The Accidental Nester, Part II

My first pandemic blog post made it seem as if every day were a day of nothing but leisure. And while that is largely true, and there is nothing wrong with that, I do feel compelled to say that Allan and I have accomplished several productive tasks during these months as well. Perhaps this productivity has come with the change of seasons, i.e. “spring cleaning,” or perhaps I simply knew I had time on my hands. Whatever the reason, we have taken this respite to knock off a few items on a long-overdue “to do” list. Here are a few of those items that have been checked-off:

. Cleaned out the file cabinet. Warranties for old appliances and automobiles I no longer own are gone. Paperwork on remodeling projects from my Connecticut house is simply useless and could have been trashed four years ago. Research for past freelance articles or website presentations is dated and readily available on-line. I have begun to view excess paper as a fire trap; the more I can get rid of, the safer we are. I intend to make yet another pass through the files, knowing that I am still holding on to too much paper.

. Purged our extensive book collection. Allan and I buy books and vinyl. Neither of us enjoy reading on-line, though I do use a Kindle when traveling. But we have 3 big bags of books ready for Mr. K’s we do not feel compelled to keep. Authors we keep: Grisham, Picoult, Dan Brown, Pat Conroy, Alice Hoffman, John Irving, Barbara Kingsolver, Wally Lamb, Chaim Potok, Anita Shreve, to name a few. Also, Dottie Frank, for sentimental reasons.

. Cleaned the linen closet. Two large bags of towels await delivery to the Charleston Animal Society, when they reopen for gifts-in-kind delivery.

. Cleaned the master bedroom closet and my drawers, which I tend to do regularly. I am a somewhat avid follower of Marie Kondo. So when I pick up something in a drawer or my closet that does not spark joy, it heads either to my favorite consignment store or to Goodwill. Those items that go out have been replaced with new items that do spark joy. If I can’t go to the stores, the stores can come to me!

. Organized and purged the pantry. In line with my upbringing, I have always kept a well-stocked pantry. Growing up, my friends would come to see me so they could visit my Mom’s walk-in pantry. In fact, they were known to come by the house when I was not even home! In similar fashion, I keep a well-stocked pantry, replete with items that were past their prime since we moved in four years ago. It was necessary to clear space so we could buy more “essentials,” such as soup stock (I do not make my own and am brand loyal to Pacific), pasta sauces, cookies (for Allan, presumably), canned soups, and beans (both raw and canned) for my own homemade soups. Since this pandemic has so over-extended its welcome, it’s probably time to clean the pantry yet again!

. Scheduled needed household repairs, with the proviso that anyone who entered the house wore masks, gloves, and booties. In recent months, we have had 9 windows replaced (ordered in January), 2 ceilings repaired and repainted after water damage, an outside faucet replaced, and are awaiting new flooring for our FROG (family room over the garage). In preparation for the new flooring, we have to remove all items from “flat” surfaces, ie., picture frames, audio equipment, memorabilia, etc. In itself, this activity creates good exercise! Also this week, a new mailbox will be installed outside, thanks to a careless driver who chose to back into ours without noticing.

. Further enhanced the yard. Since I continued to visit garden centers during the pandemic (they are outdoor venues, and I still wore masks), we have added 16 new variegated lariope to the front yard border and additional new shrubbery in the back yard.

What remains on the “to do” list? We did not clean out and reorganize the garage, which we should have done during our beautifully cool spring. Nor did we reorganize the attic, which contains a virtual luggage store, much of which needs to go to Goodwill. Now it is too hot to work either in the garage or the attic, so both of those items will wait until the fall — or 2021 — whichever comes first!

Of course, the biggest “to do” item is reuniting with friends and family. We feel we have truly made the best of this situation and will continue to do so as long as we need to. But we yearn for the hugs of friends and family that you simply don’t get over a Zoom call. And I wouldn’t mind being served a fine meal and a fancy cocktail either!

The Accidental Nester

Like most of America, or for that matter, most citizens of the world, we have become accidental “nesters” for the past month and will remain so, most likely for another month. Confined, within certain limits, to our homes, to the grocery store, to the pharmacy.

Like many of our peers, the adjustment has not been terribly hard, since we are retired from the structure of everyday work life. But we are far from retired from the structure of everyday life, and have built a life with scheduled activities every day of the week, including fitness classes, personal training activities, volunteer activities with our therapy dog Emma, and more. So while we may be empty nesters, we have become stay-at-home nesters in recent weeks.

But let’s confess. There’s a lot to be said for this unstructured life. Yoga pants or workout pants every day feel pretty good. It is easy to forget that some pants still have zippers and buttons on them, or that some shoes are not a variety of sneakers (why anyone would own them, I do not know!)? In fact, one of my “mitigation splurges” was a great new pair of sneakers, all in the name of keeping the economy afloat.

The days go by fairly quickly for us, despite the fact that we are still up early (usually around 8ish). Here’s how we fill our time:

Cooking. Since returning to Charleston, I have turned into a half-decent cook. Grocery stores, in recent years, have become one of my “happy places,” and even now, I look forward to my weekly visit to Harris Teeter or Whole Foods. I have tried new soups, new Passover recipes (some hits, some misses), baked a few things (some hits, some misses), but needless to say, we have never eaten this well. My only home delivery comes from CostCo, because I simply don’t want to stand in those lines with hopes of getting a roasted chicken.

Eating. In between cooking, we talk about where we will get our weekly take-out. Our goal is to pick-up take-out once a week as a show of support to our local restaurateurs. Plus, going out for the food is another reason to get out of the house, so we try to think of restaurants at a distance, so we can take a further ride. A win-win, in my humble opinion.

Exercise. We watch the weather constantly, but gratefully live in a mild weather zone and have had largely beautiful weather this spring. So far, there have been two hot days and two tornadic days, but we have been spared the worst of all of the bad weather. So we have devised assorted walking routes of various lengths inside and outside of our own neighborhood, depending upon whether the dog will be with us. We are hesitant to cross the highway with her, in case Emma decides to sit down in the middle of the road to scratch herself or roll over on her back for a tummy rub. So when the weather is good (which is most days), we are outside walking. When the weather is less than perfect, we are in our frog (the finished room over the garage) using our treadmill, spin cycle, hand weights, bands, etc. We miss the community of our gym, but we don’t want to get out of shape or lose the good fitness habits we have developed in recent years.

Reading. Allan can’t stop reading. Whenever I can’t hear him, I know his head is buried, generally in a Stephen King novel. Right now he is reading The Testament. I have read an older Jodi Picot novel, Vanishing Act, and two Alice Hoffman novels. Our “to read” stacks are large.

Puzzling. As my friends know, I am a jigsaw junkie. I get engrossed in a 1,000, 1,500 or 2,000-piece puzzle and don’t come up for air until it’s finished (perhaps why I haven’t blogged much recently). Puzzling takes away from my reading time, but it is a calming, mindful activity. Allan does his own puzzling activity, in the guise of expert-level Lego sets. He is an AFOL, an adult fan of Legos, and is about to complete the Statue of Liberty and begin the Volkswagen bus.

Talking. We talk to each other all the time, but we have made an extra effort in recent weeks to reach out to others as well. I try every day to connect to someone to whom I haven’t spoken in a very long time. Sometimes, I get through; sometimes, I leave a message; sometimes, the phone in no longer in service. Nonetheless, the gift of time gives us the luxury of the gift of conversation. More than anything at a time like this, it is good to stay connected.

Time between these deliberate activities are filled with the mundane — laundry, housework, the occasional doctor’s appointment, and some yard work. We were fortunate to get to our favorite nurseries before they closed. The lettuces in my little “victory garden” are thriving and there are tomatoes on the vine.

When “the curve flattens,” when the world “returns to normal,” it will be a sadder world in some respects. I will be happy for those who can return to work and to school, easing the economic burden this virus has wrought. I will be happy to reconnect with friends and family, to share a glass of wine with a meal prepared and served by someone else, to spin with my gym friends, to walk one of our beautiful beaches, to visit the children.

But I will miss the quiet of the atmosphere, the lack of traffic, and the general kindness that has descended when we have all tried to take better care of ourselves and our neighbors, and, in turn, the world around us. In the meantime, we take a few minutes every night to count our blessings for our health and for the peace and quiet that surrounds us.

The Accidental Road-Weary Traveler

Just back from an 8-day road trip up and down both coasts and through the middle of Florida, complete with our little Emma the beagle in tow. During those eight nights, we slept in four different beds and visited seven distinct groups of friends and family. It was a wonderful trip, and it was an exhausting trip. Here’s what we learned:

  • Time and distance is hard to measure. Our agenda was over-anxious, with too many destinations in too-short a period of time. The trip began with a lovely lunch with my Aunt Sylvia in Savannah, GA, a three-hour visit when we had estimated a one-hour visit. It was time well-spent and we wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world. But rather than spending an afternoon in St. Augustine, we were lucky to grab a wonderful dinner on the outside patio of Columbia, a traditional Spanish restaurant that rightfully came highly recommended. That meant we got back on the highway at 8 p.m. and pulled into my niece Joanna’s home in New Smyrna Beach at 10 p.m. We don’t like night driving, much less interstate driving at the end of a 12-hour day.
  • Because we had committed to different groups of people on specific nights, we did not give ourselves the freedom to meander throughout the state. That is also a pitfall of a “schnorring” vacation. “Schnorring” is generally used as a pejorative Yiddish word for begging, which means we were taking advantage of the hospitality of friends and family rather than staying in hotels along the way. Yet another learning experience… New Smyrna was followed by visits and stays in Palm Beach Gardens, Coral Gables, Fort Myers (where we lay down our heads for three consecutive nights, courtesy of my sister- and brother-in-law, Laura and Tom Anello), Culver City, and The Villages, for two nights with Marvin and Cindy Ivy, friends since 1980. Are you exhausted reading this list? I am exhausted just typing it and thinking of those friends and family we didn’t see, particularly on the East Coast of the state.
  • The “visitation” schedule left no time for sight-seeing. What we did not see on this trip was a manatee, an airboat tour through the Everglades, the Dali Museum in St. Petersburg, or the sights of St. Augustine. As Allan so wisely reminded me, this trip was about the personal visits with friends and family, not about the sites. That will be another visit to Florida!
  • Initial concerns about traveling with Emma went unfounded. As usual, she was easy and delightful. But here’s my new insight: I now believe it is an intrusion to take a dog into someone else’s house, despite what they say, unless they own a dog, and maybe even if they own a dog or two. Non-dog owners are simply not used to having dog paraphernalia around, and dog owners must separate your dog and their dog during feeding times so they don’t fight over each other’s food. So while there were no dog incidents or comments, I felt, at times, that Emma was an inconvenience to our hosts. At other times, I felt they were happier to see her than us! She certainly was a conversation-maker wherever we walked with her.
  • Packing for your dog is like packing for a child. Besides her bed in the car, there was a large canvas bag with her bowls, kibble and snacks, and a cooler, because we had been feeding her a refrigerated chicken product (that we are now dropping from her diet). As soon as we got home, we ordered a travel bag for dogs from chewy.com that will consolidate a dog’s needs for a week. We will pack better for her next time.

So here are a few rules of thumb based on what we have learned for our next road trip. We will visit fewer locales for longer periods of time, adopting the rule from one friend of at least a 3-night stay in each location worthy of a visit.

We will travel with Emma again, but I think only to homes with dogs or to pet-friendly hotels.

We will not travel so close to the start of the New Year. I felt I was still carrying the extra carbs, as well as a pound or two, from the Thanksgiving and Chanukah/Christmas holidays, and did not need to add on an extra 8 days of car travel, meals out, and extra wine bloat so quickly.

Most important of all, we will give ourselves time to slow down, smell the flowers, feel the sand in our toes, and come home tanned and rested.

Thanks to all of our dear friends and family who so graciously opened their homes and hearts to us and Emma!

The Accidental Journal Writer: A Daily List of Gratitude

Those who know me know that I write; in fact, I was a journalist by profession who morphed into marketing. But those who know me, and those who don’t know me, may be surprised to learn that I keep a journal, and have now done so for about 13 months.

For several years, the idea of the journal was just that, an idea that manifested itself in the silent recitation of five gratitudes nightly. From Oprah I learned that I might feel better and sleep better if I reminded myself nightly of things I should feel grateful for in the day just ended. So for months on end, starting with the personal tragedy that befell my family in 2013, I would recount silently at least five reasons every night for which to be grateful. And my “gratitudes” could not include the obvious, such as the sun shone today or I ate breakfast. (You are more than welcome to include these in your personal list of gratitudes; my rules apply only to myself.)

In recent years, I watched my husband commit his thoughts of the day to a journal, a habit he has maintained periodically throughout his life. It is one of several good mental health habits of his; he also meditates, reads a daily inspirational, and more. But enough about him!

I decided I would try documenting my gratitudes in a beautiful spiral, so that it would be easy for me to review at any moment and remind myself of all the good things in my life. (Others suggest writing a gratitude on a slip of paper and placing it in a jar, watching the jar fill up with all the good things that happen in your life. Maybe a gratitude jar is a better fit for some than a journal). My journal entries are not narratives; they are numbered items and there are never less than five on any given day.

The practice hit home with me this week as friends posted New Year’s greetings in cards and on Facebook, while others made New Year’s resolutions. While “journaling” last night, I decided to spend a few minutes reviewing my entries from the last year.

It was great to see that the little things in life make me happy. The themes were obvious: good conversations with the children (the most frequent); holiday visits with the children; good workouts at the gym; visits from friends and family; travel to new places.

So I don’t have specific New Year greetings or break-through resolutions for the coming year. I will pay continued attention to my physical and mental health (which I consider one and the same), love my family with all my heart; cherish my friends; be kind to the earth. All the reasons to look forward to a healthy and happy 2020! Wishing the same to you…

The Accidental Puzzler

I have a confession: I am an addict. Over the past two years, I have become addicted to jigsaw puzzles, primarily bright, graphic puzzles of 1,000 pieces or more. And you can blame this addiction squarely on my husband!

The first time I went to Allan’s home in 2016, I saw a hallway filled with framed puzzles between the bedrooms and the kitchen. All were food-related, collage puzzles: vintage cereals, candy bars, etc. How cute and quaint, thought I.

When we moved to Charleston in 2017, he suggested that we build a puzzle together, so we started with a 500-piece collage puzzle of vintage gardening seeds. Suffice it to say that I have not stopped since, though the activity has been around since 1760 (thanks to a Brit, John Spilsbury, a London cartographer).

In short, I have entered a whole new subculture, joined Facebook groups (which, by the way, are extremely friendly and never mention politics), spend undue amounts of time perusing puzzle sites, and occasionally entertain thoughts of shipping puzzles from European companies. In short, I am one step away from going off the deep end of puzzle mania.

In my defense, I have “friends” on-line who have puzzle “stashes” as high as 200. Your “stash” is your accumulation of unopened puzzles that you can’t wait to build, yet you can’t stop buying when you see additional beautiful puzzles. My stash is only around 10. (True confession: I ordered yet one more puzzle yesterday from the Museum of Modern Art. But it is a stunner!)

I have also discarded some earlier puzzles, sold several unopened ones as my “puzzle tastes” have narrowed, and donated others. Friends and family members have learned not to send me puzzles, because buying a puzzle for someone is like buying a woman a purse. It is an extremely personal decision and not one to be made by someone else. At least, not in my world.

The truth of the matter is that I have learned some valuable lessons from my puzzling:

  • Puzzling is a mindful exercise. I get lost in the process, and can sit in front of a puzzle for several hours, focused on the process, devoid of other thoughts, and not eating. All good things, until I see that my little pup is faint with hunger!
  • Puzzling forces you to consider multiple ways to solve a problem. Those pieces just don’t fit together well. I turn them every which way; I rotate the puzzle; I look at each puzzle from every angle.
  • Puzzling teaches you perseverance. At times, when my patience wears thin, my husband has suggested that I surrender to the puzzle and either put it away or discard. Well, I’ll be damned if I am ever going to be bested by a jigsaw puzzle. Call me stupid or call me persistent; I stick with it until I “win!”
  • Puzzling teaches you creativity. I am not the only person to complete a puzzle to find that a piece is missing. Sometimes, puzzles are sent incomplete; sometimes, a pet or a vacuum cleaner simply eats a piece. I have solved this dilemma in creative ways, using either the poster that comes with well-made puzzles or poster board of a similar color behind the missing piece. I consider these hidden flaws my signature on such a puzzle.
  • Puzzles cost less than shoes and purses, though we have had at least one 2,000-piece puzzle custom-framed for the master bedroom. But it is a beautiful work of art that consumed much of my time as well as our dining room table for a long time.
  • Research by The Alzheimers Society of Canada indicates that doing jigsaw puzzles is one of many activities that keeps the brain active and can reduce the risk of developing Alzheimer’s disease. So there!

Is there a downside to my new addiction? Perhaps. I have scared Allan away from puzzling, though he has taken on extremely complex Lego designs which I would never touch. I feel that I read less, because my reading is now confined to late night rather than all evening. But I still read a lot, by anyone’s standards.

So I welcome this new hobby into my life. I enjoy my Facebook groups, Jigsaw Puzzlers and Keeping Up with New Releases. I enjoy scouring the puzzle sites and searching for releases by certain artists. Check out Sally Rich puzzles by Grafika (a French puzzle company) or Annie Lee (an African American artist) puzzles by Sunsout if you want to see truly beautiful images. You might find puzzling is just the relaxing hobby you need as well.

The Accidental (Gym Rat): It’s Never too Late

Today, I set a set a new PB, or Personal Best, in my spin class. Now these numbers may not sound impressive to you, but in 60 minutes of spinning, I clocked 16 miles and burned 400 calories. Now there were other spinners in the class who undoubtedly went further and burned harder, just as there were spinners who pedaled slower and burned less. But their performance is meaningless to me. It is my progress that keeps me going back.

I share this with you not to brag or to embarrass myself, but to point to the fact that anyone can do what I am doing, at any age. Suffice it to say that I was already on Medicare when I discovered spinning.

My love affair with gyms began in 2005, when a colleague in Manhattan offered me a 30-day free trial to the New York Sports Club. That trial turned into a membership and a relationship with a personal trainer that lasted until I relocated from Connecticut in 2016. So that’s an 11-year history.

It didn’t take long at all to find a gym here in Charleston, having joined 02 Fitness in 2016. I know myself well enough to know that I will not stick with any diet or fitness plan if it does not touch my wallet and if I don’t have someone to report to or to help me stay on track. Somewhat embarrassing to admit at this age, but that is who I am .

My experience at O2 began with rehabilitation after hip replacement surgery. Talk about romance — I married one month (see The Accidental Newlywed, 9/02/19) and had my hip replaced this following month! Physical therapy was simply less expensive at the gym than it was at a PT facility.

It didn’t take long for my ability to surpass the simple leg lifts and steps that my PT required. My work-outs became increasingly more difficult, but always cognizant of my strength and my rehabilitation. But slowly but surely, I started to see what else the gym had to offer.

Now, my week at the gym looks like this:

  • Two personal training sessions under the careful guidance of my trainer, Scott Hager, whom I cannot recommend highly enough.
  • Two spin classes, my newest passion (see The Accidental Spinner, 8/31/19).
  • One Body Flow class. The Les Mills Body Flow class is an hour of stretching that combines Tai Chi, Yoga and Pilates.
  • An occasional Zumba class (occasional, because rhythm is simply not my forte).
  • Lots of time on the recumbent cycle, treadmill, and arc trainer on my own.

Since 2005, I was never excited about going to the gym, though I always felt better after a workout. Because my work day and my commute to Manhattan were so long, my visit to the New York Sports Club in Westport was only weekly. (Certainly I could have visited many of the gyms in New York, but I did not.) Now, I am at 02 at least three days of the week and absolutely love it.

Trust me: it is never too late. Each class I have tried, I have done so with trepidation. Fears that I wasn’t good enough or nimble enough. Fears that others in the class would laugh at me. Fears that I was simply too old or not fit enough. But the actual truth of the matter is that no one is looking at me. Each person is too busy concentrating on his or her own performance, and hoping that no one else is watching them.

These classes and training sessions are my time at the gym. What they have done for my mind and body are beyond the pale. Give it a try.

The Non-Accidental Worshipper

In a few short hours, I will enter my synagogue and join Jewish worshippers around the world who are observing Yom Kippur. For 24 hours, we will abstain from all food and drink, a fast that culminates 10 days of repentance and introspection as we ask forgiveness of those we may have wronged over the past year and ask for another year of life. It is not an “accidental” practice on my part, or a new “hobby” I have discovered in retirement, but something that has been an important part of my life for as long as I can remember. I have fasted since my bat mitzvah 53 years ago, and will do my best to continue that practice as long as I am able.

Though I am not a very observant Jew by some standards — I am not Shabbos-observant, for example, and do not keep a Kosher home — I think there is much to be said about observing the High Holy Days. I see the High Holy Days not only as a time of introspection and a time to ask forgiveness, but a time for a personal reality check, as well.

It is that time of the year that I use to schedule all of my annual medical exams, which can be easily forgotten or deliberately postponed. Long-delayed household chores or repairs are resolved. The car is washed, if not detailed. In short, it feels good to start the New Year with a clean slate, on the inside and out.

That may not be what our ancestors intended or our rabbis intend today for the High Holy Days. Yet I am also cognizant of my shortcomings in the year that is coming to an end. Patience is not my virtue; I often have no filters on my tongue; and I ruefully recall some of the meanest comments I have made in my life to some of my dearest friends in years gone by. Thankfully, they do not seem to have remembered, but I do not forget my own shortcomings. Never are they more apparent to me than at this time of the year or when we repeatedly recite the Al Cheyt prayer, a confessional of sins in Hebrew and English in case you can’t remember the wrongs you may have committed.

It also seems to me that as a nation, we are at a particularly mean junction in our moral behavior. There will be armed security guards outside synagogues across the nation. Blame it on our politicians, blame it on social media, or blame it on ourselves. But it is easy to hit that “share” button or tweet a few nasty words that we might never have said to someone face to face. Using an app does not give an excuse to be mean. It doesn’t matter who you are.

So it seems to be that we could all benefit by taking a pause — breathing deeply, eating less, looking inward, slowing down — and focus on being kinder to ourselves, to each other, to strangers, and to the planet. We are all we have. We have only one planet.

Whatever your faith, your race, your political beliefs, your sexual orientation, your relationship to me — if I have wronged you this past year, in word or deed, please forgive me.

Together, let’s do a better job embracing the Jewish concept of Tikkun Olam, healing the world.

The Accidental Pet Therapy Mom: From One to Many

According to the paperwork, I “rescued” my beagle Emma from a shelter in Franklin, TN, where she had been relinquished by her owners. Through the mercy of a rescue organization that ran a transport to the Northeast twice monthly, Emma and I met at an I-95 rest stop in southern Connecticut. Other dogs were being placed in their forever homes or with foster families, while others were traveling a bit further upstate to meet their new families. But I digress… 

All those who know me also know that Emma truly rescued me. She came to me after the tragic death of my husband, at the hands of a hit-and-run driver, and the loss of my 16-year-old Australian Shepherd, Pudge. There was a hole in my heart that needed to be filled, so I took to the internet in search of a rescue dog. 

Emma was born to be a therapy dog. Her effects on me were instant and obvious; she helped filled a void and loneliness in my life. 

But it was more than two years later, when I met my husband-to-be (also thanks to the internet!), that I first heard of the practice of therapy dogs. He spent his entire career as a recreational therapist in a leading New York rehabilitation hospital and was well-aware of the use of therapy dogs in hospital settings. He knew from the moment he first met Emma that she had the personality, sweet nature, and calm demeanor that therapy dogs need. 

Another two years pass, we marry, and retire to Charleston, where I was born and raised. We took Emma through the therapy dog certification process and spent a year visiting seniors at a nearby assisted living facility and students at local colleges. It was through meeting other pet therapy dog owners that we learned of the program at the Medical University of South Carolina and knew we wanted to be a part of it. 

After a year with seniors, including weekly visits to a memory loss unit, we asked to be placed in the Children’s Hospital. So every Friday, we three end our week visiting children, their family members, visitors, and staff members. It is such a rewarding way to end the week – knowing that we are ending our week by giving something back. 

Every single week is special; every child we visit is special. Emma loves all equally, even the parents. Very recently, a young man was sound asleep after extensive orthopedic surgery, but his mother was so happy to have a visit from Emma. She came out in the hall, sat on the floor, and spent at least 20 minutes chatting, petting, talking about dogs, children, family, and more. Emma truly was her therapist. 

But perhaps one recent scenario stands out most in my mind: For the second week in a row, we visited a young child receiving chemo treatments. These patients come out into the hall to visit the dogs, their IV polls in tow. This beautiful little girl sat on the floor with Emma, petting her and talking to her, as if they had been friends for life. 

And then she turned to her mother and said, “She has big brown eyes, just like me.” 

For that moment, this child was not a child with cancer. She was simply a little girl, sitting on the floor with a dog, who just realized this cute little beagle had big brown eyes, just like her. 

The Accidental Clean-up Crew

#Hurricane Dorian is finally over.

For days, that giant storm teased those of us who lived along the southeastern coast of the United States. We experienced a mandatory evacuation (those many of us paid no need), days of anticipation, binge-eating hurricane snacks, and then 36 hours of rather relentless rain and some mighty powerful winds. But with that said, our area experienced only tropical force winds; those who live north of here on the Outerbanks of North Carolina and even further north in Nova Scotia took a much worse beating. And nothing compares to the devastation suffered in the Bahamas. Nonetheless, tropical storm winds created a real mess in the yard.

Now I don’t mean to complain, though I do suffer from a somewhat mild case of “martyr syndrome” (I believe I just created that diagnosis). That syndrome came into full bloom Friday morning when my husband left for a three-day weekend with his daughter while we still had no power in the house and no indication when power would return. I believe the “martyr syndrome” was more than justified.

Suffice it to say that our power was restored later that morning, after a 30-hour outage. We were among the luckier ones in the Lowcountry. That’s when serious clean-up begins. That’s when I went to work because I am not one to live in a debris field.

For two solid mornings, I raked, carted, blew leaves, dragged branches, washed decks, hung plants, redecorated outdoor porches, created mountains of debris at the curb, and did the best I could to make my husband feel guilty. (I didn’t mean to; it just happened naturally!) On Sunday, I rested. A rake just seemed too damn heavy to lift.

The calm before the storm, when the outside comes in!

Is the job done? No.

Am I done? Yes.

For two reasons. My husband has returned from his ill-timed weekend away. The remainder of the work is his to do. Secondly, our landscaper will be here at 9 a.m. tomorrow with chainsaw in hand. There are four large pieces of trees down that require the use of a chainsaw, which we do not own nor do we want to own. That would simply be an invitation to disaster.

The upside of this activity? There are several: I had two extended periods of exercise outside of the gym. It’s always good to change your routines. Nor will I will let my husband forget that he left me in my time of need. (As he knows, it is easy for me to forgive; I simply never forget.)

And the bottom line is this: hurricanes, and other crises, bring out the best in people, I think. Neighbors help neighbors. Our Harris Teeter was distributing free ice and water; perhaps other stores did the same. Friends, some of whom had fallen out of contact for years, reached out to see how we were.

Coping with a “crisis,” whether natural or manmade, always demonstrates another dimension of our strength. Now it’s time to get back to the gym.

The Accidental (Newlywed): Never Say Never

Two years ago today, the Sunday morning of Labor Day weekend, 2017, I walked down an aisle at Charleston’s Mills House Hotel and said “I do” to Allan Benezra, a lifetime New Yorker who in his wildest dreams also never expected to remarry or to relocate to the Southeast.

But despite having said “Never again” a million times to friends and family members, the decision for both of us, each widowed in 2013, was the best decision we could have made.

At the wedding, my adult children and their wives carried the chuppah, the traditional Jewish canopy under which we were married (which was my brother’s prayer shawl). My brother officiated, Allan’s brother was his best man, and Allan’s daughter my maid of honor. It was truly a picture of two families coming together and one of the very happiest days of my life.

It is hard to describe what it is like to be a newlywed in your mid-60s, but needless to say, it is a life-affirming moment. It means that you are willing to love and to live whole-heartedly, with the faith that you will have years to create new, happy memories with someone you love and with someone who loves you.

It means you are not afraid to grow old with someone, and to share the wrinkles, aches and pains that might greet you in the morning. But it also means you are eager to pop the Advil or Aleve and start your day, because life is grander than you ever expected it would be again.

Perhaps most important of all, it means you have someone to take care of and someone to take care of you. I have spent the entire afternoon cooking, just as I did every Sunday for decades while I worked, planning for my family for the week ahead. I didn’t realize how much I needed and wanted to take care of someone.

And, in our particular case, it means we weren’t afraid to “reach out and touch someone.” In our generation, that line referred to the telephone. But in today’s world, those introductions are made on-line. Yes, even in our mid-60s, Allan and I met on JDate, (a young colleague of mine created my profile because I said “Never”), and the rest is history, still to be made.

Happy Anniversary, Allan.