In My Room

roomWhen I was a little girl, I had my own room. I don’t remember much about it except that my sister Sandy used to visit me and play. My roll-a-way had a handle that we pretended was the steering wheel on our pirate ship. Because we frequently got together to play in my room, our parents decided that we must want to share a room.  Continue reading

Through My Mentor’s Eyes

mentorGrowing up, my mom was private about girl stuff and things I should be aware of. My older sister Sandy and I shared a room and she was the one I went to with questions about life and guys and relationships. I was shy growing up and Sandy’s advice helped me to handle a variety of situations. I knew she always had my back although she did tease me a bit first. Continue reading

Smoking with the Cool Girls

Being a little sister is not always easy. Whenever Sandy and her girlfriends were trying things out, I wanted to try them too.

As is often the case, when I was going through this experience, it wasn’t funny. With every telling, it gets funnier and funnier. And now, it is downright hysterical. Continue reading

A Civilized Family Meal

fondueMy husband was a great cook. OK, I know I’ve said this multiple times. I bring this up because I don’t remember a bad meal that he ever prepared.

To identify a favorite family meal, I’ll tell you about a meal that Michael didn’t cook and all three of us enjoyed immensely.

It was a warm, comfortable evening in Louisville, Colorado. Michael, our son Matt and I came together after we were done with work. We had been given a gift for dinner at the Melting Pot Restaurant. Matt had never been to a Melting Pot and didn’t know what to expect. Continue reading

Home at Last

My son Matt and I pulled away from the house we had called home for the past fifteen years. It was the only home Matt remembered and a home that I loved. We had come back over spring break to finish emptying out the house and to complete our move to Colorado. Continue reading

First Communion Nightmare

My mom was raised Catholic and she agreed to raise her children as Catholics. The only caveat was that she did not want us to go to parochial school. In order for us to fulfill her agreement, we were required to attend Saturday Catechism classes until we were through the eighth grade. Continue reading

Shy and Unhappy Teenager

teenagerI remember being very excited about becoming a teenager but for the life of me, I didn’t know why.

My first memory of my teenage years was standing on the front steps of the Junior High waiting for the doors to open. It was the first day of 7th grade. I had grown four inches over the summer. I towered over most of my classmates that I remembered from 6th grade. Continue reading

The Professional Worrier

worrierMy parents shared many of their characteristics with me. Some were learned and some were in my genes.

Dad was a procrastinator. He would finish dinner, sit down to watch something on TV, and often would fall asleep. He’d wake up when it was time to go to bed and then he’d start working. Continue reading

No Laughing at the Dinner Table

Mom and Dad had some interesting phrases that they repeated on numerous occasions.

Dad #1

One of our favorite parts of the day was when the family got together in the dining room for dinner Something would hit one of our funny bones and we would start laughing. Next, the whole table was laughing and joking. Dad would seriously interject “Cut it out or someone is going to be crying soon”. The sad part was that he was often right. He would get impatient with the frivolity and one of us would get in trouble. Then the tears would start.

Dad #2

I used to love to debate with Dad. I didn’t consider it arguing but apparently, he did. When he felt backed into a corner, his next phrase was “Don’t talk back to me young lady”. At that point, I had to stop debating and quietly leave the discussion. Continue reading

Words Matter

I have been going through unusual trials recently. My husband, Michael is very ill. There have been several people that have sent notes either by text, email, or snail mail, that have warmed my heart and have caused me to feel cared about and yes, loved. Continue reading