Month: September 2026

Like Father, Like Son

Our son almost lost his wedding ring on his honeymoon. He was working out in the hotel’s gym, and not being used to wearing the ring, he slid it off his sweaty finger and set it on the particular machine he was working out on. He then proceeded to go up to his hotel room, pack up his things with his lovely new bride, and was about to enter a ferry boat to the next island on their itinerary, when he looked down at his hand and he realized, in a panic, that his wedding ring was gone. Frantically he called the front desk, who thankfully found the ring and had a courier get it to the newlyweds, before they entered the ferry boat. We are all so relieved for this happy ending.

My own husband is on his third wedding ring. He also lost his wedding ring on our honeymoon. The good news is, I have been with my husband, both times he has lost his ring. The bad news is, we’ve had to pay for both replacements, and my husband has very large hands. The first time my husband lost his wedding ring (on our honeymoon) was probably both of our faults. He kept saying that his ring was too big and that he would have to get it sized when we got home. However, being a young, romantic, new bride, I didn’t want him to take it off. So guess what fell off during our snorkeling adventure? We went to a jewelery store on the little island of St. Martin and purchased a replacement the very next day (did I mention that I was a young, romantic, new bride and should I say, perhaps, a little bit “possessive”?). The second time my husband lost his wedding ring, was when we were boating together, after a period of time that he had lost some weight. Since then, whenever we are around a large body of water, my husband changes out his gold wedding band for one of the black silicone plastic bands which so many of the young men seem to sport around with these days, with their active, hands-on lives.

To be clear, I am not writing this in judgment. I have already confessed to almost losing my own (and much more expensive) engagement ring in this story from the archives:

From the “No Horse Pucky” Archives

Our family has been a little careless with our wedding rings over the years. The more important thing is, we’re not careless with the love and the loyalty and the steadfastness that these rings represent.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Head Condom

I was going to wait until tomorrow to write this, but I am in “writing mode” and I just have to get this out . . . like a confession.

Yesterday, I got an MRI. I have been experiencing trouble with my neck and cervical radiculopathy for over three years now. This MRI was long overdue, but I am extremely claustrophobic. And so, truthfully, I have tried every alternative therapy in the book (including 20 minute sessions of constant, sharp shocks from electroneedling), for my problem, versus getting another much-needed MRI.

I first discovered my claustrophobia when I was a little girl at an amusement park. My sister and I were on a ride called “The Caterpillar.” The Caterpillar was a circular type of roller coaster that took you round and round, and while this was happening, a tarp-like covering came over the top of the entire roller coaster train. It was dark and musty and so tight that it brushed the top of your head. The olive green tarp would come on and off, and on and off, as the ride was going on and on. Now, I am a thrill seeker. I have loved roller coasters my entire life, but every single time that musty old tarp enclosed us in our small, dark space, I white-knucked the handlebars until my hands were numb. I prayed and prayed that the ride would be over, as we endlessly went round and round with the ominous tarp always threatening to close us in again. When the tarp was off of us, I gasped at the light and the air, like a little newborn bird, like these were my last breaths, before I was buried again, underneath the tarp, trapped in my tiny seat. Needless to say, I never went on that ride or anything like it again.

Claustrophobia brings on instant panic and high levels of anxiety that are hard to explain to others who don’t experience this. It’s hard to be rational when you are in the throes of panic. Before you go into small spaces, you logically and rationally explain to yourself why you are safe, and free, and unlikely to be harmed, but it is astonishing how fast all of that goes out the window, when the familiar, instant terror sets in. All of the breathing exercises, and meditative exercises you have practiced for years, disintegrate into a madness that screams, “Get me out of here!! Get me out of here!!”

I’ve tried to work through this problem of mine. I once decided to bravely take my four small children into a cave tour, in Tennessee, only to start hyperventilating and having to abandon them five minutes in (thankfully, their grandmother took over from there). I’ve had to talk myself off of a cliff in crowded elevators, and yes, I have had a couple previous MRIs that are among some of my most embarrassing memories. One time they had to pull me in and out of the machine so many times, that the radiologist came in, looked at pathetic me, with sad, frustrated eyes and said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think this is going to happen today.” He stopped short of, “You need help.”

So yesterday, I hyped myself up. I took extra gabapentin (which is prescribed for my neck pain). I whined to my husband. I warned everyone in the entire clinic that I am claustrophobic, and therefore not responsible for my actions. However, this time, I had a new trick up my sleeve. I remembered that at my last “in and out, in and out” MRI, it helped (kind of) to cover my eyes with a towel, so I decided to take that concept up a level.

Years ago, a friend of mine texted a hilarious picture of herself, in her daughter’s pink migraine cap. There is no kinder way to say this, other than a migraine cap looks nothing short of a giant condom on top of your head. It is tight, pink, and it fully covers your eyes, with a notch for your nose. It’s not pretty. It looks fairly ridiculous. But because I suffer from migraines from time to time, I bought one. And I use it. It works. And in the privacy of my own home, no one sees me wearing it (except for my dear husband, whom after more than 30 years together, nothing about me, surprises or shocks him anymore). Yesterday, I already knew that I was likely to embarass myself anyway, so I brought my migraine cap to the clinic. And I put it on, and I asked the technician to lead me to the machine, while I was wearing my head condom, so I wouldn’t have to see the tiny tube I was about to enter. She was kind and accomodating. She did not laugh or call any authorites. I’m not sure if this was a first for her, but I’m pretty sure that I might have made her dinner conversation last night. However, I can proudly say, the technician did not have to pull me in and out of the machine, like a novice, impatient baker who can’t stop opening the oven. I successfully made it through my MRI.

These are the true stories of my life that I have dubbed as “no horse pucky.” (You can find others in the archives of the blog.) It feels good to get them out. The truth is always stranger than fiction.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Half-Cocked

An old friend of mine recently texted me. She asked me how I am doing with the empty nest. She admitted that she was grieving a little bit, in her new state of “just the two of us”. She is happy that her kids are doing well and living great lives on their own, but she misses them and feels a little lost in her new state of being.

It is so brave to admit when we are grieving, but yet this admittance is so necessary, for us to be able to process it, and to move through it. Why is grief so hard to admit to? We easily tell people when we are happy, or angry, or hungry, or frustrated, but we have a harder time admitting to the more vulnerable (but equally as human) emotions like sadness, fear, loneliness and grief and even, love. Are we afraid that we will get “attacked when we’re down”? Do we believe that we are the only ones who feel all of these emotions, from every category and version of mad, glad, sad and scared?

During a tough season in my life, I asked a trusted advisor, “What is wrong with me? What’s my disorder?” “You’re grieving,” he simply stated. And when he said that, I felt a mixture of relief, defensiveness, frustration, surrender and acknowledgment. I was sad. I was at a really low-point, but it gave me ground. It gave me a starting point to work from. There was nothing I needed to “fix.” There was nothing I needed to “fight.” There was nothing I needed to “avoid and distract myself from.” I just needed to own my own grief, to give myself grace, to let myself feel it, and by doing that, understand that my grief wasn’t going to engulf me. I could continue to live my life, alongside my grief, until that grief settled itself inside of me, no longer a gaping, bleeding wound, but now just a scar, nestled among other physical and emotional scars I have, that are just proof that I am courageously and curiously living a life, as a human on this earth.

My husband and I watched the first episode of the sixth season of Slow Horses last night. (If you haven’t already watched Slow Horses, start now. It’s a great series.) There is a scene where Gary Oldman’s character, Jackson Lamb (who is blunt, no-nonsense, rude, even gross, but utterly thrilling to watch) speaks to his underling, River Cartwright, about grieving the recent death of his grandfather, who raised River. These are the exact lines:

“The state you’re in, wound up like a spring.

You’re liable to go off half-cocked and get yourself in trouble.

I mean, you gotta either let it out or keep it in, but you can’t do both at once.”

This is great advice for any of us experiencing grief. Grief doesn’t just come from death. Grief is usually a common companion to any change or ending in our lives, even when the change is good and the ending is welcome. And as the saying goes, “Change is the only constant.” Therefore, it follows that grief is probably a relative constant in our lives. We don’t want to accept this, because we forget that while grieving, we can also feel gloriously happy at the same time. We can feel every emotion in the book, while we are in a state of grieving. Grieving is just the natural process of accepting that a change has happened, and accepting all of the flood of different emotions that comes with any change. We can grieve gracefully when we don’t judge ourselves for our feelings. When we can allow ourselves to feel our feelings, and to accept that we are in a natural, human state of grieving, we are less likely to “go off half-cocked and get ourselves into trouble.”

I was on Reddit this morning, reading all of the gossip that is going on with Dolly Parton’s estate. Apparently, there is already infighting and deception, involving her family and her manager and others. One redditor said something to the effect, “You always see the worst in people during death, divorce and weddings.” Two of our sons got married this year. I had to giggle at this redditor’s statement, because honestly, before the weddings occurred, I could sometimes feel myself getting petty, and sometimes forgetting that the weddings were the couples’ special day and not anybody else’s. I had to remind myself that a wedding is just one day (albeit a very special day) in the span of decades of sharing lives together as a family. I had to remind myself, that big events make everyone’s emotions heightened, including mine. A dear one of mine, recently gave me advice about something entirely different. She said, “Let it play out.” And so, I did. And miraculously, the situation I was worrying over, is playing itself out perfectly. And so did the weddings. And I am so relieved and proud.

Surrender is not weakness. Surrender is acceptance. And with acceptance, comes the starting point of clear direction, and peace, and faith and true strength. And all of these things can happen at once, even in a deep, dark state of grieving. Accept. Surrender. Let it play out.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

To Everything There is a Season

Tomorrow is the fall equinox. This timing is not lost on me. My husband and I are about to enter the threshhold of the “true” autumn of our own lives together. This year emphatically marked the end of the robust summer season of our adult lives together. When our youngest, and our only daughter, moved out this summer, it pronounced the final period of raising our family, and the rearranging of our nest, to make the most of its new emptier, quieter spaces.

Recently, I have found myself uncharacteristically nostalgic about the past seasons of my life. I have collected some old toys and dolls from the springtime of my childhood, telling myself that they are for my future grandchildren . . . but are they? I think that my inner child is fully enjoying them for the time being.

I have unabashedly celebrated the joyous occasions of our sons’ weddings, marking the beginning of the summer seasons of their own lives, with their own wives. My reliable, nagging foresight told me that this was all in the near horizon, and so thankfully, my husband and I made the changes to our living situation, preparing our nest to be more suitable for just the two of us, after long living in the fun, chaotic, messy, loud, revolving door of a houseful of six (plus always a menagerie of pets). We walk through these large wooden doors of Autumn, prepared as we can be.

I am witnessing the stoic, resound, elegant winters of my elders, with a mix of awe, appreciation, and even a little confusion and sadness that the seasons change for all of us. There is no stopping time. There is no freezing children in their innocence. There is no preserving our wise, steady ones in robust, non-aging bodies. There is no Energizer Bunny keeping me as sharp and vigorous as the beginning of my blossoming adulthood in the early summer season of my life. Sigh.

And yet, it is all so beautiful. Every season is just so breathtakingly lovely, in its own unique way. And that’s what gets to me every time. That is what has my eyes filled and my throat choked as I write this. . . . . The poignancy. The masterful plan of Mother Nature. The Spirit that holds each and every one of us, walking with us, through each unique season of our lives. It is all so beautiful to experience, if we take the time to behold and reflect on the wonders that each season of our lives offers to us.

To everything, turn, turn, turn.
There is a season, turn, turn, turn.
And a time to every purpose under heaven.
A time to be born, a time to die.
A time to plant, a time to reap.
A time to kill, a time to heal.
A time to laugh, a time to weep.

To everything, turn, turn, turn.
There is a season, turn, turn, turn.
And a time to every purpose under heaven.
A time to build up, a time to break down.
A time to dance, a time to mourn.
A time to cast away stones.
A time to gather stones together.

To everything, turn, turn, turn.
There is a season, turn, turn, turn.
And a time to every purpose under heaven.
A time of love, a time of hate.
A time of war, a time of peace.
A time you may embrace.
A time to refrain from embracing.

To everything, turn, turn, turn.
There is a season, turn, turn, turn.
And a time to every purpose under heaven.
A time to gain, a time to lose.
A time to rend, a time to sow.
A time for love, a time for hate.
A time for peace, I swear it’s not too late.

– lyrics from Turn, Turn, Turn by The Byrds

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Epic

I arrived home late yesterday night from a 14 day journey throughout England, Wales and Scotland, that also included the real-life, fairy-tale wedding, in an old English castle, of our son and our daughter-in-law. Someone recently told me that we overuse the word “epic” in today’s society, and I agree. However, the physical, emotional and spiritual adventure that I just experienced deserves the adjective “epic”, and maybe something even more.

My courageous, ambitious husband insisted that we rent a car for our journey, which, other than for the wedding, we traveled mostly on a total whim, which ended up with us staying in nine different establishments throughout the United Kingdom, while my husband drove (on the “wrong” side of the road) precariously through almost 1400 miles of teeny one lane roads, meant to be shared by everyone, including cars headed in both directions, bicyclists and even an occasional cow or sheep.

Having already fully experienced London a couple of years ago, we headed right out to the Cotswolds from Heathrow (yes, the Cotswolds are every bit as charming and lovely as you imagine it). We explored Oxford University, met up with family in Bath and toured the ancient Roman baths and then we luxiariated in the modernized version of the baths, at our hotel. Next, we headed to the wedding, which turned into everything my daughter-in-law, and her very English mother, had conjured up in their most wild of imaginations, since our daughter-in-law was a little girl, ending up as a beautiful, magical, almost unreal occasion, finalized with a stunning surprise fireworks display. Coming off from the high of the wedding, my husband and I did the most intriguing part of the journey for me – we explored Wales, from bottom to top. I recently found out that the largest percentage of my DNA is actually Welsh, and so my interest was selfishly heightened. I adored Wales (and their Welsh cakes). My husband kept saying “this place is just so untouched.” We drove from one adorable, hobbit like village to another – one cuter than the next. There were flowers everywhere, nestled among the most captivating little archaic homes and cottages. I felt like we happened upon a “best kept secret”, mystical little countryside, almost as if we had walked through the wardrobe, into Narnia. One night, in a small town on the coast of Wales, we ended up in a pub, where a woman just a year older than me was celebrating her birthday. She and I bonded, I suppose because of our similar ages and sensibilities (or perhaps lack thereof), and when I told her about my Welsh heritage, the entire establishment sang a beautiful ballad in Welsh (which brought me to tears), because I told her that I wanted to hear Welsh spoken (Welsh sung is even better). What I love about the pubs in the United Kingdom, is that every age is represented. There are older men in three piece suits and caps, dancing with their wives, right along side the young lads and ladies, and they all bond together, singing their ancient songs of their ancient lands, full of pride and community and onenness. From Wales, we capped off our trip, driving into the deep wilds of Scotland. Starting in the stately Ediburgh, and then ending up deep into the rugged Scottish Highlands, we hiked among herds of peaceful, curious sheep, feeling lost in time and in the melding of our own innate nature, with the awestriking, formidable, beautiful, timeless nature all around us, panoramically, for as far as the eyes can see. We spent our final night in Glasgow which is a fun, irreverent, artsy, university town. On the last night, my husband and I both sat, hand-in-hand, in our shared joy, truly satiated by having our curiosities fed and satisfied by wonders of every kind, which beat both of our expectations, in spades.

I could bore you with an intricate slide show, and details that are probably only important to me, but I won’t. That being said, I know that anyone having an adventure in the United Kingdom will find something to love, and something that breaks them open to the profound wonder in their hearts, in the deepest, most personal way possible. Trust me on this. Go. Make the United Kingdom, a “Bucket List Must.” My only real disappointment in our trip, is that the Scottish Highland cows aren’t nearly as prolific as the plethora of schlock in the souvenier shops would lead you to believe. We really had to go searching for particular farms to see these “heilan coos” in person, but it was worth it. Yes, they are adorable!

Truthfully, though, the epic road trip was just a divine sideshow. The real major happening in my heart, is that another child of mine, committed themselves fully and publicly, to the love of his life. And I’m not worried about these precious babies of mine. Having been high school sweethearts, attending college together, going through medical school (him) and physician assistant school (her) in the worldly, wild city of Miami, and supporting and loving each other through all ten years of these intense growing up years of their lives, I want to believe that the rest of it all is going to be (welsh)cake for them, from here on out. Of course, I want this. All of us parents want life to be wonderful, easy and happy for our children. And a lot of the time it is. And also, a lot of the time it isn’t. But what truly feeds my heart with gratefulness, is that another one of my children has found someone who loves him as deeply as I love him. My son has found a person who wants only the best for him, and wants to share in that with him for the rest of their lives. As a parent, the relief and the joy and the gratitude and the pride that you feel when your child has partnered up with a soul as kind, and as solid, and as devoted as they are, is almost overwhelming. Life is better shared. I am lucky enough to know this personally. And this year, two of my children have headed further down the paths of their own lives, hand in hand, with their true, devoted loves. And all I have to say is about this is thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. In my life, this is what is truly epic.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.