Floats, Family, and the First Sip of Coffee

 

The Macy's Day Parade is turning 99 this year and it has been a part of my family's Thanksgiving tradition for as long as I can remember. It first aired on television in 1952, and for me, waking up to watch it was more thrilling than Christmas morning. I know that sounds crazy, but I’m not alone—nearly 50 million people tune in each year. It’s a big deal.

For years, one of the top items on my bucket list was to see the parade live, seated right in front of Macy’s. But there was a small complication: my dad was a buyer for Gimbels. If you grew up in New York, you’ll understand—there was a fierce rivalry between the two department stores. I wasn’t allowed to shop at Macy’s. 😔

Even after my dad left Gimbels, after what felt like eons, and Gimbel's closed its doors, I couldn’t bring myself to cross that threshold. Old loyalties die hard. Funny twist, though: my next-door neighbor’s dad worked for Macy’s. She was one of the lucky ones who got to sit in the grandstand and watch the parade in person. Who knows how many times I caught a glimpse of her on TV as the camera panned the crowd?

The parade started in 1924 and was conceived by the employees of Macy's to celebrate the opening of the Macy's flagship store on 34th street. the inspiration for the parade was drawn from European carnival with floats and marchers in costume.  It also featured live animals from the Central Park Zoo.  (Those poor animals!) Inspired by European carnivals, the first parade featured floats, costumed marchers, and—believe it or not—live animals borrowed from the Central Park Zoo. (Those poor animals!)

Thankfully, in 1927, the parade traded lions and tigers for giant helium balloons. These whimsical giants brought joy to generations of children—but they weren’t without their mishaps. One of the most infamous? Barney the Dinosaur.

Barney debuted in the 1994 parade and floated along happily for a few years. But in 1997, high winds turned the parade into a balloon battleground. Several characters were damaged, and poor Barney was among them. To prevent further danger, NYPD officers had to forcibly deflate him—live on television.

By then, my daughter was five, and watching the parade had become our shared tradition. So when Barney went down, she was heartbroken. Watching her beloved purple dinosaur get ripped apart on live TV? Traumatizing.

While balloons are fun, my favorite parts of the parade are the Broadway performances, the high school marching bands, and—of course—the amazing Radio City Rockettes. They bring the sparkle, the rhythm, and the heart of New York right into our living rooms.

For my family, the Macy’s Parade has always been a cozy ritual—watched in pajamas with coffee and cinnamon rolls, it’s a moment of stillness before the bustle, a visual feast that anchors memory and tradition. 

This year will be no exception.  The Keurig is primed and ready to go and of course there will be cinnamon buns.

 

Wanderlust on Pause: A December Deferred, Suitcases Waiting by the Door

 

For the past five years, my daughter and I have planned an annual trip together—a tradition I cherish deeply. It’s precious time with my only child, and each journey has carved its own set of memories. We’ve wandered through Savannah and Charleston, explored Charlottesville and Boston, and ventured overseas to Brussels and Paris.

This year, our plan was to visit Germany for the Christmas markets and the rich history that surrounds them. But with her starting a new job, vacation time wasn’t an option. We’re hopeful for next December.

I lived in Europe for a time and had the chance to experience the Christmas markets firsthand. Back then, they were simpler—charming stalls with handmade gifts and plenty of wursts sizzling away. The elaborate culinary offerings you see today weren’t part of the scene. It was quieter, more rustic, and no less magical.

Today, German grocery stores like Aldi and Lidl offer an array of festive treats that were once only found in the Christmas markets or back in Germany itself. As a small consolation prize, I picked up a bottle of Glühwein, some sugar-and-cinnamon roasted nuts, and a box of lebkuchen.

Glühwein, if you’ve never tried it, is a sweet, full-bodied wine infused with spices and served warm. What made it so scrumptious—or at least that’s what my older brain insists, was the setting: cold air, fingers stiff from browsing stalls, and then that steaming cup of mulled wine. It warmed me from the inside out, and it simply tasted good. Back then they served it in a glass mug that you returned when you finished.  Today each market has its own beautiful mug that serves as a reminder of the places you have been.

Lebkuchen if you have never tried it, is sort of a cross between a cake and a cookie.  It is Germany's answer to gingerbread.

So, for now, I’ll sip my Glühwein on the porch, let the cinnamon linger, and dream of next December, when the markets will be waiting, and our suitcases will finally get to go. Oh yes and we will be joining them.

Stacks and Serendipity: A Love Letter to the Library

 

Some people when they chose to retire, they start to paint.  When my dad retired, he became a thespian. He started to perform in local shows and had a blast doing it. He also became a DJ for his community radio station.

My mom and dad were also great advocates of literacy and reading.  My mom was a volunteer in the NYC Library who worked with children on their reading skills.  Both of them volunteered at a NJ elementary school to help children to read.  They made it fun and and from all accounts, were popular with the young children.

Not only did they help with reading skills they were themselves avid readers and that carried over to my entire immediate family.  After sharing dinner together, all of us would disappear to our favorite corner of the house.  My Mom and Dad could be found in the family room, Dad on his favorite chair, my Mom on the couch.  My Grandmother would read at the kitchen table.  My brother and I would be up in our respective rooms.

There were no eBooks back then. We had physical books that we generally picked up every other week from the library.  The library was one of my favorite destinations. There’s a particular hush in a library that feels sacred—not silent, but expectant. It’s the sound of possibility of stories waiting to be found. Of minds lingering in quiet communication with words.

I’ve always loved old things, and the library is full of them, books with softened spines, faded checkout cards, and the scent of paper that’s lived a life.  You go in looking for one thing and leave with three others you didn’t know you needed.

To this day the library is one of my favorite places to go. Sometimes I wander the stacks without a plan, letting titles call to me like old friends. A novel with a cover that reminds me of a book I once loved. Cookbooks where I find ideas for meal planning or Do Dad Dinners.

The Monroe Township Library meant so much to my parents—they were regulars, familiar faces in every corner. At one point, the library even asked them to make a PSA. I hadn’t watched it in years but revisiting it now felt like opening a time capsule. I wanted to share it with you—not because it’s polished or profound, but because it’s joyful. Here is the link Monroe township library. I thought I would share it with you. Another example of my Dad expressing his thespian side.

I also want to recommend a book that I enjoyed, The Library, by Susan Orleans a captivating blend of true crime, history, and personal reflection that centers around the devastating 1986 fire at the Los Angeles Central Library. I found it to be a love letter to libraries and to the people who keep them alive.

Holiday Hosting Hack: The Pull-Apart Pie

 

As the holiday season approaches, so does the art (and occasional chaos) of entertaining. Of course, we all want to please our guests—but dessert? That’s where things get tricky.

Why dessert? Because Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners tend to follow tradition: turkey, ham, maybe a roast. Mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, stuffing, sweet potatoes—the usual suspects. But dessert? That’s a whole different story. Especially when it comes to pie.

Let’s set aside sweet potato and pumpkin for a moment. I’m talking fruit pie. I love apple. But half my relatives swear by blueberry. So, I find myself in a pie-based moral dilemma: I’m making dinner, so shouldn’t I choose apple? But then I think, all the Smiths and Youngs love blueberry, and I want to be a good host.

Enter a brilliant idea I discovered thanks to Delish: the Pull-Apart Pie. It’s genius. You make (or buy) multiple pie fillings, create open pockets with pie crust, bake, and you’ve got a pie sampler. Everyone gets the flavor they love, and I don’t end up with three half-eaten pies lingering in the fridge.

It’s festive, flexible, and solves the great pie debate with style. Honestly, it might become my new tradition.

Here is the link for pull-apart pie

In Pursuit of the Perfect Croque

Croque Monsieur served at Land & Monkey Turenne in the Marais arr.

There’s a well-known line: “Man shall not live by bread alone.” It’s a partial quote from the Bible, appearing in both the Old and New Testaments. Bread, in this context, symbolizes the essentials—food, shelter, money, the things that keep us alive. While the statement carries deep spiritual meaning, I’m taking it quite literally here. And I’d like to amend it slightly: Women shall not live by bread alone, either.

That said, I’m perfectly happy to eat bread alone. There’s nothing quite like a fresh, crusty piece—warm from the oven, golden at the edges, and fragrant enough to stop conversation mid-sentence. But what elevates this already delicious staple to something truly sublime? Cheese.

Recently, I traveled to Paris. Yes, I wandered the charming streets, admired the architecture, and soaked in the beauty of the city—but I also had a mission: to find the perfect croque monsieur, France’s answer to grilled cheese. It’s a glorious union of bread, cheese, and ham, often topped with béchamel and broiled to a bubbling finish. A sandwich, yes—but also a statement. Proof that bread alone may sustain, but bread with cheese? That’s living.

I know I have previously spoken about favorite sandwiches, one being the reuben.  But I think the grilled cheese will always hold the number 1 place in my heart.

The Perfect Croque Monsieur

This French bistro favorite is elegant comfort food, with layers of richness and a crisp, golden finish:

• Bread: Sturdy white bread—soft but strong enough to hold the fillings.
• Ham: High-quality, thinly sliced cooked ham—Jambon de Paris is the gold standard.
• Gruyère Cheese: Nutty, melty, and deeply flavorful. Often used both inside and on top but feel free to change it to something else.   Just make sure the cheese melts well so the sandwich is ooey gooey.
• Béchamel Sauce: The creamy crown jewel. Made with butter, flour, milk, and a touch of nutmeg and white pepper. Some recipes melt Gruyère into the sauce for extra decadence.
• Dijon Mustard (optional but magical): A whisper of sharpness inside the sandwich to cut through the richness. I personally omit the mustard.  I am not fond of the taste of it.
• Butter: For toasting the bread to a golden crisp, like a French grilled cheese with a PhD.

Just a small tip: Spread béchamel on top of the sandwich before broiling—it creates a bubbly; golden crust that’s pure joy.

I am still on my quest for a good croque monsieur.  I will keep you posted!

And by the way, tell me if you have ever eaten a croque monsieur and your opinion of it.

Ghosts, Gourds, and the Glow of October

 

The tradition of decorating for Halloween started a very long time ago. Halloween decorating began as a way to ward off spirits during ancient Celtic festivals and evolved into a playful, spooky tradition in 20th-century America. By the early 20th century, there was a shift from Halloween being a solemn, spiritual observance to a community-centered celebration. Our neighborhoods in North Carolina have many who love decorating homes with jack-o’-lanterns, ghosts, skeletons, and witches.

The Mint Hill area is no exception.  Check out this short video

Witches, Vampires, and Long Drives: My Audiobook Ritual

Once again, I found myself facing a long drive. Without satellite radio, I’m at the mercy of local stations that fade in and out as I cross state lines. To pass the time—and preserve my sanity—I’ve turned to audiobooks. What a lifesaver.

On a recent hunt for something new, I ran my hand along a shelf of audiobooks and stopped on A Discovery of Witches. Coincidence? I think not. It did make me wonder: why am I so drawn to books about witches and vampires?

One of my recent blog posts was on The Lace Reader—if you haven’t seen it yet, go take a look. I also just finished Nora Roberts’ Morrigan Trilogy, which, yes, features witches and vampires again. Maybe it’s the lingering hype from the Twilight saga (though I’m thoroughly over the whole KPat drama). I was never a big fan of Cedric from Harry Potter—though I’ll admit I was a little sad when he got snuffed out—and Kristen Stewart always struck me as a bit gloomy. Or maybe I’m just naturally drawn to the genre, especially since I have a few Wiccan acquaintances.

A Discovery of Witches suggests that humans aren’t alone. Witches, vampires, and demons walk among us. The story begins when Diana Bishop, a scholar researching alchemy, calls up a long-lost, bewitched manuscript at Oxford’s Bodleian Library. No one has seen it for centuries—and its reappearance stirs things up. A lot.

This book is fun and engaging, especially this time of year when life gets busy and you crave something immersive but not too heavy. Just a heads-up: it’s part of a trilogy. I’m currently reading the second book (Shadow of Night) and will keep you posted.

Appraised and Adored--Antique Roadshow

 

Chas Parker Coffee Grinder from 1890's

I love old things. Visiting places like Monticello and Williamsburg gives me a thrill. Why?  Because I   can't help but image all the people who once lived in the houses, ate at the taverns and built our government in buildings.  It’s almost as if I feel their presence—ghosts of history lingering in the woodwork, walking the halls and whispers in the walls.

That’s why I adore watching Antiques Roadshow on PBS. According to the producers, most guests choose to hold onto their treasures, which makes perfect sense to me. The items that appear on the show are often steeped in family history—objects that have lived in homes, witnessed holidays, and quietly absorbed generations of stories.

It must be thrilling to learn that something you saw every time you visited your grandparents—maybe a vase on the mantel or a painting in the hallway—is not only meaningful but valuable. Then it passes to your parents, and you see it even more often. One day, your mom asks if you’d like to have it, and you don’t hesitate: “Of course.” Imagine taking it to Antiques Roadshow and hearing an appraiser say that this piece of your personal history is worth a small fortune. Would you give it up? I wouldn’t. I’d enjoy it for as long as I could and only consider selling it if my daughter said, “There’s no way I want to keep it.”

I have several pieces I’d be hard-pressed to part with—even if they turned out to be worth a lot of money. Most likely they’re not, but you never know. My aunt and uncle, and my mom and dad, were big antique people. I caught the bug from them. And now, every time I walk past a piece with a story, I try to picture them and their story.

I'd really love to know if you are a more modern style person or do you go for vintage?

A Porch, a Book, and the Quiet Joy of Raindrops

 

It’s Monday, and at last, we’re getting some much-needed rain. I must admit—I don’t just like a good rain, I love it. There’s something oddly satisfying about sitting on my glassed-in porch, watching the raindrops fall like its nature’s version of reality TV.

Most people worship the sun like it’s their personal life coach. But me? I’m perfectly content with a moody sky and a cup of something warm.

Rain doesn’t ask for cheerfulness. It grants permission to feel a little foggy, a little soft around the edges. It’s the kind of weather that lets you be quiet without apology, reflective without explanation. And if a few tears slip out? No one can tell—it’s just good camouflage.

So, if you’re wondering where I am, you’ll find me on my back porch, wrapped in the hush of falling rain, warm drink in hand, lost in a good book.

Jell-O 1-2-3 and me

 

I was contemplating making a dessert for some friends who were coming over, and for some reason, my mind wandered to sweets that no longer exist. One in particular came up: Jell-O 1-2-3.  For those too young to remember, Jell-O 1-2-3 was a layered dessert from the 1970s and '80s. Each serving featured three distinct layers, gelatin, mousse, and foam, all magically created from a single mix that separated as it chilled. It was light, whimsical, and easy to make. A marvel of processed simplicity and my mom was all about simplicity because she didn't like to cook.

Growing up, my mom and I were always watching our weight. Meanwhile, my dad and brother, who never seemed to gain an ounce, never gave it a second thought. Because of that, dessert was not a regular occurrence in our house. It simply wasn’t served after dinner.

Then one miraculous day, Jell-O 1-2-3 hit the grocery shelves. It was marketed as a light dessert, and my mom was sold—hook, line, and sinker. “It’s Jell-O,” she reasoned. “Only 100 calories per serving. Seems harmless enough.” No one mentioned to her, especially not me that it contained 14 to 17 grams of sugar and had virtually no nutritional value. But I wasn’t about to ruin the moment.

And just like that, dessert occasionally made its way to our dinner table. It felt decadent and forbidden. A sweet, foamy, pastel-colored wonder. And for a while, that was enough. 

It’s funny—well, not ha-ha funny, just quietly amusing—that now that I’m older and certainly less active, I still don’t eat dessert after dinner. Old habits, I suppose. But I have a feeling that if Jell-O 1-2-3 ever made a comeback, it might occasionally sneak its way onto my after-dinner plate. After all, it’s only 100 calories and only 14 to 17 grams of sugar.  

I’d love to hear about your experience with this dessert. Was it as good as I think I remember, or has nostalgia sweetened the memory a bit too much? If you ever had it, what was your favorite flavor? Mine was strawberry—no hesitation. That pink, foamy top layer felt like a treat and a loophole all at once.

Lastly would you want to see it on the grocery shelves again?

Let's Do the Hurkle Durkle

 

Now that I no longer head to work every day, I have discovered the joy of a slower pace in my life. A friend recently introduced me to the term Hurkle Durkle (also spelled herkle derkle), and I was fascinated and charmed simply by hearing the words. Naturally, as any curious semi-retired adult would, I googled it. 

It turns out Hurkle Durkle is a Scottish phrase that means to lounge in bed long after you’ve woken up. The word Hurkle suggests hunkering down or crouching for warmth, a lovely thought, especially now that sweater weather has arrived and mornings carry a chill. Durkle adds in the idea of lingering. For someone who used to be out the door by 6:30 a.m., this feels like a luxury I never knew I needed.

I have come to view it as continuous rest, a cozy selfcare ritual.  These days I brew my favorite coffee, return to bed, ease into my day, leisurely reading my emails, playing a game or reading on my kindle.  It feels so indulgent, so decadent. But after years of dashing around, juggling ten things at once, I’ve decided I’ve earned this new rhythm. And honestly? I’m not giving it up anytime soon. 

No Kings, Just Citizens

I believe the Constitution is one of the most brilliantly written documents in history. Adopted in 1787, it serves as the foundational legal framework of the United States. It establishes a federal government divided into three branches, legislative, executive, and judicial, and outlines the powers and responsibilities of each. Through its amendments, most notably the Bill of Rights, it guarantees essential rights and freedoms to individuals.

The Constitution was designed to ensure checks and balances, protect liberty, and adapt over time. It was signed on September 17, 1787, by a group of delegates at the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia. While the Constitution was a collaborative effort, five figures stand out: George Washington, Alexander Hamilton, Benjamin Franklin, Gouverneur Morris, and James Madison. Each brought distinct visions shaped by their experiences, fears, and hopes for a new nation, one that had just emerged from a bitter war with England.

The debates were intense. Federalists pushed for a strong central government to ensure stability, while Anti-Federalists feared tyranny and fought for individual and state rights. James Madison advocated for a government based on checks and balances and helped design a system where power was divided among three branches to prevent any one group from dominating. 

Let's pause and reflect on this document for a moment. This document, along with its amendments and the Bill of Rights, has endured attacks and upheavals, yet it has held steady It has remained our guiding light for the last 238 years. 

 Please don’t mistake this for a history lesson. That’s not my intent. I simply feel compelled to remind us, especially those of us in the United States, of our rights as citizens. Perhaps our schools aren’t teaching the Constitution’s history with the depth it deserves.

Just to make sure we’re all on the same page and as a reminder, I’m quoting the First Amendment   “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”

And lately, it feels like the Constitution itself is under siege. The principle of checks and balances seems to be fading from view. The First Amendment has been tested in troubling ways: the cancellation of The Colbert Report, Jimmy Kimmel’s suspension, and the mass resignation of Pentagon journalists who refused to become government scribes. At first, I thought that Bill Igor and ABC was caving but thank you for returning Kimmel to the air.  As for the mass resignations of the Pentagon press Corp, good for you!

These are not just media headlines—they’re signals. Signals that we must stay vigilant, informed, and engaged. The Constitution isn’t just parchment and ink. It’s a living promise. And it’s up to us to keep it alive.

Millions of people turned out for the No Kings March. For reasons I still can't fathom, some not all Republican voices have rebranded the event as the “Hate America Rally", their words, not mine. But this wasn’t a hate rally. It was a peaceful gathering, a public affirmation of our rights as Americans, as guaranteed by the First Amendment of the Constitution.

In response, the official White House account on X (formerly Twitter) posted images of President Donald Trump wearing a crown. While social media often thrives in irony or satire, this wasn’t tongue-in-cheek. The White House meant it. And that, more than any meme, speaks volumes.

In closing, I tend to steer clear of political conversations, especially given the climate we live in today. But I love this democratic country. We are fortunate—deeply fortunate—to call it home.

                                                            Not funny

Pumpkin Spice and Everything Nice

 

It first started with all the advertisements from Starbucks and McDonalds. Then came the trip to Home Goods where when I entered the store, the moment I walked through the doors, I was hit with the scent of pumpkin candles and those cinnamon brooms they stock this time of year.

Suddenly I was craving softness: sweaters with sleeves that graze my knuckles and that don’t apologize for being beige and great hardy dishes right out of the crockpot.  My obsession with all things made with pumpkin has been rekindled for Autumn.  So not only is it sweater weather it is comfort food season. 

Pumpkin spice isn’t just a flavor. It’s a mood. It’s a little nostalgic, a little indulgent. It’s the scent of a season that forgives you for skipping the gym and cooking with lots of butter. It is sugar and spice and everything nice. It’s the friends who show up in mismatched socks, the chili that stains your favorite sweater, and hot a hot toddy on a cold evening sipped in front of the fireplace. (And yes, mismatched socks are now sold in pairs—because even comfort has a marketing team.)

This year, I’m skipping the pie. I’m hosting a gal pal evening, and I am thinking of serving pumpkin chili, apple pie and a cocktail called The Cozy Drop. Comfort doesn’t have to be sweet—it just has to be shared. I went looking for a chili recipe and one for a cocktail and here is what I came up with:

Pumpkin Chili (Savory, Not Sweet)

Ingredients

• 1 tbsp olive oil

• 1 small onion, chopped

• 2 cloves garlic, minced

• 1 bell pepper, chopped (any color)

• 1 lb ground turkey or beef (or skip for a vegetarian version)

• 1 can (15 oz) pumpkin purée (not pie filling)

• 1 can (15 oz) diced tomatoes

• 1 can (15 oz) black beans, drained and rinsed

• 1 can (15 oz) kidney beans, drained and rinsed

• 1½ cups vegetable or chicken broth

• 2 tsp chili powder

• 1 tsp cumin

•  ½ tsp smoked paprika

•  ¼ tsp cinnamon (trust me—it deepens the flavor)

•  Salt and pepper, to taste

     

Instructions

1.  Sauté aromatics: Heat olive oil in a large pot. Add onion, garlic, and bell pepper. Cook until softened.

2.  Brown the meat: Add ground turkey or beef, breaking it up as it cooks. Season lightly with salt and pepper.

3.  Add the flavor base: Stir in pumpkin purée, tomatoes, beans, broth, and spices. Mix well.

4. Simmer: Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer uncovered for 30–40 minutes, stirring occasionally. The chili will thicken and deepen in flavor.

5. Taste and tweak: Adjust seasoning. Add a splash of vinegar or lime juice if it needs brightness.

6. Serve: Top with sour cream, shredded cheese, toasted pepitas, or crushed tortilla chips. Pair with cornbread or a crusty baguette.

 The Cozy Drop Cocktail

Ingredients

• 2 oz vodka (a smooth base—try one with vanilla or citrus notes)

• ¾ oz fresh lemon juice

• ¾ oz apple cider (unfiltered for depth)

• ½ oz simple syrup (or maple syrup for extra autumnal flair)

• Cinnamon sugar, for rimming the glass

• Optional: dash of ginger liqueur or bitters for warmth

Enjoy

Another Great, Gone

 

Diane Keaton has passed away, and I didn’t realize how much she meant to cinema or to me until I read about her death.

I loved Diane Keaton. I truly identified with her. She was different—unique, quirky, unapologetically herself. She never tried to blend in with the pack. She spoke her mind and chose roles that resonated with her. Some, like Annie Hall and The First Wives Club, became cultural touchstones. Others were quiet sleepers, just as powerful in their own way.

She was admired by her peers and collaborators, and to my knowledge there’s no public record of her having serious problems working with other actors. So rare in Hollywood. In fact, many of her most iconic roles came from close creative partnerships with her co-stars—some of whom she also dated. 

Although I do not enjoy Woody Allen and have been known to walk out of his movies, I did see Annie Hall.  Diane Keaton was the reason for its success. She starred in eight films with Woody Allen, but I only went to see Annie Hall.

Although I’ve never been a fan of Woody Allen and have even walked out of his movies, I did see Annie Hall. Diane Keaton was the reason I stayed. She brought something singular to that film: wit, vulnerability, and a style all her own. Though she starred in eight films with Allen, Annie Hall was the only one I chose to see. And it was enough to show me how great she was.

There are very few like her.  She will be missed.

My Continuing Coffee Journey

One thing Charlotte doesn’t lack is coffee shops. They’re everywhere, and many are genuinely great. Since I only work parttime one of my favorite ritual is to seek out a new cafe. I do have a short check list that I use to make a decision whether the cafe is worthy of a visit. I have outlined my criteria below:

Criteria for Repeat Visits:

   • Coffee Quality – Bold, balanced, and worth savoring

   • Bakery Selection – Tempting treats that go beyond the basics or if they are basic, they            are high quality

   • Seating Vibe – Cozy, and conversation-friendly

   • Bonus Comforts – outdoor seating, or unexpected charm

My friends and I love catching up over a good cup of coffee, and one of our favorite spots is Rocky River Coffee in Harrisburg, NC. With both indoor and outdoor seating, it’s the kind of place where you can settle in, sip slowly, and chat in a relaxed setting. The bonus for me is that every day they have a flavored coffee, not the kind that you add a sugary syrup.  It is flavored ground beans, my favorite treat.  

Recently, when my daughter had the morning off, I took her to Rocky River Coffee, hoping she’d enjoy it as much as we do. They didn’t disappoint. The café is in the midst of a renovation, and even now, it’s already looking cozier and more inviting.

The Verdict: Meets all of my criteria for being a repeat favorite. Great for catching up with friends or introducing someone new to my coffee rituals. 

 

Sincerely Sancerre: A Sips and Apps Reflection

 

My Sips and Apps group met recently, and the wine of choice was Sancerre. I wasn’t familiar with this varietal, so in case you’re in the same boat, here’s a quick rundown: Sancerre hails from the rolling hills of France’s Loire Valley and is made from 100% Sauvignon Blanc grapes. But unlike the bold, tropical Sauvignon Blancs of New Zealand or California, Sancerre is all about restraint, elegance, and minerality. It is the type of wine that when you are entertaining and want to make an understated statement you serve Sancerre.

Its flavor profile is crisp citrus, green apple and a subtle herbal taste. It is light-bodied but structured, with a clean, high-acid finish. The region’s limestone and clay soils give Sancerre its signature minerality.

We started our wine tasting with the Sancerre. For kicks—and maybe a little mischief—we poured a California Sauvignon Blanc alongside it. The contrast was striking. The best word to describe the California wine is very bold and unapologizing loud, with an overwhelming taste of citrus. The poor California Cousin never had a chance.

Of course, none of our gatherings are complete without food. We gave serious thought to the heavy apps for the pairing. Asparagus wrapped in pastry, baked brie, shrimp scampi, and crostini made their way to the table. A lemon cake brought the evening to a bright, sweet close.

If you have tasted Sancerre please leave your comments.

The Way We Were

 

The Way We Were hit theaters in 1973. I was 17—completely and blissfully naïve about nearly everything. I’d grown up in what felt like a much simpler time, at least through my eyes. I had already seen Barbra Streisand in Funny Girl, and when she sang “Don’t Rain on My Parade,” something shifted. It was an epiphany. That moment changed everything for me. Aside from Rosie O’Donnell, I’m convinced I’m her biggest fan.

 But it was The Way We Were that introduced me to Robert Redford—and with it, my very first celebrity crush.

Watching the film through my seventeen-year-old eyes, I believed their love would last forever. But rewatching it now, with the benefit (and burden) of experience, I see the truth: Katie and Hubbell were never meant to make it. 

They couldn’t stay together because their core values, their view of the world, and what they needed from love were simply too far apart. Their relationship was built on admiration and intense attraction, but it couldn’t bridge the deeper ideological and emotional divides.  In many ways, the world now echoes their relationship—beautiful on the outside, but with deep ideologic divisions. But unlike Katie and Hubbell, I remain hopeful. Though they couldn’t sustain their world together, I believe ours—our democracy—still can.

 Robert Redford is gone and while my seventeen-year-old self, believed in forever, today I understand that some things are meant to be remembered, not sustained. Maybe that’s why The Way We Were still lingers, it captures the ache of what almost was, and the beauty of what couldn’t be.

The seventeen-year-old girl still lives in my heart, and every now and then, she longs to return to The Way We Were—even if only for a brief moment.

Days I loved You Most

This book explores the complexities of a long marriage. I found it totally relatable since I have been married for forty-two years.

Set in New England in the summer of 1941, Evelyn and Joseph first fall in love.  More than sixty years later they gather their three adult children together to tell them staggering news.  Evelyn has received a heartbreaking diagnosis, and Joseph does not want to live without her.  Together they decide to live their lives as fully as possible for one final year and then end their lives on their terms.

Their decision sends shockwaves through their children's lives, each dealing with the situation differently. Neff captures the emotions the children share like heartache, disbelief and anger.

She also does an outstanding job of portraying the ebb and flow of the couple's long marriage.   She clearly writes about the ups and downs of a long-standing marriage. In addition, I love how she takes us through what is to be their last year and how they make every effort to reconnect with their children.

Even after reading the book, I struggle to reconcile with Joseph's decision to end his own life. He deserves to live and have a presence in his family's life. Yes, losing a loved one is devastating, and yes grief can last a lifetime. 

I understand that Joseph’s identity is deeply entwined with Evelyn’s. He’s spent his entire adult life by her side, and the thought of continuing without her feels unbearable. But he’s a strong character. I want him to give himself a chance—to try to build a life beyond her. If he would consider that possibility, I think I could understand his choice more fully.

One thing this book made me ask is: How can I live more fully? How can I engage more deeply with my own life? For me, it’s not about checking items off a bucket list. In fact, I don’t have a bucket list—and I don’t want one.

Instead, I want to live as authentically as possible and be truly present. Now that I’m no longer working five days a week, I’ve added so many new things to my life—activities that bring joy, connection, and creativity. I’m learning to find a better balance between the time I work and the time I don’t. That balance was missing before, and I’m grateful to be discovering it now.

 

Alexa, Stop Listening to My Life

 

I’m a boomer. I remember when phones had cords, and privacy meant closing the door—not toggling a setting buried six menus deep. These days, even silence feels surveilled.   Smart assistants like Alexa, Google Assistant, and Siri are designed to respond to voice commands, but this means they are constantly listening. 

Although they claim to activate only with specific wake words, accidental activations are possible. Many of my friends love using the voice command function.  They can just say "Alexa play music similar to Celion Dion or Cher" and the music plays.  Or perhaps they want to make chicken Cacciatore for dinner, all they need to do is ask Alexa. What they don't understand is that Alexa or any of the other smart assistances for that matter never leaves the room.

How many times have you been muttering something to yourself about wishing you had something or another and Alexa or Siri answer you with something they found to help you.  Or have you ever noticed you were talking about a product with someone and the next time you were online you are inundated with ads about this product? Apparently, Alexa was listening.

Voice recordings, accidental activations, microphone settings. a smart assistant can be saving snippets of your life, your questions, your tone, even your background noise. It feels like someone has been reading your diary and knows all your deep dark secrets.

And it’s not just Alexa. Gaming apps, too. I downloaded a game that asked for microphone access. Why? Was it going to listen to me groan when I couldn’t solve level 12? I revoked the permission, but the damage was done. I’d invited something into my phone that didn’t know how to mind its own business.

Privacy used to be a default. Now it’s a choice. And like any good boomer I am more vigilant. I’m choosing it with intention, a little suspicion, and a whole lot of sass. I disable microphones when I’m not using them. I check app permissions like I check expiration dates on yogurt. I still use tech—I am not a person opposed to new technology or ways of working for goodness' sake, but I want it to serve me, not study me.

Consider reviewing your device settings and history. Disabling microphone access when not in use. Instructions on managing these settings can be found by going to the internet and google. 

I would love your opinion on the use of smart assistance.

Ah!!!!! Sweater Weather

 

Ah, sweater weather—that wonderful phrase that signals the shift from sticky summer to crisp air. It arrives just as the leaves start the most beautiful fall colors; burnt orange, golden yellow and rich cranberry. For me it means sunny mild days, and cool crisp evenings and this amazing clean fragrance that comes from the leaves and the chill in the air. Finally, after a very hot summer, I think it is right around the corner.

Cooler days calls for layering and one of the most important garments in my closet is the sweater. They come in all shapes and sizes, chunky knits, cardigans, and turtlenecks, fashion that forgives and flatters.

Everyone has a go to sweater.  One that you reach for when you want warmth but no fuss.  She is an old friend.  You don't judge her, and she certainly does not judge you. I have one such sweater. She sits quietly in my closet surrounding by newer and yes prettier sweaters. She knows every inch of my body and knows that when I am wearing her, I am relaxed and comfortable. Since I only work two days a week now I find myself spending a lot of time in my comfortable clothing, my very special sweater included.

Sweater weather also means warm cocktails—drinks that feel like a hug in a mug. Whether I’m curled up with a book or hosting a Sips and Apps night, these are my seasonal favorites:

• Hot Toddy: Whiskey, honey, lemon, and hot water. Add cloves or cinnamon for extra warmth.
• Mulled Wine: Red wine simmered with orange slices, cinnamon sticks, cloves, and star anise a taste I acquired from visiting the Christmas markets of Europe
• Kahlúa or Baileys Hot Chocolate: Cocoa, milk, sugar, and a splash of Kahlúa or Baileys dessert in a cup.
• Chai Whiskey Latte: Chai tea, steamed milk, and a shot of whiskey or bourbon

And speaking of sweater, here is a bit from SNL with Amy Poehler and Maya Rudolph on Sweater Weather.  I was born in the Bronx, so hearing them always feels like home.

Do I want to be taller?

 

Do I want to be taller.  I am 5 feet, of course I do. I’m tired of hemming every pair of pants I buy and watching a midi dress cascade into a full-length gown. My height isn’t just a measurement—it’s a constant negotiation with clothing. Up until I turned 50 (was that just yesterday) I wore heels. Not the one-inch heels, more like the three-inch type.

The other day, I was listening to my favorite drive-time show, The Bob and Sheri Show on K104.7, when they started talking about a surgery that can make you taller. Yes, taller. It’s called limb lengthening surgery, and apparently, Turkey has become a hotspot for it.

While the procedure can be done to correct limb discrepancies, the segment focused on a man who was 5'6" and wanted to be taller than his wife, who stood around 5'9". So yes, it was cosmetic. Vanity-driven. No judgment here, I get it. If I weren’t so opposed to agonizing pain, I might even consider it. Well... probably not.

Clinics in Istanbul and other cities offer advanced procedures with experienced orthopedic surgeons and comprehensive post-op care. the procedure the hosts were talking about was a controlled break of the femur and insertion of a a titanium nail with an external fixator. The fixator manually lengthens the bone 1 mm/day.  According to the hosts, the wife was responsible for adjusting the fixator every day. That is love and sheer bravery, because this surgery isn’t just a mechanical marvel; it comes with muscle pain, nerve sensitivity, numbness, and shooting pain. I can’t imagine being the one inflicting that on someone I care about. And let’s not forget the risks: infection, deep vein thrombosis, stroke.

The good news is that the patient is weight bearing and can walk with assistance as early as 2–3 weeks post-op, thanks to the nail’s strength. Height potential, the reason for going through this procedure can be up to 10 cm in the femur and 7 cm in the tibia in one procedure. A two-step process can yield up to 17 cm.

But here’s the thing: I’ve already had two back surgeries, both of which were complete failures. I know what it’s like when bones don’t cooperate. But hey maybe the surgeons are better in Turkey than my Mickey Mouse ortho guy in Baltimore.  So, while I’d love to be tall like the next gal, I’m not willing to suffer for it. Not again. Not like that.

But I would be interested in hearing if you would accept the risks and the pain to be taller.

Holy Rollers and Heavenly rides

 

I try not to talk politics and religion.  I like my friends and family too much to engage in such a divisive topic. But during my morning drive, listening to Lamar and Sheri on my favorite radio station, I caught a story that made me pause: Pope Leo XIV was gifted a custom BMW R 18 Cruiser by the Jesus Bikers, a Christian motorcycle club from Germany. Germany. 

This wasn’t a flashy stunt. The bike was part of a fundraising initiative, redesigned with papal symbolism: white paint, gold accents, and a cross motif. The Jesus Bikers, who blend leather, chrome, and Christian faith, often participate in events that promote peace, charity, and spiritual reflection. Their mission rides on two wheels but reaches far beyond the road.

Though the Pope told the CEO of BMW that he used to ride motorcycles, he had no plans to keep the motorcycle.  Instead, he blessed and signed it. The bike is to be auctioned by Sotheby's in Munich on October 18, 2025, with proceeds going to support children working in mica mines in Madagascar.

Beyond this event, the Jesus Bikers have consistently used their pilgrimages and public appearances to raise awareness and funds for humanitarian causes. approach blends faith, spectacle, and storytelling—a formula that resonates far beyond the biker community.

But as I sat with the story of the Jesus Bikers and their papal gift, I couldn’t help but feel the contrast between that gesture of peace and the headlines that followed. The assassination of Charlie Kirk at Utah Valley University, the school shooting in Colorado, and the fatal stabbing of Iryna Zarutska on Charlotte’s Lynx line, all within weeks, have left many of us stunned, grieving, and asking harder questions.

As I said at the start of this post, I don’t talk politics or religion much. Not because I don’t care, but because I care too much about the people around me. Still, these stories—of generosity and violence, of faith and fear—seem to be riding the same rails lately. A motorcycle blessed by the Pope, auctioned to help children in Madagascar. A train ride home that ended in tragedy. A campus debate interrupted by a single, fatal shot.

Maybe the real question isn’t whether we talk about politics or religion. Maybe it’s whether we’re still willing to talk at all—across the table, across the aisle, across the divide. Maybe the Jesus Bikers had it right: leather and chrome can carry a message of hope, if we’re brave enough to ride it forward. 

I may not be trading my car for a cruiser anytime soon, but I’ll admit—there’s something oddly poetic about a papal blessing on a BMW. Maybe faith and fundraising do make a pretty good road trip duo.

 

AI Good or Bad? Who really knows!

 

I chose this book as my book club pick not realizing that it was more science fiction than my book club would enjoy.  I on the other hand found it to be a good read. I guess it is because i really enjoy reading a good science fiction novel every now and then.  I am also fascinated by AI.  

The setting of the book is an island. Outside the island there is nothing: the world was destroyed by a fog that swept the planet, killing anyone it touched. One hundred and twenty-two villagers and three scientists, living in peaceful harmony. The villagers are content to fish, farm and feast, to obey their nightly curfew, to do what they're told by the scientists. 

All is fine until one of the scientists, their leader is murdered. She along with Abi, an omnipresent intelligence embedded in the minds of all the island’s inhabitants have led the Island inhabitants.  To make matters worse, her death has triggered the security system. It is compromised. They must discover who the murderer is, and they have 107 hours, or the fog will smother them.

But the security system has also wiped everyone's memories of exactly what happened the night before, which means that someone on the island is a murderer—and they don't even know it.

And the clock is ticking.

Abi is a most interesting character. Because of her, the inhabitants while they may think they exercise free will, really do not. She can read their thoughts, communicate directly with them and even control them when she deems necessary. Abi’s control is both a safeguard and a threat. Her ability to override decisions and suppress dissent makes her indispensable—but also dangerous. 

I was talking with a group of people at a party. Let me preface things by saying we were a group of boomers. The subject of AI was brought up.  My very first encounter with AI was when I watched the movie "2001 A Space Odessey". Does anyone remember that movie? 

Briefly:  Discovery One, a spacecraft on a mission to Jupiter is tasked with investigating a mysterious alien monolith discovered on the Moon, which is emitting a signal directed toward Jupiter. The ship is managed by HAL 9000, a highly advanced computer. Think about this, the film was released in 1968 long before most of us had ever heard the term "Artificial Intelligence" (AI). HAL 9000 in many ways was our first introduction to AI. I still can't forget how eerily calm, intelligent and unsettling it was listening to HAL.  As the mission unfolds, HAL begins to malfunction and turns against the crew, killing Poole and the hibernating astronauts. Dave Bowman survives and disables HAL. I can still hear that chilling line in HAL'S unnervingly calm voice saying "Hello Dave".

Artificial intelligence, or AI, is a field of computer science focused on creating systems that can do things that typically require human intelligence. These machines are being "taught" (programmed) to learn, reason, and adapt. It could be used recognize faces in photos, recommend your next favorite book, or help tell a story. 

I and so many others have so many reservations about AI. AI is an incredibly powerful tool, but it also raises important questions—about ethics, bias, and the role of human decision-making.  These are just three negative ways AI is used:

• Authoritarian regimes have used AI-powered facial recognition and predictive policing to monitor citizens, suppress dissent, and enforce conformity.

• Social media platforms and data brokers deploy AI to maximize engagement, often by heightening outrage, misinformation, or addictive content. These algorithms can distort public discourse and erode mental health.

• Political campaigns have used AI-driven targeting to influence voter behavior, sometimes spreading disinformation tailored to individual fears 

Hopefully The power of AI can be used for good rather than evil.  I know, I am being naive.

Bye Bye Beautiful Garden

 On July 9, I shared my feelings about Trump's Update to the Rose Garden. The picture included in this post is now the new look.

In a March interview with Fox News host Laura Ingraham, Trump explained that the renovation was needed because the grass "just didn't work"

Personally, I find the new Rose Garden—with its rows of chairs and tables spread across the entire “patio”—more reminiscent of a poolside resort or an outdoor restaurant than a space meant for diplomacy and elegance. While that setup might be perfectly suited for Mar-a-Lago or a beachfront brunch, it feels out of place in a setting meant to represent the dignity and beauty of the United States. Hosting foreign dignitaries, celebrities, and ceremonial events deserves a backdrop that reflects grace, history, and intention—not something that looks borrowed from a hotel terrace. It "just doesn't work" for me. 

I am curious what your feelings are about this update. Please leave comments.