Stepping Back

We moms are always ready to spring into action. When we see or hear something concerning, we jump. We aim to meet the need, right the wrong, soothe the heartache. This becomes who we are FOR LIFE. We don’t ever graduate from being moms. The role stays with us, forever.   

So when my friend called the other day because she was stewing over a conflict her daughter shared, I could feel her distress. She was not only upset for her daughter but her maternal instinct to get involved was ignited. Isn’t this what we moms do?

But the reality is times have changed. Going to her daughter’s aid would have been a no-brainer 30, 20, even possibly 10 years ago. My friend’s daughter is in her mid-30s. She has a job and along with her husband supports their family. She owns a house and a car. She herself is a mom.

It would have been the most natural act in the world for my friend to work her magic in an attempt to manage the situation. She even offered to make a phone call on behalf of her daughter, who politely but forcefully told her to stay out of it, because “I’m an adult and it’s my life.” Ouch. That stung, but my friend understood and respected her daughter’s point of view.

And so she called me, because she knew I’d get it. Learning how to transition to this period of watching our kids from the sidelines – after decades of guiding them through life – is not an easy feat. We are proud to see them successful and are happy they have become independent. We are glad they want to figure out life on their own, as we did.    

Yet, that instinct to parent doesn’t go away. We still care about them as we always have. The fact that we know the expectation now is for us to step back doesn’t change our innate reaction to wanting to do something to minimize their discomfort or help solve a problem.    

I’ve been in my friend’s shoes, as have all of us. There’s not one mom I know who has not had to grapple with keeping silent when she felt compelled to say or do something. We are not trying to meddle; we are just doing what comes naturally. Our kids may not fully understand this now, but they will when they reach our phase of life. Until then, we will do our best to wait until our assistance is requested.

Indigo Girls

Every time I go to a live music performance, I struggle with the same question: Should I? or Shouldn’t I… buy a T-shirt? 

It’s kind of ridiculous dilemma given I may have only bought one concert shirt in my life that I can  recall, and that was in the 1970s when I vaguely remember an orange T-shirt from either a Chicago concert at the Spectrum or the Stanley Cup parade on Broad Street. At last year’s Dave Matthews Band concert, with the biggest selection of T-shirts I had ever seen at a show and a line of fans to match, I decided I was done wasting time thinking about the T-shirt, picking one out, deciding I probably wouldn’t wear it anyway and then leaving without one.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to see the singer-songwriter duo Indigo Girls - Emily Saliers and Amy Ray - for who knows how many times, with my girlfriend who had never seen them before. David turned me on to this band some 25 years ago, and I’ve loved them ever since. Their voices are strong and mighty, their harmonizing so pleasing to my soul and their lyrics about life, love and the state of the world powerful and beautifully expressed. For me, they have it all, and I listen to them constantly in my car. In the days leading up to the concert, my friend played thier music to familiarize herself, and her son mentioned they were the lesbian band of the 80s when she said she was going, which was hardly news today but surely was back then.  

Before we got to the concert, I reminded myself NO SHIRT! I felt liberated to be among fans enjoying the anticipation of the show without getting caught up in the marketing hype. However, once we found our seats, my friend announced that SHE wanted to buy a T-shirt! 

I laughed to myself thinking thank goodness I am over this, but of course I walked around with her from kiosk to kiosk to find the right shirt for her. We found a selection of 3 shirts she could choose from: 1 – black with a cobalt blue design, 2 – eggshell colored with sketches that I couldn’t decipher without my glasses and 3 – a gray tank-style shirt with Emily and Amy’s faces which would fall where her breasts would be, so I vetoed that.

As we stood in line talking about which of the shirts she liked most, I found myself wavering, once again…Should I get one too? It would be so fun to have the same shirt…I've always been drawn to the whole "twins" concept. And then I did it. I succumbed to the urge…and walked away from the kiosk with the black and blue one in hand, just like my girlfriend.  

I don’t know why this concert was different - why I finally bought a T-shirt - but, for some reason, I didn’t overthink it; I just went with my gut: I want to bring this T-shirt home. 

When Emily and Amy took their places on stage, I sat back in anticipation, grateful for the opportunity to soak in the sheer delight of hearing their voices in person once again.

And then something unexpected happened. When Emily started to sing that first song, "Power of Two," her voice sounded unsteady. Off. At first, I thought she needed a better warm up, to clear her throat, or maybe take a deep breath if she struggles with stage fright. But with every second, I knew something was not right.

I did what I usually do: I texted David about it. And he did what he usually does: he googled it and saw she was recently diagnosed with 2 incurable movement disorders that impact her voice: cervical dystonia, which causes involuntary neck shaking, and an essential tremor, which prevents structural vocal control. 

After the initial shock, I listened to the music with different ears and a different heart - not with the joy of the past - with more compelling emotions. I felt sadness for Emily to have lost her ability to rely on the voice that was once so robust and likely tied to her identity, amazement at her bravery in continuing to perform despite enormous challenges, and gratitude for all those glorious concerts I got to see.  

I was certain there was a reason fate drove me to buy the shirt, and when I read David’s text, I knew why. And I've already worn it twice.

Mother's Day 2026

I cherished the relationship I had with my mom – most of the time. One of her traits that I appreciated most when I was young was that she was very honest. I always knew where I stood with her. If she liked something I said or did, she was all in. If she didn’t approve, she let me know. Although we disagreed in certain situations, only my short bouts of teenage craziness caused a breakdown in communication.

When I reached my 20s, we began to experience more substantial issues and differences of opinion. While we would talk about them openly and honestly, these exchanges often left us in a weird space: one with air that was thick and with feelings that could not be resolved quickly. Our once harmonious dynamic changed and our disagreements became standstills. I struggled so much when we weren’t in sync because I was a mama’s girl. I was trying to navigate my life my way while at the same time longing for us to get back to normal.

Part of the problem, the way I see it now, was that our pattern of communication was all-or-nothing. We’d either talk about the matter, or we wouldn’t talk at all. My mom would get so focused on the conflict(s) that there was no room for casual dialogue. And because we lived an hour apart, both worked and I was raising children, we didn’t get the opportunity to see each other one-on-one or to clear the air.    

There were instances when we wrote letters to one another, but I often lacked the words – or a clear understanding of my own emotions, or hers – so I’m not sure those letters helped as much as we had hoped and may in fact have been harmful.

At that point in my life, the fragility of relationships didn’t enter my mind, nor did I realize that a tender touch in the midst of these rough periods could be reassuring and meaningful. It wasn’t until thinking about Mother’s Day this year that I started to replay some of those memories when my mom and I didn’t talk much because neither of us knew how to find our way out of the maze of hard feelings. It makes me so sad to reflect upon it now, because she was my favorite human in the world, and I didn’t tell her when she needed to hear it most.

Moments like this make me think about the role texting might have played in our relationship. I know she would have appreciated “reminder” messages during the dark times we experienced that said, “Thinking of you, missing you, let’s move on or I know things are tough between us right now but they will get better.” Or maybe I’d have sent emojis with hearts or flowers or the sun or photos of her grandchildren.

Back then, there was no easy way to stay connected other than calling one’s landline, and I don’t think I’d have braved the loud silence to say, “While we work through this, know I love you.”  Even now, that gesture feels awkward to me; however, sending cheerful images feels natural. These texts wouldn’t have been a replacement for conversation, but they may have brought warmth to those difficult stretches and served to bridge the gap until the situation between us softened. And, I know they would have lifted my mom’s spirits because beneath her strong exterior, she was very sentimental, gentle and loving.

Hopefully I will incorporate what I’ve learned about my relationship with my mom in a beneficial way with all the important people in my life.

I Remember When

Driving home from my workout last week, an intense desire to gorge myself came over me. I wanted an Italian hoagie, a big steak and a million chocolate covered almonds. David was out of town, so I could have had any or all of those treats without fear of judgment. But, since I just came from the gym, I decided on a healthy, high protein, immediately accessible option: a rotisserie chicken from Sprouts.

The aroma of the rotisserie chickens was heavenly from the second I entered the market. I couldn’t wait to dig in. I envisioned placing the whole glorious bird on a plate in front of my seat at the kitchen table, with a fork and knife that I might or might not use. Call me a scavenger but so be it; I’d be a happy one. My pescatarian husband being away was a relief; I had no desire to witness his reaction to my uncivilized attack on the chicken in its natural form, which I knew he would find extremely distasteful.  

As I opened the front door of my house, I was suddenly transported back to life with SheaDoggy. The smell receptors in his nose were off the charts when I’d walk in with a rotisserie chicken. He would turn into a crazy little man, a demon doggy – and while I couldn’t even walk to the kitchen without his jumping on me a dozen times, pulling at the shopping bag, running in circles, squealing and carrying on, I got such pleasure seeing that precious furry child of ours so joyful.

Sometimes I wanted to put the whole chicken in front of him to let him have a go at it, but I was afraid he’d make himself sick, and then I’d end up in the doggy ER. Instead, I’d stand at the sink, cut it up and drop it in his bowl as quickly as I could so he wouldn’t start freaking out again. Initially I sat down to have the meal with him, but that was a ridiculous expectation on my part that he would stay calm while I planned for us to enjoy the meal together. While I liked treating our pup like a king every now and then, this frenzied routine was a relief when it was over; however, the memory of it many years later made my day.  

Good memories are wonderful gifts. They replay ordinary, everyday moments – not especially significant at the time – and, with the right trigger, allow us to remember, to laugh, to relive that feeling once again.    

 

 

Hello, Stranger!

When my granddaughter Zoey and I were at the local library one day after school, I saw a woman standing with a little girl, who I assumed was her daughter. Since the girls looked around the same age, and were shyly checking each other out, I introduced myself to the mom as the grandmom (no kidding) and she told me her name. Turns out the girls had seen each other in school, so they went off to play and mom and I sat down, a couple of seats apart, to keep our eyes on them.   

In times like this – 2 strangers within speaking distance – I often weigh whether it’s OK to make conversation or it’s NOT OK and better to assume the other person would rather be left alone. It’s not that I’m uncomfortable with the quiet; it’s that I see the opportunity to chat with someone new and possibly make a connection, which is always fun for me. Sometimes I hear David’s words echo in my ear: “Why do you always feel you have to talk to ‘random’ people?” which makes me think twice but usually I proceed anyway.

On this day at the library, I decided to do what I wanted to do – after all, it was my birthday!  I asked mom if they visit the library often, since I had never seen them before. In a way, it sounded like the infamous pick-up line: “Do you come here often?” but it was an appropriate question given the scenario. Her response was so pleasant, and she was very happy to talk. She said they had recently moved to this area from Oregon and didn’t know many people but both she and her daughter love the library, especially on the monthly Book Club days. I had no idea that this library had a Book Club for little ones! She then filled me in on all the details and told me to sign up online if interested. I decided to talk to Zoey and her parents about it later.      

Zoey seemed very excited. When the next Book Club day came, I received an email that the leader was sick and that day’s meeting was cancelled. I was sooooooooo disappointed and knew that Zoey would be too.

As I was on my way to pick her up from school, my girlfriend called to wish me well on my special day. Given how consumed I was at the moment with letting Zoey down, I proceeded to tell my friend about the situation. When I was done, she said "I understand," quickly pivoting to "Your library has a Book Club for kids in elementary school?”

A retired elementary school teacher who gives me great book recommendations for kids that are always a hit, she seemed so impressed! She didn’t think her library had this activity but said she was going to check. When I got home, I sent her a link to my library’s “Events” page, where the Book Club and other programming was listed by date.

Meantime, I picked up Zoey and when I told her the news about the cancellation, she held up her hands in exasperation and said, “Why did we do all that reading then?” I don’t like letting my grandbabies down. That felt so wrong. I wasn’t sure how the next hour would play out, but she rebounded quite nicely, thank goodness.

Just two weeks later, my girlfriend texted me: “I am so excited! I spoke with Mr. Tate from your library about the Book Club and…I am going to start one!” WOW. She wasn’t messing around. 

I have been marveling over this for weeks. I am so happy for my girlfriend, who seems genuinely thrilled to create her library’s first children’s Book Club – and what lucky kids! This came to be, at this time, as a result of my talking to a “random” woman at the library who told me about it, and then sharing that information with my girlfriend who happened to call me to say Happy Birthday while I was ruminating over Zoey’s reaction to the cancellation.  

You never know where a chance conversation with a “stranger” might lead, and/or how it might impact someone and, in this case, my friend, too.  

I also learned that the library mom’s daughter is a “Daisy”…en route to being a full-fledged Girl Scout (which I was and loved)…most importantly, I now have a direct connection to Girl Scout cookies!

Summer of '79

The summer of my 19^th year was filled with memorable firsts. I spent Memorial Day through Labor Day with girlfriends in Atlantic City, I got a taste of independence from my parents, I drove a tram on the boardwalk, I met lots of new faces from all over the country and Ireland who came to AC to work, and I fell in love.      

A quaint outdoor shopping center filled with boutique shops had recently opened near the tram facility called Gordon’s Alley, so my roommate and I checked it out on our first free day. We were giddy with all the trendy, fun stuff we saw that spoke to our sense of style and whimsy. I was truly in my glory there, surrounded by all the things I was obsessed with at the time: tie-dye, bell bottom embroidered jeans and…leather.

That’s where IT happened: at the Frye leather shop, where I found the look, feel and smell of leather absolutely intoxicating. It was love at first sight for me, when I eyed the most perfect pair of boots. They were a gorgeous “banana” color, with leather on the upper and suede on the shaft. The heel was about 2” and had a slightly pointed toe that varied from Frye’s iconic square style.

The price tag of the boots was steep: they cost in the upper $80s or $90s. That equated to more than one week of work, paid at the minimum wage rate at that time of $2.50 per hour. This was a lot of money for me to spend when the expenses of the summer were just getting started and were entirely on me, with no help from mom and dad. I could not give up a week’s pay – how would I go out to the bars after my shifts ended with my tram crew if I did that?

I was, however, intent on getting these boots, even though I knew that my mom would think they were a waste of money. She would say that I already have a pair that I don’t wear much, but those were my sister’s old lime green go-go boots, and I didn’t get them until she outgrew them, when they were no longer fashionable.

My mom had given me a credit card and said to use it only in an emergency, and I knew that buying these boots was not that, although there was no way I was going home on Labor Day without them. Back then, layaway was a popular and very smart option to manage the cost of expensive items so that no debt was accrued. The Frye store arrangement was that I’d come into the store once a week for about 6 weeks and pay off the boots. That could have been risky if every time I went in there or to any of the other shops I’d want to buy something else, but I kept my other impulses in check, thank goodness.

By the end of the summer, my boots and I went home together, and we were inseparable.  I was happy as could be. I wore them for years and years until there wasn’t much left of them. I have bought other boots since, none of which were Frye, and none compared to my love for my very first pair. About 20 years ago I bought a Frye handbag which I still enjoy today, but it’s way too heavy to use on a daily basis; it actually feels like luggage. Still, it fills me with memories of my carefree existence way back when, and that is surely worth some shoulder discomfort.

What was your first love?

OMG…Am I the Grinch?

 A week ago, I was rushing around with some last-minute Hanukkah shopping. I had stopped by Banana Republic and was the second in line to make a purchase when the system went down. The manager announced that the whole center is out of commission due to the volume of transactions but that it should be up again in a few minutes, based on a similar occurrence earlier in the day.    

A tall, husky man in line ahead of me started talking loudly, expressing his joy about the holiday season and how these glitches make the shopping experience more fun. I thought he had to be joking, but he didn’t appear to be trying to make people laugh. Then I thought he drank too much at lunch – maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, or maybe this was just him. He seemed genuinely jolly, like slap a beard on him and he could be Santa.  

He then turned to me with a big smile and asked, “How are you doing with all of your holiday shopping?” I said that I was doing well until this delay, and I don’t have the time to leave and come back. When I heard myself say this to Santa, I felt ashamed. This gentleman doesn’t know that I’m actually a pleasant person most of the time (or am I?) He replied, “My Dear, this is life. Anything can happen at any time!” I felt like Santa was trying to teach me a lesson, like lighten up and get into the holiday spirit for goodness’ sake.    

When I got home, I reprimanded myself: when someone is friendly, be friendly back! Don’t  be a negative presence just because I’m agitated at the time.    

The next morning, I had to stop at a local market for a large lunch order. I was waiting and waiting and waiting some more while the people working there talked amongst themselves without any regard for those of us who were standing in line. I noticed one of the women looking at me and when we locked eyes, she asked, “How’s your day going?” The positive side of me would have said something like “life is good…how is your day going?” but no, I said instead, “It’s impossible to shop at this place. They are so disorganized and slow.” She said, “but they are better than they used to be,” which made me think she’s either the mom or wife of one of the men behind the counter, because who else would say that?  But that wasn’t the point.

What was important was that she probably saw I was frustrated, and she wanted to brighten my mood. How kind! I could’ve redeemed myself from the day before at Banana Republic, but I didn’t; however, I did recognize this repeated pattern in my overall mindset, and I didn’t like it.  

As for my New Year’s resolutions going into 2026, I’m going to try not to be a curmudgeon, especially during the winter season when it can seep out…but no promises!