I’ve always loved a good game night. Cards, dice, you name it—I’m in. But when I think of the games that truly shaped me, I always come back to Canasta and my Grandma Is. Our games were more than just a way to pass the time—they were moments of laughter, competition, and connection. And no, I never cheated. I never even considered if I could get away with it.

Growing up, Grandma Is and I would spend our summer afternoons playing card games and dice games on the round fiberglass table in her patio. She taught me Kings in the Corners, Go Fish, and Old Maid. As I got older, we graduated to a long game of 500, a Rummy-style challenge that I always suspected she secretly let me win. One of our favorites was Zilch, a dice game. I still have the little jewelry ring box that holds the six dice and her handwritten instructions—proof that some traditions deserve to be preserved.

 When I first met Craig, I was absolutely anti-TV. My small television was banished to the sunroom, nestled between a loveseat and a jungle of plants. We’d snuggle up and pop in a DVD whenever we spent time together.

After we got married, I caved and got cable—and a bigger TV.

Fast forward several years into our marriage. Craig often retreats to the basement family room to watch football or whatever sports game, while I putter around in the kitchen, read in the living room, or work on a project upstairs.

Then came the pandemic in 2020.

It’s 1973. The house is calm and quiet except for the quiet rustling of cartoons on TV. Saturday mornings were sacred—a special time, just for us kids. Mom worked part-time during the week and Saturday mornings, so she took my baby sister to Grandma Meister’s house. I was easy to entertain. All I needed was the TV and a lineup of Saturday morning cartoons. It was the only day of the week devoted entirely to children, where the shows were designed for us and our interests, and nothing else mattered.

While Grandma drank her hot, black coffee and read the paper, I was glued to the screen, lost in the world of “Scooby-Doo, Where Are You?” and the wacky, larger-than-life adventures of “H.R. Pufnstuf.” “Schoolhouse Rock” did more than entertain; it sneakily taught me lessons about conjunctions and how a bill becomes a law.

What is the last thing I got excited about?

Wow, we’re not talking about gratitude or feeling blessed. Not just happy or content. No… I mean EXCITED!!!

As an adult, that feeling only comes around occasionally for me. I used to get excited before trips, when we adopted our children, and when starting new jobs. But excitement is a rare emotion these days.

I most recently felt it was for my son’s 20th birthday party. But it wasn’t about the party itself—it was about the gift I was giving him…and myself. We were going skydiving!

I loved sleeping at my grandma’s house. When I was young, I would sleep in the front bedroom. It was small with a twin bed pushed into the corner. Shelves held books and knick-knacks above the bed. A Lane cedar chest and a round natural rattan chair were just across the narrow room. The sheets were white, always felt crisp, and smelled freshly washed. A small light on the bottom shelf was available for nighttime reading.

I always avoided conversations about music. It seemed like everyone else was fluent in the language of trending tunes, effortlessly dropping names of “in” bands and belting out the words to popular songs. Meanwhile, I was stuck on the local pop station. Pop songs, as everyone reminded me, weren’t cool.

Feeling like a musical misfit, I kept my preferences under wraps. The pressure to fit in with the musical elites was daunting, so I perfected the art of nodding along in conversations about the latest indie darlings while secretly bopping to bubblegum pop hits.

Every now and then, curiosity got the best of me. I’d hear a catchy tune floating through the air and, swallowing my nerves, ask what it was. This is how I discovered the songs that would come to define my eclectic musical taste.

When did I stop looking forward to the future? 

I think back to my past…I loved celebrating my birthday. We always had family around to sing “Happy Birthday”, lots of presents, and my favorite angel food cake with Grandma’s slippery frosting. 

Our family went on yearly epic summer camping trips. My favorite place to visit was Jellystone Park up in Sturgeon Bay, WI. The days were filled with swimming, bike riding, eating onion sandwiches in the afternoon, and singing around the campfire in the evening.

Meet the Fab Four of my life – the four pillars that keep me grounded, inspired, and constantly entertained. They’re not a rock band, but they sure do rock my world in unique ways. So, let’s start with number four, shall we?

Romantic movies… where do I even begin? The first one that springs to mind is “P.S. I Love You.” It’s not just the love story between the characters that captivate me, but the transformation of Holly, the main character, that truly intrigues me.

In the movie, Hillary Swank portrays Holly, a vibrant and independent woman who meets Gerry, played by Gerard Butler while traveling in Ireland. They fall in love, get married, and move to New York. However, tragedy strikes when Gerry becomes ill with brain cancer and passes away. Over the next 12 months, Holly receives letters from Gerry, each guiding her through life without him and ending with the poignant phrase, “P.S. I Love You.”