I am told that in 2022 or 2023, food prices increased by twenty-seven percent. I didn’t need to be told because my grocery expenses for myself and my daughter, who lives with me, skyrocketed overnight. We had been getting by spending around $500 to $600 a month to feed us. And we bought what we wanted without looking at a price tag. Then, last month, I spent that much in BJs and another $300 in Harris Teeter. I was shocked.

When my spouse died in September 2020, my disposable income was cut by one-third. I was worried that I would be broke at the end of the month because, for sure, my spouse didn’t account for one-third of the expenses. I added a contribution from an annuity we purchased in 1996, which had grown nicely. It didn’t cover the entire loss of income, but it helped, and I was sure I would somehow manage. And I did.

I am told that in 2022 or 2023, food prices increased by twenty-seven percent. I didn’t need to be told because my grocery expenses for myself and my daughter, who lives with me, skyrocketed overnight. We had been getting by spending around $500 to $600 a month to feed us. And we bought what we wanted without looking at a price tag. Then, last month, I spent that much in BJs and $300 in Harris Teeter. I was shocked.

It seemed like overnight, we went from spending with abandon on food to checking the price on every item, cutting out coupons, and only shopping on senior discount days. But even doing this only shaved a mere $100/month off our food costs.

Even my daughter, who never gave a thought to how much we spent on food shopping, was concerned. We talked about it every time we went shopping, which was about once a month, with supplemental shopping trips for perishables like produce and dairy items. We wondered what we could do to minimize our expenses.

And so it began. We had to cut out or minimize “want” foods like chips, nuts, candy, or even prepared meals like those delicious Bertolini meals that can be cooked in eleven minutes. We were faced with making these meals ourselves from scratch. Did I mention that neither of us particularly likes to cook? This helped a bit, but not as much as we expected.

We pondered what else we could do each time we sat down to make our grocery list. So, we eliminated all brand-name foods in favor of store brands. This practice helped more than we anticipated, and we were so proud of ourselves. Forget the fact that some of the store-brand foods tasted like cardboard. We’ll get used to it, we rationalized. Yeah, right.

As a last-ditch effort to control our food expenses, we analyzed our “need” foods. To our amazement, we found some items we could do without or, at best, find a less expensive alternative. For example, we could make tuna or egg salad for sandwiches rather than buy expensive lunchmeat. We could also make chicken salad from any leftover chicken. We didn’t need olives, pickles, or four different kinds of salad dressing.

Due to our grocery list due diligence, our last monthly foray into restocking our shelves and refrigerator we saw a decline in our spending around $100. With this achievement, we are encouraged to keep looking for more ways to lower our food costs. We may even be rewarded with some weight loss as well.

In addition, in 2018, I purchased a gorgeous glass birdbath that featured a beautiful peacock on the rim. I had placed it in my Zen garden off my front porch. I couldn’t see it from the window by my desk. In the summer of 2022, I moved it to the back deck and placed it where I could see it from my desk as I worked. The birds came to bathe several times a day, and sometimes, as many as ten sparrows were bathing in it at one time. What fun to watch. Too bad I had to take the birdbath in during the winter for fear the glass might break in the cold.

Now, I could see my birds in two places all day. One day, I noticed that some mourning doves were eating the small amount of seeds that dropped off the feeder onto the deck. They were too big to perch on the feeder, so I started tossing some seeds onto the deck for them.

One day, a squirrel appeared and started to eat the seeds on the deck. Then, as fate would have it, my daughter brought home a small bag of unshelled peanuts. I didn’t eat many of them, nor did she. I wondered if the squirrel would eat them, so I threw a handful of nuts on the deck. Three squirrels appeared and quickly scarfed them up. My aviary was now becoming a zoo. I loved it.

Yesterday, we had a huge snowstorm that dropped over ten inches of snow on my deck. Knowing the birds needed extra seeds to keep warm, I tossed handfuls of seeds on the deck several times during the day. At one point, I counted over twenty birds munching away on my seed feast.

With temperatures dipping into the single digits this morning, the snow glistened in the sun and refused to melt. I threw out more seeds and nuts and waited to see what birds or squirrels would arrive. Much to my surprise, a huge Blue Jay swooped in and flew off with an unshelled peanut in its beak! It was the first time in over twenty years that a jay had visited my aviary. I was thrilled. I tossed out more nuts and seeds, sat back, and enjoyed my aviary/zoo enjoying their breakfast as I sipped my hot tea.

With her jeweler’s loupe, she investigated the site. I sat on my walker facing her, with my right leg hoisted on the handle. My daughter was sitting on the bed, facing me, and my left leg was dangling off her right thigh. I was grateful I had donned my underwear minutes before. But I was even more thankful we weren’t being recorded or within view of one of the security cameras in the house.

It turned out to be a tick. A tiny, head-of-a-pin size tick. Now, I don’t know if this particular guy was carrying Lyme disease, but I wasn’t about to let him (or maybe her) stay on my body any longer to see if I developed any symptoms, which I’m told are dreadful.

Since the outbreak of Lyme disease back in the dark ages of the 1960s, no one had ever heard much about ticks or Lyme disease. It wasn’t until 1981 that a researcher, Willy Burgdorfer, who was studying Rocky Mountain Fever and Deer ticks, began to study Lyme Disease. As a consequence, he noted that the two diseases had similar symptoms. After further research, he discovered that a bacteria-carrying tick, spirochete, was causing Lyme Disease. The scientific community honored Willy by naming the bacteria Borrelia burgdorferi, and Lyme disease became a household name.  

A decade or more ago, I thought I had a skin tag under my left armpit. I picked at that skin tag for two weeks, but it never dropped off. Finally, I asked my spouse (now playing the game of Bridge with Jesus) to take a look. Why didn’t I look? Have you ever tried to take a close-up look under your armpit? Even with a mirror, it is difficult. At any rate, if you are guessing by now that it was a tick, you’re right. Compared to my mini tick on my thigh, this one was about the size of my pinky fingernail. And it seems these little suckers like warm moist places.

I have only acquired three ticks in my 85 years. The other one was on the top of my head. I still don’t know why I get them at all since I don’t go romping through the forest or over the meadows and grasses. What I do know is that when a tick is discovered lunching on my body, it will be removed immediately. No Lyme disease for me.

I wake up anywhere from 7 a.m. to 8 a.m. I have my alarm set for 8 a.m., but I am usually up before then. This morning, it was 7:50 a.m. My dog, Loki, sleeps with me, and I take him out for his constitutional first. Next, I will make my bed. I hate clutter, and clutter for me is a messy bed.

Then I undress and weigh myself. I suppose I could do that once a week, but weighing myself dictates how much I eat that day for weight control. Next, I shower, blow-dry my hair, brush my teeth and dress. Next, I will get a bottle of warm water and take my medications.

Around 8:30 a.m., I join a Zoom call with Panache Desai, an Indian “guru” of sorts. It is called “Call to Cool, Calm Meditation,” and he shares his wisdom with some 3,000 folks worldwide and ends at 9:00 a.m. It is free and I love to listen to him.

After that, I turn on the TV to “Live with Kelly and Mark.” I love the part at about 9:12 a.m. where a caller tries to stump Mark, who tries to guess a correct situation from two submitted by a phone-in caller. If he guesses wrong, the caller wins a mug and a T-shirt that says, “I stumped Mark.” Stumping Mark has become a symbol of honor and fun.

As I watch that, I am brewing my cup of green tea and opening a chocolate-dipped granola bar for my breakfast. Finally, I break up a quarter of a peanut butter-flavored granola bar for Loki’s breakfast, eat my granola bar, and turn on my computer to play Wordle.

That’s how I start my day, every day, unless I have been careless enough to schedule an appointment before 10 a.m. Have a great day, and I hope something good happens to you today.

I spent the first nine years of my marriage living in a lovely farmhouse on South Broadway built in 1735. The farmhouse is the one with the red roof. I wish I had a better photo of it. The larger building was built in the 1930s to house the former owner’s automobile collection.

Living in the small town of Tarrytown was wonderful, where I birthed my children in what is now called Sleepy Hollow, NY. I was active in my church, the Union Church of Pocantico Hills, which the Rockefellers built, and the local community theater, the Beechwood Players. I was even a “Cheery Cherry Lady” volunteer at the Phelps Memorial Hospital which is now condominiums. Most of all, I enjoyed being a young wife and mother. We had many friends, entertained often, and threw a huge party in our home once a year. I always loved putting that together. Sometimes, I think I should have been an event planner.

I was somehow elected President of the Beechwood Players by folks who thought I had a modicum of leadership ability. I really think it was because I had an electric IBM typewriter and wrote a fair-to-middling newsletter. The Beechwood Players were only famous because Peter Falk was a graduate. Us older folks will remember him as Detective Columbo in the popular TV show of the same name. He had quite an illustrious career, and you can Google him on Wikipedia.

This trip will be full of nostalgia as we ride around and see my high school, the church, and the Irvington Boat Club, where we motored around in our 16′ Chris Craft runabout. One year, we even motored down the Hudson River to New York City to watch the fireworks. I’m sure I’ll pass Matheison Park, where, much to my surprise, I won the homemade kite-flying contest. And, of course, I’ll drive by the old farmhouse and recall an abundance of memories.

On my special day, we will celebrate by enjoying a gourmet meal at a fine eatery hosted by my eldest daughter and son-in-law. We will, for sure, toast to the next fifteen years. Why? Because my goal has always been to live to be 100. With only 15 more years to go, I’m beginning to think I might make it.

This novel was written to motivate others to have hope and encouragement in moving through the process of breaking free from abuse. I am available through Revrita23@gmail.com to explore attending your book club for a discussion of this novel. An intimate audience is best.

Here is the blurb from the back cover summarizing the theme:

“Woven into the fabric of ordinary life, which family, friends, and the outside world rarely see or hear, is a demon called domestic violence or abuse. It is the solitary confinement of our society because it is suffered in silence and alone. It is more pervasive in homes than ever imagined and maims or kills those abused. This violence takes the forms of verbal, physical, emotional, or even financial abuse. This novel, based loosely on real events, is a story not focused on the abuse itself but on the journey of one woman breaking free from her prison of abuse into a life of love and peace. It is a story of hope fulfilled.”

If you read it, I would appreciate it if you would leave a review. Thanks in advance.

My first grieving thoughts were like most people, all of the great things about him. Obituaries make saints out of even the worst human being. So I thought about his fabulous smile, twinkling blue eyes, infectious laugh, his adoration of me, his caring for me almost to worshiping me. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for me. I had to be careful not to say I liked something because he would get it for me, even if I was only admiring it for its beauty, but not wanting to own it. In the last four years of our 40-year marriage, he spent as much waking time with me as possible. Even if it was just a quick trip to the ATM or a short walk to get the mail. He kept saying, “We have more time behind us than ahead of us, and I want to spend as much of it with you.” What a fabulous guy. My heart physically ached for months and Niagara Falls swept down my face on a regular basis.

In order to tamp my grief, I decided to recall the time he hurt me by having a year-long affair. I didn’t divorce him. See the second paragraph above. We worked through it and over it. Thinking that would help. It didn’t. It just brought back the pain of hurt on top of the pain of grief.

Then I decided to recall all the things he did to annoy me. Things I can no longer remember in any detail. Stupid little things like he didn’t clean the electric toothbrush as well as I did. Or, he was a paper “stacker,” on his desk and not in any order. His desk was a mess, mine was neat and orderly. Or, he would hang his pants from the top dresser drawer of his tallboy if he was going to wear them the next day. Little, niggling, stuff. That didn’t work either because it only brought back those annoying feelings and who wants that.

Then I found the other side of grief. It wasn’t about all the good stuff, bad stuff or annoying stuff individually. Not in huge chunks at a time of any one quality. It was about all of it collectively. Just as a life lived. In any given day a trigger will bring to any one of those places. And what is gratifying about those places is that I never have to sit and dwell in them for hours or days on end. They are fleeting. They are rich in their depth and comedic in their silliness. Some linger if I want them to but fade away like a wisp of smoke from a cigarette if I don’t.

The other side of grief is living with the soul of the departed. Pure essence. In puffs and breaths of time.  To cover one like a crazy quilt of his life in the wholeness of the natural life they shared. None to overwhelm, but each to enrich and savor the essence of the one lost to the spiritual realm. To give warmth and comfort when life becomes cold and one has trouble finding the other side of grief.

When I divorced Bob, I got custody of my true love, Rip. But my second husband, Ralph, wasn’t fond of Rip, either. When we moved to a townhouse, poor, rejected Rip was relegated to an obscure niche on the third floor. At least he had more light than his previous dark corners. Overlooked, my adored Rip sat languishing and humiliated in our obscure corners for years.

Rip’s sculptor was discovered to be Daniel Chester French. You don’t know him? You know his work, I’m sure. He sculpted the statue of Lincoln in the Lincoln Memorial. An appraiser gave Rip an unexpected high appraisal. After Ralph found out how valuable and unique Rip was, well, that was another story. The day Ralph learned of Rip’s provenance, he moved him from the third floor to the first floor and put him in a prominent place on a pedestal. Today, my love, Rip, sits on a windowsill by my desk. No longer overlooked.

I told this story to a friend after Ralph died, and she asked me, “Do you know the moral of this story?” “No,” I replied. She said “The moral is husbands come, and husbands go, but Rip stays!”

We’re putting the tree and decorations up today (Dec. 5th). I used to wait until closer to Christmas to do this, but no more. Now, I put things up closer to Thanksgiving, so I have more time to enjoy their beauty and remember the meaning of Christmas. I’ve long forgotten why we put up a tree, but I know I give gifts to others to honor Jesus, who isn’t here to get them in person.

So, If I were true to how we celebrate other people’s birthdays, first, I wouldn’t have a tree, then I would buy all the presents, wrap them, and put them in the closet until the day marking the birth. Then, I would sneak out of bed at midnight and put the gifts on the dining room table to surprise the birthday person. Or, in this case, persons. But alas, people would think I was crazy if I did that and put me in the home.

Thus, at this time of year, I now put up a tree, put my wrapped presents under the tree, and wait for December twenty-fifth. While waiting, I hung a handmade Advent calendar I bought at a long past Christmas fair when we lived in Connecticut circa 1989. I also hang up three stockings off the bottom of one of my “frog” shelves, one for me, my daughter, and the dog. And I have three lovely creches that I put up on the mission table opposite my dining table. Just last year, I bought a set of Advent candles for my table that I copied from my friend, Elizabeth.

The sad part of all this effort is that my daughter and I are the only ones who will enjoy them. I used to invite a multitude of friends over at this time of year, but many of them have moved or gone off to join others in the spiritual realm. And, since I no longer cook, lunch or dinner guests for those meals are not an option. I might, however, have a few friends over for tea and/or dessert. My spouse used to say getting old was not for sissies. Well, since I don’t consider myself a sissy, I think I can handle this.
Merry  Christmas All. Until next time…