It’s always a trip, literally and figuratively, to visit my adult kids in California. When we’re together, our conversations gravitate to the “remember whens.” Our individual recollections vacillate widely: joyful, hilarious or downright sad. This visit, we reminisced about “Christmas past” — a season we shared in another time and place, a lifetime ago. READ
I’m a people watcher, but hold on: I don’t peek through windows or engage in stalking or gawking, nothing creepy like that. Wherever or whatever I’m doing, I usually find something that sparks my interest.
Growing up, one of Mom’s famous “Mom-isms” was “Celia! Act your age.” Jeez! How I hated those words. Now that I am a gal of a certain age, I get ticked off when some 30-something magazine editor tells me to dress age appropriately — in other words, “ to act my age.”
One Friday morning before heading to work, I decided to vacuum the house — bad decision. My house was neat and clean, but I was expecting company that evening. READ
It was like a slow-moving storm that began creeping around my consciousness the week before Mother’s Day. I felt irritable, tired and was probably a tad b—– (it rhymes with “witchy”). I’m usually in tune with my emotions, but this time I was stymied.
I was chatting long-distance with a gal-pal who moved out of state after her husband died. She is currently dating the “man of her dreams” and quite intoxicated with endorphins, serotonin and dopamine, aka the feel-good hormones. READ
For the first time in my life (yes, it’s possible), I decided to take a winter vacation in Florida. I know the “snow birds” do it regularly. But as for me, and as weird as it sounds, I don’t mind the winter months. READ
They say every picture tells a story. Last month, I flew to California to attend my son Jeff’s marriage to the lovely Cassandra. Before the wedding, the bride and groom assembled a beautiful photo display portraying their lives so far. READ
Before I worked full-time, I attended church regularly on Thursday mornings. About six years ago, I spotted a gal who looked vaguely familiar sitting a couple of pews ahead of me. When it was time to exchange the peace, she turned around and faced me. READ
At one time or another we’ve all stamped our feet and cried out to the universe: “It’s not fair!” Tantrum? Of course, because in reality whatever caused our pain wasn’t fair — but who says life is always fair? What screws us up the most is the story in our heads of how things should be. READ