It happened in the wink of an eye…overnight actually. One day it was sweltering hot, humid and just, well summer, and then today I woke up and there – I swear – is a taste of fall in the air.
Now don’t get me wrong. I love fall! I do. It’s my favorite time. But only when we are ready. Because as soon as fall gets here, summer is over. And I see it slowly but surely slipping away. I am trying to savor it, sweet ear by sweet ear, BLT by BLT.
Dear Mother Nature, I will make a deal with you. If you want to start fall, say, tomorrow, I am fine with that. But here’s the deal: please let it last VERY long. Like say, until Thanksgiving or maybe even Christmas Eve? A snow at Christmas is fine…but if I could bargain one more time, how about an early spring…like maybe Valentine’s Day? I figured as long as I am asking, I may as well go for broke.
The thing about summer to me it is that it’s all about freedom. Freedom to sit outside on the deck all night. Freedom to wear flip flops and no socks. Freedom to eat myself silly with fresh fruit, melon and vegetables grown with love right here in our hometown. Freedom to go to outside concerts, festivals and fairs – to picnic from blankets and enjoy the dark, starlit nights and the private light show at dusk by our friends the fireflies.
I am not ready for the slaying of the senses that accompany summer to end; the sights and sounds and tastes. Summer is a cacophony of delightful wonders.
It’s about the food: Fried pickles and chocolate dipped strawberries. Homemade sangria and grilled zucchini. Elephant Ears, cotton candy and kettle corn at the fair – and sun tea, fresh cucumbers and homemade salsa at home.
It’s about the sounds: Playing the Jimmy Buffett CD over and over again, while drinking margaritas and dancing the salsa. It’s about the night music of the cicadas and the owls. The yell of an umpire, the roar of a racecar, the barking of a dog.
It’s about the smells: Coppertone, citronella and grilled burgers. Chlorine and campfires and charcoal.
When the heat ends, and we can sleep with our windows open – yet still wear short – that is when the planets align and all is well in my world. It is the magical time when summer is ending and fall is just around the corner….there are still fresh tomatoes in the garden but the apples are almost ripe for the picking.
Summer, I am not yet ready to bid you goodbye – but if you friend fall wants to hang out a bit with us before you leave, I will gladly put out the welcome mat.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
My New Bucket List
So I have, along with tons of other people, the proverbial “Bucket List”. I think I called it my “wish list” or “to – do list” before the movie…but I like Bucket List much better.
It seems that in the past, as I got older, my wants and desires got a little crazier; go sky diving, get a tattoo, climb Mt. Fuji. Now, maybe it is the control freak in me, but those desires have been skewed a bit. Instead of jumping out of an airplane, I think I want to fly one. Instead of getting a tattoo, I got several ankle bracelets – not only are they pain-free, but I can change them like I change my mind. Instead of climbing Mt. Fuji, I will be content to eat sushi and drink sake at least once a week.
I hate to say this, but it seems my new additions to the list have gotten quite boring: a dishwasher that actually cleans without pre-washing; a manicure that will last longer than 4 days; jeans that fit every single time; red wine that doesn’t stain; being able to eat a loaf of sourdough bread and a half pound of chocolate without beating myself up about it; joints and muscles that don’t hurt when I exercise and dance Zumba.
Kinda boring eh? Well, in the words of Stevie Nicks (who I believe gets better looking as she ages) “But time makes you bolder, Children get older, I'm getting older too...I'm getting older too...” I know my children are getting older. And I know I’m getting older too. But I always forget that part of the song - time makes you bolder. So I ponder “my reflection in the snow covered hills”, and realize, because I am getting older, I cannot give up on getting bolder.
So though I don’t want to jump out of a perfectly good airplane anymore, I would gladly take the wheel of one and laugh as others do so. I do want to do a zip line, go white water rafting, and climb the hills of Ohio. I want to continue to have no fear, to be bold, and to not feel guilt or worry. My Bucket List will include smiling at my passerby, helping those that need it, dancing and singing and laughing and praying – and not feel pressured or self-conscious about any of it. I want to live my life with no regrets, having fulfilled my passions and dreams. In the words of John Denver, I want to be, I want to live!
“We are standing all together, face to face and arm in arm. We are standing on the threshold of a dream. No more hunger, no more killing, no more wasting life away. It is simply an idea and I know it’s time has come. I want to live I want to grow – I want to see I want to know. I want to share what I can give. I want to be, I want to live.”
So, what’s on your Bucket List?
It seems that in the past, as I got older, my wants and desires got a little crazier; go sky diving, get a tattoo, climb Mt. Fuji. Now, maybe it is the control freak in me, but those desires have been skewed a bit. Instead of jumping out of an airplane, I think I want to fly one. Instead of getting a tattoo, I got several ankle bracelets – not only are they pain-free, but I can change them like I change my mind. Instead of climbing Mt. Fuji, I will be content to eat sushi and drink sake at least once a week.
I hate to say this, but it seems my new additions to the list have gotten quite boring: a dishwasher that actually cleans without pre-washing; a manicure that will last longer than 4 days; jeans that fit every single time; red wine that doesn’t stain; being able to eat a loaf of sourdough bread and a half pound of chocolate without beating myself up about it; joints and muscles that don’t hurt when I exercise and dance Zumba.
Kinda boring eh? Well, in the words of Stevie Nicks (who I believe gets better looking as she ages) “But time makes you bolder, Children get older, I'm getting older too...I'm getting older too...” I know my children are getting older. And I know I’m getting older too. But I always forget that part of the song - time makes you bolder. So I ponder “my reflection in the snow covered hills”, and realize, because I am getting older, I cannot give up on getting bolder.
So though I don’t want to jump out of a perfectly good airplane anymore, I would gladly take the wheel of one and laugh as others do so. I do want to do a zip line, go white water rafting, and climb the hills of Ohio. I want to continue to have no fear, to be bold, and to not feel guilt or worry. My Bucket List will include smiling at my passerby, helping those that need it, dancing and singing and laughing and praying – and not feel pressured or self-conscious about any of it. I want to live my life with no regrets, having fulfilled my passions and dreams. In the words of John Denver, I want to be, I want to live!
“We are standing all together, face to face and arm in arm. We are standing on the threshold of a dream. No more hunger, no more killing, no more wasting life away. It is simply an idea and I know it’s time has come. I want to live I want to grow – I want to see I want to know. I want to share what I can give. I want to be, I want to live.”
So, what’s on your Bucket List?
Chocolate
You know, I’ve been reading a few reports lately about how scientists have discovered some kind of natural enzyme or something that will make us stop craving chocolate. The same study is saying that eating a vegetarian diet high in soy is another way of avoiding chocolate cravings. Hmmmm – that’s a tough choice: sautéed tofu or a yummy chocolate covered caramel.
Now I understand the benefits of eating healthy. I even used to be a vegetarian for quite a few years. I can also tell you that even vegetarians eat chocolate. I still eat healthy. I’ve complained about my weight for years. But dang it, I need chocolate. Not WANT chocolate – but NEED chocolate. Well, being somewhat creative, I try to always find my way around road blocks – especially when it comes to food – or more specifically, dessert. I have discovered if I give up the main course to a meal, I can have a Snickers Bar instead.
I believe if God had intended for us to not have chocolate, he would not have invented cravings. These scientists are wasting their time and money on their reports. I imagine they all must be men – for I don’t think men really truly understand the emotional attachment we women have to chocolate. I mean let’s face it – there are times that I would drive 10 miles in a rainstorm to get my favorite chocolate. I have learned to listen to my body when it talks. I hear it when it tells me, go buy the chocolate. I’m not going to argue with this body, nope. It knows it knows what is best for me. I guarantee you I would not drive 10 miles in a rainstorm for tofu.
Maybe the scientists better leave well enough alone. The female species is happy adoring chocolate. We like being addicted to chocolate. We even look forward to certain times when we truly have to have chocolate, or else everyone around us will have to duck and cover to protect their lives.
I know the secret to world peace. Chocolate. Who can fight when you have a savory, soft piece of peanut butter chocolate in your mouth? It’s impossible. Heck, when I start to get a little feisty, all my husband has to do is dangle a chocolate toffee in front of my face and I cave in like an old mine. Men, I hope you are listening. I’m divulging a deep, dark secret. A dark chocolate secret, that is.
Now I understand the benefits of eating healthy. I even used to be a vegetarian for quite a few years. I can also tell you that even vegetarians eat chocolate. I still eat healthy. I’ve complained about my weight for years. But dang it, I need chocolate. Not WANT chocolate – but NEED chocolate. Well, being somewhat creative, I try to always find my way around road blocks – especially when it comes to food – or more specifically, dessert. I have discovered if I give up the main course to a meal, I can have a Snickers Bar instead.
I believe if God had intended for us to not have chocolate, he would not have invented cravings. These scientists are wasting their time and money on their reports. I imagine they all must be men – for I don’t think men really truly understand the emotional attachment we women have to chocolate. I mean let’s face it – there are times that I would drive 10 miles in a rainstorm to get my favorite chocolate. I have learned to listen to my body when it talks. I hear it when it tells me, go buy the chocolate. I’m not going to argue with this body, nope. It knows it knows what is best for me. I guarantee you I would not drive 10 miles in a rainstorm for tofu.
Maybe the scientists better leave well enough alone. The female species is happy adoring chocolate. We like being addicted to chocolate. We even look forward to certain times when we truly have to have chocolate, or else everyone around us will have to duck and cover to protect their lives.
I know the secret to world peace. Chocolate. Who can fight when you have a savory, soft piece of peanut butter chocolate in your mouth? It’s impossible. Heck, when I start to get a little feisty, all my husband has to do is dangle a chocolate toffee in front of my face and I cave in like an old mine. Men, I hope you are listening. I’m divulging a deep, dark secret. A dark chocolate secret, that is.
Friday, August 6, 2010
A New Generation of "Tweens"
The sign read: “Be prepared to show ID. Those that look 30 and under will be carded. Consider it a compliment!” I smugly held my ID out to the cashier.
“Are you taking advantage of our Senior Citizen discount today?” She asked. She has no idea how lucky she is that I gave her the chance to live to see her braces removed and get her drivers license.
A few years back, a phrase was coined: Tween. Those that aren’t a kid anymore, but not quite a teenager. Well, young kids aren’t the only ones living in the in-between.
Those of us that are over 40 and under 65 are in that same boat.
We’ve been called the “sandwich generation” – helping care for elderly parents and college age children. This is true, but still, I feel more like a “Tween.” than a “Sandwich.” I am stuck between the world of 3 inch heels and support hose. I don’t want to wear sensible shoes, and I’m not ready to give up flavored lip gloss. I wear clothes that my mother won’t. I dance like nobody’s watching. I laugh and love and obviously, I must have enough wrinkles to make someone think twice about my age.
But I’m not yet a senior citizen. I don’t CARE that I get a 10% discount if I look older to you. I don’t CARE that I get a free cup of coffee. Not yet. That’s a privilege I will patiently wait for. My mind is still back in my 30’s, my body is in my 40’s and apparently according to some young punk check out girl, I appear to be in my late 50’s. That’s a great age, mind you. Terrific. 50 is the new 40. 55 is the new 45. But can I at least wait until I actually reach that part of the decade before someone implies I need a cane and those big, black wrap around sunglasses?
If you think I am blasting the elderly, you have it very wrong. I revere them. I admire them. I love their stories. I revel in their wisdom and knowledge and life lessons. I love their recipes and old pictures and letters from long ago. I love the stories of World War Two, the Depression and George Burns and Gracie Allen. I love the jitterbug and big bands and “An Affair to Remember.” I love their age. I respect their age. I admire their age.
Soon, I will be in their place. My grandkids will ask me about “American Idol” and iPods and DVD’s. They will dance to oldies like The Eagles and Kenny G and Dolly Parton. They will help me across the room to retrieve my walker, and take me to the hairdresser so I can still cover up the gray. They will listen to stories about the first woman to try to run for president, and the great hurricane of ’07. It is then that I won’t be a “Tween.” I will gladly wear sensible shoes and cheater glasses and show my Golden Buckeye card. I will smile and shake my head yes, when offered a 10% off my purchase. I will gladly take my free cup of coffee.
But not yet. Not just yet. I am enjoying being a “Sandwich Tween.” I am enjoying being a mom, a daughter and a grandma all at the same time. I like that I can dance all night and still be able to get out of bed in the morning. I am glad that I am still considered youthful. Now, excuse me while I go read this months issue of AARP. They have great articles.
“Are you taking advantage of our Senior Citizen discount today?” She asked. She has no idea how lucky she is that I gave her the chance to live to see her braces removed and get her drivers license.
A few years back, a phrase was coined: Tween. Those that aren’t a kid anymore, but not quite a teenager. Well, young kids aren’t the only ones living in the in-between.
Those of us that are over 40 and under 65 are in that same boat.
We’ve been called the “sandwich generation” – helping care for elderly parents and college age children. This is true, but still, I feel more like a “Tween.” than a “Sandwich.” I am stuck between the world of 3 inch heels and support hose. I don’t want to wear sensible shoes, and I’m not ready to give up flavored lip gloss. I wear clothes that my mother won’t. I dance like nobody’s watching. I laugh and love and obviously, I must have enough wrinkles to make someone think twice about my age.
But I’m not yet a senior citizen. I don’t CARE that I get a 10% discount if I look older to you. I don’t CARE that I get a free cup of coffee. Not yet. That’s a privilege I will patiently wait for. My mind is still back in my 30’s, my body is in my 40’s and apparently according to some young punk check out girl, I appear to be in my late 50’s. That’s a great age, mind you. Terrific. 50 is the new 40. 55 is the new 45. But can I at least wait until I actually reach that part of the decade before someone implies I need a cane and those big, black wrap around sunglasses?
If you think I am blasting the elderly, you have it very wrong. I revere them. I admire them. I love their stories. I revel in their wisdom and knowledge and life lessons. I love their recipes and old pictures and letters from long ago. I love the stories of World War Two, the Depression and George Burns and Gracie Allen. I love the jitterbug and big bands and “An Affair to Remember.” I love their age. I respect their age. I admire their age.
Soon, I will be in their place. My grandkids will ask me about “American Idol” and iPods and DVD’s. They will dance to oldies like The Eagles and Kenny G and Dolly Parton. They will help me across the room to retrieve my walker, and take me to the hairdresser so I can still cover up the gray. They will listen to stories about the first woman to try to run for president, and the great hurricane of ’07. It is then that I won’t be a “Tween.” I will gladly wear sensible shoes and cheater glasses and show my Golden Buckeye card. I will smile and shake my head yes, when offered a 10% off my purchase. I will gladly take my free cup of coffee.
But not yet. Not just yet. I am enjoying being a “Sandwich Tween.” I am enjoying being a mom, a daughter and a grandma all at the same time. I like that I can dance all night and still be able to get out of bed in the morning. I am glad that I am still considered youthful. Now, excuse me while I go read this months issue of AARP. They have great articles.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
It Started out to be a Great Day
The sun was shining brightly after a week of rain. I only had three loads of laundry instead of five. The chicken I took out for dinner didn’t have freezer burn. My jeans zipped up without me having to lie down to do it. It was going to be a great day.
After my Saturday morning chores, I went to a wine festival with my girlfriend. The kid at the gate carded me. After he unwrapped himself from my grateful hugs, he informed me over my girlish giggles that he was told to card anyone that looked under 80. Kids young enough to be my children should not be allowed at a wine festival.
I was determined to enjoy the day. I walked over to the first display, started down the steps and fell right on my behind. Holding back tears, I gratefully accepted the hand of a stranger. “I haven’t even had any wine yet!” I told him as I tried to find my girlfriend in the crowd of onlookers. He just started shaking his head and laughing. As he walked away I heard him say to his wife, “It’s sad when they try to deny the problem, isn’t it?” She just clucked her tongue and walked over to grab another glass of Chardonnay. I sat to wait for my girlfriend, who had donned a pair of dark glasses and pretended she didn’t see me. Once she saw my face, however, she felt guilty and brought me a taste of Merlot.
“Here”, she said. “I don’t think you need to have anymore than this – it seems you may already be over your limit”. At least she didn’t cluck her tongue as she drank her Chardonnay.
Later that night, I examined the newly spreading bruise on my behind. It really did look neat. I mean, it’s the neatest bruise that I've ever seen. Purple and blue and green. It even has a lovely, white, lacy pattern to it. I've never seen anything like it. I was so proud. I showed my husband. He said, "Hmmm - isn't it interesting that stretch marks don't bruise?"
So much for the great day.
After my Saturday morning chores, I went to a wine festival with my girlfriend. The kid at the gate carded me. After he unwrapped himself from my grateful hugs, he informed me over my girlish giggles that he was told to card anyone that looked under 80. Kids young enough to be my children should not be allowed at a wine festival.
I was determined to enjoy the day. I walked over to the first display, started down the steps and fell right on my behind. Holding back tears, I gratefully accepted the hand of a stranger. “I haven’t even had any wine yet!” I told him as I tried to find my girlfriend in the crowd of onlookers. He just started shaking his head and laughing. As he walked away I heard him say to his wife, “It’s sad when they try to deny the problem, isn’t it?” She just clucked her tongue and walked over to grab another glass of Chardonnay. I sat to wait for my girlfriend, who had donned a pair of dark glasses and pretended she didn’t see me. Once she saw my face, however, she felt guilty and brought me a taste of Merlot.
“Here”, she said. “I don’t think you need to have anymore than this – it seems you may already be over your limit”. At least she didn’t cluck her tongue as she drank her Chardonnay.
Later that night, I examined the newly spreading bruise on my behind. It really did look neat. I mean, it’s the neatest bruise that I've ever seen. Purple and blue and green. It even has a lovely, white, lacy pattern to it. I've never seen anything like it. I was so proud. I showed my husband. He said, "Hmmm - isn't it interesting that stretch marks don't bruise?"
So much for the great day.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Grumpy vs Mary Poppins
There are days when I get so grumpy I can’t even stand myself. I am not sure why it happens, or what causes it – if anything. I even have a couple of “Grumpy” T-shirts from Disney. One says “I’m Grumpy because you are Dopey”, but that’s another story.
I don’t plan on waking up grumpy. I don’t plan on not being in my usual perpetual happy mood. It just happens. And when it does, look out. Because I will enjoy being grumpy all day long. Even though I know I’m grumpy and even though friends and family try to coax me out of my bad mood, I choose to linger in it…to feel the grouchiness.
Now, I realize that isn’t really fair to those around me. Not just family and friends, but people in the checkout line at Kroger. People that are going 2 miles too slow in the fast lane. People that wore the wrong color that day. And most of all, I realize it’s not fair to me. Growing up a virtual Doris Day/Mary Poppins combination, being grumpy just does not suit me. I don’t even “do” it very well. Heck, half the time I am faking being grumpy just for the sake of not being nice.
Since I turned 50, I have decided to always (try to) be my authentic self. Which I thought meant whatever mood I’m in was to take precedence for the day. I’m realizing that isn’t true. My true self is just that…and nobody in the world is grumpy all the time. Well except for my ex-husband…and he said it was because he was married to Mary Poppins. Go figure.
Whenever I feel self-conscious about just being me, about wanting to laugh out loud and sing with the radio or dance to the music (which sometimes is just in my own head), I look at my 2 ½ year old granddaughter and my 3 year old dog. They don’t care or less what other people think. They both dance, and laugh and have a great time – almost all the time. Of course they both take lots of naps and eat with gusto without worrying about if they will fit into their jeans. No wonder they are happy all the time.
So my key to not being grumpy is to allow myself to figure out why I am being that way, and then to shrug my shoulders and dance or laugh it off – since the key to my authenticity is to not take myself too seriously – and not let my ego run my life. So, not everyone likes Mary Poppins. So what, who cares? I’m going to be my authentic happy (and sometimes grumpy) self, and if people don’t like it, they can just take it with a spoon full of sugar. Or salt, if you are drinking margaritas.
I don’t plan on waking up grumpy. I don’t plan on not being in my usual perpetual happy mood. It just happens. And when it does, look out. Because I will enjoy being grumpy all day long. Even though I know I’m grumpy and even though friends and family try to coax me out of my bad mood, I choose to linger in it…to feel the grouchiness.
Now, I realize that isn’t really fair to those around me. Not just family and friends, but people in the checkout line at Kroger. People that are going 2 miles too slow in the fast lane. People that wore the wrong color that day. And most of all, I realize it’s not fair to me. Growing up a virtual Doris Day/Mary Poppins combination, being grumpy just does not suit me. I don’t even “do” it very well. Heck, half the time I am faking being grumpy just for the sake of not being nice.
Since I turned 50, I have decided to always (try to) be my authentic self. Which I thought meant whatever mood I’m in was to take precedence for the day. I’m realizing that isn’t true. My true self is just that…and nobody in the world is grumpy all the time. Well except for my ex-husband…and he said it was because he was married to Mary Poppins. Go figure.
Whenever I feel self-conscious about just being me, about wanting to laugh out loud and sing with the radio or dance to the music (which sometimes is just in my own head), I look at my 2 ½ year old granddaughter and my 3 year old dog. They don’t care or less what other people think. They both dance, and laugh and have a great time – almost all the time. Of course they both take lots of naps and eat with gusto without worrying about if they will fit into their jeans. No wonder they are happy all the time.
So my key to not being grumpy is to allow myself to figure out why I am being that way, and then to shrug my shoulders and dance or laugh it off – since the key to my authenticity is to not take myself too seriously – and not let my ego run my life. So, not everyone likes Mary Poppins. So what, who cares? I’m going to be my authentic happy (and sometimes grumpy) self, and if people don’t like it, they can just take it with a spoon full of sugar. Or salt, if you are drinking margaritas.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Blooming Where I am Planted
I grew up in Southern California where I learned how to body surf, eat granola and wear flip flops. I worked at Disneyland. Yes, I have blonde hair. (And It continues with age, thanks to my hairdresser, Andrea). My family still lives there, and I yearn for them and the ocean daily. But staying there just wasn’t in the cards.
I was “planted” in Ohio several years ago. Now, not being very good at geography in school (that and math were not my #1 choices), I wasn’t even sure where I was moving. They call it the “mid-west”, but if you look at a map, it’s kind of at the north eastern southern part of the country.
What I did know that instead of earthquake drills I’d have tornado sirens. I had heard the tomatoes were incredible and that there was lots of sweet corn. I was told there were tons of beautiful big trees and lots of wildflowers. No ocean, but lots of lakes and rivers.
Snow. Snow? I had to buy earmuffs and cute coats and matching mittens. I had to learn to scrape my windshield. My dog had to wear a sweater. Moving to Ohio was quite a culture and weather shock.
What I didn’t know was that I’d find home. So many people ask me: “What is a California girl doing in Ohio?” Well, here is my answer:
I am living – truly living. I have chosen to bloom where I was planted. I have found my true love and soul mate. I have the best friends ever. I live in a house that has the most peaceful view of the woods. I embrace and enjoy the change of the seasons. I have my children and soon to be 3 grandchildren. I don’t have traffic. I have great farmers markets and talented artisans living near me. I have my favorite restaurants and wine bars. I know some of the coolest people in the world. I get to go to great concerts and outdoor events. I can build a snowman….or watch my granddaughter do it and cheer her on. I can canoe on the river and bike alongside it. I can drive a short distance to snow ski or boat on one of the great lakes. I am not far from the east coast and am within driving distance to some of the most beautiful places in the country. Ah, maybe that’s what they meant by “middle America”.
Being an Ohio transplant has been a journey…but a joyful one at that. I guess you could say my heart is split; part in Ohio and part back in California, where my family and childhood memories reside.
I’ve learned to discover the richness of where I am planted. I’ve learned to have an open mind and learn about the people and the culture. I’ve learned to embrace my own inner California style, while living where there is no ocean.
The melting pot of my life just continues to evolve. I’ve created my own “garden” where I will continue to grow and bloom and thrive…and at times throw around some fertilizer for good measure!
I was “planted” in Ohio several years ago. Now, not being very good at geography in school (that and math were not my #1 choices), I wasn’t even sure where I was moving. They call it the “mid-west”, but if you look at a map, it’s kind of at the north eastern southern part of the country.
What I did know that instead of earthquake drills I’d have tornado sirens. I had heard the tomatoes were incredible and that there was lots of sweet corn. I was told there were tons of beautiful big trees and lots of wildflowers. No ocean, but lots of lakes and rivers.
Snow. Snow? I had to buy earmuffs and cute coats and matching mittens. I had to learn to scrape my windshield. My dog had to wear a sweater. Moving to Ohio was quite a culture and weather shock.
What I didn’t know was that I’d find home. So many people ask me: “What is a California girl doing in Ohio?” Well, here is my answer:
I am living – truly living. I have chosen to bloom where I was planted. I have found my true love and soul mate. I have the best friends ever. I live in a house that has the most peaceful view of the woods. I embrace and enjoy the change of the seasons. I have my children and soon to be 3 grandchildren. I don’t have traffic. I have great farmers markets and talented artisans living near me. I have my favorite restaurants and wine bars. I know some of the coolest people in the world. I get to go to great concerts and outdoor events. I can build a snowman….or watch my granddaughter do it and cheer her on. I can canoe on the river and bike alongside it. I can drive a short distance to snow ski or boat on one of the great lakes. I am not far from the east coast and am within driving distance to some of the most beautiful places in the country. Ah, maybe that’s what they meant by “middle America”.
Being an Ohio transplant has been a journey…but a joyful one at that. I guess you could say my heart is split; part in Ohio and part back in California, where my family and childhood memories reside.
I’ve learned to discover the richness of where I am planted. I’ve learned to have an open mind and learn about the people and the culture. I’ve learned to embrace my own inner California style, while living where there is no ocean.
The melting pot of my life just continues to evolve. I’ve created my own “garden” where I will continue to grow and bloom and thrive…and at times throw around some fertilizer for good measure!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
