Monthly Archive: April 2025

I think it’s safe to say my first year of retirement has been a success since I haven’t considered going back to work – even for a minute – nor have I gotten divorced. Only joking on the second part, but admittedly it was an adjustment as our house is small and our personalities are not. I anticipated as much, which is where the “She Shed” dream was hatched. (One woman described her She Shed as a “Mini me version of my home.”)

I learned that building a house – even a tiny one – comes with frustration. Alas, after almost a year the She Shed is finally a reality. Of course, when I was schlepping a dustmop out there recently, I thought, now didn’t I just add another room to clean? Then as we enjoyed a lunch on the patio with a construction-type friend, he gazed out at my “perfect” little shed and said in between bites, “Are you gonna put hurricane shutters on that thing?”

The year has gone by surprisingly quickly and like many people I wonder how I ever had time to work. The part of being retired that I have yet to perfect is the slowing down part. I am doing my best to embrace the motto of hubby’s longtime friend (who just happens to be retired Air Force). When he came to visit and we were rushing him about, he said: Cool your jets! Great advice yet easier said than done as fifty years of dashing here and there makes for one deep-rooted habit. This is where the She Shed really shines as the space in which I continue my attempt at meditation, as well as play piano, both of which seem like good ways to cool one’s jets.

When I started my blog I figured it would be for a small group of friends and family, which it has been – for the most part.

Except, after my first post I received an email from someone I did not recognize. The subject line read: Dear Miss Scribbles. The email simply read, “Cute dogs.” I replied by sending a smiley face. After all, I didn’t really want to put people on the spot by asking questions. I had welcomed anyone on my homepage to “feel free to email me,” and I am on Facebook and LinkedIn. Strangers could easily stumble upon my page and read a post or two, which I know they have because I can see where my traffic originates. No biggie.

So, I thought.

Then a couple of weeks later my Puppy Love story posted. My mystery reader’s email said, “Donny’s loss.” It was silly and funny, of course, but still I was taken aback and just a little bit curious. I did not respond. I did not hear back from him/her/them, so I kind of forgot about it.

Months went by and many posts with no mystery emails. I knew there was nothing to worry about. I was mad at myself for – even for a second – buying into the paranoia.

In January, six months after I started my blog, I posted, One Snowy Day in Washington, D. C. I remember the dread I felt as I hovered over the message I received after that post. The emails had always been the same: short, normal font, no greeting or salutations inside the mail, just the same “Dear Miss Scribbles” in the subject line. This one was no different. It read: “I’m just glad you found your way to Florida.”

I immediately got a weird feeling and quickly closed my laptop. There was nothing really threatening. Was I just becoming the paranoid person I had been resisting?

I’ve always prided myself on not bringing my phone everywhere I go – even on long walks. After all, as I’ve said a million times, I lived for fifty years without a cell phone. But now, I was bringing my phone on walks. And I found myself looking over my shoulder a little too much. I even started to position my fingers on each side of the phone to be able to quickly access “SOS Emergency Call.” I hated what I was becoming as I’ve always been someone who likes to trust folks.

With overprotective loved ones who watch a little too much Forensics Files, I didn’t dare mention this because I knew they would immediately go all Defcon on the situation.

When I started replacing my outside walks with treadmill walks in the gym, I could no longer stand it.

I drafted and redrafted a response email to the mystery person and repeatedly resisted hitting send.

When my curiosity and paranoia finally got the best of me, I settled on a reply. It was short and succinct, “I’m sorry, but do I know you?”

The answer to the mystery was simple.

sloof lirpa