Oh! My funny Valentine!

Valentine’s Day! Chocolates and cupids, hugs and kisses, champagne and…more champagne. Right?

Not so much around here these past three days. Still, I believe firmly that no matter how very bad things get, there’s always a bright side, always a laugh hidden somewhere amidst the crumpled tissues.

Yesterday, after hours at the doctor’s office, a laugh presented itself that had me giggling all the way home.

[Sometime in the next week, I’ll write a post about the second worst day of my life so far, but for now, this is the laugh that made yesterday tolerable.]

I’d taken Peter to see Dr. T for a follow-up to, um, what happened Sunday. Suspecting a possible UTI (urinary tract infection), at the end of the consultation Peter was ushered to the restroom to provide a specimen…you know…pee in a bottle.

I sat in a chair at the side of the lab to wait. And wait. When the nurse walked around the corner I asked if he was still in there? I thought maybe he was out of my line of sight waiting for lab results or maybe they were drawing blood too.

She nodded a bit frantically. “Should I try to get him out?” she asked.

“Yes, or I will if you want,” I said. I got up and walked into the lab just after she knocked on the toilet door. Peter popped out holding a nearly overflowing cup. There was something in his other hand and he had a silly look on his face as he walked toward me.

“Are you OK?” I asked. “What’s in your hand?”

He showed me. Although he couldn’t explain — words fail him most of then time these days — apparently he’d been waiting for someone to tell him to come out, so he’d amused himself by folding paper towels into hats.

OMG, how I laughed! If ever there was a time for bathroom humor this was it.

Header photo: Peter’s paper hat or maybe it was his attempt to make me a Valentine?

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. screen-shot-2016-12-07-at-10-14-53-am

Sweet talk.

Valentine’s Day crept on me, but I decided not to rush out to buy a card for my husband. Instead we’d go to our favorite spot for coffee. Oh, yes, I did cut a big heart out of newspaper and put it in his chair this morning and, yes, I did leave a message on his little white board. He didn’t notice either of them.

When I suggested we go to Our Daily Bread, his eyes lit up. We walked so I could justify one of their beautifully decorated heart-shaped sugar cookies. The place was bustling, as always, and even at 9:30 we were too late to get Valentine cookies. Peter eyed a strawberry-studded chocolate gateau, but in the end, we settled on our favorite apple turnovers.

After repeating his usual questions several times — “any news from upstate? ” and “how’s the big guy?” — he wanted to know what he could say that wasn’t the same old thing.

“How about ‘Happy Valentine’s Day?'” I said.

“When is it?”


“I didn’t know,” he said. He patted my hand and shook his head.

“Oh well, this is better than a card anyway. Two apple turnovers and two coffees for only eight dollars and forty-six cents.”

“Cheaper than a card,” he said.

“You’re a cheap date,” I told him.


2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest, second place, blog category.


Dementia: tragedy, comedy and love story.

“You know I’m not about rainbows and unicorns,” Elaine Eshbaugh, PhD writes in her first blog post of this new year. I’ve been following her “Welcome to Dementialand: Living, Loving, and Laughing through Alzheimer’s and Related Dementias” for some months. She has a “tell it like it is” style that resonates with me.

“If you are one of my regular blog readers,,” she says, “you likely have dementia or love someone with dementia. I am not going to feed you some bullcrap about becoming a better version of yourself or making 2017 the best year ever. For those of you in the trenches of Alzheimer’s or a related dementia, it may seem laughable for me to wish you a smooth path, so I won’t. My wish…is that you have the strength to endure the journey and…know when to ask for help. My hope is that you have a sense of humor to carry you through and a keen enough eye to spot [even subtle joy….”

Wise, but blunt, honest. I like that.

“I wish you hope even if hope has changed,” she says, citing couples who have planned post-retirement adventures that will never happen. Before dementia engulfed us, Peter and I were lucky enough to complete all but one trip on each of our bucket lists. Antarctica was mine, and the Terra Cotta soldiers in China was his. That worked out just fine because he insists he did go to see them, even though it was on t.v.

“Dementia is a tragedy, a comedy and a love story all at once,” Eshbaugh writes in her 12/26/16 post, “Lessons  learned…” She is amazed that families whose lives are impacted by dementia can still find humor in their situations, yet apologize for laughing.  “…They need to stop apologizing for that. No, dementia isn’t funny, but the more moments of humor you can discover on this journey, the better off you will be.”


Tricky Nobby.

The other morning I laughed at a new trick Nobby, Peter’s dog, managed. Lately, we’ve started blaming him — “Nobby did it” — for the strange things that happen around here. For instance, Nobby often takes his Invisible Fence collar off and hides it; he went to Kroger’s and paid for a Hershey bar with his VISA card; he puts food needing refrigeration in a cupboard and leaves things that should be in the freezer on the basement floor. The most recent trick is the most amazing yet. Somehow he managed to unplug a lamp, take its shade off, remove the bulb and hide it!

Yesterday was his ninth birthday, old in “dog years. ” I chuckled at the twist on the old saying You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. I’m here to tell you, an old dog can teach himself new tricks!


Thanks to Elaine Eshbaugh, PhD, Associate Professor of Gerontology and Family Studies, University of North Iowa for permission to quote.
Header photo: Lisa Frank, 2013 Facebook.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest, second place, blog category.


Forever — is composed of nows —

For my husband to give me a meaningful card for our anniversary was present enough. But coupled with heart-shaped earrings in a beautiful little box, WOW!  With Leslie’s help — she offered him three choices — he picked the earrings and the handcrafted box to put them in. He doesn’t remember our Boxing Day anniversary, nor how many years we’ve been married, but some glimmer helped him choose perfectly.

When I opened the Leslie-wrapped present, he hung over my shoulder to see what he’d given me and why. “Our anniversary? Did I forget?” I said he hadn’t, and that the box and earrings were what he’d given me.

“I did a good job, didn’t I?” he said. “Did you give me something?”

“I did. That card on the mantle…and shoes.”

“Shoes? You gave me shoes?”

I laughed. “Two pair yesterday,” I said.


“Why did I give you shoes, or why did I give you two pair?


“”Well, shoes because you’ve been complaining you don’t have any, and one pair because it was Christmas and the other pair as an early anniversary present…”

“Anniversary? Did I miss it?”

“No, it’s today, it’s ‘now,'” I said. I held the box up to show him Emily Dickinson’s line.

He shook his head. “I don’t know what that means.”

Hm, Dickinson is sometimes hard to explain. “It means ‘now’ should be treasured and celebrated, our anniversary, for instance. ‘Now’ means the present…right now…’forever’ is made of all our ‘nows.'”

I don’t think my stumbling explanation made sense to him, but he was pleased that I was pleased with “the present” he chose.


Birdseye maple box, Mike Mikutowski Wood-working. Lapis lazuli earrings above, Cathy Guss

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest, second place, blog category.