I hate when I start second-guessing myself, especially when it’s something important.

Yesterday in the production kitchen, I silently talked to my deceased grandmother Nana, my mother’s mother. I heard her tell me to “Call the priest…administer Last Rites.”

That’s exactly what I did, the social worker called the priest, and he would be visiting my mother in the late afternoon.

I thanked Nana for the advice and felt good about my decision until we got to the care facility last night.

I asked if the priest came, and the nurses taking care of my mother said yes. I asked if she knew a priest was there. Yes, she knew, and it frightened her. She became distraught, freaking out. She kept asking if she was dying. This I didn’t expect to happen; I appreciated their honesty with me. I immediately started second-guessing myself and if it was even Nana’s message or just a stupid idea I came up with on my own.

When I saw my mother Sunday night, things looked grim, worse than grim. She was completely out of it, but she could hear us and respond a tiny bit. I never imagined in a million years she would become frightened if a priest showed up.

I started to cry in the hallway when I was talking to the nurses. They tried to console me, telling me it was the right thing to do, especially if it was something she would have wanted. She would have wanted it. I knew she would have.

Despite what Marty and the nurses told me, I felt terrible that she was so frightened. Who wouldn’t be? I didn’t think she’d be so alert. What’s done is done, and I can’t go back and change it. Everything I’ve ever done or bought was never the right decision when it came to my mother, so this isn’t any different. This is a true statement; I am not looking for sympathy.

Marty and I left the care facility after talking and sitting with her for a while. When I got home, my oldest son, Noah, wanted to say goodbye to grandma. I went back with him because I didn’t want him to have to go through it alone.

It’s heartbreaking to watch a parent dying, but watching my children visiting her is even more heartbreaking. It’s a sad situation. I was able to pull it together and was strong, calming, and supportive to Noah. Thank god I got my shit together to be able to accomplish this for him.

I prepared Noah how she looked, but it was still shocking for him, I know. He spoke to her, brought up some private jokes they had when he was little, and told her how much he loved her. We only stayed for a few minutes; she didn’t respond to us at all. I reassured Noah she heard him and knew he was there.

After we left, I know Noah felt grateful he got to say goodbye and have some closure. He told her as he was leaving not to be scared, Pop-pop would be there. He could never say goodbye to his other grandparents when they passed away, so this was very important to him.

Today I haven’t heard anything. I was on the road all day making deliveries after production this morning. Every time I wanted to call to see how she was, I didn’t have cell service, or I knew it was a bad time for the nurses to come to the phone.

I just got off the phone with one of her nurses that I really like and admire. She said things were the same; she was in pain today and was still getting morphine and her other meds. She was due for more morphine, the nurse told me; she would be able to sleep. I decided after a long day of working and driving to visit her tomorrow.

The care facility has been wonderful to her and us. The nurse told me I could call as much as I wanted to and, of course, visit as often as well. They took turns sitting with her, so she wasn’t alone. One of her former physical therapists was sitting with her last night when we arrived. It’s reassuring knowing she isn’t alone.

I still feel bad about the Last Rites, but I am ok with my decision. I’d rather be ok with it than regret that I didn’t do it. We will not have a formal funeral mass, so I wanted this for her.

Thank you so much for listening, you’re kind words and comments mean a lot, especially at a time like this. Thank you for being on this difficult part of the journey with me. ❤️ 

Are you ever really prepared to get that call? The one I’ve been dreading for years. The answer is…the best you can be. Last night I got that call; my mother was declining rapidly.

My mother Eileen had a massive stroke almost 8 years ago. They didn’t think she would pull through, but she did. The stroke left her paralyzed on the left side. I had to make the tough decision to put into a care facility. Our home isn’t large enough or set up for such care; neither was I mentally or physically. 

Over the last 8 years she’s given us a few big scares and pulls through as though nothing happened. This time is different; they moved her into a private comfort care room.

Even though the care facility isn’t allowing visitors due to Covid, we are allowed to visit her under the circumstances. She is in a special hall, in a private room where I can visit anytime I want to and can bring one other person with me. I have to go through covid screening and are lead through an outdoor entrance right outside her room. This is reassuring since covid is still a risk. 

Last night, Sam took me down to see her, Marty’s back is either strained or he has kidney stones again; whatever the case, he wasn’t in any shape to take me. Everything always happens at once in our family.

While Sam was driving to Bennington we talked a little about the situation; I was nervous to see her. When we walked into the facility we were protected with double duty COVID PPE….Personal protection equipment. 

I had absolutely no idea what I was going to say to her and knew the right words would come. My mother looked dead, pale, very thin and drawn. They were giving her meds to keep her calm and not in any pain if there was any. I saw her breath and took a deep breath and walked towards the bed.

Sam immediately went and talked to her, he’s a nurse and has great bedside manners. I become very quiet when faced with situations like these. I cried quietly a lot, then was able to find some words.

My relationship with my mother has been a difficult one when I was younger and again after my dad’s passing in 2000. When I approached her I did so with compassion and love. Anything that happened in the past stayed there. She recognized my voice; when I told her I loved her she mouthed it back. We didn’t stay long, Sam said she knew we were there, but needed her sleep. 

This morning I called in all of my mother’s family members that are all on the other side already and asked them to be with her. Next, I called the facility and asked how she was, she was the same; still recognizing voices and responding the best she could. 

I cried through production today. While I was washing dishes I asked my grandmother, Nana for help. She was the one who appeared in a dream right before my father’s death telling me she would be there with him when the time came. She had a strong personality in her prime; my father called her the drill sergeant. 

Not even two minutes later I heard her tell me to call a priest, he needed to administer the sacrament of Last Rites. I called the social worker making the request; she would contact the catholic priest Father Bob and ask him to come. Growing up in a strict catholic family I felt dumb I didn’t think of it myself. Thanks Nana!

I haven’t heard back yet when Father Bob would be coming, I am planning on visiting my mother again this evening with Marty. Eileen loves Marty and would be happy if he was with me.

I guess I was as prepared as I could be emotionally. I am prepared after her passing since I prepaid everything at the funeral home 3 years ago, something I won’t have to worry about when the time comes. I set it up that everything would go off without a hitch even if she outlived me. Sometimes, I thought it could very well be a possibility, so it’s one less thing to worry about.

I didn’t expect all of this since the decline came out of no where. I spoke with her on her birthday on October 3 and she sounded like her usual self. You never know when your time is up, so be sure to hug your loved ones and tell them you love them while you still can. 

I wrote this on my phone through tears so I apologize for the errors in the post. I’m going to rest now so I can get rid of this headache and have my wits about me when I visit her again tonight. 

Yesterday morning, we didn’t have to get up as early as usual on a Saturday morning, our farmers market day in Troy, NY. The night before, we stayed in Albany after dinner and a show with friends. 

I  got up early on my own and started writing in the hotel about the night before, the words flowing freely, words that were not kind or not very nice. By the time we pulled up to the farmer’s market, my phone must have been on the undo typing function and erased my post. I figured this was a sign, and I decided not to write about our experience until today.

I’ll start again and try to be honest and authentic, not mean. It was a disappointing night starting with a bad, under-par dinner at Dinosaur BBQ and ending with 3 hours of torturous, poor sound quality music. 

I would rather someone pluck hair by hair out of my head and body for three hours than have to sit through that show again. 

Look, I love all kinds of music genres and listen to music all the time, but this…oy vey! The show was held at the Troy Music Hall; Wikipedia calls it one of the country’s closest to perfect acoustical venues. 

The venue was built in the late 1800s and is a beautiful masterpiece that takes you back in time. The venue was used in the HBO series shot back in May and June, called the Gilded Age. You can read all about it here. 

As soon as we were seated, the opening act began. At first, I thought it was my hearing; then I realized it wasn’t just mine; it was the sound equipment. The vocals were drowned out by the musical instruments, which were two guitars.

I could not understand any of the lyrics because the vocals were muffled. I keep thinking, what the hell is the matter with the sound guy? Surely he could hear how bad it sounded? How could they fuck up acoustics in a close to perfect music hall?

The crowd’s energy level in the hall was non-existent; I tried to tune into the actual energy of the music hall to no avail. We were sitting under a big, black, negative, depressing cloud of sound. These two guys who were playing what I guess was folk music kept joking that they only had one happy song, which was called “Dark, dark, dark.” It sucked too.

At this point, both Marty and I couldn’t wait for their set to be over. They got a standing ovation, which was baffling to me. At this point, I never felt so out of place. A completely non/academic person, I would have felt more comfortable sitting in advanced college-level math or science class. I was a fish out of the water…a musical fish that understands musicality and sound. It was strange.

Lots of people didn’t come back after intermission. The two rows behind us were empty except for one couple behind me. The two guys sitting next to me dashed out in a flash. I thought to myself, “Oh no! What if the first act were who the people came to see and left?” I also thought maybe they hated it as much as I did. 

Then the main act started. I told you I didn’t know anything about the artist Patty Griffin before going to the show. I should have done my homework and not have waited to be surprised. It was worse than the opening act. Today, just for the hell of it, I read past reviews before the pandemic; you wouldn’t know it was the same performer they were writing about.

The same sound equipment plagued Patty’s music as the opening performers. Her sound had no life and drowned everyone again in a sea of depression. Every single song sounded the same. I couldn’t understand one word she said. She was on stage for two hours. 

What happened during the show is something that neither Marty nor I ever saw before at any event. Collectively, we’ve been to hundreds of shows but never saw so many people walk out of a performance. The woman sitting behind me kept whispering to the guy she was with, “This is so weird.” “Is there a new curfew we don’t know about?” “Why is everyone leaving?” I wanted to turn around and tell her it was because the show sucked, but instead, I kept my mouth shut just praying for the show to be over.

After her first song, 25 or so people exited the hall. After the second song, probably 50 more people left. Entire rows fled the scene. Song after song, people ran for their lives trying to get out of there. Some were laughing, and others had a look of panic like, “Get me the hell out of here and fast.” It was unbelievable, but I understood why they bolted.

Since we were invited to the show by our friend Martin, we were polite, sat in the now more than half-empty music hall pretending to clap after each miserable song. Martin wouldn’t have even know if we were polite because he was sleeping every time I looked 7 seats down from me. 😂

After the show, I thanked Martin for putting together a night with 8 friends. I know most of them felt like we did, but we didn’t hear them complain or bad mouth the show either. 

When we left the music hall, it was raining cats and dogs; pouring ridiculously hard, and none of us had coats to keep us dry because it was in the 70s outside. We had an 8-minute walk to our vehicles. We were like drowned rats when we got into the van. Luckily, we only had a 10-minute drive to the hotel. Those guys had an hour car ride packed in like sardines and had to sit in wet clothes. Ick.

Despite all the disappointments that happened, it was still a nice night. It was an important night because Martin invited us to join him and we all went. The only person missing was my friend Eileen, Martin’s wife, who passed away at the beginning of the pandemic on March 30, 2020. This was the first real outing for him since she passed away.

I wore my butterfly necklace to represent Eileen; I could feel her energy with us; this was just a symbol paying tribute to her. Her celebration of life will finally be held on October 30, their wedding anniversary. How horrible it had to wait so long because of Covid. 

After having the chance to rewrite my review of the evening, I honestly feel like my friend Eileen, who was maybe the kindest person I’ve ever met, hit that undo typing button. I can almost hear her say, “No, Julz, be nice.”

So, in the end, my post is like other posts I’ve written…honest and things people are afraid to say. I’m happy to have been to that beautiful music hall and an evening with friends. I just wish I remembered to pack a set of knitting needles to puncture my eardrums during the show. Sorry, Eileen, my beautiful butterfly friend, but this would have even gotten a chuckle out of you too. 

Ok, looking at the blog title, I should say, a crazy Autumn, not fall; thank goodness I didn’t take a header! Where we live in Arlington, VT, it’s crazy we haven’t had a real frost yet. We’ve come close a few times with the temps in the high 30’s, not cold enough for a frost. In past years it’s snowed in September or early October. Ugh!

We are up before the ass-crack of dawn most days, and there hasn’t been a frost. However, guess what popped up this morning in our backyard? Dandelions! 

Dandelions in mid-October are a bit strange. What’s even crazier is how hot it was again in our production kitchen today. I can tell when making my spätzle batter how hot and humid it was. I literally was sweating the whole time, especially when doing dishes for two hours with scalding hot water. 

What’s not crazy is this year’s foliage which is gorgeous and breathtaking. There is a part of the mountains when I get on the highway that is packed with color. I’m not really one of those people who pull over to take photos, but I did stop at the rest area, getting off our exit on Route 7, and took a few. Lord knows I keep seeing tourists pulled over in the most dangerous spots with their cameras.

In a Vermont Farm to Plate article, Marty and I read that this may have been one of the busiest weekends ever. Vermont general stores, coops, independent supermarkets, and specialty stores had banner sales this past weekend.

For Vermont to have its busiest weekend ever, it took many people behind the scenes getting food to stores and restaurants. Distributors, warehouse workers, drivers, farmers, specialty food producers, operational support staff, buyers, and sales staff made it happen.

How fantastic is that about our economy? Hopefully, the food and supply shortages forecast won’t become problematic for everyone in the food industry. However, we have started to see some backorders which have affected us already.

This week we had an enormous amount of retail orders to fill, and the clamshell packages we use are on backorder. We had to shift things around during production this week to do what we could. Hopefully, the packaging will come in mid-week next week like promised. 

Going to the grocery store last year and seeing empty shelves was horrific; I think I’ll never get over that frightening feeling. Now stressing out over getting ingredients and supplies for our business is even more terrifying. 

If food and other manufacturers can’t get ingredients, supplies, and packaging to make their products, everyone will be affected. I’m not putting that negative thought out into the universe, but it’s there, lurking under the surface. 

Two weeks ago, the labels that we ordered for our retail packages were also on backorder. We didn’t know the label company we use was swamped, and the lead time was much longer than normal. We made due using some leftover original labels that we still had. We used these for our farmer’s market customers and called the labels our commemorative labels. 😛

We are taking things in stride and trying to stock up the best we can. Small businesses like ours don’t usually have the funds to stock up on an abundance of supplies and ingredients; at least we aren’t in that position. 

I’m trying hard to remember to be on my journey and not focus on the destination through all this. I am trying not to get caught up in the news; I am always striving to live in the now. I am focusing on all that we do have, being grateful for the number of orders that are pouring in and our customers who continue to support us. 

Right now, I am grateful for this beautiful fall and the warm weather since we don’t have to turn the heat on yet. Another thing to be happy about is that our state, which is supported by tourism, had all of those tourists pulled over on the side of the road to take photos, shop in stores, eat in restaurants and buy Vermont specialty products like ours.

My journey also takes us tonight to the Troy Music Hall to see Patty Griffin with our friend Martin and a few of his friends. I love music, but to be completely honest with you, I don’t have a clue who Patty Griffin is. Martin knows her after cooking for her as a private chef earlier this summer and invited us to see her with him. How could we say no? We are going to have fun no matter what.

Before the pandemic, when I was living my life only focusing on the destination, I would have already looked Patty up and started listening to her music. I know she is a singer, songwriter, and musician who has written songs for many artists…that’s all I know.

The journey has me waiting to see and hear her perform her songs; waiting for anything used to be very hard for me to do, but I now want to be surprised. This is definitely new because I’m not too fond of surprises and things being sprung on me. The pandemic taught me the importance of this whole journey vs. destination lifestyle; so far, it’s worked out nicely, and I’ve started really enjoying life as opposed to racing through everything.

I cannot believe it’s already Friday; another week has flown by. It really is true that time goes by quicker the older you get. October used to be one of the longest months for me as a kid waiting for Halloween to come; now, it comes and goes in the blink of an eye.

Happy Friday, guys! Have a great day, and I’ll be sure to report back about the Patty Griffin show.

We used to work seven days a week…then we burned out after two years. As business owners, we felt as though we needed to work all the time while building our business, The Vermont Spätzle Company.

Sundays have always been my favorite cooking day of the week, beginning with a nice leisurely breakfast, something we don’t have time for the rest of the week. Most days, we chug a cup of coffee, grab something unremarkable and eat it standing up at the kitchen island before racing out to the production kitchen. 

We always had Sunday dinners when I was a kid..not at our house because that wasn’t my mother’s thing. Eating at someone else’s house or restaurant was right up her alley. My father didn’t give two shits where we ate as long as my mother was happy.

We ate at my grandmother Mema’s house, various friends of my parent’s homes, or out. I liked eating at Mema’s the most because she spent time with me after dinner playing cards. She wanted to play cards with me; she didn’t do it out of obligation or because I pestered her. I wasn’t allowed to pester anyone; I spoke when spoken to and kept myself busy most of the time. 

When our boys were young, I was a stay-at-home mom. Marty and I made sacrifices for this to happen, but it was important to us. I took my “job” very seriously. I made proper Sunday dinners every week because I wanted the boys to remember Sunday dinners like I did. When I went back to work, I didn’t have time to do shit on Sundays but clean, do laundry, throw something together quickly to eat, and get everything organized for the upcoming school week. This sounds familiar, doesn’t it? I didn’t enjoy my Sundays at all.

Our Sundays are bittersweet, quiet, and different now that Noah & Sam are grown-ups. Occasionally, when they are around, they have Sunday dinner with us. We rarely eat together anymore since Noah has his own place and Sam works crazy hours as an RN. When everything falls into place, I have a happy heart feeding my whole family a delicious dinner. 

Nowadays, Sundays may be our only day of “rest,” but we still have projects to do around the house, but now it’s only for the two of us. The projects can wait if need be, not like when the boys were little. I always carve out time to cook a proper Sunday dinner made with love, even if it’s just the two of us. 

Sunday dinners still feel special to me, especially if I use a dish or pan from my grandmothers. I guess I’m just a nostalgic mush when it comes to some things. My boys never got to eat Sunday dinner with either of our grandparents; hell, they rarely ate Sunday dinners with their own grandparents, which was too bad. I am sure to them all those Sunday dinners were just another meal cooked by Mama Julz but whatever.

Hopefully, someday they will want to come here on Sundays with their families because they want to, not because I pester them; I still try not to pester people. It would mean the world to me to cook for their families and play cards after dinner with the little ones; because I want to, not because I have to, just like Mema did with me. 

Whenever I write about Mema, I cry because she was such a special person in my childhood years. I guess I am a bigger mush than I let on. Looking and thinking back to those times bring back some wonderful memories I had with her.

Yesterday, I got a text in the late afternoon from my friend Jon Katz. Jon helped me as my writing teacher and mentor when I started my blog back in January. 

I learned so much from him, and his teaching style was perfect for me. The two of us couldn’t be more different, yet we are very similar in many ways. We are both very straightforward and “get” each other.

I am always happy to hear from Jon; yesterday, he sent me a link to his blog, and I was in it! Jon has written about me before, along with our belly dance troupe. His wife Maria is one of my belly dance students and friend.

Jon and Maria are also big supporters of Marty and my business, The Vermont Spätzle Company. When Jon sends me photos of his spätzle creations, it makes us drool. 

When I started my blog, I asked Jon and Maria for advice and guidance. They both have very successful blogs that I read every day. Jon’s blog is called Bedlam Farm Journal, and Maria’s is Fullmoon Fiber Art. They are both creative, artistic, brilliant people and were extremely helpful. Check out their blogs.

I love the blog post that Jon wrote that included me. You can click on the blog post link to read it for yourself. He describes me pretty accurately, and yes, I have a potty mouth sometimes. I tell it like it is…people either like me or hate me for it. 

Both Jon and Maria’s blogs are full of honesty; they share the ups and downs of their lives. Reading their blogs makes me feel like I am actually at Bedlam Farm with them. I live close enough that sometimes I go to the farm, like when the baby sheep Robin was born. It was important to me to have an honest and authentic blog, one that pulled no punches…one that shows what doing things Julzie Style is all about.

Speaking of ups and downs, last week was super busy filling orders, taking more orders, making deliveries, and being full of stress. All week we’ve been back and forth with our accountant trying to get our taxes done. Yesterday. I mailed them out (we filed an extension), and it felt great—what a relief. As busy as we are making, packing, boxing, delivering, and selling spätzle, we have the business’s administrative and accounting side to deal with. Neither of us likes that part of our business, but it has to be done.

After mailing the taxes, I got back from the post office; that’s when I got Jon’s text. It made my week! It made me smile and laugh out loud. “Blow it out your ass!” Thanks, Jon! 🤣

Yesterday, I wrote about the five different jars of peanut butter that our son Sam bought a couple of days ago.

This morning while I was looking for something in the pantry I found 8 boxes of different teas! Why on earth does a 21-year-old have 8 boxes of tea I wondered.

Granted when Sam gets home after a 12-hour shift as an RN in the emergency room he has to chill out. It takes a while for the adrenaline to go away. He has a snack and a cup of tea before going to bed around 7 am.

Back to the eight boxes of different teas; I threw one box away that was empty. On a side note, this makes me insane when my family leaves empty boxes in the pantry. I take a quick peek before grocery shopping and think we are all set with cereal or other boxed items to find out later we are not. Does this happen to other people? These are smart people I live with, I don’t get it. Why?

The pattern I am seeing is that Sam likes to try different flavors of something and buys them all. Not all at once like the peanut butter, but over a short period of time.

Maybe this freaks me out a little bit because when my mother found something she liked…you got it; she bought in every color and pattern. I am not joking. After she had her stroke and went to a care facility I needed to clean out her apartment and give, donate or sell everything within a month or I’d have to pay another month’s rent.

At first, I was like, “Are you kidding me?” After a while I was shocked. She had four closets packed with clothing plus giant totes filled with the previous season’s clothing. By the end, I was frantic from it all. When I say she had duplicate everything; she did.

After cleaning up that shit show I never wanted to see clothing or shop again. In the end, there were at least 27 giant totes of clothing, handbags, shoes, and accessories which made me weary and sick to my stomach, to be honest.

Don’t get me wrong my peanut butter, tea-drinking man-boy isn’t like this…it just unearthed a painful memory of seeing duplicates again. Yikes!

As for me and tea? I only drink it when I am sick and when I do, it’s just plain old Lipton regular or decaf with a big splash of bourbon or whiskey in it to cure my ailments. You know what? It works!

Genius boy Sam went to the grocery store, and I wonder why he bought all of these?

Is he planning to do a taste test? He’s already tried two or three before this current purchase.

Is it a texture thing? What about the flavor? Are some too sweet, not sweet enough, or not salty like him? 😆

A month ago, I heard him say that he could tell the peanuts weren’t roasted enough when I bought store-ground natural peanut butter.

I’ve also heard him say he didn’t like peanut butter that separates, and you have to stir it.

Sam also doesn’t like the feel on his tongue with certain kinds of peanut butter. This, I know, is true because he’s always had textural issues like not being able to get down lumpy mashed potatoes or anything puréed like applesauce or butternut squash.

Does he have an extremely sophisticated palate? I have a pretty good palate but definitely not extremely sophisticated.

What do I like as far as peanut butter? I like the same kind I liked as a kid…Jif or Skippy. I only like creamy, while Marty prefers chunky. Chunky peanut butter rips up the bread when you try to spread it. Am I right or what?

Just in case you haven’t thought about peanut butter lately or ever…here you go!