Tag Archives: life’s mystery

Don’t Look Back (July U.B.C. Day 3)

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Learning recently that a settlement had been reached between the Central Park 5 and the city of New York, I was transported back in time to my senior year of high school and the fights I had with my mother over where I would attend college. Continue reading

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I’m sorry; could you repeat that? (July U.B.C. Day 2)

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I saw my gynecologist yesterday and learned that at 45, I am more than likely menopausal.  Not peri-menopausal, but through it.  All the way.  Done.  Finished.  I haven’t had time to suss out how that makes me feel yet, but over the past twenty-four hours, it’s been alternating between euphoria and despair. Continue reading

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The Things He Handed Down

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Seventy years ago today my grandfather and tens of thousands of other soldiers landed on the beaches of Normandy, France.

My grandfather, Ray, survived Omaha Beach, was honorably discharged from the Army, then came home, married my grandmother, and raised his family. His daughters grew up, married and had children of their own – five granddaughters. Ray believed in duty and hard work. He believed in taking and owning responsibility for his decisions, his life, and that’s what he taught his children. Continue reading

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The Stories We Tell

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After participating in the Ultimate Blog Challenge during the month of April, I decided to take a break for a couple of weeks from writing here. A lot happened during April that made me reevaluate some things in my life, and to do some hard pondering about where I’ve been and where I’m going. Continue reading

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The People’s River and the Gift of Time (U.B.C. – Day 23)

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The Charles River snakes through the southern part of my town, approximately three-quarters of a mile from my front door. On the western side of the bridge is a small waterfall, the size of which belies the fury of the water tumbling over. One the eastern side is a calm in which an observer can lose themselves watching the pattern of the current. Continue reading

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Castle Island (U.B.C. – Day 21)

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Today was a gorgeous day here in eastern Massachusetts, sunny and although the temperature reached the high 60s by late afternoon, for the start and running of most of the marathon, it was in the mid-50s to low 60s; perfect running weather for the Boston Marathon.

Because the majority of roads around us close at 8:30 am and stay that way until late afternoon, I decided to get out of dodge and scheduled a playdate with The Boy and a friend of his from nursery school whose mother just happens to be a great friend of mine, as well. We decided to go biking with the boys at Castle Island in South Boston. Continue reading

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Artichoke Squares (U.B.C. – Day 17)

I reverse engineered this recipe from something I had at a Halloween party ten or so years ago.  It was my only option as I never could find out who had made them … a hazard of attending party at which the only people I knew were my sister and her friend.  Little squares of artichoke and cheese heaven.  My cobbled together version tastes a little different than the original, but pretty good nevertheless.  It’s also easy to double the recipe for larger groups. Continue reading

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On Being Alone With My Husband (U.B.C. – Day 13)

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Last night Ernie Hemingway and I had a free night. A night without children. The Boy was with my parents for a sleepover, and the youngest daughter was off visiting a friend in Boston and doing whatever it is young twenty-somethings do these days. The antics of my youth seem tame in comparison to some of the stuff I hear about now, but I digress.

We had the annual fund raiser at The Boy’s school last night, a fun evening for which the parents get all gussied up and go drink wine and beer and bid what we hope are absurdly large amounts of money for items drummed up for donation by the two awesomely amazing women who co-chair the event.

It was a fun night, and we got to schmooze with a lot of people we wouldn’t otherwise have a chance to meet, as our kids are not in the same grade. It was nice for the parents who are not doing drop-off and pick-up on a daily basis to have the opportunity to meet and talk with other parents. It was lovely to see everyone dressed up in their finery instead of in jeans, yoga pants or sweatpants, with hair and makeup done, their faces bright and expectant instead of tired and wanting just a few more minutes before the alarm goes off.

The best part of the night, however, was the hours after the auction. Ernie Hemingway and I got to be just “us” for a few hours, no place we needed to be, nobody we needed to pick up, nobody waiting at home for us. We got to sleep by ourselves for a full night instead of experiencing the normal routine of The Boy coming in to snuggle at 5:00 am each morning. We got to wake up by ourselves and talk about things we wanted instead of having to leap out of bed to make somebody else breakfast, get somebody else dressed or bring somebody else to school.

Last night reminded me of the myriad reasons I love my husband, reasons that often get obscured as we rush through the daily grind of life, barely seeing one another some days except for a few minutes at night when we fall, exhausted, into bed. My husband and I got to spend twenty-four hours together being one another’s best friend and confidante, instead of only being one another’s partner in family management.

It was heavenly.

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The Rising (U.B.C. – Day 10)

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Driving home the other day I heard Bruce Springsteen‘s song “The Rising.”  I hadn’t heard it in years, so as I felt the goosebumps rise on my arms, I turned up the volume and tuned in my mind to listen. Continue reading

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Monday Morning Eternal (U.B.C. – Day 7)

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No matter where I am in my life, Monday mornings bring much baggage. When I was in high school, Monday mornings were difficult because I had to go back to rising early and schlepping off to school. I actually did walk about a mile each way to school, so in the cold of New England winters, it was a brutal walk. Of course, I didn’t help matters by wearing my little white Keds and flats with bare feet as I slogged through the slush and ice, but I can be forgiven for that; I was a teenager. Continue reading

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