Category: Life

October 21, 1989

Two weeks ago, Marty said the nicest thing that meant the world to me. We’ve been together since 1985; 38 years later, he still gives me the butterflies and surprises me with the little things in life.

If you know anything about me, I don’t sugarcoat things, to say our relationship is all sunshine and roses; it’s not. It’s a marriage.

Sometimes, I want to hit him over the head with a frying pan or wring his neck, but we always talk it out and make up a couple of hours later. 

We have never gone to bed mad at each other. It’s a lot of give and take, the fine art of compromising.

You can’t throw in the towel, folks, when things get tough; that’s the for better or for worse part of most wedding vows. Marriage is work. Period.

A toast to us.

When couples stand before a priest, rabbi, justice of the peace, or ordained minister, they say those words but have no idea what they are in for down the road. It is all sunshine and roses at that moment, so enjoy it.

For the last 28 years, it’s been up to me to figure out what in fucks name to make for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It is not an easy task that is daunting and never-ending. It was even more challenging when the boys were growing up.

One hot night, when I was exhausted and didn’t feel like cooking, Marty said, “It shouldn’t always be your job to figure out what to make for dinner.” What??? Did I hear right?

After he uttered those words, I could imagine a choir of angels singing like in a TV commercial. I was so stunned and happy. I ran over, kissed him on the cheek, and hugged him. This is a game-changer, people!  

Last week, when I came home exhausted from a long day of work and dance classes, Marty had dinner and a caffeine-free rum and coke with a lemon wedge waiting for me. It was so good, and I didn’t have to make it!

This was such a sweet thing, and I appreciated it. Until now, I would come home, drag in groceries, put them away, and then reheat something I made after production before I left for Bennington.

When I didn’t have time to make something ahead, I would whip something together; those nights, we didn’t eat until after 9 pm. 

Tuesday night, we discussed what we could have on dance night. We decided on cubano sandwiches made from leftover pork and leftover hot-crash potatoes.

Look at Nelly in the bottom right corner. I am so thrilled relaxing with my cocktail. ❤️

When I got home last night, Marty had everything ready to make the sandwiches, the flattop grill was hot, and a rum and coke waiting for me. 🤗

I watched him make our cubano sandwiches while sipping my drink and telling him about my day. We were done eating at 9 pm. How wonderful! Honestly, it’s so enjoyable now when I get home late from dance.

Marty may not know how happy this makes me. We are business partners; now I feel like we are swans, life partners, sharing responsibilities at home, like we do at work.

One of my favorite photos of us was taken by my sister Jennifer.

Marriage is ever-evolving; we are in it for the long haul, for better or for worse, through good times and bad. 

We’ve had our share of both and are always there for each other; we are very blessed, indeed. 💞

Have a great day. I’m off to work. 

My life has changed remarkably since having pneumonia and being diagnosed with interstitial lung disease.

Ever since I was little, summer was my favorite season. We were out of school; I could swim in our small, above-the-ground pool, which felt like an Olympia-sized pool when I was nine.

I really loved summer when I was a teenager. Being out of school and my house was vital. When I was 15 & 16, I worked as a summer camp counselor at a YMCA and as a lifeguard. It was fun with lots of cute boys at the Y. 

As I got older, I would go down the with my girlfriends. Every year, I got to stay at someone’s family’s place or chip in for a shorehouse. It was great being away, even though I had to call my mother from a payphone every night to check-in.

I called her early, long before the partying started. My mother would lay a guilt trip on me. While she was talking, I wasn’t listening; instead, I was puffing away on a cigarette, deciding what I would wear that night and where to eat.

For the record, I quit smoking in ’93 when we tried to get pregnant and never picked up another cigarette. I haven’t smoked for 30 years. Nothing makes me want to punch someone more when they find out I have lung disease and ask if I smoke. Mind your own fucking business, Karen!

Those were the days, laying on the beach, getting tan in our tiny bikinis, wearing our high heel Candie’s shoes while walking the boards, eating boardwalk food, flirting with guys, and drinking our asses off. It was so much fun!

Of course, I thought of Edith and Archie singing, “Those were the days,” imitating their voices in my head after I wrote that last paragraph. Also, for the record, I love doing impressions of people.

When Marty and I were dating, I went down the shore with him every Saturday & Sunday morning. He was a DJ at a club three nights a week until 2 a.m., so he looked forward to catching some zzz’s on the beach.

Back then, he had a white Alfa Romeo convertible. We would fly down the Garden State Parkway with the top down and grab a quick breakfast to-go, usually donuts and coffee. 

We got to the beach super early to have the beach to ourselves before the droves of assholes showed up. You know, the ones who have the whole damn beach to pick where to sit, and they would plot their stupid asses right in front of us, blocking our view of the ocean.

We would move, and I would mutter strings of curse words the whole time. We would leave before the busiest time of the day to avoid the people and the horrific shore traffic on the way home. 

A 20-30 minute drive to the shore could take hours coming home if you didn’t plan it right. Traffic and my mother were the reasons we left NJ and moved to Vermont. True story.

When our kids were small, I was a stay-at-home mom; I would pack lunches, snacks, drinks, extra clothes, blankets & towels, beach toys, my chair, and a bunch of other shit for the day. 

We would get to the lake around 10:30 a.m. and not leave until close to 5 p.m. Marty worked a lot to support us, and he spent time at the rescue squad, so there was no rush to go home.

When I returned to work, it was at the kids’ schools as the Food Service, culinary instructor, and lunch lady. I still had the summers off and took the kids to the lake or other places whenever possible.

Then, the kids grew up, and I worked two jobs seven days a week for several years. At one job, I worked outside at a hotdog wagon, so at least I got to be outside. You have to do what you have to do; I was lucky enough to have all those summers with my boys. 

We got our pool three years ago this month. I loved laying on my floating lounge in the sun and relaxing. I blocked everything out and would focus on the warmth of the sun and rolling off my lounge chair when I got too hot.

I could take myself back to when I was 11 or 12 when I used to do the same thing; the only thing different was not having to listen to my mother yell at the other kid they adopted, who behaved horribly and lied about everything.

Then, I became ill this past winter, and everything changed. I found out I couldn’t take the summer heat; I sweated all the time. On humid days, I couldn’t breathe. The Canadian wildfires made matters even worse.

Marty and I battled all summer over the temperature in our home; he was constantly cold in the living room where he sat, where the mini split is. I was in other parts of the house, especially the kitchen, which left me miserably hot, sweaty, and cranky.

I went into the pool when it was shady and not too hot. I took the coldest showers I possibly could because warm water made me feel too hot. It is possible to sweat in the shower, people.

I still don’t know why I was so overheated. It wasn’t hot flashes like people immediately would suggest to me. I would say to them that ship pulled out of the port a long time ago. Again, mind your own business, Karen.

The breathing issue was still new to me this summer and scary at times. Not being able to breathe would stop me dead in my tracks, making it hard for me to keep up with people, especially my sister Jen when she was visiting for the fourth of July. I could barely climb the stairs, which made me stressed and sad during her visit.

This was the summer that rained, was cloudy or hot and humid. We had very few nice summer days. The summer was horrible for everyone in our area, but it was a summer of “what the fucks” for me. No one understood how horrible I felt and how depressed I was.

We’ve had a few crisp and clear mornings with no humidity, and it felt heavenly. I can breathe easily and am not winded going up and down the stairs. I have not been tired and sluggish like I have been all summer.

I worked very hard and pushed through the depression and remembered what Hawk, my power animal, told me when a hawk flew over my car when I was driving to dance class.

I went back to looking at everything from a different perspective, to look at the beauty around me and live in the moment.

Once I started living in the moment again and stopped worrying about everything by giving my worries, doubts, and fears away, my happiness and positivity returned. Being happy is a choice, and so is being miserable and negative.

This morning we had our tea and coffee on the front porch with Klausie and Nelly. The sun was warm, I had to take off my long-sleeved shirt over my T-shirt. The sun wasn’t brutal; it was warm and lovely.

When Marty asked me what I thought the temperature was, it was unbelievable; it was 42 degrees outside, but it felt like it was 70. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, which was a brilliant blue.

Marty looked at the time; it was almost 8 a.m. We had to pry ourselves off the porch to start production. I got Klausie and Nelly inside by asking them, Who’s hungry? They are always hungry, but they didn’t have their breakfast yet.

After feeding them, it was time for me to go to work. Afterward, we ate lunch on the deck, under the umbrella with the pups at our feet. It was glorious; it was 73 degrees, perfect for me.

After a summer that made me even more depressed than I have been, I realized that summer isn’t my favorite season anymore, even though I waited all year for it. That was a giant WTF for me.

That is as hard a pill to swallow as being unable to dance fast anymore. Things change on a dime; you have to roll with the punches like I am trying to do or curl up and die.

It’s going to be clear and chilly tonight, in the upper 40s. The sky will be filled with a million stars and planets. Star gazing is fantastic here since we don’t have light pollution.

Getting a good night’s sleep on cool nights like these is better than having our bedroom air conditioner on the meat locker setting, which Marty doesn’t mind since he is hunkered down under the covers.

Well, I guess summer isn’t my season anymore; fall is. It isn’t the end of the world with gorgeous days like today.

Happy Friday! Enjoy your holiday weekend, guys.

I gave a quick update on Monday’s blog post that I don’t have pulmonary fibrosis. I was relieved and happy when Dr. Stewart told me the good news. 

My pulmonologist at Dartmouth Hitchcock was young, intelligent, and easy to talk to and understand. 

He sketched out drawings to explain what I do have, interstitial lung disease. It’s not a quickly progressing disease, and there are two medications when it does progress. 

I received the best answer I could have gotten that day. It sucks that I have lung disease, but it’s something that won’t kill me in 3-5 years.

On Wednesday, I had some breathing problems which I knew would affect me at dance class. 

I had to come up with a plan and how I could adapt how I could dance. Breathing doesn’t affect how I teach, which I love.

I spoke with Kathleen about how we can adapt to my new condition. We came up with a variety of things we can do. 

Next, we discussed how we can adapt our classes for our students. Kathleen made my dancing adaptation easy.

Kathleen danced to the fast songs during my tribal workout. Emily is away and usually does the fast songs for me.

Our level one class constantly evolves with who we have in class and the students’ levels. Wednesday night’s class was clumsy, and I wasn’t happy with how it went.

I wasn’t teaching my students’ technique; I only was watching them dance, making a few suggestions. (This had nothing to do with my breathing issues.)

I let everyone know how I felt about what we tried. I thought out loud, and with the students’ help, we devised a new plan that should work.

During the next class with our core group of dancers, I told them about my condition and what it meant. 

These women and I have all bared our souls to one another. I tried to be positive when I spoke to them and shared what Kathleen and I came up with. (Kathleen had to leave early that night.)

I also shared on a deeper level why it’s been hard for me to teach so many different levels of students at once. Again, we came up with more ideas to give all the students what they need since everyone progresses at different times.

I was good with everything during class but began crying while driving home. I was sobbing in my truck before I got home. 

I thought I accepted having lung disease because I came up with ways to adapt. It turns out it isn’t that easy. 

I came into the house still weepy. When Marty asked me how class went, I started crying again—ugly crying. I told him I was having trouble processing everything and how hard it was. This was life-changing shit going on. 

We talked about it briefly, then decided to eat our dinner at 9 pm. I had a glass of wine while I ate and calmed down. 

This week has felt long and tiring. I’ve been busy doing things with little time to sit down and feel sorry for myself. I am not sure what I’ve been doing since today I realized our house was a fucking disaster; well, for me, anyway, I am a neat freak.

Many people have much worse things going on health-wise, but I feel like this was another sucker punch on top of dealing with other severe health and mental shit.

It’s Friday afternoon, and I am still in processing mode. Marty can brush things off and move on with life; I can not. He was “in one ear and out the other” poster child when dealing with things growing up and still now.

Why did dancing make me realize I have not accepted my current situation? Dancing was the thing that saved me from taking my own life and my boys’ lives 20 years ago, so now losing a big chunk of it makes me sad. I am grieving.

I can’t just fucking move on and adapt as quickly as people think I should. I still have to accept this significant change in my life which will never get better than it is today.

It took me a long to accept getting older, but this isn’t about age; it’s about the inability to do things you love.

I don’t really have a happy ending for this blog post, except at least it wasn’t fibrosis which would have been life-ending. I haven’t felt like writing this week, but today I needed to.

It’s not a “Happy Friday” kind of Friday for me this week, but I’ll “get over it” and snap out of it with time. Thanks for listening and sharing with me your comments which mean a lot, and are super supportive. 💜

San Marzano tomatoes!

*** I wrote three blog posts this week, two in my head and one on my laptop. I decided not to publish any of them. They were troubling posts to write and even more so for you to read.

I went outside with Nelly, and we visited our little terrace garden this morning before it got too hot out. It always makes me smile, and so does she. Klaus was sunning himself on the warm driveway. They are seldom on this side of our yard this summer and I know Klaus misses it.

Nelly is almost full size.

Our veggie garden did surprisingly well, considering this is the soil’s first year and not to mention all the rain we’ve had in July. The wettest July to date, I believe.

The plants started slowly because we had cold nights in May and even the beginning of June—cold nights, not cool ones.

Our tomatoes are doing pretty well, although I admit with six plants, I expected more tomatoes. Of eight pepper plants, only two have pepper on them. We have zero eggplant which is very disappointing.

The herbs I’ve been using regularly for all kinds of dishes. I use basil and French tarragon the most. It’s hard to keep up with how much basil we have (not a bad problem to have, believe me.) Soon, I’ll have to freeze some to use in the winter for a taste of summer.

I am beginning to find recipes to use more of the growing herbs, such as lemon verbena and pineapple sage, both of which I’ve used in chicken dishes. We have spicy and regular oregano that I’ve been putting in my red sauces which add lots of flavor.

The rosemary plant that my friend Marcia gave me when she moved back to France last spring looks like an outdoor bush. Somehow, I kept it alive over the winter. It was dry looking, lost many needles in some areas, and scraggly if I am being honest.

Now, it’s so hearty and full. I love the intoxicating smell of rosemary when I brush my fingers along one of the branches. I use rosemary in a lot of my cooking. I hope it transitions well when I bring it back indoors.

Originally we put the garden in because I wanted to focus on things that bring me joy, and our little garden does exactly that. I like spending time in the garden alone and in the morning. We have two chairs on the terrace that I love to sit in.

Our little terrace garden is a peaceful place for me to enjoy. I feel the same zen effect as I do when I cook. When I go out to snip some herbs for dinner in the evenings, I usually have a glass of wine with me.

I had a delivery to make this morning and had errands to run in Bennington; I took Nelly with me. She hasn’t been shopping for a while and did great. She loves seeing people and riding in the cart.

If the weather cooperates, we hope to cook breakfast on our flattop grill tomorrow morning. Pancakes with strawberry whipped cream, hashbrowns, bacon, and eggs.

Sunday breakfast is a luxury we love since we only grab something quick before production during the week. Hopefully, we can eat outside on the deck; it always feels like we are eating out somewhere to me whenever the umbrella is up. Lol.

I am going to the movies tomorrow in the early afternoon with my friend David and possibly his husband, Arthur. I’m glad I am not going alone like I initially thought. I don’t go to the movies often, but now that I may have friends to go with me, I will. Marty is not a movie guy.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see the Barbie movie because I saw one of my friends didn’t care for it. Then I saw too many to count reviews from other friends that loved it.

My dance sister Bethany loved it; if she did, I will too. We always joked we shared a brain that’s how well we knew each other.

I am going to do everything in my power tomorrow to keep my mind busy and try not to think about my pulmonary appointment on Monday morning at Dartmouth. I am trying to stay positive and will hopefully hear the results I am praying for.

Grilled chicken topped with mozzarella and bruschetta made with tomatoes, olive oil, balsamic, fresh basil, and peaches, topped with grated parmesan cheese.

I’m looking forward to tonight’s light summer meal of grilled bruschetta chicken with our favorite watermelon and feta cheese salad. Light and refreshing after a hot day at the market for Marty.

This post sounds like more of a journal entry, but it’s all I have in me today. Thanks for sticking around. Enjoy your Sunday. Goodnight! 😴

“All my adult life, I’ve been told by many people that they used to think I was very intimidating before they got to know me. Ok, then. No one has explained what was so intimidating about me.”Well, I don’t know, you’re just intimidating.” 

It happened two or three times in the last year. It happens at least once a year, catching me off guard. I always tried to figure out what I did, looked like, or said to make me intimating.

A new person in our small group of friends shared this with me about their son months after meeting him. I asked how their son was doing. Instead of answering me, they told me their son thought I was “scary and intimidating” when he met me. I told them this shocked me, and they said, “Well, he was.”

What the fuck? To say I was mad and sad is an understatement. First off, why would someone in my friends’ group say that to me? Why? To hurt me? I didn’t understand.

Well, they got their wish because I was hurt. I thought back to when I met this person’s son. It was Thanksgiving evening; we went to a friend’s place after dinner for a nightcap.

When I was introduced to this person’s son, I was in a great mood, drinking wine, laughing, and telling stories with everyone in the room. I went home thinking what a fun night and what a lovely young man this person’s son was. 

After being in their company several times afterward, their son and I got along great since both of us loved to cook. I never mentioned his parent’s words about him, but I wanted to. I left it alone, but I had trouble letting it go.

While sipping my tea this morning, I opened my Facebook newsfeed and saw this post on my friend Liz’s page.

The first time I read it, I was like, wow! I reread it a few times and said out loud,” Well, I’ll be damned! That’s it!” 

“It’s not me; it’s them!” Well, for fucks sake, I wish I had known this years ago. I would have saved time thinking about what I said or did.

Since I was a young girl, I’ve always been a leader. I was picked as cheerleading captain every year except as an underclassman on the varsity cheering squad. After that, I was captain again through my senior year. 

A girl I cheered with since the third grade told me a few years ago when we ran into each other she asked our coach why she didn’t ever make captain. 

I was uncomfortable as hell when she started telling me this story. I apologized to her and said I didn’t know you were upset or wanted to be captain. I just always got chosen.

She and our coach’s families were friends; she couldn’t understand why Mrs. Rossi always picked me. As an adult, she asked why she was never chosen captain. Mrs. Rossi said, “She’s not better than you; she’s a natural-born leader.” She told me as an adult, she could see what Mrs. Rossi meant and now agrees with her.

I thought about what she said; I am still a leader at belly dance and a business owner with Marty. My creation started the business, which I am still proud of. I had the confidence to know we had a product winner and would not fail.

I am an honest and assertive person, as that post said. I am confident without being obnoxious. I am a fun person, which people can tell after they get to know me for five minutes.

I walk with a purpose with excellent posture. Whenever I am in a store, people always ask me questions or directions about the store. If I know the answer, I will tell them. I tell them I don’t work here if I don’t know. They always seem surprised. 

I asked one man why he thought I worked there; he replied, “Because you have a useful look about you.” I smiled and thanked him. That was a big compliment to me and made a lot of sense.

Reading this Facebook post this morning eliminated all those unanswered questions about why some people found me intimidating. It’s not about me, it’s about them, and you know what? I can now see in each person who said it to me why they felt that way.

I no longer have to feel apologetic; I can take it for what it is and who it comes from. I can move on, with them or without them.

. 

Artwork courtesy of Lousy drawings for good people.

My mother passed away 1 1/2 years ago, and I haven’t received any signs, not that I expected any. I got a sign shortly after she passed from my dad.

I wrote about it finding two pennies in a puddle, one with his birth year and the other was hers. 

It was him telling me she was with him. I said out loud good for them. At that point, I was still going through a lot of angry and sad emotions, but I was glad they were together.

Yesterday, I was putting some change into our change bucket, and I saw a quarter with the year 1957, the year my mother graduated from high school.

I knew it was a sign and said,” I know it’s from you mom.” There, I acknowledged it but didn’t feel one way or another 

Today, a butterfly, also a sign for my family, tried to fly into the sliding glass door of the living room. I shooed it away and said, ” I know that was you.”

Other than acknowledging the sign, the one that made me speak to her was a doozy. It’s funny how the other side is relentless in getting their point across.

While I spring cleaned upstairs this morning, hey, better late than never, I went through and organized my belly dance jewelry, my own jewelry, and things I kept from my mother. 

I’ve gone through Eileen’s shit so many times it’s ridiculous, so this was the final clean-out or keep. I kept some costume jewelry that I liked and started wearing. I had a box of stuff I wasn’t sure what to do with.

I opened the box I didn’t know what to do with and said, “Holy shit.” There were two silver circles, one engraved with Mother and the other said, Grandma. I didn’t buy them, so I guess she did. 

I put them in a new narrowing-down box last week, but today I found them together with a white hair on them. Her hair color after her stroke. Weird. It started to make me angry.

I spoke to my mother aloud and said, “Well, Mom, I hope you now realize how rotten and terrible you were to me and how much you hurt and abused me.”

I kept going, “ I am working really hard to let go and move on, but I haven’t been able to forgive you yet. I’m not sure if I ever can.”

It’s exactly what I wish I had the courage to say while she was alive, but as a narcissist, she would not have understood and would turn the tables on me like always. Narcissists are never wrong or to blame for anything.

How do I feel? Most of the day, I felt numb, like when she died. It didn’t make me feel better even though she threw me some signs.

As I try to heal, each time I think of something she did to hurt me, and there are a million, I tie a balloon to it in my mind’s eye and let it go. 

It has been working since I don’t think about the hurt as much. I really didn’t need a monkey wrench thrown at me today. It made me upset even though I woke up in a great mood and had many projects planned.

I spoke to her again this afternoon and said, “ One of my spirit guides told me not to take your behavior personally. She said it was like a business contract that I agreed to it, and we both know how that went, don’t we?”

I went on to say. “I tried my hardest to help you, even though I didn’t know about our contract. I held up my part of the bargain by always giving you another chance.”

“Guess what, Mom, you blew it. You had thousands of chances since I was nine to treat me better, but you never did, especially when it was just you and me.”

“You were a complete phony around other people that I questioned myself over and over if it was me.” “Have you found out what your sister told me before her surgery?” (She died from complications.)

I got a call many years ago from my Aunt Claire. That’s when I found out my mother was a narcissistic monster. Aunt Claire told me It was all her and not me.

She said everyone in the family knew what was happening, but no one did anything about it. She asked me for forgiveness, and I told her I had nothing to forgive.

That night on the phone with Aunt Claire, she told me the truth. She gave me the greatest gift I ever received; it meant the world to me.

I kept saying, “Really?” I thanked her over and over. We said I love you before we hung up; that was our last conversation. She passed away right after surgery which left me grief-stricken. I still talk to her and continue to thank her for that phone call.

Turns out my life was a series of tests as part of that contract I agreed to. Her stroke and living for nine years in a nursing home was another big one. She pulled every trick in the book. She wove stories made up of manipulation, guilt, and lies.

I never lost my shit or cried in front of her. At the nursing home, I would walk down the hall, crouch, and silently cry so hard my body shook. 

The staff knew what was happening because they were all aware of the fucked up situation. They would let me cry in peace, or someone would come over and rub my back.

I found out I had to calm down before I tried to drive. One day, I was so upset I was almost t-boned when I turned out of the driveway. She really knew how to get to me.

She knew how to emotionally abuse me knowing I would torture myself for hours or days about what happened even after. This started at the age of nine and continued until she died.

No wonder I was very sick with ulcerative colitis since I was 14 and diagnosed at 16 with a severe case. She was relentless, always finding something to punish me for.

Thinking about all that shit makes me cry; that’s why I am trying to let stuff go. I realize I still have a long way to go, as I am crying while writing this. As in life, she got to call the shots by sending me signs, but it left me sad and angry all over again—a typical Eileen move. 

I don’t know why she sent signs. The hopeful little girl in me wished she was trying to apologize, but in life, the narcissist that she was never apologized for anything to anyone. It’s hard to believe that could even be a possibility. 

When I think I am starting to heal, I am not. What the fuck? It’s like she pulled the rug out from under me again. One step forward and two back.

I needed to write this today; I’ll probably lose a few more readers who don’t like when I write painful posts like this; oh well, life isn’t always a bowl of cherries.

I am mentally and physically exhausted; I completed all the projects on my to-do list. We have a sparkling clean bathroom and bedrooms. Now that I have taken care of the jewelry, I know exactly where and what I have.

I’ve never been so organized before, with the entire home. There is no more clutter, and everything has a place. No hidden garbage bags with crap or totes are filled to the brim. You know what? It feels fabulous!

Thanks so much for reading, guys. Love to you all. ~julz

*** The editing on this piece may not be perfect; I am headed to bed but wanted to publish this first.