This week I visited a grocery store that I rarely shop. As I was going through the checkout line, I noticed this package of large gumballs.

It brought back such vivid childhood memories of love, love, loving packages of giant purple gumballs or the red ones that were cinnamony. I recall there were some lime green colored ones, too, that were tart apple flavored. 

What I do not recall is my mother buying these things for me. I was one of six kids and she couldn’t buy something for each child every time we asked. Also, my parents were on a tight budget and candy, soda and store-bought cookies were considered quite superfluous.

However, as a young teen when I could make a few bucks baby-sitting or doing the family ironing, I occasionally splurged and bought my own giant gumballs. 

No wonder our family dentist always beamed when he saw me walk through the door. I worked myself up to quite a few sugary cavities when I was in junior high school.

So this week, momentarily, I was 13 years old again, with the advantage of being 60 and knew I could buy as many dang packages of beautifully-colored gumballs as my heart desired. Though I bought only one and have enjoyed them very much. 

Occasionally there are sweet (very sweet), simple joys found in being an older adult. 


I attended an awards luncheon today, hosted by the media company for which I work. I was the photographer for the event. 

It was the typical set up of beautifully set round tables of eight chairs. Centerpieces with fresh flowers, flawless spring green cloth napkins folded “just so”.  

As the photographer for events, one of the benefits is that I and my co-workers, which consist of the events team, the sales team and the design team, sit at a table together and enjoy the event, while we watch to make sure everything is flowing smoothly.

Today’s event was at a lovely venue, one of the best in the city, and thankfully, it is in my town. Often I have to drive downtown Cincinnati to attend these functions. 

Food was the consistent, but delicious, fresh salad with balsamic, grilled chicken in a sun-dried tomato sauce, new potatoes roasted in parsley and butter, whole green beans, warm, soft rolls with perfectly flowered pats of butter and sweet tea with lemon. 

As the photographer, I eat a little, wait for the next speaker to step onto the stage, hop up and get a few photos till the next queued speaker is up, then repeat. I eat, take photos, and eat. It’s not a bad gig.

Once during the event, I stepped out for a moment to grab another SD card and ducked into the coat-check room to change it out. 

Even the coat-check room was beautiful; soft lighting, carpeted flooring, wall-papered walls, and gold hangers. Then I looked up high above the rows of hangers and saw this (above photo). Wow.

It looked like a lot of confusion. Here in this respectable, well-known, high-dollar event venue, was this mess.

Thankfully, to someone in the building, this is entropic artistry. And to them, it all makes sense. 

Perhaps this venue is a bit like me. I know how to dress and act and speak and function; when to smile, when to be subdued, when to be bold. 

However, if someone were to peak behind the curtain and into my head, it may very well look like this. Beautiful chaos.

Wear the Gloves

I have a beautiful pair of black leather gloves. They are buttery soft and smooth with no lines or fringe or anything fussy. The fingers do not have extra space at the end of my true fingers. They fit me like, well, like a glove.

Usually when I have worn gloves throughout this winter, I have grabbed one of my other two pairs of black gloves. I have a pair for running, that fit snugly and keep my hands warm if I venture to the park on a somewhat warm winter day for a quick jog.

I have another pair of sturdy gloves that are my usual “go to” gloves for snowy days to scrape my car windows and for carrying in groceries and other items.

And there, on the top shelf of my hall closet, sit my beautiful black leather gloves.

We awakened this morning to a beautiful blanket of Ohio snow. Yesterday was Easter and I, as well as many other women I saw at church, donned our spring dresses and bared our legs. And today I pulled the boots back out of my closet and zipped my puffy jacket up to my chin. I was heading out to meet Christoper, my middle son, for breakfast.

I was just pushing the coat closet door closed when I spied my lovely black gloves. I have only worn them two or three times this winter. I am always trying to protect them and keep them special.

But this morning I grabbed them. I wore them to drive and then on inside of the restaurant. They felt great and they looked great. How silly to not enjoy these gloves more often.

I think it may be an older person’s mindset. We keep the new, delectably scented candles in a drawer rather than burn them. We display, rather than use, our crystal goblets in the glassed front cabinets for ‘show’. We store our gifts of ‘fancy’ lotions in our linen closets. We are always saving things for special events, special moments.

On this (hopefully) last snow of winter 2018, I completely enjoyed my beautiful gloves. Lesson learned.

Enjoy the special things. Burn the candle. Use the crystal goblets and fill them with champagne. Slather on the fancy lotion.

We have these things for one of two reasons; they have either been gifted to us or we were blessed enough to be able to purchase them. Either way, they should be appreciated, embraced and loved.

Wear the leather gloves.

Bumps in the Road

Today I ran into an old friend. It was good but it caused pensivity. I believe that we roll along okay and then we hit a bump in the road. The bump can jolt us into alertness and awaken us to new thought or it can reveal reality, the good part of reality. This bump did a little bit of both. That is what life is; a journey on a mostly smooth road with a few of those bumps thrown in to keep us awake. And as my kids would say, I am now woke.