See a Penny Pick it up

 

 

After 200 years, the penny has finally been retired. There are still 300 billion pennies in circulation, and each will continue to hold its value. However, no new pennies will be minted, and no additional coins will enter circulation.

The penny, America’s one-cent coin, traces its origins back to the late 18th century, making it the very first currency authorized by the United States. In 1792, the US Mint was established, and the penny was the first it produced. But the penny is even older. The very first one-cent coin was produced by a private mint in 1787. Known as the Fugio cent, it was designed with input from Benjamin Franklin. 

It currently costs about 4 cents to make and distribute a single penny, roughly four times its face value. This is one cost saving method made by this administration that does make sense, but it is still sad. 

In 1792, a single penny could buy small everyday items like a piece of bread, a mug of beer, or a handful of apples, its purchasing power was far greater than today.  By thee 1960's, however, the most iconic use of a penny was for candy, jawbreakers, licorice sticks, gumdrops, or a piece of bubble gum. I remember my brother and I going to the 7‑11 with our dad to pick up the Sunday New York Times. He would hand each of us a nickel for penny candy, and the choice felt monumental. We’d stand there for several minutes, carefully deciding which sweets would be ours for the week.

What does discontinuing the penny mean for us? Without pennies, cash transactions must be rounded to the nearest nickel. While this may seem like a minor detail, critics worry it could lead to subtle inflation if businesses consistently round up. As a shopper, I can’t help but feel that, even if it’s only a penny or two, I’m paying more than expected, and that leaves me feeling a little cheated.

 When I was in Paris France this past year, I found that many of the merchants did not like accepting cash. The United States is moving steadily toward a cashless society, but a fully cashless future is not guaranteed. Current trends show that more than half of Americans already live largely cash-free, yet cultural, economic, and equity concerns mean cash will likely remain in some form for years.

The general consensus is that pennies will never be worthless. they’ll always equal one cent. But their collectible value depends on rarity, age, and condition. For me, pennies carry sentimental weight, piggy banks, penny candy, lucky pennies. Their retirement adds a layer of nostalgia that may increase interest among collectors or not. Personally, I will always have pennies.

It would be interesting how you may feel about the demise of the penny.  Please leave your comments.

Four Score and Still Counting: My Love Affair with History

 

I have always been drawn to the town of Gettysburg, PA. and I ask myself why.  I have walked the battlefields and feel an eerie presence of pain and suffering.  I am from Long Island, but I am in no way competition for Teresa Caputo aka the Long Island medium.  I can't explain this feeling of Deja vu.  All I know is I feel like I was there a long time ago.

When I recently went to visit my Maryland Besties for our annual holiday party, I took a trip to visit my friend from my old book club.  She just bought a home in a 55+ community.  It is just beautiful, and it was great to see her.

The town was the site of the bloodiest battle of the Civil War (Battle of Gettysburg July 1-3, 1863), a turning point that shaped the nation’s future. Just months later, President Abraham Lincoln delivered his famous speech here, redefining the meaning of democracy and sacrifice. Just to jog your memory, it started like this "Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal." A very powerful speech!

Gettysburg today is a town that has somehow managed to preserve its history. No big office buildings. As you stroll down its streets, countless buildings bear plaques declaring their presence since the Civil War. Walking among them, I found myself imagining the people who once passed along these same paths in the 1800s. There’s an undeniable connection, a palpable vibe, that bridges past and present and I love it.

 We went for lunch at the Sign of the Buck a lovely restaurant in Downtown Gettysburg. In 1804, George Welsh opened the original Sign of the Buck tavern on Chambersburg Street. At the time, many people couldn’t read, so businesses used pictorial signs to indicate the type of business. The building became part of the Union Hotel, a boarding house and gathering spot in downtown Gettysburg. If you look at the picture below, the restaurant and tavern take up the whole first floor.

I was so happy to see the vegetable grilled cheese on the menu.  You all know how much I love my grilled cheese sandwiches and it did not disappoint. My friends ordered other menu items, and each were equally as good.

The Sign of the Buck is more than a restaurant—it’s a living piece of Gettysburg’s civic and cultural history. From a frontier tavern where travelers rested, to a modern brasserie where locals and visitors gather, it reflects how Gettysburg continually reinterprets its past for new generations.

If you are ever travelling in and around Gettysburg, spend some time in the downtown area. It is worth it. And while you are at it, take some time to enjoy one of the restaurants and have lunch or dinner. I really liked the Sign of the Buck but there are others as well!

Susan Seeks Snow

 

I’m a cold-weather junkie. I don’t bother with a coat until the thermometer dips below 40 degrees, and if it’s snowing, all the better. I told my husband that this year I would be seeking a place to visit that had snow and as luck had it, I found my snow early in the winter.  I mean after all, it is only November.

Recently, my Maryland Besties, the Wild Women of West Virginia Wine Group, gathered for our annual holiday party. This year, with retirement just around the corner, I didn’t have to juggle schedules or clear time off with a manager. I simply got in the car and drove. Seven hours later, after deciding to make the trip in a single day, I arrived in Maryland ready to celebrate.

The weather was clear and sunny all day, which was perfect, because as much as I love snow, I don’t particularly enjoy driving in it. I stayed with a friend, and the next morning I woke to find snow falling. We cancelled our plans, and I brewed a cup of coffee, settled by the window, and simply watched. There is nothing more relaxing or peaceful than snow drifting softly to the ground.

When it snows the world grows hushed, as if the snow absorbs noise. It creates a cocoon of quiet, a pause in the usual rhythm of life, which I absolutely adore. It is such a nice change from the daily sights and sounds.

By afternoon, the snow had stopped, and we were able to keep our evening plans—our annual holiday party. I’ve known these wonderful women for more than twenty years. Though we no longer see each other regularly, whenever we gather it feels as if time and distance have never come between us. We spend the first hour catching up and then it is just easy back and forth banter. 

We enjoyed a wonderful dinner prepared by our host, Diane, who also mixed a cocktail that was downright lethal. Halfway through my first glass, I was already feeling no pain. It started as a classic cosmopolitan, but she amped up the flavor, and the potency, by topping it with prosecco.

Once we were happily sated by the amazing dinner, we moved on to our usual gift swap game. I’m sure many of you play a version of it at your holiday gatherings. The twist this year was that there was very little stealing, normally the most entertaining part, since even if you pick a gift you love, there’s no guarantee you’ll take it home. For some reason, our friend Pat always chooses the best gifts, and they’re inevitably stolen from her. The upside is that she gets to pick again…and again. 

It was so wonderful to see everyone and have it snow early in the season!

The Jefferson Key

The story revolves around a mysterious letter of marque allegedly issued by George Washington and the Second Continental Congress. This document, according to the book, elevated pirates to the status of privateers—private citizens authorized by the U.S. government to attack foreign ships during wartime. Backed by the Constitution, it was a clever way to mobilize ships and sailors without footing the bill.

Privateers kept the spoils of their raids but were supposed to pay the government twenty percent of their profits. Realistically? A pirate—sorry, privateer—who delights in plundering cargo isn’t likely to hand over a cut to Uncle Sam. These letters of marque essentially gave privateers a legal shield, a government-sanctioned license to steal.

The story kicks off in January 1835, just outside the Capitol Building, when a man attempts to assassinate President Andrew Jackson. Fortunately for Jackson, it was raining, and the would-be assassin’s pistols misfired. Jackson, understandably furious, suspected a shadowy group of four families calling themselves “the Commonwealth”—not to be confused with the Commonwealth of Virginia. In a fit of rage, Jackson tore the pages granting their letter of marque from the official records, rendering their actions unsanctioned. He then sent them a scathing letter, essentially telling them to rot in hell, along with a cryptic page containing a nine-line cipher written by Thomas Jefferson and his associate Patterson. The cipher supposedly revealed where Jackson hid the original pages.

For nearly two centuries, no one could crack the code—until a modern-day cryptologist and his powerful software finally did. Now, everyone wants the decoded message. The Commonwealth families are especially desperate, as the government is demanding back taxes on their long-hidden treasure. What follows is a high-stakes scramble involving multiple government agencies, shadowy operatives, and a tangled web of loyalties. It’s hard to tell who’s on the side of justice and who’s chasing power.

There’s an attempt on the current President’s life, a trail of bodies, and enough twists to keep you guessing. It’s a riveting historical thriller with modern consequences. Try it—you just might get hooked.

It's a good read for a cold or rainy day.

 

From Messy Aprons to Masterpieces

 

My daughter has just moved to North Carolina and is staying with us until she settles into her new job. She was never fond of the kitchen or cooking, but moving into her own apartment changed that when she had to start preparing meals herself.  She started out by doing a lot of take-out, but she realized that long term, this did not fit into her budget nor was it a healthy option.  

While staying with us and having access to my very spacious kitchen, she decided she would take the opportunity to learn to cook.  She asked me to join her. How could I say no. We decided to keep a journal of all the successful recipes we made.  My friend Kathi inspired me when she started talking about her family's cookbook/journal which included well-loved family recipes and pictures of family members who made the dishes.  I thought to myself what a great idea so we will be creating our own version.  

Though the women in my family aren't known for their culinary creations, my mom and grandmother each had one or two exceptional dishes that have inspired us. We will try to recreate them and include them. Beyond that, we will make a fresh start by bringing our own style and flair, exploring, experimenting, and discovering together. We have already documented some of the Thanksgiving recipes from this year.

I have been to some of the bookstores to try to find a proper journal to use but I really haven't found one.  I happen to be on You tube the other day and one of the videos was a how to on how to make your own journal.  Having spent years using predominately the left more analytical side of my brain, making this journal seemed like a good project to start the thoughts flowing on the under used right of my brain. I will let you know how it turns out.

The Year the Cranberry Sauce Finally Disappeared

 

Cranberry sauce originated in New England in the late 18th century, with roots in Native American use of cranberries and its first recorded pairing with turkey in Amelia Simmons’ 1796 cookbook American Cookery. Native Americans had many uses for the fruit, namely for food, medicine and dyes.  They often mixed them with dried meat and fat to make pemmican, a calorie rich food made from tallow, dried meat and berries. Remarkably, pemmican could last one to five years at room temperature, making it an ideal provision for extended journeys. 

Today, many people hesitate at the thought of pemmican, since tallow is rendered from animal fat and high in triglycerides, which we now associate with heart disease.   European settlers, introduced to cranberries in the colonies, took a different approach: they added sugar to tame the tartness, creating the beginnings of the cranberry sauce we know today.

By the 19th century, cranberry sauce had become a Thanksgiving staple. In my own family, it was always on the table. When I took over preparing the big meal, I kept the tradition alive with Ocean Spray Jellied Cranberry Sauce. The problem was, aside from me, no one else liked it. Year after year I served it faithfully, only to watch the can sit untouched, except for the single slice I insisted on eating.

Last year, I finally broke with tradition. Instead of the jellied version, I tried making whole cranberry sauce myself. I’ll admit I was nervous. Springing a homemade dish on family and friends without a trial run felt risky. But it turned out great. The best part? It was so easy: just cranberries, orange peel and juice, and sugar. Unlike previous years, there wasn’t a spoonful left at the end of the meal.

Sometimes tradition needs a little transformation. For me, cranberry sauce shifted from a relic of habit to a dish that truly connects past and present

If you are curious about Amelia Simmons' 1796 cookbook, then click on this link.

Kick lines and Christmas: The Rockettes in Rhythm

 

In my post published on 11/12, I wrote about the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade—the music, the marching bands, the balloons, and the floats. But I realize I didn’t give a proper shout‑out to the Rockettes, who have always been my favorite part of the parade.

The Rockettes aren’t just a dance troupe to me; they’re part of the rhythm of my holidays. Their high kicks and perfect precision have been dazzling audiences for a century, but for me, they’re woven into my own memories. I can still picture myself as a child, curled up on the couch, waiting for their moment on the screen. Year after year, they brought a sparkle that felt like the official start of the season. Even now, I never grow tired of them—their glamour, their energy, and the sense of tradition they carry. Watching them feels like reconnecting with every Thanksgiving morning I’ve ever known.

I can’t wait to see them this year. I’ll be curled up on my couch, just as I have been for decades, waiting for that familiar burst of energy when the Rockettes take the stage. And even though I am not that child any longer the smell of turkey and stuffing will be drifting from my kitchen. Even now, the anticipation feels the same. The couch is my perch, the coffee mug my companion, and the Rockettes my signal that the holidays have officially arrived. Watching them is like opening a time capsule, connecting me to every Thanksgiving morning I’ve ever known.