Category: Life

My 40th high school reunion was fantastic! I had no expectations except having fun, but yesterday, after I got home from a whirlwind 25-hour trip, the experience settled in.

I suddenly got very emotional when I began telling Marty about the reunion since I hadn’t processed everything yet.

I started to cry when sharing the beautiful memories classmates had of me and what they thought of me now.

When my group of girl besties got together, it was as if no time had passed. Those true lifelong friends picked up where we left off 40 years ago.

The same thing happened when I saw my close guy friends, my friends from my grammar school at St. Cecelia’s, and the people who were in all my home rooms, which were always alphabetical.

Barry, who was the host and organizer, has the most school spirit of everyone. I was the cheerleading captain for most of my childhood and high school years, but when I walked out of those doors, I never looked back.

Our class of 1984 was very tight and still is today. When Barry surprised us with class t-shirts, we all yelled and laughed our asses off.

The memories classmates shared about me blew my mind. You never know other people’s perceptions or how you affect them.

I didn’t remember any of those memories until they began each memory. I could not believe the stuff they remembered. This made me so incredibly happy!

I was really surprised to learn that some of them read my blog daily and told me how much they liked it. This made me very proud.

Other classmates have watched our spätzle business grow since the very beginning. Again, another proud moment.

When I was leaving, one of my buddies told me I was such an important person in our class, and he was so happy I finally came to a reunion.

My absence was felt at all the other reunions. Wow! That made me feel good, too.

I was the most talkative girl in our class, but I never felt like I was an important person in my class, pretty or popular, as few said.

I was a loudmouth, sure, but pretty? I never felt pretty. To me, my friends were the pretty ones.

Anyway, this reunion meant the world to me. I felt great, was in tip-top shape, and was “back to normal me” from ages ago.

I knew I was still in there, and I could feel myself becoming extremely frustrated that I had been unable to claw my way out for so many years.

I found out that some of my classmates, whom I am in contact with on Facebook, didn’t want to come to the reunion because those weren’t good years for them.

Many people held grudges or how a few cruel words they heard affected them their entire lives.

Some didn’t two shits about school or a fuck about their classmates.

This saddens me. I wish I could have gone back in time and stuck up for them or tried to smooth things out, but I never knew.

It made me and some of my classmates realize that not everyone had as great a time as we did. They had horrible times.

This and the list of our classmates who have passed away is the hardest thing to process.

I guess your school years are what you make of them. Not everyone has confidence, an outgoing personality, intelligence, athleticism, musical, or singing talent.

People had shitty home lives. No one knew I did or that I was even adopted. I hid my ulcerative colitis very well, no one except a few close friends knew how sick I was in high school.

School was my place to be “me” and forget about my troubles. I had a great time and had a lot of fun.

I wasn’t smart or dumb; I was right in the middle of our class. I tried hard at everything I did, and besides homework, which I hated, I gave it my all.

These friendships, which I made in the third grade when we moved to Iselin, have withstood the test of time, and I cherish all of them.

Everyone called me Julz, and it felt right as though my name was Julz, as I had heard them all say it all along.

I told them the truth when people asked me why I went by Julz. The response was good for you, Julz! Yay!

It was one of my first posts of the year when I talked about subscribing to my go-to food blogs, hoping to have dinner ideas galore waiting for me in my email inbox.

Yeah, in theory, it was a good idea, but as I suspected, I was inundated with multiple emails from the five blogs I subscribed to.

The worst part was nothing inspired me. Most recipes call for a slow cooker or an instant pot. I have neither by choice.

Today, here in Arlington, VT, it was a gray, foggy, rainy, mixed precipitation kind of day. The miserable kind of day that makes you not want to leave the house.

When I look at the weather on Wednesdays for dance class, Marty tells me when there is snow in the forecast, I will be fine by explaining our truck is all-wheel drive, has good tires, and to just drive slow. Yup.

This morning, he told me things looked iffy for my drive home from dance. I thought about what to do while we were working in the production kitchen.

I came up with my decision and called my dance partner Kathleen.

I told her I was staying home tonight and explained why. She told me to relax and that things would be fine without me. I already knew that.

Kathleen and I have been dancing together for 20 years. We’ve danced and spent untold hours together. We are growing older together and getting wiser.

As we age, she tells me, since we don’t have any estrogen left, we give less fucks about things. True. ✔️

We also do what we want to do and not feel obligated to say yes to things we don’t want to do. ✔️

We listen to our bodies and common sense and don’t feel guilty about our decisions. ✔️

So instead of teaching dance class right now, I unsubscribed to those five food blogs. It feels good to get rid of things that drive me nuts.

Getting rid of things right away is freeing. Such as, stopping a TV show only after 1 episode helps me not waste my time.

Deleting a music playlist or Kindle book that doesn’t do anything for me or getting rid of old recipes that turned out like shit.

Ah, the power of the delete button. I’ve deleted many blog posts after I go back to edit them. I like to let them simmer for a bit and reread them.

This happens when I hear Jon Katz’s voice boom in my head; it was one of the first things he told me about writing. Ask yourself why would anyone give a shit?

I am proud I am not such a lazy ass anymore since I am better about returning things right away that I don’t like or am disappointed in.

Money is tight, so returning shit right away is cash back in my pocket. I used to let them sit in my backseat for weeks.

I missed class tonight and my friends but needed to play hooky and hunker down. I never would have done this ten years ago or known what self-care was.

As far as all those pesky emails from the blogs, they are gone. That is the beauty of the unsubscribe button way down the bottom of emails in a print so small you need a fucking magnifying glass to see it.

While typing this, I received emails from each site telling me I unsubscribed.

I appreciate you guys for not hitting the unsubscribe button and continuing to read my spontaneous blog.

I always say that sometimes I never know what the post will be or turn into until I start typing.

When I started typing about unsubscribing, I had no idea it would turn into talking about getting older and wiser. 😜

***Update the roads were horrible last night! The plow truck drove by our house at least 6 times while I would have been at dance. Cars off the road everywhere. Thanks Marty for the heads up. ♥️

I was prepping our dinner tonight when I got a text from Aja, Noah’s girlfriend. She sent a photo, and I was immediately excited about what they were doing.

They were in Noah’s friend Steven’s plane. Steven was the pilot. They were headed to Block Island, then around Manhattan. How exciting!

The two of them went to Connecticut for the weekend so Aja could meet his friends and take her places in his old stomping grounds. Noah lived there and worked for Audi but returned home because he missed Vermont.

It’s good that he did, or he would have never met Aja. They just celebrated their first anniversary. They have done a lot in a year, including a trip to Mexico in September.

I have never seen my son act and look so happy. They moved in together and have a cute little apartment. He’s the cook, and she makes salads. I wonder who cleans the toilet? Lol.

Not only does my son look happy, but he has matured dramatically this past year. He reminds me so much of how Marty was when we were dating, including leaving a bouquet on Aja’s car, like father-like son.

Aja and I are getting to know each other better. I love spending time with her. I am completely myself with her, which is wonderful. She and I share the same birthday, automatically making us birthday twins. 😊

I asked her if it was okay if I wrote about her, and she said yes, so here we are.

I told Noah how proud of him. I continued by telling him that I am proud that Sam is focusing on his career and accomplishing all the goals he sets for himself; Noah is successful in everything in his life. How lucky am I to have these guys as sons?

Watching my son have a fantastic relationship with an amazing person is lovely. I love seeing him, so excited to share everything with her. Like this weekend trip to visit his friends.

To see how happy he is, smiling his head off in all the photos. This is a smile we never saw before, not even when he was little.

I think we all can agree that as parents, all we want is for our children to be happy, knowing he is; is a homerun.

I look forward to watching their relationship grow and spending more time with them. There isn’t one person who doesn’t tell me they have never seen Noah so happy before.

Awww. ♥️

Yesterday, our front door opened and Sam walked into the house. I asked him what he was doing here.

“I was in Albany.” I immediately knew he tested to become a certified fight nurse. This test only has a 50% pass rate the first time you take the test.

Since Sam finished his coursework online and in-person classes, he has been studying.

When I say studying, I mean serious studying in all of his free time. Marty and I have no idea where that came from, not us.

When Sam came here in October for the EMS conference he and Marty went to, he brought his flash cards.

It was thick stack of flash cards that he made and laminated. This is how he studies. Marty quizzed him in their spare time.

I am so glad to report he passed his test! Sam will take the certified flight paramedic test in the next week or so.

He wants to take it while everything is fresh in his mind however, he still will be studying until then.

I don’t write about my kids much but when something like this happens, I need to share the news.

A psychic friend told me when the kids were young that Sam will accomplish anything he puts his mind to. My friend was right.

Sam isn’t the type to blow his own horn, like everything in his life he is a very private person.

There are only 5,000 certified flight nurses in the country. Now there are 5001. I think that is a huge accomplishment for a 23-year-old.

To be hired as a certified flight nurse is easier said than done and is no small feat. It is also extremely competitive.

There are many steps to even be considered.

Applications are studied and scrutinized. If you are chosen there is more testing for the agency you are applying to.

Next, you must go before a panel of experienced emergency medicine experts and answer a a battery of questions.

They give the applicant several medical scenarios for them to explain everything that must be done.

Emergency flight work is a serious, adrenaline-pumping, complicated job that takes a certain kind of person.

If you are hired, there is more learning and training that can take months before you are part of a flight crew.

When the fight crew goes on a mission they must get the patient stabilized before take off.

Once the plane or helicopter takes off, that is the flight crew’s main focus: safety.

As a mom, it makes me a nervous wreck but this is something Sam has been striving for: for years.

For now, he will remain a nurse in the very busy emergency department at UVM where traumas come through the door constantly.

There are many learning opportunities at UVM. Sam wants to get as much experience and knowledge while he continues his education.

Down the road, when the time is right he will then go through the grueling process of being hired by an agency.

Sam left this morning to go back to Burlington. We may not see him until Christmas so I made sure I got a lot of hugs in. ☺️

You can see more orbs in the distance.
I took screenshots from the video and enlarged the image so you see the orbs better.

In 2006, my gastroenterologist found a large tumor on my right or ascending colon and my appendix. It was scary. When I went to the surgeon, I freaked out; this was a big deal.

Within five days, I found myself in the hospital having surgery to remove the benign tumor. I spent three days in the hospital, making sure the colon reattachment worked.

I can never sleep in the hospital like most people. The night of my surgery, I lay there on my back, listening to the activity at the nurse’s station in our dimly lit room.

My roommate was an elderly woman who barely spoke. The curtain between us was pulled so we couldn’t see each other.

As I lay there, I began seeing a hundred little white circles fluttering fast on our ceiling. It was bizarre; I thought I was seeing things from the meds I was given.

More and more little lights kept showing up on the ceiling. I watched them in awe, thinking, what the fuck is going on?

With that, all the doors to the patient’s rooms automatically slammed shut. I didn’t know there was a code on our floor that made all the doors close. 

As I watched the little lights on the ceiling, the woman in the bed next to me said, “They are coming for him.” I asked her if she could see the lights, too, and she said yes, she saw them multiple times in the hospital. I thought I was not seeing things.

Suddenly, all the little lights were exiting our room and going down the hallway. I could see them on the hallway ceiling, too. My delayed response was, “They are?” She didn’t answer me; she probably fell asleep after all the excitement.

Half an hour later, the staff members opened everyone’s door. I asked if someone just died when the nurse walked into our room. She hesitated, then replied and said yes. Holy shit! The woman in the next bed was correct. 

I lay there for the rest of the night, thinking about what happened. I worried that I saw the little lights like the old woman. I kept wondering why.

It was strange but beautiful knowing all those orbs that filled the hospital rooms came to help or greet the newly deceased person cross over to the other side.

Ever since then, I see orbs in videos that I take or sometimes with my own eyes fluttering around. I find them comforting. They aren’t in a hurry like they were that night in the hospital.

Orbs are the spirits of ancestors, friends, and family members that peacefully crossed over to the other side, but their energy is still all around us. It is a beautiful thing to see and feel.

Believe what I am saying or not. I plan to take more nighttime videos to see if any are still out there.

Happy Friday, folks! 

Photo image Bethany Webster

My mother, Eileen, passed away two years ago today. All I felt was relief and freedom, and I vowed not to go through this again with her through all bands of time.

The photo I chose came from an article written by Bethany Webster. I wasn’t sure what image I would use for this post, but then I saw this one.

For the last two years, I’ve worked through a lot of emotional shit my mother put me through. I am still working hard at it. 

I haven’t been able to forgive the 50 years of constant emotional, psychological, and sometimes physical abuse. This shit has fucked me up big time.

There were too many mean attacks to remember or write about. I learned to always be on guard early because I never knew one would come out of nowhere. 

Now that she is gone, I still cannot fathom, as a mother, how she could have behaved toward me the way she did. 

When I see nine-year-olds, it’s unbelievable how anyone could turn on a child or treat them like Cinderella. How? Where did her anger and punishments come from?

I know my mother was whacked as fuck and conveniently forgot how she really treated me, or so she made it seem. Meryl Streep had nothing on my mother, who could act up a storm.

The photo with the mother holding the umbrella for the little girl struck a nerve. My mother appeared to take care of me, watch out for me, and love me.

However, in the shadows, only close family members knew differently but never came to my rescue or said anything. This I learned from my Godmother before she died; the greatest gift I ever received was finding out it was her and not me.

The photo reminded me of what my mother told me; she always sang “You Are My Sunshine” when I was little anytime we heard it. I don’t remember that ever happening; I remember things from 3 to 4 years old. 

She called me “love” as an adult, which turned my stomach; she called me “you stupid son of a bitch” on an almost daily basis growing up. I cringe, still thinking about it.

The photo’s shadows remind me how I never told anyone about my life. My friends knew I couldn’t stand my mother, and I was often sick with ulcerative colitis. That’s all I let on. No one could stand their mother at times; this was different.

I think about why I never spoke with anyone about her. First, I didn’t trust anyone to tell for fear it would worsen things. I had no one to talk to. I still get angry with my father since he never once helped me. Why? I thought I was “daddy’s little girl.”

While cleaning the production kitchen this morning, I spoke to my mother directly. In a nutshell, I told her I wasn’t over the monster she was. I may never be.

I didn’t thank her for the abuse that made me a better, stronger person. A person who never gave her the satisfaction she was always looking for. She would stare at my face to see my reaction. She didn’t deserve it. Call me Poker Face.

I tried as hard as possible to summon a good memory, which there was, but I couldn’t. I can’t smile when I think about her or miss her.  That’s how she left me, raw.

I know it’s all me that still tortures myself by her actions, so I try to push anything to do with her out of my head. I’m getting better at it.

I did think of her today because it’s the day she died. That’s it.