Carry‑Ons, Chaos, and One Very Unhinged Passenger

 

Listening to my favorite morning show, The Bob and Sherri Show, Sherri was talking about airplane behavior. She’d been on a flight trying to get some work done on her laptop. The guy in front of her—a gamer with a headset—was deeply into whatever he was playing. 

Sherri said that despite the stereotype of gamers being quiet, sedentary creatures, this one was basically conducting a full-body workout. At one point he launched himself backward with such force that her cell phone flew off the tray table and landed squarely above her eyebrow.

She tried, very politely, to ask if he could maybe dial it down a little and he did just a smidge. But she didn’t push these days, you never know which stranger on a plane is one seat recline from going nuts.

About a year ago, my daughter and I had our own run‑in with questionable airplane behavior on a flight from Boston. I hadn’t flown in quite a while, so I was already a little out of practice. The plane landed, everyone started the usual shuffle of gathering their belongings, and my daughter and I were quietly standing in the aisle with our carry‑ons, waiting for our turn to de‑plane.

The woman in the row ahead of us suddenly turned around and began lecturing me—full volume—about the “proper etiquette” for getting off an airplane. Before I could even process that, she climbed onto her seat to reach the overhead bin, and in the process swung her bag down directly onto my head. Under my breath I muttered something about manners and not hitting people in the head, and my daughter quietly added that this woman needed to get over herself.

That was all it took. She absolutely lost it. She shoved ahead of us, marched straight to the exit, and complained about me to the captain and the flight attendant as if she were reporting a federal crime. My daughter and I just kept walking, choosing not to engage because we had no interest in escalating whatever… performance she was giving.

But she wasn’t done. Oh no. She then cornered the ramp attendant and started spewing a fresh round of wild accusations. I caught his eye, gave a small, weary shake of my head, and kept moving. Honestly, I could not believe what had just unfolded.

In the end, my daughter and I just looked at each other, shook our heads, and kept moving. Some people bring carry‑ons, some bring snacks, and some apparently bring full‑blown chaos — and that day, we wanted no part of it.

Honestly, I still shake my head when I think about it. It made me wonder how many other people have had their own run‑ins with airborne theatrics. Have any of you experienced something like this on a flight? I'd like to hear about it.

Read in Silence, Connect in Spirit

 

What could be better than spending an hour of your day tucked into a good book. I confess—I’m a “bookie.” Not the kind who takes bets, but the kind who loves stories, lives inside sentences, and reads with the enthusiasm of someone who always needs just one more chapter. I’m fairly certain bookie has never been used this way, but I like it, so I’m claiming it. Of course, I could call myself a bibliophile, that lovely term for someone who loves and collects books for their beauty or their ideas. Or maybe I’m simply your classic, run‑of‑the‑mill bookworm.

Recently, I stumbled across an article about Silent Book Clubs.

The Silent Book Club is a global reading movement that reimagines the traditional book club—no assigned reading, no pressure to perform, and absolutely no required discussion. Affectionately known as “Introvert Happy Hour,” it’s popping up in cities around the world. Founded by Laura Gluhanich and Guinevere de la Mare, the club celebrates the simple joy of reading for its own sake. It’s been praised by Oprah, featured on NPR, and embraced by readers who crave connection without conversation. Which leads to the natural question: what exactly is a Silent Book Club?

Here is the jest:

• You Bring Your Own Book (BYOBook): Members show up with whatever they’re currently reading, all genres welcome.

•You start the meeting with a bit of chit chat, and then everyone reads quietly for an hour

• You conclude the meeting with each participant briefly talking about their books—or not. No pressure.

I think this idea has real merit. It could be a gentle mix‑and‑mingle for book lovers, a space where people can grab a cuppa and maybe something sweet, then settle in with whatever they’re reading. A brief “book discussion” at the end of the hour becomes an easy way to meet new people—you already know everyone in the room shares a love of reading. There’s no pressure, no deadlines, no analysis required. It’s the perfect blend of solitude and community, ideal for introverts or anyone craving quiet connection. And the best part: you can read absolutely anything you want.

Meetings can happen anywhere—a bookstore, a coffee bar, the library, even a park.

In the end, it’s less about the location and more about the feeling—settling in with your book, surrounded by others doing the same, no expectations, no performance. Just a quiet hour that fills your cup in more ways than one.

In the end, it’s less about the location and more about the feeling—settling in with your book, surrounded by others doing the same, no requirements, no expectations. Just a quiet hour that fills your cup in more ways than one. And honestly, I’m seriously considering starting a Silent Book Club of my own. i might call it a Bingle for books and a mingle. A little community, a little solitude, and a shared love of stories feels like exactly the kind of ritual worth creating.

The Weight of What was

I have spoken about Reese Witherspoon Book Club picks. Her books usually spotlight women centered books, and Broken Country is no exception. 

Beth Kennedy lives a quiet life with her kind husband Frank, but everything changes when her brother-in-law shoots a dog that belonged to Gabriel Wolfe—Beth’s teenage love who mysteriously reappears in the village with his son Leo.

Gabriel’s return stirs up buried emotions and unresolved grief, especially surrounding the tragic death of Beth’s son, Bobby. As tensions rise, a murder investigation unfolds, and Beth is forced to confront the woman she once was and the choices that shaped her life.

I chose this book as my pick for my book club.  I thought the story and deep emotions would resonate with the members of the book club.  While I loved the book, they did not.  They specifically did not like the way Frank (Beth's Husband) was treated  

For me, the novel’s strength lies with its ability to cover complicated emotions: loyalty and longing, grief and renewal, the versions of ourselves we outgrow and the ones we can’t quite leave behind. Beth’s journey isn’t neat, but it feels honest, and that honesty stayed with me long after I turned the last page. In the end, I’m glad I chose it. Even disagreement sparked good conversation, and sometimes that’s the real gift of a book club pick.

The Space Between Here and What Comes Next

 

I just got off the phone with my cousin. Technically she’s a cousin by marriage, but to me she’s simply my cousin. When I first married my husband, the welcome wagon did not exactly come rolling up to my door. except for his cousin Carol and her mom, Helen. They were the two who quietly took me aside and gave me the 411.

I was very lucky to have them both in my life. Even though we didn’t live close by, we still managed to see them once a year and keep up with regular phone calls, and the relationship blossomed.

Sadly, Carol has just been placed in hospice.  After talking with her or rather me talking and her listening, it is apparent she has hours to live.  I hope that they are keeping her Very comfortable and passing will be as peaceful as possible.  I not sure that will be happening, but I am hoping so.

As I spoke with Carol, I found myself wondering what was going through her mind. Was she wandering back through the memories we had just revisited, or was she facing the possibility that the next time she drifted into sleep, she might not wake again? That she might not see me, or hear my voice, or share another laugh with me. Was she sad or resigned?

I imagine that at the edge of life, your thoughts might center around the people you’ll miss, the moments you wish you could stretch just a little longer. And maybe, too, you think about the ones you’ve already lost, the ones you might soon be joining.

This life may be drawing to a close, but I keep thinking of something I once read: that death isn’t an ending so much as a turning of the page, a quiet step towards another level of being.

I live in a 55+ community. It wasn’t my first choice for retirement living, not because it isn’t a wonderful place, but because I’m surrounded by people who, like me, are getting a little older. Aging has a way of reminding you that there are more years behind you than ahead, and the body doesn’t always cooperate with the plan. You do the things you’re supposed to do, exercise, eat well, try to stay healthy. But in the end, it feels like your body just shrugs and carries on with its own agenda.

So here we are, all of us doing our best to outsmart our own biology. Some days we win, some days our knees win. But at least we’re in good company.

Barry Manilow The Power of a Melody, Even Now

 

I admit it — I’m a big Barry Manilow fan and have been since the very beginning. I played "Tryin’ to Get the Feeling" and "Even Now" so often that I actually wore them out and had to buy new copies. When CDs replaced LPs, I didn’t hesitate; I replaced every one of my Manilow albums without a second thought.

And then there were the concerts.

Of all the artists I’ve seen live — and I’ve seen plenty — Barry is the one I’ve returned to again and again. His shows were never just concerts; they were little emotional tune‑ups. I loved his humor, the way he could poke fun at himself, and those gloriously over‑the‑top costumes. The Copacabana outfit alone deserves its own museum wing. I’m not entirely sure, but I think it actually is in the Smithsonian.

And for anyone who still insists that sentiment is a weakness, think again. And for all of you out there that think that sentiment is a weakness, think again.  There is nothing like a good melody to bring back a good memory.  

But one-night stands above the rest.

I had managed to snag third‑row center seats, the kind of seats you don’t even dare to dream about because they seem reserved for people with connections or cosmic luck. I guess mine was cosmic luck. 

Barry walked out and pulled up his stool.

And then he started to sing.

For a moment, a long, suspended, impossible moment, it felt like he was singing directly to me. Not to the crowd, not to the arena, not to the thousands of people who loved him just as much as I did. To me. He was looking straight at me, and I sat there thinking, well, this is it. This is the moment I will remember forever.

And I have.

Music is funny that way. It bookmarks our lives. It ties us to versions of ourselves we might have forgotten. When you’re young, the possibilities feel endless; when you’re older, you sometimes have to work a little harder to make new ones happen. These days, I try to live more in the present, while still allowing myself to glance back at the past now and then.

What sent me looking back this time was some difficult news. I just read that Barry Manilow has been diagnosed with lung cancer. Reports say it was caught early, and I truly hope that’s the case. Even with early detection, surgery and recovery are still ahead of him, and that’s a heavy road for anyone to walk. It’s hard not to feel a jolt of fear at the thought of losing someone whose music has woven itself so deeply into so many chapters of my life. A disease like that takes enough; it doesn’t need to take him too.

Joy doesn’t always come from grand gestures — sometimes it comes from a worn‑out album, a familiar voice, or a single moment in a crowded concert hall when the world narrows to one song and one singer.

I and all of Barry's fans, I am sure, are sending out positive energy and prayers for his recovery.

Over the Pond and Through the Woods (Sort Of)

 

Rather than stick with our usual wine and appetizer pairing for December, we decided to shake things up with a progressive dinner. I’ve always wanted to host one, so when everyone agreed, it felt like a dream come true.

To keep things simple, we had three hosts all within a few blocks of each other, so logistics were a breeze. So no, it wasn’t exactly over the river and through the woods. There were some woods, and there was water, but let’s be honest, it was a pond doing its very best impression of a river. Still, we did manage a tiny bit of adventuring between stops.

We kicked things off at the first house with appetizers and a holiday cocktail. We attempted to minimize the alcohol, given that we had two more stops ahead of us, but you know how good intentions behave around festive beverages. The spread was delightful: a charcuterie board, a wreath made of pigs in a blanket, and a shrimp ring. Light in spirit, though not exactly light in… any other sense.

The second stop was the main course, where we settled in like we owned the place. Wait, right, I do own the place. We lingered over chicken parm, eggplant medallions, salad, and garlic bread, comfort food doing exactly what comfort food does. Nearly two hours of conversation slipped by before we finally convinced ourselves to move on.

The final house was all about dessert. We indulged in decadent chocolate martinis, a cranberry prosecco martini, chocolate trifle, thumbprint cookies, and, of course, all‑important Santa Jello shots. It was the perfect way to celebrate the season together full of laughter, good food, and shared memories that will carry us into the new year. So, to all my friends who participated and to those who do not.  A happy holiday season, but more importantly to a healthy New Year!

Do you love Holiday Rom-Coms?

 

Every year, Hallmark launches its Countdown to Christmas in the weeks leading up to the holiday season. The movies are predictable, wholesome, and designed to provide comfort and joy.

The themes rarely change, and that’s part of their charm. Often, a big-city professional returns to a small town, where a chance encounter rekindles an old flame, or sparks a brand-new one. Familiar stars appear year after year, paired with different co-stars.  I have my favorite stars as I am sure you all do. If you watch them, you know exactly what I mean.

The very best part of these movies is that the main characters always find their happy ending. What makes the movies work is the journey the characters take because the outcome is predictable.

I used to watch Hallmark’s holiday lineup religiously, though not as much these days. Maybe I’ve grown a little weary of the predictability, or perhaps the stories feel a bit stale. Still, each season I manage to find one or two that I genuinely enjoy.

These days, I think I prefer reading holiday rom-coms to watching them. Curling up with a festive book in the evening helps me unwind, and I find it’s the perfect way to relax before bed. I have probably read almost a dozen of these rom-coms already and I won't stop reading them until the New Year.