Monthly Archive: September 2024

It’s that time of year when kids are returning to school. This year, I’m one of them.

Our local university has a program where Older Americans (I can’t believe I prefer this term over Senior Citizen) can audit classes at no cost. Applying for this program was one of the first things I did after retiring. 

I can hear my high school friends laughing. After all, I was the master forger of parent signatures, had the most detentions, and barely graduated high school. I’m not proud of these things. As a matter of fact, the way I treated school growing up is one of my biggest regrets. I am doing my best to make up for it. (Same friends: “Would you let it go, Susan.”) 

The biggest relief upon entering the class was when I realized I was not the oldest person in the room. There are three other OAs who have been auditing classes since 2008. During one lecture, one of them raised his hand to say he went to school with Colin Powell. Another shared that his wife still receives royalty checks for the oil found on their family-owned property in Oklahoma once deemed “worthless” during the Trail of Tears. I admit I found these tidbits interesting, but I’m not sure I’d say the same for my fellow students.

The class is the History of the U.S. Presidency, so, of course, we often begin by talking about the current political landscape. Today we discussed the U.S. Secret Service, which put me in mind of my experiences working there for the Carter administration. I’m happy to report that I kept my big fat fish mouth shut.

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.