and behold at 4:30 that morning the ring cam went off and Kenny was home.

Don’t you just love a happy ending?

Nobody does nuggets of encouragement better than Wordle.

Admittedly, I am not someone who likes games. I remember back in the 70s when someone in our neighborhood got a video game called “Pong” for their television. Most people were enamored with this cool new invention, but I never saw the attraction.

Although they represent two completely different eras of game development, Wordle and Pong are both simplistic. But somehow Wordle appeals to me. Maybe it’s the nerd element (Nerdle?). Or maybe it’s the encouragement factor. I’m a little embarrassed to admit how good it feels when I get the word in three tries and my Wordle screen flashes, “Impressive!” Better yet is the elusive “Magnificent!” for getting it in two.

(By the way, how great is the word Magnificent?)

But I have to say I kind of disagree with the Wordle gods. Does getting a five really deserve a “Great!”?

I’m thinking more like, “Meh.”

Apologies to my non-Wordle playing readers…

Recently I was on a walk with my nieces when they heard voices coming out of my butt. Now I admit I may have “talked out my ass” once or twice in my life, but this was different. Apparently, I butt dialed someone. And this was no ordinary butt dial. This was a six person Facetime call.

I’ve had a cell phone for about twenty years, and I’ve never butt dialed anyone before. Now that probably means one of two things: either I’m officially old, or my butt is getting bigger because the phone was in my back pocket.

As you can imagine, neither of those sit well with me until I realized that it could actually be both of those things.

Anyway, consider yourself warned if you’re in my list of contacts.

I discovered the quote, “None of us get out of here alive,” in a book I read recently. The book was forgettable, but my mind will not let go of the line.

The quote is attributed to many people, but the oldest reference I found was in the lyrics of Five to One, by the Doors, and the name of Jim Morrison’s biography, “No One Here Gets Out Alive.”

Who knows what the enigmatic Morrison was trying to say, but social media has cannibalized the quote in every way imaginable.

My interpretation is simple: Go easy on yourself. All this is temporary. You are doing the best you can.

Cruising is a little more accessible for Floridians, so I’ve been lucky enough to experience a variety of these floating vacations. Years ago I went with a group of friends after one of them heard a radio ad for a cruise for $150. As it turned out it was a gay cruise (not that there’s anything wrong with that). That’s the cruise that had us in a bar in Mexico where they put a plastic tarp over you and pour sangria down your throat. Needless to say, hours later we found ourselves running down the dock yelling “Wait!” as they were pulling up the gangway.

Now, hubby and I like cruises where they have a quiet deck for reading and there is a sea of walkers/scooters outside the dining room for the four o’clock dinner. Sometimes there are cooking classes, maybe even a lecture. Family members scoff saying, “Those are the old ships.”

So we recently tried one of the newer fancier cruises…the ones that look like someone took a giant crane and lifted Las Vegas off its tectonic plate and dropped it on a floating barge. This ship was spectacular with an Aqua Theater that had the best show I have ever seen, which included high-dives and acrobatics synced to great music. There was also a fantastic ice skating show and the Broadway musical Cats – just to name a few of the many “diversions.” All big fun and a great way to vacation with family as our group of eighteen included seven kids.

But there was no quiet deck, and they did away with our favorite bar – the one with the classical guitarist and the floor-to-ceiling windows with a 270-degree panoramic ocean view where you sit high above, sipping cocktails while watching the shenanigans being played out on the decks below.

Honestly, though, it’s all a bit “pinch me” to think of younger days when I spent Saturday nights watching Captain Stubing and the gang on those “exciting and new” adventures at sea, all of which seemed only for the rich and famous.

The late, great Robin Williams said, “Spring is nature’s way of saying, ‘Let’s party!’”

Can’t you just picture him running around on stage, arms waving in the air imitating a partying flower in that high pitch hilarious voice?

I realize how fortunate we are in Florida that we don’t typically experience the really cold weather that kills everything green. But this year was different and now everything is brown and sad, and much has died.

But one of my trees that I so hoped would survive is starting to show signs of life. I think I heard a whisper of “Let’s party” when I was out there the other day.

I wish Robin were still with us to spread that contagious joy as only he could.

Happy spring! 🌻