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Archive for April, 2026

Gunshots, Garages and Gardens

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , , on April 28, 2026| Leave a Comment »

Our garage renovation, aka the casita, has come to a standstill.

It was thoroughly expected. Only on HGTV can a whole house be built in 100 days. I’ve learned there are two phases of city inspections – the ‘rough-in’ is first, where electrical lines are placed and plumbing is dug. Our backyard is a minefield of trenches, just filling the bird feeder can be dangerous. The second inspection happens at the end, when the walls are up and the toilet flushes. And since the inspector couldn’t even find our casita hidden behind a huge dumpster on the first go-round, we are sitting in a state of perpetual construction limbo.

While gulping my first cup of morning coffee, I decided to read about the King’s visit to the White House of our Would-be-King. And I was delighted to see the first stop on the Lawn tour was to the apiary! I didn’t know that Melania had decided to keep Michelle Obama’s colony of bees. And their hive isn’t just a bunch of boxes; no, it’s an exact duplicate of the White House! Paving over the Rose Garden and demolishing the entire East Wing in order to build a $400 million, 90,000-square-foot ballroom must have exceeded their renovation budget. 

It didn’t surprise me at all that Mr T’s first response, after surviving his third assassination attempt, was to reiterate his need for the Great Gatsbyesque ballroom. It’s a question of security, he wants us to believe, and not an homage to his own ego. Some Republicans are buying his story as they watched the three most powerful politicians on the Hill being escorted from the stage this weekend at the White House Correspondents Dinner – the President, the VP and the Speaker. It must have dawned on some of them how ridiculous it was to have the starting lineup of succession to the presidency all in one room.

In fact, the GOP would like the National Trust for Historic Preservation to drop its lawsuit against Mr T’s no-bid building project. Their response: “What Saturday’s awful event does not change is that the Constitution and multiple federal statutes require Congress to authorize construction of a ballroom on White House grounds, and that Congress has not done so…”

Now I’m not comparing our little Nashville casita to a White House ballroom, but we got three bids! Actually first, we had a bunch of contractors tell us our job was just too small for them. Anything under $200,000 wasn’t worth their time. Imagine that. Bob and I have survived many a building project together after almost fifty years of marriage. Did I just calculate that right? FIFTY?!!! Our very first renovation project was after leaving the Berkshires, to return to NJ. The Rocker was just two years old when we migrated back to the East Coast and installed a steel beam to open up the kitchen to the family room. When Bob hung the wallpaper upside down in one corner. Where our Welsh Corgi’s puppies were born in the new family room.

But I can’t forget about the bees! The Rocker was born at the edge of a Wildlife Sanctuary in an old farmhouse. Before we moved into East New Lenox Road, we had to have a beekeeper relocate a hive of honeybees from our fireplace.

Now we can look back and laugh at our marital renovation journey – from bees to building a house in a forest, to a casita. And as much as I enjoy a good laugh, I wasn’t even going to watch the WHCD this year, I only switched it on for a few minutes before going to bed. How could a president with absolutely NO sense of humor be roasted? What kind of nonsense was this? Didn’t this very event, a celebration of free speech, trigger Mr T into running for president in the first place?

And I watched him sitting there, oblivious as others startled to the sound of gunfire. Did he have his hearing aids in? And could he have been stunned into self-reflection while longing for his ballroom? Nope. Our President went right back into his malicious tirade against the free press while being interviewed by Norah O’Donnell. Notice how this female cardinal could care less about our casita.

Screenshot

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Medical Migration

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on April 21, 2026| Leave a Comment »

It all started when our Great Aunt Mary had heart surgery. We were away on vacation when my MIL’s sister had her heart valve replaced by a pig valve at a hospital on Long Island. Her son was an orthopedic surgeon at the same hospital because MD is a gene that runs in our family. What could go wrong? Mary was in her early 80s, and this procedure was supposed to prevent minor complications in the future, but instead a blood clot traveled up to her brain and she had a major stroke.

Ada would drive into New York to visit her older sister almost every day. Mary was pretty spectacular as older sisters go – a talented musician, she taught me the Yiddish lullaby I sang every night to my babies and the Rocker is singing to his babies. It’s a magical tune about raisins and goats and to this day can make the L’il Pumpkin close his eyes and enter a dream state! When we returned from our trip, we visited Great Aunt Mary and noticed a flock of small bluebirds had appeared at her bedside.

It was the start of a collection. Ada had been delivering tiny, glass and porcelain bluebirds to Mary as a reminder that all will be well and her happiness would return, just like the migrating bluebirds.

So it was inevitable that when the Bride decided to pivot, and leave hospital-based Emergency Medicine, with its brutal schedule, administrative horsehockey, and clinical intensity, she would call her new venture, “Bluebird, MD.” I saw the change happening during the pandemic; the showers before hugging her children, the slowing down, the constant battle in a red state to enforce health guidelines for Covid. She wanted something better, for herself and her family. She and her husband were on the front lines of a war at that time, in the ER and the ICU. And You. Know. Who. was our Commander in Chief.

Many people migrate at midlife. We moved from watching herons fly over the Shrewsbury River on the Jersey Shore, to watching Pileated Woodpeckers demolish trees in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. Midlife is a time to reflect and consider alternatives – a sort of existential right of passage. To quote an existential therapist: “… you have a responsibility to show up to your life. You can’t avoid it, in all its pain and beauty, by living in the past—personal histories and buried traumas matter, and they might inform the present, but it won’t do to dwell on them.”

And for some of us, we wake up and wonder if we’re really where we want to be – are we happy?

When Bob retired from his ER practice, I knew my happy place was near our grandchildren, and so we moved again. Flying further south, to Nashville. I wanted to be present for all the skinned knees – for the roses and the thorns. Just this past weekend, I sat on a bleacher in a huge gym in Franklin, TN with the Bride as we cheered on the Bug’s volleyball team. Did I almost get hit in the head with a ball? Yes. Was I happy? You betcha!

I’m proud of my daughter for cutting ties with the hospital and opening her own practice this year. Bluebird, MD is a mobile Urgent Care practice. You can actually call and speak with a person… a doctor! You can schedule a same day appointment or have a remote visit. It’s not concierge medicine, there’s no fee to join, it’s a direct care practice. They don’t take insurance, there are “… no barriers or delays of the traditional insurance-based system.” She’s come full circle; her Grandfather also made house calls. https://www.bluebird-md.com/

Yesterday I delivered one of Ada’s glass bluebirds to my older sister Kay. She’s working on a watercolor of peonies, and when she held the small bird in her hand exclaimed, “Oh, I can paint him!” This bluebird pic was captured at Radnor Lake.

https://www.instagram.com/bluebirdmdnashville?igsh=MnI2Z2Zkb254N3Ns

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An Alpine Divorce

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , , , , on April 14, 2026| Leave a Comment »

The first morning my sister Kay arrived here we took a hike. Well, it was more like a walk a few blocks up the road but I took out my hiking sticks and she pushed her walker to the Farmers Market. It was a lovely Spring day and we were on a mission to get to the cheesecake tent before the opening bell rings because they usually sell out. I had to explain that we don’t get to order any special flavor, like her favorites pineapple and blueberry; we’re not in New York anymore. We get to choose from some local specialties, like “nutty buddy” or “lemon curd.” Luckily, they had blueberry crumb.

Somewhere between my first adventure in osteoporosis management and this last pre-election fall – almost foreshadowing our democratic demise – my daughter helped me buy a pair of hiking sticks. At first I didn’t use them. It was awkward and I thought my arms didn’t want or need the workout. But after visiting California a few times, where hiking is the state sport, I picked them up and tried again. Now, I reach for them regularly whenever we take to the Greenway for a walk with Maple the rescue dog. Maple was dubious at first, after all she knew me as ‘two-legged-with-treats.’ But my sticks don’t bother her at all now.

What did bother me this morning was reading an article about Alpine Divorce, better known in the Swiss Alps where a couple might get into an argument while hiking. Titled “If He Leaves You on a Mountain, End Your Relationship,” I can’t imagine finding the breath to talk, let alone argue, while hiking up a mountain, but lately women have been telling their stories of being left alone on a treacherous trail by their partner. https://www.nytimes.com/2026/04/12/style/alpine-divorce-relationships-hike.html?unlocked_article_code=1.a1A.JKb1.sMTGm5ckmxKd&smid=url-share

I’m hoping Melania read this article. Her little PR stunt, claiming not to be a ‘victim’ of Jeffrey Epstein, only made matters worse. We know Paolo Zampolli introduced her to Trump while he was married to Marla. We know the two men were fixtures in the NYC social scene of the 90s. It’s alleged Zampolli asked ICE to deport his girlfriend, even though he denies it. Oh and btw, he first met this Brazilian model after she flew into NY on Epstein’s plane at the age of 17. He has said about Mr T in the past: “We both like beautiful things.” The dots are easy to connect. https://www.nytimes.com/2026/03/20/us/paolo-zampolli-ice-melania-trump-epstein.html?unlocked_article_code=1.a1A.b8cs.k7LxclPTHjNv&smid=url-share

I suspect Melania knows her husband has lost his base along with his mind. I suspect she plans on leaving him before he gets the chance to leave her alone on a mountaintop.

Domestic violence takes many forms and has no borders. If you’re in a certain Epstein Class, you don’t have to abandon your partner or beat her with a brick when she no longer serves your purpose. I thought about the recent trial in Hawaii. An anesthesiologist beats his wife with a rock while hiking the Pali Puka Trail on Oahu. He was just found guilty of attempted manslaughter. Luckily she survived, and testified to feeling strange as the trail narrowed, then he shoved her. And she too refused to be a victim, she fought back.

I’d like to propose we as a nation take out our hiking sticks and get to the polls this year. Look at what Hungary just did! Eighty percent turnout to save their democracy from an autocrat. Mr T has been attacking Pope Leo, and he even posted an AI generated picture of himself as Jesus healing the sick. Did he think this would go over well with his Christian Nationalists? Is anybody paying attention to his demented tweets in the White House?

On our country’s 250th birthday, I’d like to propose we turn the tables on our commander in chief. Put lots of candles on a cheesecake and grant him an Alpine divorce. This is Kay and Bob after our score!

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On the Brink

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on April 8, 2026| 2 Comments »

This morning I said to Bob, “At least we didn’t annihilate a civilization.” His response; “We are annihilating our own.”

And in some ways it’s true. After 250 years, our democracy is fading rapidly. Republican senators cannot find the courage to confront our Commander in Chief. Generals have been purged and we’re left with leaders in Congress and the military without a backbone or a soul. A Turkish proverb says: “When a clown takes over the palace, he does not become king, it’s the palace that becomes a circus.”

But yesterday I was busy with my sister Kay. Her elevator is being replaced on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, and so she’s flown South to discover the joys of a Nashville Spring. Since our DADU is mid-construction, she moved into an independent senior living apartment only a mile up the road. She will have two restaurants and a cafe in the building, along with a plethora of activities to attend if she sees fit! There are art classes, which she could teach, and armchair pickleball, or even Mahjongg.

As one might with any nonagenarian, we got around to discussing legacy. Kay and I watched Jane Fonda on Substack talking about wanting her children to be proud of her, and about doing the things in life we are afraid of because at the end, we’ll regret the things we didn’t do… and Kay said, “I was never afraid of anything.”

It wasn’t really surprising, because after all my sister was a stewardess in the 50s and 60s, when women had to be weighed and measured. She has defied the odds of our Year of Living Dangerously; she lost our Father at the age of 14 and promptly fell into a coma like a Disney princess after the automobile accident that nearly killed our Mother and sent me on my own trajectory from PA to NJ. She’s had her share of suitors, two husbands and a distinguished career in medical illustration and sonography. And she raised her daughter, alone, with a little help from Camp St Joseph in the summers.

I asked Kay once, ‘Where is your happy place?’ She looked into the near distance and remembered visiting camp with the Flapper on weekends, “…my daughter would run down cabin lane and jump in my arms.” This from a woman who’s traveled around the world a few times!

I’m sorry this will have to be short today, we are still busy hanging pictures, unpacking suitcases and getting Kay oriented. It’s not like New York, it’s slower and calmer and warmer and dreamier here in the South. But at least our country didn’t bomb another country into oblivion. If I’d had time to think about it, I would have been very afraid.

Here is a picture of my beautiful sister Kay in her NY apartment in front of an oil painting she did in one day at the Art Student’s League.

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