Where the hell have you been?

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Good question. Several places since April of 2018 when I discussed bread from the bakery and my thriving Red Bud. It was a moment in time for that Red Bud, about to enter its second decade on Stowe Lane; never once threatened by the roving maniacs otherwise known as landscapers.

How, was I to know there was another moment in time waiting just around the corner in July? That’s when the inimitable Rere went by Daddy.  She’d been threatening to go for several years but phoenix that she was she defied the odds until she didn’t. It was an exhausting year and no words would come. Most of that story was told through loving conversations with her beloved Toti Nonna on Instagram which allowed everyone an overwhelming level of comfort. There was so much to say about that moment and yet it’s all been said leaving everyone with no regrets and an exhale.

When I started the blog in 2009, let me say that again…2009, it was a moment in time for me. I was newly divorced and starting a fresh life on Stowe Lane.  I had much to say, mostly because previous to that year I hadn’t said much at all. And you better believe I took advantage of my voice here on the blog, from indignant rants to the little things to family to elder beauty and food and whatever stuck in my craw.

Then something shifted, I began writing more on Instagram following prompts and current trends and the ordinary.  #lifeonstowelane would later become a beloved hashtag on IG and I could write and post to my heart’s content, there was no need to blog.  Blogging had gone out of style, lost its relevance, or something like laziness set in and I had no patience to expand my thoughts.

Over the last two and a half years I’ve been busy transitioning into retirement. I’ll spare the gory details but it’s been an adventure complete with disappointments, meetings, meetings, more meetings, knock down drag outs, negotiations and a very happy ending. There was the trip of a lifetime to Italy’s Tuscan Women Cook and oh yeah a worldwide pandemic that isn’t quite through with us yet. So, again, there I was posting and writing on Instagram. But…as I read over some of it recently, it was pretty good. Sometimes thoughtful, sometimes irreverent, sometimes funny as hell #conversationswithtoti, sometimes helpful. And the food, the cooking, and all the ideas swirling around that wanted very much to become a book…

So here I am…again. With much to say in a place where it can be savored and cataloged and preserved because, yep, legacy albeit ordinary.  This time around it will probably be much ado about retirement, living blessedly alone, cooking, creating art, being Italianish and God knows what else in the hopes that the book will somehow come to fruition.  I’m thinking a monthly wrap up of IG posts and additional goodies. I’m thinking snarky rants and emotion and preventing people from eating cold cereal for dinner.  You know mindful living in the not so woo woo way we’ve all come to know…and love…yeah we still love it.

I hope you’ll stay tuned and tell your friends, see you in March. slc

Bread from The Bakery

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I’m sure there isn’t any aroma quite like this fresh baked bread straight into a brown paper bag. The the drive home surrounded by it.

But there is so much more in that bag, the nostalgia is even more overwhelming.

When we were growing up my mother made a pot of sauce every Thursday. I don’t remember how, I don’t remember the smell of it or the pot it was made in.

What I do remember is my father walking in the back door with this bag of bread. I remember putting my face in it to catch the aroma. I remember pulling the soft inside out so the meatballs fit just perfectly. I remember laying that soft inside in the pot on top of the sauce.

This bread is from a tiny little bakery in a tiny little town made by a lone baker. It was once a full service bakery in another part of town but that baker has long ago passed on.

Red Bud

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This year marks the beginning of the next decade for this about to bloom red bud tree. I bought this as a shrub when I first moved to Stowe Lane ten, yes ten, years ago and it has thrived.

Shrubs don’t normally reach for the skies and become trees unless the stars align, they are properly pruned and fertilized with all the best nutrients. There is love involved and crossed fingers and sighs of relief when one realizes that the blizzards and winds, and blights have left you, I mean it, unscathed.

Of course there is no way to know what lies ahead in the upcoming decade, no way to know where one is in the ever faster unrolling of the toilet paper metaphor. And really does one need to know or just trust?

So as we move into our next decade I will rely on this beautiful red bud to continue to stop me in my tracks alerting me to spring each year and showing me the way. The way to reach for the skies, prune what is dead or no longer needed, and adjusting and adding more and better nutrients as time goes on.

All the while leaving our beautiful story behind on Stowe Lane.

The Almighty Dollar

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It’s no secret that many people are motivated by the almighty dollar.  It can sometimes drive them to distraction, make their head spin, and keep them up at night.  Me too.  But I’m not talking about THAT almighty dollar.  I’m talking about the dollar I found in the parking lot of the mall during the Christmas return season.

Not kidding you…it seemed innocent enough on an incredibly bitter cold day hustling back to my car to just scoop down on the run and snatch that crumbled up dollar bill and throw it in my purse.  I was the only one in the parking lot because I am that kind of crazy when I need to just get something done.  Who cares if it’s 2 degrees?  I know 2 degrees is like summer in some parts of the world, frankly I don’t know why people live in those parts, but here it’s a bit unusual. Anyway I wanted my return out of my house because I had already moved it from one spot to the other fifty times. As I slammed the car door against the cold and started up the engine, heated seats, heated steering wheel  (I know I should stop my bitching right?)  I looked around to see if anyone was in the parking lot and it was practically deserted except for one of the small buses that usually come and go.

So I’m out of there.  But over the next couple of weeks I can’t stop thinking about this crumpled up dollar bill.  It was crumpled up so perfectly like someone had been clutching it.  Or perhaps it was stuffed in a pocket and when they pulled out their glove it fell without them even knowing it. Maybe it belonged to a child.  Or one of the many patrons that came to the friendly mall on the small bus.  Every time I went in for my keys my finger would brush up against this little dollar bill.  The scenarios in my head began to drive me to distraction, make my head spin and keep me up at night.  I know what you’re thinking, it’s completely irrational I agree.  There’s no way one can walk back in the mall and say did anyone lose a dollar bill?  It’s not like a bunch of keys for God sake…

So a few weeks go by and I start to forget about it, I never put it in my wallet it just found its way deeper into my bag.  Then one day I’m coming out of the grocery store and there are two boys collecting (begging) for the Northern Highlands baseball team.  I’m so embarrassed that I don’t have any cash, well only twenties from the ATM (love the team, not THAT much) so I apologize and move along to my car.  Half way there I remember the crumbled dollar bill…you best believe I ran it back to the boys and slept like a baby that night. Whew paid forward.

 

February 3rd

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Today is our birthday.  No I don’t know exactly when they were born but the girls came to me on 11-3-08 at approximately 18-19 months old, or so the vet thought, so do the gizzintas… Now just Toti and I celebrate together.  She gets a special treat and I get to stay in my pajamas until 2 (even on a work day).

My text message alert, my IM alert, Facebook alert, email alert, IG alert all have different ring tones so this morning sounded like a symphony of love. Complete with crescendo, overture and finale. I am grateful for every one of those notes.

I get to hear people’s actual voices, on the phone, that I haven’t heard in a while.  My heart is bursting at the sound of Ki, and Bev, and of course, Rere, Terri, and Sandra.

Words are powerful, and poignant, and blessed and abundant.  For every word of love on this day (and during these weeks!) I am grateful.  The words came from near and far, from those I see every day or only once in a while. They came over social media and over dinner tables. They came with pictures and cartoons and gifs.  They came with reminders of where I’d been and what I’d accomplished and they came with the hope of another wonderful year ahead.

Google knows it’s my birthday.  It took me a minute to realize it, I don’t know how exactly (clearly I have my own algorithm), I’m not sure if I’m freaked out about it or not.  But they know…

I am officially of retirement age.  Oh don’t worry I’m not leaving the best gig in the company until they throw me out, tap me on the shoulder and tell me it’s over. They might very well think I’ve already retired, I’m that far under the radar.  Well if they sweetened the pot I might consider it but those days seem to be over.

Top it all off with dinner with those nearest and dearest and damn it was a day to remember.  Because February 3rd hasn’t always been the best day of my year, there have been times when I could have stayed in bed (fat chance of that now, thankfully) and not many would have noticed but if you do your life’s work well you’ll be rewarded with all of these wonderful reminders of how your legacy is shaping up.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for making this day so special. Ubuntu; I am because of you.