Friday: Visit to Perth and Smiths Falls

The reason it was possible to plan a trip to Ottawa so easily was because we were already familiar with the area. As my mom said, it is like her planning a trip to Williamsburg. Instead of googling "top things to do in Ottawa," I googled "what's happening in Ottawa this weekend."

Since our trip last summer to Smiths Falls, where we stayed when we participated in the Perth Kilt Race, I signed up for the weekly Smiths Falls newsletter. The newsletter highlights what local events are happening each week in Smiths Falls. Plays, festivals, outdoor concerts, movies under the stars, ghost tours, and even weekly roller skating.

We snagged the last loaf of cinnamon bread from Basic Kneads as we waited for Gather to open for lunch. Last summer we fell in love with Gather. They played gentle French music and served farm fresh food. Their unsweetened iced tea (a rare treat in Canada) is served with ice cubes made from their tea so when the ice melts, it enhances their tea rather than dilute it. So simple I keep telling myself I need to make some like it at home.

Last Fall Gather moved across the Gore Street to their new location, a two-story restaurant with an outdoor patio overlooking the water. The food is still delicious. The owner remembered us from last year. We had a chance to catch up. It felt like we were home. A feeling I really needed on that trip.

From Perth we drove to Miller's Bay Farm, a local farm owned by the parents of a friend Ashley met during her years of camp at Upper Canada Village. After buying some really red and juicy strawberries (long out of season in New Jersey) and grape tomatoes, we bumped into the owners, Shannon and Robert, and quickly caught up on news. They threw in four ears of corn and taught us the technique for cooking them in the microwave -- three minutes each ear, be prepared they will be super hot when they come out. As our hotel room had a microwave, but not a stove, we were happy to try this out.

We continued driving south to Smiths Falls. Again, it felt like a homecoming. We stopped in the local health store and chatted with the owner as we bought some bulk supplies. We seem to have lost our local bulk stores with the pandemic. 

From there we went to Real Deal, a reuse store on the outskirts of town. Another business I wish I knew of a similar one near me. The reuse store is a bit like a never ending yard sale. As our hotel did not include breakfast, we went to the reuse store to buy bowls, spoons, a paring knife, an electric kettle, and a couple of other random items for $15CAD (under $11USD). On the way home we picked up yogurt and granola for breakfast.

Smiths Falls has a bunch of thrift stores. Nothing caught my eye, but I enjoyed walked in them. The hunt can be more fun than the find. The New Old Town shop was recommended to us by the Real Deal. Unfortunately for us they were in the process of painting the store and are temporarily closed. We had a nice chat with the owners and promised to come back on a future trip. We might have to bring a U-Haul with us, though, as they specialize in furniture and not knickknacks.

While waiting for dinnertime we sat in the shade dipping our feet in the Rideau Canal. According to Don, I fell sound asleep. The stresses of life were oozing out of me.

After dinner I went roller skating.

The weekly newsletter mentioned the opportunity to go roller skating on Tuesday and Friday nights from 6-8 pm at the Youth Center. We took that scant information and went on a hunt for a roller skating rink. What we found was an ice rink because, you know, Canada. The main rink was getting a fresh layer of ice, so we kept looking until we found the junior rink. I tentatively poked my head inside. A young woman asked if I was lost. Considering the skates were still in the car, it was a fair question. Once we confirmed I was in the right place, Don and I went back to move the car closer to this entrance. Sadly he learned his rollerblades were in no shape to roll, and the place did not have roller skates to borrow (though the main entrance had ice skates to borrow). Instead he sat and listened to a book on his phone while I skated.

The skating community is one of the most inclusive and welcoming groups out
there. Though there were less than a dozen of us, we ranged in age from three to sixty-two. Helen, the sixty-two-year old, is a regular. She was a teachers assistant for many years and has taught everyone in Lombardy, including the Miller children. We fell into a gentle rhythm skating laps around the dry ice hockey rink trying hard not to stumble over the holes left by the goals, and random pieces of debris that a quick sweeping would have taken care of. Helen is a fan of Bon Jovi, but won't travel to the United States even to see him in concert, at least not until we fix our nation. Helen comes at least once a week and skates for half an hour before heading home. I wish we had swapped contact information.

The woman I met at the beginning showed me the honor box. It is $2 CAD ($1.50 USD) to skate. Fortunately we had taken money out of the ATM earlier as they did not accept credit cards. Her mother joined us, and was introduced to a local man skating by himself. I sensed a fix-up so I stayed away. I talked to a 20-year old who is on the local roller derby team. She asked if I'm on a team and I nearly laughed. I took it as a compliment that she thought I was young and agile enough to be on one.

On the rink were a mom and dad walking along their three and six year olds as they gained confidence on their wheels. I found the rink a safe place for all to try things. After a few laps, I stretched my muscles and tried a few things Jaclyn at Trenton Sk8s has taught me -- bubbles, skating on one foot, and squatting. I tried to focus on technique. As the rink was nearly empty, there was space to try. Someone else was skating backwards without fear of bumping into others. I was not that brave. People were falling and getting back up again. No judgement, just smiles. 

My new friend Helen shared she used to skate at the Bears junior rink when she was growing up in Smiths Falls. It was THE dating scene. She is happy to see it come back.  

I was invited back on Tuesday. At that point we had no plans for Tuesday, so I said peut-etre.

Thursday Night in Ottawa

This will be the shortest post of the trip.

While driving North I found a website talking about what was happening in Ottawa. There were a couple of events that caught my eye. The first was a free performance by the Sechile Sedare, siblings who sing songs of family. They were to sing at the Wood Terrace, a 400-person space where people bring their own chairs and enjoy an outdoor concert. 

If only we had also brought our chairs!

The second was the Urban Art Collective Hintonburg Night Market, featuring local food, local artisans, and an overall local vibe in the Wellington West food and shopping district. 

We opted for the latter.

Hintonburg is a trendy, hipster neighborhood in Ottawa, about as far away from the tourist district as possible. This was represented in free parking and food for half of what we paid in other parts of the city.

The night market did not catch our interest. It was crowded, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. We only lasted a few minutes, and didn't even take a picture.

That night the local craft store was sponsoring a home goods swap. I went inside and bought a pair of ladderback earrings because I wanted to support them, and because they were cute.

We went across the street for dinner at The Third, a cozy local pub. While waiting for our table we studied the odd marble statue street art. The statues were all the same size -- from string bass scrolls and head box to a pod of peas.

From dinner we were pleased to see we only had a 20-minute drive to our hotel in Gatineau. We were ready for sleep, and to start our adventures.

Thursday Drive to Canada

We decided to rent a car for our drive to Canada. We love both of our cars, but they are 18 years old. Rental cars have better gas mileage, empty trunks, newer technology, and no need for us to do extra car maintenance. 

That said, with no plans in place, we packed peanut butter sandwiches and drinks for the drive and got a late start.

At the first rest stop I went to the bathroom while Don filled up our tank. We use a rental car company that does not start with full tanks, but is close to home. The bathroom door was locked. The person inside said "we have a cat emergency."

A cat emergency? I expected a toddler issue or an elderly person issue, but cat?

Feeling bad for me, they opened the door. Inside were two women and a large grey cat named Gonzo. Gonzo had had an accident in his carrier. Seeing me as an ally, Gonzo proceeded to rub up against me. After asking the humans, I picked him up.

The women were stunned.

They gathered his carrier and asked me to put him inside. I directed them to stand it upright so I could use gravity to put him in. A trick I once learned from a vet.

Gonzo easily slid in. The women locked the door. Thanked me profusely and dashed away for the last leg of their trip.

My good deed for the day.

The rest of the drive was smooth. At the border we were behind one truck. Only one truck. Only one lane was open. Since we signed up for Nexus we have not had any waits at the border.

Easy drive on a sunny day.

Planning a Trip on the Drive

When our trip to the Azores was cancelled due to storms, Don suggested regrouping and going someplace else.

I said I didn't have the energy to book a second trip, but he did.

Yin and Yang. 

Life often feels that way with us. One is tired, the other energized. It can be frustrating at times. 

This time, though, it was what I needed.

The basic guidelines were:

1) I did not want to deal with an airport.

2) I wanted someplace international.

Clearly that meant a trip to Canada.

Don wanting to recreate the highlights from the Azores trip and looked for a spa similar to the one we went to in Melbourne. More of a hot springs than a place for massages. He found the Nordic Spa in Chelsea. He found a good deal on a rental car, and for a hotel in Gatineau (across the river from Ottawa) that had an urban spa.

That's it.

We also had an eight-hour car ride.

While Don drove, I googled things to do in Ottawa. Our bags were packed for the Azores, so we added a few things for Canada, including roller skates because I knew about skating nights in Smiths Falls.

Much more than we had packed for our flight.

During the drive I came up with the following itinerary:

Thursday: drive (we didn't leave until noon)

Friday: Smiths Falls, check out their skating night

Saturday (rain): Diefenbunker, Carp's Farmer's Market

Sunday (rain): ??

Monday: Nordic Spa

Tuesday: Back to the Nordic Spa? Maybe hiking in Gatineau Park.

Wednesday: Drive home

I updated as we drove:

Thursday: Hintonburg Night Market

Sunday: House of Commons tour (unfortunately none were available in English)

Monday: Bytown Museum Colonel By Day with Indigenous Walks

Tuesday: Empanadas Ilegales performing at the Wood Terrace (wishing we had added folding chairs to our overfull car)

By the way, the Ironman Ottawa is taking place on Sunday and there will be a lot of road closures.

What actually happened was:

Thursday: Hintonburg Night Market

Friday: Smiths Falls, and, yes, I did go roller skating

Saturday: Carp's Farmers Market and Diefenbunker Cold War Museum

Sunday: Church at Knox Presbyterian Church and visiting Almonte in the rain

Monday: Tour of Parliament in French, Colonel By Day, Indigenous walking tour, and the Nordic Spa

Tuesday: Surprise dig at Gatineau Park, interviewed by Canada TV, hiking in Gatineau Park. Forgot about the concert at the Wood Terrace.

Wednesday: leisurely lunch in Carleton Place, and drive home.

This page will be updated with links to blog posts about what we did.

Ten Hour Vacation to Newark Airport

Life has been crazy lately. About three weeks ago I looked at our calendar and knew July was jam packed. I was heading to Maine with the church mission trip. While I was in Maine, Don planned a camping trip at a music festival near Pittsburgh. About a week later plans had us heading to the Azores, Lisbon, and Porto. Four days after returning home, I am to head to Montreal to see a long-time friend.

In-between the usual fun activities were planned: going to see Luma Luma in Asbury Park, gatherings with friends, a retirement party for my favorite doctor, etc. etc.

You have probably heard the expression: the best way to make God laugh is to tell her your plans.

Dad's sudden, not sudden passing had me returning early from Maine, and Don cancelling his camping trip. We saw family and friends non-stop for over a week. 

I was really looking forward to relaxing in the Azores when we headed to the airport on Tuesday, July 28. Pam offered to drive us to the train station, which would take us to the airport. Before we boarded the train we knew our flight was delayed, but we had a plan with too many moving pieces to shift. Besides, I love airports. I find them relaxing.

We are at the airport super early. We cruised through the TSA Precheck Line with only a person or two ahead of us. Now we have four hours to wait. We ate the turkey sandwiches we packed and got comfortable. 

One of the reasons I wanted to arrive at the airport early was that I had not finished researching what to do on vacation. I had spent a lot of time figuring out what to to in the Azores -- I had too many things to do in the Azores! I found a walking tour of Porto that would occupy most of our too-little time there. I had not looked into what to do in Lisbon other than look at the photo album from our 2003 trip with a one-year old for inspiration. Sitting at the airport on my regular cell phone data plan would give me the time I needed to actually make plans.

As we sat at the gate and the time kept changing for our flight, I had flashbacks to when our trip to Bali was cancelled in 2024. The airport was eerily calm, even as flight times were pushed back, and eventually cancelled.

Our 11:05 pm flight was pushed back to 12:02 am.

Then to 1:58 am.

Then to 2:22 am.

Then to 3:31 am.

Then cancelled around 2:30 am. I don't know the exact time because I fell asleep on top of my bag around midnight. The flight was only supposed to be 5 hours long, so I figured taking a nap would help me in the long run. Don said I was out cold.

We called for an Uber at 3 am -- the first time we have called for an Uber in the United States. It was either that or wait for the first train at 5:04 am to Princeton Junction and then having to find a ride home from the train station. The train tickets were about half the cost of the Uber.

A few stories from our long wait.

1) At TSA precheck I met a woman who Ubered from LaGuardia to Newark because her family's flight from LaGuardia to Cleveland was cancelled. They thought they would make out better from Newark. Only to have that flight cancelled, too.

Later I wondered if they would have made out faster renting a car from LaGuardia and driving to Cleveland. Alas, that was not an option for us that night.

2) I met a family from Florida who was supposed to fly to the Azores the night before. Ironically that flight left early before their flight arrived from Florida made it to Newark. I saw her taking a picture of her nieces in a cutout of an airplane having them say "Cancelled" before our flight was officially cancelled.

The shops at Newark Airport seemed to be closing around 9. Not all shops, just some. I came across a shop with the magazine racks pushed to front along with a couple of shopping baskets giving the aura of coming back soon. I popped in and saw the crossword book I wanted -- Dell (not Pennypack) variety (not just Sudoka). A book that will keep me entertained for many future flights. Trouble was, there was no way to pay. I peeked in the back. I waited. I shrugged my shoulders as others wondered if it was open or closed.

Then I got a text from Don. It was 10:15 and they just announced our gate was changing.

I figured he was okay sitting still and waiting for me to move our two carry-ons and two personal items. But he was impatient.

When I made my way to the gate, alas without the perfect crossword book, he had moved to the new gate. I found him. At the gate were four flight attendants finished with work for the day but stranded at Newark. They were trying to figure out how they could get home. None of them were on our flight, so we wished them luck and left them in peace. No idea why they didn't hang out in a space not so visible to the public.

By now our flight was moved back to our original gate, so we brought our bags back and settled in the same seats. Along the way Don came with me to see the situation at the CIGO shop. We talked to someone at a different CIGO shop. He said we could pick it up from the one and pay him. Felt like stealing, but no one stopped us along the way. And, yes, I did pay for it. I thought security would be a bit tighter at the airport.

The Uber ride was quiet. I stopped our driver from making a couple of wrong
turns, but he was not up for engaging in conversation.

Back home we reached out to the travel agency. The best United could be offered was standby on a Sunday night flight. The best the travel agent could offer was a Sunday flight to Porto, the next part of our vacation, and scrapping the first four days of a nine day vacation. We said no thank you and called the travel insurance company. They offered to refund our trip because United could not offer a flight within 24 hours. 

After a mopey day at home trying to regroup, Don encouraged us to still go away. It would have been easy to stay home. Friends were offering to fill our newly found free time with dinner, lunch, baseball games, a walking tour of Trenton, a tour of a handbell factory, etc., but Don recognized I really needed to get away. He took the reins and away we went.

Adieu, Adi

This has been the year of retiring doctors. Started with my OB/GYN last year, followed by my eye doctor, my primary care physician, and then my endocrinologist, i.e.,  the woman who gave me faith that I could become strong again.

Adi became my doctor in the beginning
of the pandemic when I was hitting the end of my rope. She was the first doctor to truly listen to me and to look beyond the numbers shown in my bloodwork as she looked at the total picture.

I was devastated when she announced her retired. 

Still am.

Tonight about a hundred of us gathered to wish her well in her retirement. We each paid to be at the event. Many of us paid extra to chip in money so she could go take Pilates classes in Paris. Yes, she is moving overseas with her loving husband who was offered a three-year position in the City of Lights.

Back in 2012 Adi followed her dreams an opened her own practice. She wasn't sure anyone would even go to her. Her approach was unique: use both eastern and western medicine in an integrative way to treat patients as individuals.

As someone put it tonight: she takes the patients other doctors don't want because we are too difficult. We don't fit in traditional boxes.

Appointments with her were in a living room-like setting in an office building. There were two chairs next to a small table. She scribbled notes, which she later transcribed into a computer. She really looked at you and listened and asked gently probing questions. She fills each of us with hope and encouragement. As we hung out and chatted with each other, we all had to acknowledge we are likely to never find another doctor like her. It was a bit like a wake in that sense.

We swapped our tales of doctors we have tried since she announced her retirement: the good, the bad, the ugly. We know better than to settle for someone just because they have an MD after their name. We swapped contact information to help each other on our journey.

Her assistant, Brenda, was also there. She was just as warm as I expected, but also younger and tinier. Besides being a part-time assistant, she is also a full-time preschool teacher. She said she loved communicating with us adults after school.

She, too, will be missed.

Don and I noticed Adi's patients all looked healthy, with very clear skin and bright eyes. We know they are all battling health issues, or else they would not have been in the room. Standing around posing for pictures with her and wishing her all the best I wished we could form a club and have annual reunions to keep abreast of each other's journeys. So not at all how I felt when my other doctors retired. I barely said good-bye to them, and definitely did not carve out time to attend a going away party.

Wish my luck on my continued healthcare journey.

Sitting Shiva for Dad

Our family funeral traditions often include an opportunity for family and friends to walk past the casket with the loved one prettied up, looking better than they did in life, or completely differently than they did in life. This might last over two days, with the second day ending with a service saying nice things about the dearly departed. Followed by a caravan to where the person is buried. 

This can vary a little bit. It often takes place about three days after the person dies, something I attribute to Jesus raising Lazarus on the third day (making sure the person is good and dead). 

Dad's service was held nine days later. We had a two-hour open casket viewing, followed by an hour-long service, a quick boxed lunch in the Fellowship Room, a 90-minute drive, a 20-minute burial, then an early dinner at a local restaurant. 

Conversely, my Jewish friends hold the service the very next day and sit Shiva for seven days in their home. Since learning about that tradition, I've told myself I would like to do the same after my parents pass.

However, in the era of political correctness I didn't want to use the term shiva, so I asked what I should use instead. A friend suggested informal gathering to share stories. This got so confusing, at the encouragement of my friends, I started to call it a shiva.

Friends came from different stages in my life. Some also went to the service. Just about everyone brought food. We did, as Lisa called it, prime the pump. We knew food was coming, but you have to feed the first ones. 

It was wonderful seeing people. My friend Sylvia from high school, met my friend Sylvia from an early job. They got along as well as I expected they would. 

Santa came, giving me the chance to
show him the pictures we put out at Christmastime. He was between two Christmas in July events.

After they left, we had tacos for dinner. I chose tacos because we don't have emotional attachment to tacos. Mom remembers Dad having one, and not liking it. It was no tears food.

People had a great time, as evidenced by their lack of ability to leave. Which was fine until they started to open food I had put away for the next day, and it snapped in my head that Don and I were the only ones cleaning up. I was also the only one to prepare the house and make the arrangements. We were the only ones to pay for the food.   

Today everyone decided to leave me alone. I'm due back with the family in an hour. Meanwhile, I am enjoying the peace and quiet.

I went to church this morning and broke down during the last stanza of "Precious Lord, Take me Home." As the bulletin had listed condolences to our family, those around me snapped to putting their arms around me. 

Precious Lord was sung at his funeral a scant two days ago.

...And then one day, I'll cross the river, I'll fight life's final war with pain. And then, as death gives way to victory, I'll see the lights of glory and I'll know he loves.

Oh, Jan, I don't know how you got through that knowing you chose it to honor your Marty who passed away not that long ago.

It felt good to be surrounded by much church family at that moment.

Hiding Kitties .... leave them alone!

Lucy Cat and Kitty Mimi are recovering from the trauma of having a house full of people. 

Mimi is back to hiding inside the piano no one plays. Lucy seems to be holding up better today. She knows we don't usually have company two days in a row. That was until the doorbell rang and she dashed back to her safe place.

Public service announcement to people visiting homes when there are anti-social pets: leave them alone!

My cousin's kids, along with an adult, decided to play "look for the cats." Even after I said, the upstairs is off limits. Even after saying, the cats are hiding. Perhaps I should have been stronger aid thrown the family out the window, or at least ushered them downstairs. Instead, I went to the bathroom.

I did lose my patience level after spending two hours cleaning up when my sister decided to open a closed box for another treat. 

Meanwhile, Lucy feeling unsafe peed in our bathroom rather than risk going downstairs, past more guests, to use the litter box.

Thanks for letting me get that off my chest as I enjoy my blessedly quiet house.

Dad's Eulogy

Nearly a decade ago I spoke at Don's mom's funeral, a woman we lovingly called Honey Bunny. This weekend I sent my dad out in a similar fashion.

Here are my words:

Hi, I’m Jacquelyn, Dawn and John’s oldest child. I’m going to share a few words about Dad.

When these first thoughts flew into my head, he was still very much alive. The next day he began a sudden 24-hour decline.

But I didn’t know that on Monday night when I started to write this up as a blogpost.

All I knew was I was in Maine on my first church mission trip. Instead of hearing God’s voice, I kept hearing my dad’s. I want to share a few of those dad-isms with you today.

Dad’s voice was crystal clear as we waited an hour until we were given our orders for the day. In my head he said it's the hurry up and wait game. 

Yup, dad, hurry up and wait. We had to rouse at 6:30 am to have breakfast at 7:15 am to meet in the lobby at 8:45 am to be at the church at 9 am. We thought we were driving someplace, only to find out our half of the group was to stay put and pull weeds and scrape paint. The other half drove to a different site to do carpentry and install cabinets.

The next time Dad reached out to me was as I was pulling those weeds -- a task I procrastinate for as long as possible at home. But a task dad used to do regularly. I could hear him say: make sure you get the roots.

On the other side of the property, I was moved to the scraping paint part of the project. I was reminded that each summer, growing up in Paramus, dad scraped the paint on the wood siding to prep it for its annual paint job. One of the 300 pictures in the slide show is of my dad scraping paint or painting the house in Paramus. Trust me, he did it a lot more often than the pictures indicate, but he lived many decades in the pre-digital era when film was precious, or, conversely, we had one or two pictures we had to take before the roll could be developed. I see you nodding, most of you remember those days. I suspect the painting and yard work pictures fell in the category of finishing up the roll.

Anyway, the side of the house that saw the most sun was painted annually. The other three sides were painted on a rotating basis. Or so I remember.

I do not remember him ever inviting us to join him to scrape the house -- a skill at that moment in Maine I wished he had imparted. We live in a house with aluminum siding that never needs to be scraped. 

Before I even left for Maine, he said don't forget your poncho. It was always poncho, never raincoat or umbrella. I commented there was no rain in the forecast. He said it will rain. Wouldn't you know it, it rained and my poncho was back in my room! 

~~~

As I sit in my office with the window open on what my dad would call a top ten day, planning to have some sippy and cookies in a few minutes, more dad-isms bounce around my head:

On a long highway drive, get behind a truck and let him lead the pace. Advice I disagree with ever since I saw a tire break on an 18-wheeler I was behind just moments earlier. I was grateful I had changed lanes, but I still heard the advice as I drove home early to be with family.

Always bring a book, because you don't know how long mom will be (or how long you'll have to wait). Advice I remembered yesterday when waiting at DMV.

The GPS also channeled my dad on the long drive home. As I paid the first toll on the Garden State Parkway it asked, “do you want a faster route with tolls?” For whatever reason I agreed, even though I doubted it would be easier or even faster.

The GPS directed me to Exit 163, the Route 17 to Route 4 exit through backroads in Paramus to Route 80 to the New Jersey Turnpike.

In other words: through the neighborhood where our parents raised us, past the airport where he worked for four decades, past the neighborhood where Dad grew up, past the neighborhood where he lived as a newlywed, to the commute he had the last couple of years he worked at Teterboro Airport. I had already passed a train in New York (albeit a commuter train and not a freight train) and was now driving under the jets at Newark Airport on the way to the home my parents have shared for the past two decades.

It was the This is Your Life, John Koetting drive.

Tomorrow you are all invited to our house, and to their house on Sunday, to share more dad-isms and more stories. Thank you for being here today, either in person or online.

~~~

Aunt Barbara, dad's baby sister, and Ashley, Dad's eldest granddaughter, also spoke. Barbara was tasked with talking about her brother growing up, and Ashley was to speak about Dad as a grandfather, as Papa John, or simply Papa. I was to cover him as a dad.

Barbara mentioned Dad was a dreamer throughout school, and she has his report card filled with C's and D's to prove it. This prompted me to add one last Dad-ism. I looked at Ashley and said, you know this one: Study hard and get good grades. 

The service is visible on the Allentown Presbyterian Church YouTube page.

The slide show of images can be found here.

Morning Archaeology Mourning Find

I am convinced, God has a sense of humor.

Dad passed away on July 15th. A week later I was at Newlin Grist Mill digging when a black, glass bead was found. We have found a lot of buttons lately, more than typical, as if a child found mom's button collection and played with them, perhaps even buried them or hid them in the add-on room before it was collapsed. One week we found six buttons -- all different. Keith, our site archaeologist, said about 20 of these black glass buttons have been found here.

Rather than saying, what a nice button, please put it in a medicine bottle, he said, let's talk about the button.

As great teachers often do to engage their students, he starts with a question: why do you think we have found so many black buttons?

I knew the answer, but also knew I didn't have it in me to talk about Victorian mourning rituals only a week after dad's passing, two days before his funeral, so I kept quiet.

Back in the late 19th century people did not have many clothes. They may have only had one outfit to work in, and a Sunday best outfit. Wealthier people had more, obviously. Poorer people aspired to emulate the wealthy classes. The wealthier classes went into full mourning when their loved ones died. They wore black from head to toe. The poorer classes did what they did, including changing buttons on their shoes from white to black. These are shoes that required button hooks to attach.

The trend ended around WWI when so many people were dying the pendulum swung to partying in the Roaring Twenties.

But that day, a button was found, and a discussion about Victorian mourning practices ensued. As I commented on my pink skin guard shirt, Keith saw beyond that to the black tank top I wore underneath, pointing out I was wearing black.  

Happies and Crappies

Each night we gathered as a small group to talk about our day. It was a chance to process, which is what I do later when I blog. The immediacy was nice. It was also great hearing about each others' days. We don't take enough time as a culture to do that.

Part of the time we went around an shared "happies and crappies." I just love that way of succinctly thinking about the day. Any day.

Rather than risking breaking any confidences, I'll share my "happy and crappy" from yesterday. 

I'll start with crappy: nearly running out of gas and being struck with indecision on how to fix it.

Happy: there were several, but one tied to the crappy. I made it to my usual gas station where I had a conversation with the gas station attendant. He saw my Got French bumper magnet and asked if I spoke French. I said un petit peu, the last time I admitted to speaking French to an ebony-skinned man he spoke to me in Haitian,  which is akin to speaking American English and listening to someone from Scotland. This man is from Ghana. I had a lovely conversation with him about how, after 34 years in the United States, he is soon returning to Ghana. 

People in the other 49 states where they have to pump their own gas can't appreciate the magic that comes from connecting with someone in that simple moment. 

We are the last state where it is illegal to pump your own gas. 

I hope that never changes.  

What Do I Need?

What do you need? Is both the most loving and overwhelming comment to make to someone as they are mourning. 

I get that now in ways that I did not understand before Dad passed away.

The friends reaching out the most are the ones who have gone through it. They understand. They feel helpless. It brings back memories for them of how awful, how numbing the first few days are. Helping me is their way of giving back for all those who helped them through those days. I probably helped some of them. Or at least I hope I was helpful.

On the calendar it has already been five days. In my reality it is a giant blur.

What do I need?

If you look at my practical to do list, I need to clean three bathrooms, vacuum, change sheets, clean spaces so family can sleep over,  wash more sheets, empty the trash, pull weeds so I feel the house looks nicer, vacuum, RSVP to the jury duty notice I received, pay my VISA bill, gather paperwork for my REAL ID appointment, fill out forms for new doctor, talk to the caterer, reach out to my uncle to explain how to get from the airplane to the train (or offer to pick him up), etc.

If you look at my fun to do list, I want to blog, make pesto, dig on Wednesday, make a photo album about the first half of the year, read a book, research what to do when we go to Lisbon next week, start packing for vacation, etc.

Digging deeper, I need someone to make small decisions for me so I can make bigger ones. 

Last night I was driving around trying to figure out where to get gas because my tank was on empty. Do you see the irony in that statement? Do I pull into the small station that is full with a half dozen motorcycles and no space for me to pull in that's on the left side of the road? Do I get gas in Pennsylvania where I have to pump or do I have enough gas to return to New Jersey? In the end I drove back to New Jersey, went to my usual station, and had a lovely conversation with an ebony-colored man from Ghana who has lived in the United States for 34 years, has ten grandchildren in the States, and is returning home to Ghana to live out the rest of his life. 

It was nice talking to someone who does not know about dad. That's something I could use, conversation about anything else. 

I want someone to take my phone away (ideally while walking away so it thinks I got a lot of steps in) and not let me get distracted by it for an hour, or half an hour, or ten minutes, or five, or even one. 

I want someone to put food in front of me and tell me to eat it. Not ask what I want to eat, just take care of it and wash up afterwards.

I want someone to rotate laundry because they see it needs doing. Not ask first. Just fold, and rotate. 

I want someone who can anticipate my needs before I do. Not someone who makes me choose a time to get together, or a place, or a what to do, just show up here and I'll take care of it. Or notice the weeds are growing and take care of them without asking for tools. That's probably what I could use the most.

I want someone to plan out the Lisbon leg of the trip and hand it to me in a way I can just jump in and follow the itinerary. I already have a hotel, transportation, and a show planned. I just need the what to see in three days version of it all.

The right friend would come over an pull weeds with or for me. Who is that?

The right friend would just show up with a hug and some ice cream. Or not because then I'd have to decide to open the door.

While writing might feel like procrastination, I've learned it is the way I process. It helps me to move to the next item on the to do list.

It Was Time

About 15 months ago Don decided to grow a beard. I subconsciously told myself I wasn't going to cut my hair until he got rid of his beard. I also decided I was tired of paying a lot of money every six weeks to maintain the color and shape. As I'm not working, I have no one to impress.

It ended up getting out of control. He shaved his beard in March and I forgot to cut my hair in celebration.

I liked the length, but it was getting knotty (and a little bit naughty), and the ends were splitting. It was time.

Rather than going to Christine my long time hairdresser whom I ghosted in March 2025, I headed to the Great Clips where Don goes. Seeing absolutely no line I walked in and asked for a haircut. Luce had me in a chair with a drape around my neck before I had a chance to second-guess the decision. Fortunately I love it.

I'm getting a new drivers license photo taken in a week and wanted to look a little better.

Color and Light Festival in Asbury Park, Year 2

Sixteen months ago Asbury Park hosted the Color and Light Festival. It was March. We lucked out with the weather, but it was still an odd time of year for a beach town to host this type of festival. We loved it so much we went to Binghamton, NY that September for their annual festival.

When I learned the festival was returning this July I was interested. I was also busy with the church mission trip, and Don had plans to go to a music festival in Pittsburgh. To squeeze in a quick trip to Asbury Park that weekend seemed unlikely.

Then dad passed away. I came home early. Don cancelled his getaway. Ashley wanted to bond with us. 

We loved the 20-minute show. Like last year, it is a compilation of several artists who created images that perfectly fit the side of Asbury Park's convention center.

The big change this year is that due to construction, the west wall is under scaffolding. They moved it to the north wall, which meant we were spilling over from the boardwalk onto the beach. We were crammed into a much smaller space, watching on a much small screen.  

I wonder at what point the artist learned the space was different from last year?

There seemed to be many more volunteers this year who guided us to the viewing area. The crowd seemed more prepared. Some had folding chairs with them. Lots of people stretched their arms up high to use their cell phones to film the show. I'm guilty of doing the same to take pictures.

After each iteration, the crowd thinned and we moved closer to the front. By our third viewing (second all the way through), we were sitting in the front.

We got lucky with the weather. Friday night was a perfect night at the Jersey Shore. Saturday, though, was anticipating some violent weather. I wonder how they made out.

Afterwards we figured Day's Ice Cream
was already closed. We got lucky and saw that Coney's Waffles and Ice Cream on the boardwalk in Asbury Park stayed open late. We all opted for Jersey Devil ice cream, which made me wonder how much a fun name impacts sales? I'm sure someone has studied that.

The show is inspiring me to think about returning to Binghamton for this year's festival. After all, it is only a three hour drive away.

From inside the Convention Center