Six Decades of Gratitude

I am a sap. Strong? You bet. Deep down though I am a romantic ball of goo who will just melt when I am met with something that touches my heart. So here I am on the verge of closing out one decade and starting another. My mind is swirling. Not with dread but with waves of gratitude. Different memories – obscure and forgotten ones are firing off in this active brain of mine reminding me that there are no chance encounters. Each and every moment has happened for a reason.

Sometimes a smell will waft into my day and I am back in my grandparents’ kitchen in Brooklyn. The potatoes are boiling on the stove and I am putting on one of my grandmother’s aprons getting ready to help mash the potatoes or sprinkle the last of the cheese on her batch of secret recipe Baked Macaroni. I miss my Grandma Flotten’s touch on my cheek and holding her hand in Bay Ridge or Bethpage telling me everything was going to be all right. 

I can still remember the days at Central Boulevard Elementary School on the recess field with Debbie. We would walk miles during our lunch break just reciting lyrics to the newest songs or talking to Jean on the blacktop. That is where I developed my love of talking to people and listening to what they had to say. Then there was this nugget – I was sitting in my classroom and seeing our music teacher on a cart playing the harp being wheeled down the hallway. That was the wackiest and most obscure school memory of which I can think of. 

There are memories of middle school (or Junior High as we called it back then) in the storage bins in my head. Sadly, I don’t remember most of them. The memory gods have put up steel walls around them to protect me from the puberty monsters. I am quite sure there is a reason we will just leave everything boxed up neatly and not ready to be discussed. Let us just leave those days to the few photos that exist in the wild which include the close-up Confirmation Day pictures which highlighted the acne festival that was being held on my chin and right cheek. 

Walking through the halls of Bethpage High School will always stay with me. I often say I cannot remember if I ate dinner last night but I can still remember Janet’s locker combination from 10thgrade. Diana and I went ice skating every single week with “The Steves” and I can remember what I wore and ate each week even though it was usually a slice and a soda at Dino’s. Diana became one of the most special parts of my life and I will love her forever. A huge thank you to all who I talked to every day both inside and outside of school. I do remember our conversations and how deep some of them got. I have never put this in writing but to my Aunt Dot who lived at 95 South Third – I really miss you. You were part of my life since the day I moved into Bethpage. You were my second Mom who looked out for me and remotely raised me from your house. There was no getting past you, including the time I changed from my sneakers into my heels on the side of my garage to impress Thomas Bianco that Friday. You reported this back to the 433-6345 hotline and by the time I returned home that day in my sneakers – my mother was waiting for me with the wooden spoon in hand. We had amazing talks about everything, and I am grateful to have had you with me through so many good and tough times. David and Donald were incredibly lucky to have you as their mom. 

The day I became a Rosebud at Saint Rose changed me in ways I am still trying to process. I was free and flying on my own. I should have pushed harder but I was meant to be there with my tribe. As many of you have read before, Saint Rose is no more but how it shaped my world will always be in my blood and flowing through my veins. I am grateful to all of you who were a part of my life both then and now. 

After college came GEICO. My life became flooded with hundreds of people who walked with me each day and night for over 20 years. I am proud of the work I did there both with customers and my employees. To my coworkers though – we went through marriages, deaths, divorces, births, and a million other things in between. The big, brown building brought me Maureen who turned into a sister who held my hand through, well, everything whenever I needed her. 

These past two decades have been CRAMMED with memories because of my two gifts. I never thought I would have two children who have completed my life in ways I never imagined even when I was on my knees praying for them every day. Their path of creation or the years of infertility also led me to people I would never have talked to if I had gotten pregnant right out of the gate. The lab technicians who rubbed my back or dried my tears. The nurses who told me success stories. The doctors who even with a gruff bedside manner told me the truth about why I couldn’t conceive. I am eternally thankful for locking eyes with all of you. 

I found a way to clear my years of depression because Autism knocked on my door. The Autism gifts are a completely different blog and list of thank you notes I need to write. The path of fitness was laid out before me as I turned fifty. Behind this door was Vanessa. She reminded me of how strong I am and to never look back at anything with sadness. You are where you are right now, she tells me. That not only keeps me strong but keeps me breathing even on nights in the gym when I think I will pass out and when I am overthinking at 2:30 a.m. and my What-Ifs are circling my brain at 432 mph. 

Tomorrow morning, I will call my Mom and thank her for making the decision to start a family and welcome an 8 lb. 7 oz. chubby cherub into her world. What she and my Dad have done for me throughout these past six decades is something that I cannot begin to even speak about. Years later they gave me a little sister who has grown into not only a successful CFO but another part of my brain at times!  How I wish my Dad was here to see me turn the calendar to August 2ndbut I know he is with me every step of the way. 

In a little over 24 hours the clock will strike midnight and I will jump feet first into my sixtieth year. I am filled with love and gratitude for where I’ve been. I am filled with excitement for who I will meet and what I will do next. I will never take anything for granted as tomorrow or the next year ahead is never promised. It is meant to happen for reasons I may never understand but welcome with open arms. 

Certainly…

List 10 things you know to be absolutely certain.

I’ll count backwards although my things are in no particular order…

10. Wearing black is home to me.

9. Twinkling Christmas lights act like a Time Machine to me. I can be transported back to Christmases past with just one look.

8. Feet are very strange yet they are essential.

7. I cannot ice skate well.

6. I love corn but corn does not love me back.

5. The right amount of pillows and blankets can change my world.

4. Long Island and New York City bagels are like no other bagels in this world.

3. Genuine eye contact during a conversation uplifts me to another level of human connection.

2. My gut instincts about someone never lie.

And the last one…I never talk about politics in my blogs but I can say with confidence – I have always been proud to be an American regardless of who sits in a White House.

What’s your go-to comfort food?

I could sit here and give my stock answer of a rare burger topped with blue cheese slices and a tomato piled on a grilled Brioche bun accompanied by a Dirty Martini. While this is one of my favorite things to enjoy from time to time, it really doesn’t describe my most basic comfort food.

The soft-boiled egg. The eleven minute perfectly cooked soft-boiled egg. Served up in a very beautifully painted vintage porcelain egg cup. An ever so tiny, yet perfect pinch of sea salt on the freshly cracked opened egg. The first plunge past the white into the egg with the miniature egg spoon just soothes me while the slice of whole grain bread sends heavenly toast smells across the floor.

The soft-boiled egg.

Perfection.

Comfort.

The What Ifs Were Strong At 5:15 This Morning

I’ve been fighting the notion of that I never reached my original goals from my early years. Beating myself up over not applying to Notre Dame. Not having a glass enclosed corner office while building my empire from the ground up. Constantly criticizing myself for not “making it”. Oh yeah? 

Well if I had those things I’d have never be sitting here at house 87 about to take a shower to head to a job that I secretly love. It’s only the second position I’ve held since college. I wouldn’t be staring at the bathroom wall in the house we scraped to save for and made ours. I wouldn’t be thinking about everyone’s daily schedules and what to have for dinner. I wouldn’t be in love with my two kids who I waited ten years to have and hold. My dog wouldn’t be guarding the door like a bouncer outside a rockstar’s dressing room. And…I certainly wouldn’t be so positively grateful to be on the brink of turning 60.

Oh come on now –  I still have dreams of what I want to do and where to go. The dreams are so specific that I can smell the fresh paint on the walls of my beach house. That specific. Am I happy my life didn’t take a different turn? The answer is yes. I landed just where I was needed to be at precisely the right times. Twists. Turns. Bad decisions that turned into incredible lessons.

What if I’d never ended up here? The truth is – I never want to find out.

Place the O2 Mask Over Your Face First…

How do you practice self-care?

I would always be mesmerized by the flight attendants at an early age. The safety demonstrations though always left me perplexed. We were instructed to place the oxygen mask on ourselves first before helping others with theirs. I told my parents on an early flight that this was very selfish. I wanted to help others first. I missed the concept that I can’t help others unless I was breathing and whole. I suppose this wrote the template for my life. I grew up as an empath who would do anything for those I loved. My needs came second – if at all.

Self care was laden with guilt. You didn’t sit down to relax unless everything was done in the house. As a result I found that I couldn’t let go unless I was given permission.

Fast forward to the days when my kids finally arrived. It was a 24/7/365 marathon on taking care of two cherubs and a household. It’s what I did and I loved it. No questions asked. I threw myself into their worlds. School functions, sports, activities, scouts. Throw in the world of the PTA mom just for fun and to suck up all of my time.

Me time? What was that? I was 102 pounds heavier than my former self in college. I didn’t recognize myself either physically or mentally.

Through a PTA function I visited a Boot Camp gym with the intent to bring a new family fitness initiative to our district. What happened that night led to now years of taking care of someone I never expected – me.

One class turned into three and a year later I was taking seven classes a week. I dropped 63 pounds and was suddenly running obstacle course races all over the country.

The physical me needed a friend so we found a spirituality friend. We embarked on a new journey. We woke up at 5 am, meditated (today I completed a 1,514 day streak of meditation), packed my meal prepped breakfasts and lunches, headed to work, home to change, and then hit the gym.

Now 11 years later my self care sits in first class with me each day. I know what I need and I’m not afraid to ask for it. While I’m admittedly a bit addicted to the beauty regimen part of self care – the rest of the self care movement is here to stay. I’m now quite comfortable with putting my mask on first. You cannot help anyone in this world without allowing yourself to breathe and know who you are. That is the best self care of all.

Sunday 6/22/2025 Prompt

How do you waste the most time every day?

Doomscrolling. I don’t know what I’m looking for. This ADHD brain is easily amused and can respond to shiny objects such as cute outfits, must have lip glosses, and the ultimate cure for cellulite in a jar.

It starts innocently enough with a daily Wordle game which I honestly installed to keep my brain cranking to ward off Alzheimer’s. Once the game is solved I will open Instagram and it is off to the races. I follow a VAST list of very interesting pages/people, groups, and interests which include local turned famous chefs, dancers/choreographers, authors, athletes (which include my NY Giants), makeup artists, and just about every inspirational page I have found or landed on just through doomscrolling.

Most of the time a lot of my discovery will lead to notes like this and thoughts that I put into an online journal for future blog ideas. I take screenshots of different items and surf through Pinterest, which, of course, is fueled by the algorithm from said doomscrolling. It’s all very interesting yet dangerous at the same time! I am probably a marketer’s dream in that whatever company pushes a product my way based on my clicks and interest will result in some form of a sale. If I don’t close the deal that day then I snag it two or three days later when I realize that I should’ve never passed up the opportunity to buy it in the first place. It’s a vicious cycle I tell you.

These prompts will eventually end up in a blog somewhere which will ultimately justify how I waste time during the day!

Winning!

M.I.K.E.

I cannot remember the first time we actually met. Was it before or after he started dating my Banana? All I know is that once he arrived – he never left. 

For anyone following me for a while, you will know that I believe in energy. You can feel it in your bones when you talk to certain people. I know to some it sounds so hippy-ish but I think there are people placed on your path on purpose. They are meant to be with you as you walk through life. If you are lucky enough – some of these souls turn into family. 

My Diana Banana and I had known each other since 8th grade at JFK Middle School. Legend has it that we would have known each other since kindergarten had we been in school at the same time. I was assigned to the morning Kindergarten and Diana was in the same classroom for the afternoon session. Life kept us apart until “Junior High”. It was not until high school though that we became very friendly. There was Kickline that drew us together of course but there was an instant bond of friendship between us. She was the shiniest and happiest person I knew in school. In our sophomore year Di started dating Mike. He was a football player and part of our circle which included Kickline, Cheerleading, and every other sports team at the high school. Except Bowling. I do not remember those team members joining us. I digress. 

Mike, Di, Ernie, and I would attend football and other parties on a regular basis. We wore the guys’ jerseys and our saddle shoes with jeans on Fridays before the weekend games. This morphed into adventures once we all learned to drive. Little did we know that these days and nights out would turn into some of the best times of our lives. 

One night in particular stands out vividly. Mike – a.k.a. “Poopsie” as everyone called him was driving his father’s Chevy Impala. It was monstrous. A boat. It was a comfortableride down Hempstead Turnpike as we headed for dinner at a new spot called “My Mother’s Chicken” in Levittown (affectionately known as L-Town). Anyway, the entrance into the parking lot was a little tricky. Somehow, we ended up on either a concrete median or part of the sidewalk. My laughter prevents me from remembering what happened. All I know is that we came to an abrupt stop. Mike threw the car into park and said, “We’re here.” I fell out of the car gasping for air and laughing. I do not remember the chicken. It was a blur after that.After one of our proms, Mike needed a root canal. He went the morning after the prom and then over to my parents for breakfast. After that we loaded into Diana’s parents’ van and drove to Six Flags Great Adventure in New Jersey equippedwith only cash and a box of Captain Crunch Crunchberries. I told you there were epic times. 

Years of these type of nights went on. We all attended C.W. Post together. I would watch Mike’s football games there too where Di’s Dad Vinny was the Director of Athletics. College football and friends. Page by page – the calendar turned to 1988. Mike and Di were married in August. We were married in September. We were all so young. Ages 23 and 24. The following year while we were lying in bed, and we heard Mike’s parents leaving in the middle of the night. Ok let me explain as I’m sure this sounds weird! We were renting the first-floor apartment in Mike’s parents’ home. They were driving to the hospital as Diana was in labor. There were no cell phones then. Diana called the next day and announced that Kenny was here. Baby #1 had arrived. I was an aunt! 

Mike and Di were new parents. It was so much fun spending time with them at their first house and watching them grow with Kenny. A year later, Tommy arrived. My new Godson was every bit as amazing as Kenny. We now had two nephews. I watched Mike fall in love with his boys. We would have hours of convos about parenting. Zach arrived a few years later to complete their trio of excellence!  Listening to Mike talk as a Dad himself always gave me so much hope to be a parent myself. He was so encouraging and was so wonderful with my emotions about not being able to conceive. If I did not have Mike and Di to talk to during that time I really would have turned into a shell of a person. 

More years ticked on. We would drive to the city for dinner parties with mutual friends. One evening Mike blasted his CD player and announced, “This is my new favorite song”. Trumpets blared and Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” boomed right before we entered the Midtown Tunnel. I have downloaded every Johnny Cash recording I could find since that night. The joy on this man’s face as he sang was unforgettable. 

Recently I recalled a few emails Mike sent when Jakey was first diagnosed with Autism. I thanked him for always being the best role model with the boys. It gave me strength I told him. I would always remember him telling me that the most important job we had as parents was to teach our kids how to be good humans before they stepped out on their own. He told me that is all he wanted was to know that the boys and my kids were ready for what life through at them. I told him that with this attitude and love, it would happen. Look at the boys and my kids now. Out there living and loving their best lives.

The 80s, 90s, and up until 2024 were filled with family parties, reunions, weddings, vacations, Christmas Tree Chopping (mini adventures at Jones Family Tree Farm in Shelton, Connecticut), and days on the boat filled our memory banks. The amount of belly laughs that were born out of each time we had with Mike and Di were gifts even if it was just two hours away at dinner. 

Two years ago, Di sat us down with some devastating news that Mike had developed early onset Dementia. It seemed impossible. You just do not know. You think you have time. We were so young and still 18 driving to My Mother’s Chicken in our minds. I begged time to slow down. Sadly, it did not. Time flew. During this time I watched my dad suffer from Dementia. It was a prequel to what was happening with Mike. There was no turning back time.

Mike left us a week ago today. My heart broke when the call arrived. We knew the call would come but I am not good with saying goodbye. My Banana is so strong. Her boys are all with her and holding her up. As I woke up the following day I realized that Mike got his wish – all of his boys are good men with lots of love and strong minds – just like their dad. 

Until we all meet again Poopsie. We shall miss you forever…

Dark Screen. Dark Heart.

As what I think was the flu rattled through my body on Monday night, I picked up the remote and pressed the button for Netflix. It was the only thing I could muster up energy for. Finding a series to binge would clearly keep me entertained for the next few days as I stayed wrapped up in a pile of 14 very comfy and fluffy blankets and pillows. What to watch?

I scrolled for about 20 minutes unable to commit to any one series. The flu had even seeped into my decision-making process. I finally found a Ricky Gervais series called “After Life”. It had 3 seasons and a super high rating. The flu was slowing me down so I didn’t know if my brain was ready to keep up with the super quick wit and cadence of Gervais’ speech. He is so damn fast and funny. I hate to miss a line of his. And so, it began.

I was not prepared for what began as a fabulous love story. I am not giving away any plots or plot twists by saying this was perhaps one of the greatest love stories I’ve seen in my movie and tv watching career. Those in the know will say I’m an extreme romantic. This series…well it pretty much told me I’m a hopeless romantic. By Wednesday, all three seasons were complete. The flu had ever so slowly left my body, and I was left with the jagged remnants of a sinus infection and a box of crumpled up tissues. What also remained was a hole in my heart caused by Gervais and his tale woven by an extremely talented and gifted cast. This hole I realized was gaping and held open by the realization from which I may not recover.

The main character was so in love. He loved and missed his wife to the point that he could not live life without her. Life was unbearable without her. It hurt to breathe. That is when it hit me. I have loved like this. In fact, it is who I am. I love hard. I go to the ends of the earth for people I love. 

I stopped.

It does not work in reverse. 

I have never felt this intensity. All the years of giving and giving and giving thinking “ok – maybe now I’ll feel it”. No. It never arrived. Yes, I’m loved in different ways by others but never with this intensity. Never.

Realizing that life is not fiction, and that reality is often FAR from fiction, I chalked up my uncertainty and this new somber moment to this just being a show. No one is really this happy anyway, right? Right? Well yes. I think people really are. They can be. I was happy giving love. I always have been. It makes me feel brighter. It makes me want to share my energy with others and maybe help anyone I can to see that love is possible – even in the day-to-day tasks. 

Heavy sigh. The screen is now off and dark. The dialogue has ceased. So now has a piece of my heart. There is a part of me that is silent and no longer open and trusting that true love lives for me. I will not give up the piece that allows love to live within me. I have however given up the part of my script in which love for me truly exists.

Defying Gravity

The lyrics go something like this… “It’s time to try defying gravity. I think I’ll try defying gravity, and you can’t pull me down.” 

If they sound familiar, these are a few of the lyrics from “Defying Gravity” from the Broadway musical “Wicked“. The musical is a prequel to the infamous “The Wizard of Oz“. In fact, it is often spoken of as the what  really happened before Dorothy dropped in on Oz. 

I had first seen Wicked for my 40th birthday weekend with Maureen in 2005. It was then the hottest show ticket in town. I fell in love with the show. The production was outrageously colorful and so entertaining! The soundtrack played weekly in the car and at home. Maureen had given me a copy of “The Grimmerie“ – a documented piece of how the show was created.  Julia discovered the big green book one day. She studied the shows production from start to finish. By the time she was 10, she had the entire timeline of the show’s history memorized and could tell me every actor involved with the show along with their career trajectory. 

So, in the summer of 2010 we boarded a train to New York City with two tickets to Wicked in hand. I purchased a package  with a pre-show option to go behind stage and experience the costumes and history of the show. One of the cast members led us through the tour and graciously took pictures with Jules. Watching Julia light up during each scene made my heart melt. A spark reached Julia and changed her for good. When Julia returned to school that fall, her music teacher announced that the fifth grade would produce “The Wizard of Oz“. Well… You know where this was going! A few months later, Jules was belting out her songs and lines as the Coroner of Munchkinland on the Central Boulevard Elementary Schoo stage. Our Broadway Baby had arrived. 

Wicked became a staple in our house. The soundtrack was always on now. Jules and I would forever cast our picks for Glinda and Elphaba while we discussed the themes of the show. Each year the discussion turned deeper as we realized that the story wasn’t just about the land of Oz. It involved good versus evil, powerful female friendships, corruption, and above all – staying true to yourself and rising above it all. Last week, the movie version of WICKED was FINALLY released in theaters. Julia and her pal Maura scored opening night tickets(thank you Maura!). Julia was glowing when she floated in after her night out. She was all choked up when she said “mom, I have no words. Just wait.“ Today, at 4 p.m. the past 14 years came down to two girls munching on popcorn and Powerade in Row K – seats one and two. For 2 hours and 40 minutes we were silent only to gasp at a few choice scenes. 

As the credits rolled, I burst into tears. I thought to myself , this journey started when my girl was 10. Now, at 24 she has the whole world open to her. She can go after anything she wants – live where she wants – follow her dreams – form fierce, friendships, and hopefully fall madly in love. Most of all – I hope she finds herself wrapped up doing something she loves. Julia, it’s time to spread your wings and fly. It’s time to try defying gravity.

I love you, 

Madre

Farewells. Closure. Peace.

When you hear the word closure, do you think “the end“ like I do? Admittedly I’m that person who needs a reason. I need to make sense of things in my mind. An overthinker, in every sense of the word, the search for closure can be painful at times, but sometimes it brings me to places I never expected to be.

One of the longest searches for peace started in June of 1985. I had finished up two years at the College of Saint Rose. I had a fabulous time on campus and met people I knew were chosen to be part of my journey. Here comes the “but“. I had THE best time and enjoyed myself. Sure, I learned and did manage to pull some good grades, BUT I did not apply myself anymore than I had to. I would breeze into classes and keep myself closed off most days. I can remember showing up to my computer class and someone saying “Are you ready for this?“. I said “ready for what?“. It was the class final and I didn’t even know. I chose not to know. My brain actually said on the way to this class “What am I going to use a computer for anyway?”. Please continue reading when you stop laughing. This is when I realized it was over. Well, then, and when I pulled into the parking lot of C.W. Post to start my Junior year that September. Thankfully my attitude changed, my grades improved, I picked up a part-time gig at GEICO, and started my new life.

Each month though the “what ifs” grew more intense. What if I had stayed at Saint Rose? What if I had applied myself more? Would I be better off? Did people think I was a loser for leaving? Years of what ifs. YEARS. This is how I function . I’m not proud of it but it’s me!

Months rolled on. School wrapped. I did well actually. I signed on full-time at GEICO and started to move up quickly. Management suited me well and I was happy with building teams who flourished together. We started a family after years of heartbreak from trying to conceive. Life was chugging along. Autism knocked on my door and pushed in with such force that it knocked me off my feet for a while. What ifs grew to proportions I never imagined. My brain swelled and swirled. A voice kept saying “what if you stayed?” more than than ever. Would I have been on a better path and more successful? It kept me up at night. I slipped into a depression and stayed there in the dark for a few years.

The dream started. Carrying a printed school schedule, I would wander through a school hallway. I’d glance in the classrooms and see my original college crowd and old high school buddies. Everyone was locked in and learning. No one saw me. I just kept walking around the hallways aimlessly and when I finally woke up, I felt like I was clutching a sweaty and crumbled schedule in my clenched fist.

My Jules chose Saint Rose for her Undergrad path. I was thrilled! She flourished and finished strong. I was determined to keep her going so that she didn’t walk away early like I did. We have a policy in my house where you don’t ever accept average. The tears flowed freely at her graduation. It was one of the proudest moments of my life!

A few months ago, we heard that Saint Rose was closing its doors. Finito. The end. What? There were so many questions and emotions running through my head. Yesterday Jules and I traveled back to campus for the official campus closing and blessing. I was anxious for days. My best friend asked why I was so anxious? At first, I couldn’t answer, but then the thoughts flowed. I never felt like I made it. I felt like that loser I made myself out to be all of those years before. She shook it off and said “I think we did well for ourselves my friend”. She was right – she always is!

So yesterday, I walked back onto campus with my head held high. I hugged the stuffing out of my first Saint Rose, friends – Robin and Mary Pat. All day I sat on the lawn and walked around with friends I had made as if zero time had passed. Magic was happening. Saint Rose had been a magnet which drew me in, just the way it was supposed to. I was meant to have each and every experience and meet every single person. Seeing these faces and meeting new ones was scripted to happen.

Each time I looked around yesterday or entered a building, I was reminded of every fun and even poignant moment I had while there. Whether it be waiting outside the men’s room at the Partridge Pub and drinking every guy‘s beer that put it down on the table next to us with Robin…Trying to make it back to your dorm by the time the sisters/nuns went to mass in the morning… or sprinting to the Camelot Room for 10 cent drafts. Every single memory I had came flooding back to me yesterday!

The last part of the day was a blessing of the sacred grounds of Saint Rose that was home for so many of us. We hugged and cried hot tears. I hugged Robin, Mary Pat, and Thom and said thank you for being a part of me forever.

Last night, it finally happened. The peace floated in on a cloud. What if I never met these people? What if Saint Rose was never in in the recipe for my life? Closure was not the end. It was an opening for light to come in and brighten my mind. I’m exactly where I am supposed to be. There are things I need to work on (don’t we all?) Saint Rose has now closed, but this closure has created new beginnings that will last the rest of my lifetime.