Category: Deep Thoughts

Chicken Noodle Soup Does the Trick (and makes you feel loved)

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn Deep Thoughts, Family1 Comment

One week ago I was riding high on the wave of creative inspiration until that wave crashed. Shortly after viewing the Solar Eclipse with my husband in our protective eyewear, my body started to feel different. It was the beginning of April. I had not gotten sick one time in this calendar year. The tell tale signs moved in. My back was hurting. A headache was beginning in the front of my forehead. By dinner time my appetite waned and I felt chilled. My eyeballs felt hot. I had a fever. Determined to fight this bug I must have picked up while traveling, I hydrated and rested.

It is no wonder that I got sick. It had been almost six months since I had last flown on an airplane. I spent four days with four hundred writers at the workshop. My adrenaline and excitement had propelled me into the crowds of new people and close conversations. Simple. I picked up something. That tends to happen to me after long anticipated events involving many people. After my daughter’s wedding I got very sick. After vacations I come home and am exhausted (from traveling or having too much fun and relaxation).

I would not trade any of the experiences I had at the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop. As soon as I feel back to my normal healthy self, I plan to apply all of the great things I learned. Until then, my pace is slower. It is amazing how my energy is impacted by what goes into my body. Hydration and a healthy diet are key for my recooperation.

At times like these, I am reminded of my younger self and being taken care of my my mom. Even over the phone when she heard me tell her I had a high fever, I could hear the loving concern in her voice. It made me remember a piece I wrote in my memoir class. The prompt was to write about a smell and a memory associated with that smell. I wrote about canned chicken noodle soup.

Do not be concerned, I am on the mend. My husband took great care of me (and all of the animals in our herd). I slept and rested. Then I turned a corner at the end of last week when my sweet son-in-law brought me over some homemade chicken noodle soup. It was delicious. Even more, it was such a loving and thoughtful gesture.

Here is the piece I wrote a few years ago about my mother taking care of me with soup:

Sore scratchy throat, upset stomach, chilled, and feverish. Someone in my family was sick, which called for a bowl of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup. I twisted the handle clockwise with my right hand, holding the can opener firmly with my left hand. As soon as the sharp edged lid separated from the red and white can, I smelled the familiar chicken noodle contents. I dumped the thick yellow gunk of condensed soup and noodles into the pot on the stove, filled the same can with water and added it to the pot. Over low to medium heat, I slowly cooked the soup, stirring occasionally with a wooden spoon. Aroma of chicken broth soon filled the kitchen air. The scent of this simple soup sent me back forty years. 

“Mommy, I don’t feel well,” I moaned. My head ached and my tummy hurt as I curled up on the sofa with my legs tucked under my long nightie. My mom placed the back of her hand on my forehead and felt for warmth. After she hustled my sisters out the door to catch the bus to school, she returned to my side with the thermometer in hand. She shook it in several downward thrusts through the air. Open up, she said, and reminded me not to bite the glass thermometer but to keep it underneath my tongue.  It was cold and poked into the soft pocket under my tongue. I pressed my lips close together to hold it in place. The length of time lasted forever. Finally she came and sat at my side and pulled it out, tilting it to read where the red line ended.  “Oh, sweet lamb, you’ve got a fever.” Then the love, attention and pampering began. 

First she gave me two orange flavored chewable Josephs baby aspirin.  She spread out a blanket on the sofa, with a soft cotton bed pillow for me to lay my head on (instead of the scratchy weave of the upholstered arm of the sofa). Then she lay another light blanket over me, the kind with the satin edged hem. On my forehead she placed a cool damp washcloth. 

The house felt so different on a school day, my three sisters not here making noise or taking my mom’s attention, just the sounds of my mom doing what she does while we are at school. I heard her talking on the phone. Then when it was quiet, I wondered, maybe she is making lists on her yellow note pads. Maybe she is cooking, or reading or sewing. She came in to get me settled, and turned on the tv across the room. We chose the channel and that’s what I watched (no remote control), and set the volume loud enough for me to hear, but not too loud to hurt my head. It was either game shows, like Let’s Make a Deal or The Price is Right, or the black and white shows. I loved those. The Andy Griffith Show, The Dick Van Dyke Show, I love Lucy, and The Beverly Hillbillies.

My mom came in to check on me often, with kind gentle soothing words. Then came the soup. She laid the whole lunch out on a serving tray. A napkin, a spoon, the bowl of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup, some round salty ritz crackers, and an orange sliced into fourths. The magical healing soup: the ceramic edge of the bowl hot to the touch. Little wisps of steam rising. Thick noodles resembling spaghetti but nowhere near as strong or long. Tiny cubes of chewy chicken. I float a few crackers while waiting for the soup to cool, spooning the softened rapidly dissolving salty ritz into my mouth. Bite by bite, I blow on the spoon and then empty the noodles and chicken into my mouth. The liquid remaining in the bowl was thought to contain the most nutrient dense weapons for fighting off the infection. The bowl now cool enough to hold in my two hands, and lift up to my mouth,I tipped it until every last drop was consumed.  “Good girl,” my mom says.

After lunch she checked my temperature again, and gave me more baby aspirin if needed. Wanting me to nap, she turned off the television and read me a book or two.  I didn’t mind the tv going off since the programing turned to boring romantic soap operas around lunch. The day stretched out for a long time, so different that a day spent busy at school with a schedule of subjects, recess and constant interaction with other people. By evening time, I grew restless. If my sickness had not improved it was soup again and then off to bed. I remember the feeling of waking with damp sheets and jammies signaling that I’d broken my fever. The other indicator of my recovery was when my appetite returned. For some reason, it would be a cheeseburger that I would ask for when I reached that point. Not that it was a cheeseburger that I was given, but it was something more than soup. Toast, and eggs maybe.

I was a pretty healthy child growing up, and did not miss many days of school. I was active and liked going to school. And yet…there was something special about staying home alone with my mom, getting her un-divided attention, and love in the most nurturing way. Nobody likes to feel sick, but I was glad that my immune system let germs infect me once in awhile.

Erma Bombeck Might Have Cured My Cancel Pleasure Condition

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn Blog Writing, Comic Relief, Deep Thoughts, TIPS3 Comments

I am here in Dayton, Ohio, at the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop. If I wait until it is over to write a recap of the weekend, then it is sure to be too long. I will divide it up. Day One was pretty cool, and I will tell you three reasons why.

  1. I started my morning by walking over to the Dayton University Library where they have a big exhibit on Erma Bombeck. I’m telling you that I got chills in that space with her typewriter, newspaper clippings, and correspondence. I felt almost teary eyed reading her words. It’s clear to me just how much she lead the charge for women as humorists.
  2. My name tag badge has an added blue ribbon that says, “First Timer,” so that veteran Erma Workshop attendees can welcome us or be helpful. It was great to spot other newbies. I made a few friends tonight. Believe me when I tell you at first I felt like I was back in a middle school cafeteria trying to find a person to talk to or sit with.
  3. The third part that was cool about the opening day was meeting two authors I really like. One who is a relatively new other who also had a podcast (Moms Don’t Have Time to Read) Her name is Zibby Owens, author of Bookends (a memoir) and Blank (a funny fictional novel). I went a little fan girl on her. The other author, Anna Quindlen, was interviewed on stage. She’s a favorite of mine, fiction and non fiction. I brought a book for her to sign. She was lovely to talk to. One quote I wrote onto my phone that Anna said which really stuck with me was (in referring to the collective group of authors in the ballroom), “We are the connectors in a world that needs connecting.”

The last part of the evening they opened up the mic for anyone volunteering to read aloud something they were working on, or a piece they wrote for the Erma Writing Contest if it had not been chosen as a winner. It was entertaining to listen to all of the writers read their work. A few months ago I sent in a humor entry (450 words or less) and did not win. I did not read it aloud on stage. In the spirit of sharing, I have decided to include it below. The topic is Cancel Pleasure. Without a single itty bit of a doubt, I am glad that this Writing Workshop did not get cancelled or that I did not have to cancel it for any reason. One sentiment I took away this morning from my visit to the Erma Exhibit made me think about the piece I wrote. Erma wrote a whole page about “If I had to live my life over again…” One line was, “I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.” That one line made me reconsider my cancel pleasure.

MY ENTRY into the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop:

“We cannot make it tonight.”

“Of course we can reschedule,” I replied into the phone, attempting to mask my inner happy dance. 

Cancel pleasure!

A rush of dopamine washes over my introverted body. I am not a social recluse. I like people (sometimes). We make plans and look forward to them. But when something comes up like a scratchy throat or an 8% chance of snow then things change. I am more than fine with that. Delighted in fact, because I suffer from (or relish in) cancel pleasure.

Not to be confused with cancel culture where one’s public actions or words are deemed socially unacceptable leading to a boycott. Cancel pleasure is much better (and socially acceptable I hope). It is that feeling one gets when you can put back on your pajamas, keep your car inside the garage, and sink into the sofa. It is the highly coveted gift of time. 

I am aware that not everyone enjoys a good cancellation like I do. Last Saturday morning my son paced around the kitchen in his collared shirt and golf pants. He stopped walking and read the text on his phone and threw up his hands.

“Darn it! He can’t play now.” 

“Bummer! But now you can get comfortable and relax.” I reminded him, “It’s a bit cold outside anyway. And you get a little cancel pleasure!” My son frowned at me and then texted someone else to play golf.

Modern technology makes cancelling even easier. Rather than a painful conversation on the phone hearing the disappointment in a friend’s voice, you can simply send a short text and add some emoji (the green barf face or the masked face both work great). Even better if you’re on a group thread and others start bowing out, you can join in with, “Gee it looks like only half of us can make it to dinner. Maybe we should reschedule?” Then your comment gets thumbs-up likes. Now we are all enjoying some cancel pleasure.

COVID tipped the scales and overfilled our cancel pleasure tanks. Parties, weddings and trips were all cleared off the calendar. It’s no fun to sit at home with your son in cap and gown as his name is announced on a virtual college commencement ceremony. Or to change a big family reunion beach vacation to a chaotic Zoom call with technology challenged elders (like me). No dopamine rush there. 

But alas, we rebounded and we are happier than ever to get out and see people. Restaurants, stadiums, and airports are now buzzing with crowds. Places to go and people to see. Go, go, go.

“What’s that? You have a fever? Oh, I totally understand. Let’s do it another time!”  

A Solar Eclipse and A Special Dog

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn Blog Writing, Deep Thoughts1 Comment

We are just a couple weeks away from something amazing taking place. I am not just referring to the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop that I am attending in Dayton, Ohio. That will indeed be amazing and only comes along every two years. Far more rare is the Solar Eclipse that will be on Monday, April 8th. This is when the Moon passes between the Earth and the Sun. The path of totality will be twice as wide at the Solar Eclipse back in 2017. The most intense path will be from Texas to Maine. NASA says that 31.5 million people live along that path of totality. The Solar Eclipse on August 21, 2017, did not last as long as they anticipate this upcoming one will last. In the right place the Solar Eclipse could be experienced for a good four minutes this time.

I must admit right away that I am very limited in my knowledge of this scientific phenomenon. In fact, it did not even occur to me that I was going to be in the path of totality when I booked my travel to the writing conference. As it is, I am departing from Ohio one day before the Solar Eclipse. Until last week, speaking with my mom, I never thought it through. So while people flock to Ohio, I will be passing them on my way home to Virginia. I was discussing this with my son the other day and telling him how I remembered viewing a solar eclipse when I was in junior high school and we made a special cardboard box with a hole to watch the moon partially cover up the sun. I remember being told very sternly by our teacher not to look directly at the sky because our we could go blind.

My son reminded me that we had a Solar Eclipse in 2017. I barely remembered it because we were going through something very sad with our beloved 14 year old dog. My son said it was for that reason that he would never forget the Solar Eclipse. Some astrologists believe that an eclipse is a life-changing time to seek change and usher in evolution. The word eclipse literally (from Latin and Greek origins) means “to fail to appear” or “to abandon an accustomed place.” This made me think about how our sweet Australian shepherd, Dot, left us that day of the Solar Eclipse of 2017. As a tribute to her, I am sharing below a piece that I wrote about Dot. As for the upcoming Solar Eclipse on April 8, I hope wherever you are that you can experience the brief and very rare moment when the moon aligns directly between the Earth and the Sun. I will be back home in Virginia with my pair of special eclipse glasses.

I must admit that I have a feeling that my experience at the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop may overshadow the eclipse. I signed up to attend this workshop last Fall. Ever since then I have been reading the books written by the speakers. I have been in a Facebook group with other excited Erma writers. Over 350 people are coming from 35 states and 4 countries. It is sure to be a laugh, but I also look forward to learning more about the craft, networking with other writers, and being inspired. I love the quote from Erma Bombeck that will be on the coffee mug I ordered along with some other fun merch. “You Can Write!” Just as some believe a solar eclipse can be a life changing shift, I’m willing to bet my experience in Dayton, Ohio, will impact my life as well.

The piece I wrote several years ago about our Sweet Dot:

It was Christmas morning in 2003. We lived in Southlake, Texas, on Truelove Trail. As was our tradition, the kids came down the stairs in order of the youngest first: Luke, Jack, Courtney and Colton. All wearing matching new pajamas they’d opened the night before. Their pace picked up as they rounded the corner into the family room where Santa had left them each a present. They screamed with excitement, running straight to the hearth to retrieve their open and assembled toys. I cannot recall exactly what Santa brought them that year, because my memory is filled with the most special gift that we gave the kids that Christmas.

“Ok, guys, sit down on the sofa for a minute,” Kevin said, as he started recording on the camcorder.  All four of them sat side by side on the brown leather sofa, with growing curiosity about what was coming next. Our tradition had always been to eat a little breakfast and then begin taking turns opening the gifts from under the tree.  Instead, on this morning, we sat them down, their legs and arms wiggling with anticipation.  I slipped out of the room to go get the special gift.

“Each one of you had something on your list.  What have you always wanted?”  Courtney was the first to blurt out, “A dog.” Jack echoed her answer, “A dog.” 

“You guys all had that on your list. Well, look what Mommy has.”  Right at that moment I entered the room with a nine week old miniature Australian shepherd in my arms. “A PUPPY” each of them exclaimed! She heard their cries of joy and matched them with her own. Yelping in a high pitch, pushing her legs to leap out of my embrace.  The kids jumped off of the sofa and raced over to the tile floor where I was keeping her, in case she piddled in her excitement. They slid to the floor with giggles and screams of delight. Luke cried, “Yay, we got a puppy!” She jumped around, twisting her little black and white body. Colton asked, “What’s it’s name?”

“I don’t know yet, we will have to pick a name.”

Courtney asked, “Is it a girl or a boy?” “It’s a girl.” Jack grunted at my answer. Luke wanted to go find Kitty to have them meet, Kevin told him to wait until later. When he spoke, the puppy recognized his voice and skipped over to him, barking at his legs while he continued to record the whole thing. Kevin had been the one to go pick her up from the breeder, and had spent the five our drive creating their bond.

It was a strong bond that would endure for the next 14 years.  She was always especially close to Kevin. It did not take long for us to choose a name for Dot.  Her silky black coat had a big white dot of hair on the back of her head, which led us to calling her “Dot.”  I liked the short one syllable quickness of her name, easier off the tongue when needing to call her.  Sometimes we affectionately called her “Dottie-Girl” or “Sweet Dot.” The latter being something I called her in her older slower days in recent years. 


Dot, as an Aussie was a working dog, whose job was to herd animals.  That meant barking and nipping at the heels of the sheep to get them to stay in the herd.  Dot knew her job, and was constantly at work. As the four kids played in the yard, she barked and chased them. The more they ran apart from one another, the more she barked and nipped. 

I always worried about someone getting bit, even though nobody ever did.  The irony is that I was always afraid of dogs (and still am sometimes), and I now had a dog that I was worried would bite or scare others. Dot, being the very smart and loyal dog, sensed my anxious feelings when others visited and became protective on my behalf. Dot never hurt anyone, not even Kitty. Those two figured their relationship out the day Dot joined our family.  With one hiss and swing of her paw, Kitty showed Dot who was in charge.  Somehow Dot knew that she could chase, play with, bark at, but never would hurt Kitty.  Over the years they enjoyed each other’s company, sleeping near one another near the heat of the fireplace, eating in food bowls side by side, laying at our feet under the table while we ate, and both greeting us at the garage door when we arrived home.

It’s been almost three months, and I still expect to see Dot waiting at the kitchen door when I come in from the garage.  She isn’t there. It’s only Kitty, who has become increasingly vocal lately, meowing very loudly. Maybe she is lonely for Dot too. She was with us for fourteen years, living in Texas, Connecticut and Virginia. Dot and Kitty both adapted to our new environments as we settled into new homes.  Relocating was hard on our family but having Dot and Kitty with us always brought comfort. Our family was intact and just in a new spot.

That first winter in the northeast, Dot’s coat grew thicker and she learned to love snow. On one of our moves we had to live in temporary housing for several months. It was close quarters with four active kids, a herding dog, and a disoriented cat. With no backyard, we had to take Dot on many walks to relieve herself. I remember those nights when my heart was aching for the friends we were missing from Texas; I’d be openly crying as I walked Dot on the path behind our condo. She wagged her tail, put her nose into the cold air smelling for snowfall. 
She was happy just to be with me on a walk. I wondered if she missed the swimming pool in Texas, how she used run circles around the pool barking wildly as the kids swam. Just for fun, we would all come to the center of the pool in a tight herd, which would make her stop barking. Then one of us would swim away from the group, Dot would immediately bark and even jump into the water herself to push that person back towards the group. The kids loved her constant efforts to chase and keep them together.  Dot seemed to thrive at every place we lived.

  It was not until we moved to Virginia that I can say with certainty that Dot had a strong feeling for any place. When we moved to Virginia we bought a house in a neighborhood with houses right next door. Our love for the outdoors and space also led us to find a property a couple hours away.  Hickory Creek Farm was what we called it.

  It was not just our happy place to getaway, it was also Dot’s happy place. It was as if she had returned to her homeland, that of an Australian Shepherd. While there were no sheep to herd, Dot ran free across the grassy fields, running so hard she’d be limping on sore muscles when we returned from a visit. Kevin would often bring her with him when he went there to do some work.  As soon as she saw him in his work boots, she’d dance around our kitchen excitedly, knowing where they’d be going. If for some reason he did not take her, she would howl at the garage door after his departure. 

Every time I come into the house, I think of her waiting right at the door. She must have heard the electric garage door open from wherever she was napping and then made her way into the kitchen to be there to welcome me home. I miss her. I remind myself that she had been so sick and we had no choice. It was the day of the solar eclipse. Over the weekend she had taken a dramatic turn for the worse. Her bodily functions were shutting down. The medications to help her heart were no longer working effectively. She laid on her side, her chest rising and falling rapidly. After losing the ability to support herself on her hind legs, she just laid there. I carried her over to the rug by the fireplace, one of her favorite spots to sleep. I ran my hand along her smooth coat. I spoke to her as I pressed the palm of my hand down her soft curly black ear. It was time.

The doctor was ready for us when we arrived. He had a special room off to the side, where he’d spread out a large sheepskin blanket. We carried Dot into the room and gently laid her down. The vet explained in a calm quiet voice what would take place. We sat on the floor around Dot, crying, stroking her lovingly. Luke said through tears, “We have had her the whole time we were growing up.” In the soft-spoken words the vet said, “She raised all four of you kids, she did well, her job is done.” He gave her the first shot which would just remove her pain and have her sleep. Dot’s eyes had been wide open as her labored breathing filled the room. A minute passed before her eyes closed. Her chest still rose and fell. We continued to stroke her and tell her how much we loved her. He gave the next injection.  Dot stopped moving. Life left her body in an instant, I immediately wanted her back. Lift your head, Dot. She couldn’t. She was gone. Her black and white lifeless body lay between us. It was so final. Nothing could allow us to go back. It was done. She was gone. The hardest part was seeing her stillness, the next hardest part was leaving that room. Leaving our Sweet Dot.

Several days later, we brought Dot out to Hickory Creek Farm to bury her. Kevin took her to the far side of the pond. I watched from across the fields up on our deck. The ground was very hard and it took him over an hour to dig. I sat there feeling the warm sun on my face. The clouds were wispy and curled in the blue sky. There was a slight breeze. The tall grass waved back and forth. It was the perfect day to lay Dot to rest, in this place that was so very special to her.

Happy International Women’s Day!

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn Deep Thoughts1 Comment

I want to kick off Women’s History Month by sharing with my readers the piece I wrote last year focusing on the impact of gathering with other women. At the time I wrote it I was coming off of two special getaways with friends. Then later in that same year I wrote about traveling with my high school girlfriends after our reunion. These experiences of talking, laughing and even crying with good friends nourished my soul and ignited my creativity.

I thought I would throw you a teaser about the novel I have been working on for the past five months. I am not ready to reveal the storyline or theme just yet except for this little tidbit. The supporting fabric of the novel involves four old friends who make the time to meet up together. Just as in my real life, the women value their friendships and look to those times together to relax, have some laughs, and lean into the strength the other women can offer one another. Have no fear, my friends! This is a work of fiction. I may mine my experiences for my fictional writing, but what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. (At least until my memoir comes out).

Please read the piece I wrote on the link below. I especially love the part about my mother and her backpacking friends (The Mountain Mamas). A week ago I received a beautiful flower arrangement from my high school gal pals while I was recovering from a little medical procedure (all is well). Their lovely note made me laugh and cry. I shared it with my mom, and she texted me that they are my “friends of the heart (where some are friends of the road).” This made me think how much I value all of the kinds of friends. With having moved over twelve times in my adult life and raising four children, I have many friends of the road. Some remain Christmas Card and Facebook friends. Other friends, the friends of the heart, can live across the river or across the country, and we can go days or months without seeing one another, but our very special bonds remain strong. Another way of looking at friendships that I have heard is that people come into our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. How lucky I feel today, thinking about all of the women I call friends!

https://wordpress.com/post/grizzlybearma.com/1866

https://wordpress.com/post/grizzlybearma.com/1866

Mountain Mamas, watercolor by Barbara Papini (my mom)

Love is in the Air

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn Deep Thoughts, Family, farm lifeLeave a comment

(4 minute read)

Happy Valentine’s Day!

I interrupt your day running errands (buying cards, candy or flowers) with a little update. Love is in the air! Not sure how that happened so quickly because I just put away all of our Christmas decorations the other day. Do I even bring out the Valentines wreath and red hearts, or just put out the bunnies and baskets? I have been holed up with reading and writing in my office. The only big reminder I get about Valentine’s Day is looking out my window at the big heart pasture. It is the one I have carefully consistently mowed in the shape of a giant heart. A neighbor who is a pilot once told me how great it looks from up in the sky. I looked on the FindMyFreinds app and saw that he was indeed correct. Love is right outside my window!

Today I want to write about a couple other touch-points of love in my life right now. At the start of this month, two weeks ago, our last baby left the nest. I write this smiling and welling up at the same time. We mamabears know that our job is to raise our cubs and then send them out into the world, but it still hurts the heart to watch them drive away with their car packed up. For all those families getting college acceptances (my sister) or taking six month pictures of their fast growing grandbabies (my sister in law), I see you and I feel your pain and joy. 

Kids grow up so fast! This brings me to my next love touch point. Our kids just celebrated their one year old birthdays! I do not blame you if you are confused. Our seven nigerian dwarf goats were born just days apart (and a few on the same day from the same mom). Ada, Arthur, John and Finn were born 1/30/23, Thomas Shelby on 1/31/23, and then Polly and Lizzie on 2/2/23. I had envisioned a big party with balloons, cake, guests playing pin the tail on the donkey (no we do not have a donkey, yet), and presents. I had been scouring the internet for ideas of goat toys and came across some fantastic ideas for adding onto their goat playground. 

But alas, the crumby weather and sick family members kind of party pooped those plans. We still got the chance to love on them after cleaning their stall, and giving each one a good long overdue pedicure (hoof trimming). I cannot emphasize enough how affectionate these little goats are! We debated the other day wether they can actually “love” us. My husband, with the background in 4H and raising animals, says they are conditioned to expect our arrival at the barn. It was a stretch for him to agree with me that they “loved” us. Well I have seen the way Polly looks at him, or Arthur rubs his head into our open palms. It is true love!

The next touch point will be brief. It is a love story that we have all watched unfold since back in September. So much press and so many differing opinions. The only thing this football mom can say is that watching this sport has never come with such delicious drama. I will miss it. Even though my heart was rooting for my dad’s 49ers to win, the silver lining was watching all of the post game partying. Congratulations to the winning pair! Where do they go from here?

Now for the final touch point of my love post. My one and only valentine, Kevin, makes my life everything it is. In my last blog entry I wrote about how much I have been writing up in my office. I was not exaggerating when I said how the hours fly by as I rip through the words for my first draft. He is my biggest supporter. Not only does he give me the space to hunker down, but he also takes on the barn duties and meal prep when I loose track of time. I also discovered that he was a great first person to roll out the plot and characters of my novel to when I was nervous about my ideas. He listened without a word for the three hours on a recent roadtrip. (It may have helped that I had him confined in the car in the backroads of Virginia). When I was done I looked for him to respond. He was engaged and wanted me to dive in even further. I love this man!  Everyone needs a person (a friend or spouse or mother), who is the champion of their passions.

Happy Valentine’s Day to you all. Look for the touch points of love in your life. They can come on four little legs, or a best pal, or a romantic love story on tv, or right next to you on a road trip when you share all the crazy ideas in your head. That is love! 


I’m Still Here (sing to the tune of “I’m Still Ken” from the Barbie movie)

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn Blog Writing, Deep Thoughts1 Comment

(14 minute read)

I am alive and well. Even though colds, stomach bugs and COVID are jumping from house to house, I can assure my readers that my absence from the grizzlybearma blog has nothing to do with illness. Knock on wood. 

It has been more than a few weeks since my last post. Christmas has come and gone (it was wonderful by the way), and the calendar has turned to 2024 (happy new year to you). 2024 is still a crazy number to me. Back in high school, I pictured the year 2024 as a science fiction space traveling robot universe. In some ways we are not that far off. Music (previously from a boombox) and pictures (which required a two day turnaround to develop) are now instantly available on our phones. The telephone is no longer the clunky receiver connected to a tightly coiled cord to the base which was connected to the wall. A cellphone is no bigger than a deck of cards (remember that old fashioned game that could be played anywhere without a need to recharge). Calls can be made hands free from inside your house, or your car, and even while walking your dog. Despite that progress of freeing ourselves from the six feet stretch from the wall outlet, we are actually more connected than ever. 

But lately I have been disconnected, from my blog, and the internet (aside from putting goat videos on TikTok). “What’s up with that, Carolyn?” I hope you are wondering. I have been under a warm faux fur blanket my son gave to me for Christmas with my notebook and rollerball ink pen writing like a mad woman. 

Back in November I signed up for NaNoWriMo. You may be thinking it is a new form dance class like Zoomba, which I found to be a lot easier than step classes that required memorizing complicated sequences of moves. I never made cheerleader for a reason. NaNoWriMo stands for “National November Writing Month.” It is a month-long challenge where writers focus on quantity over quality, attempting to reach 50,000 words by month’s end. Roughly 1500 words a day (or more). Given that I tend to be longwinded, or to put it more eloquently, “I am still working on the economy of words,” this seemed like it would be easy. Not. (That’s a nice short sentence).

If you remember, the beginning of November was right in the middle of my 21 day traveling vacation (aka a break from the farm).  It was much harder than I thought to separate myself and bang away 1500 words on my iPad. I brought a notebook and some pens thinking the scrawling could reach my daily goal faster. It didn’t. I learned somethings about myself.

First, my handwriting and the content of my writing, is pretty bad after drinking margaritas all day on the beach. Rereading my stuff from those nights inside the Punta Mita casita made me laugh, almost as much as all the shenanigans I was having with my girlfriends. Even so, my sentences did not add up to anything worth saving, and barely reached the 1500 word count. I kept telling myself that it was about quantity not quality. I was strengthening muscles and working on my cardio (in bed with a buzz). I decided I would make up the time when we were back in the states.

Second lesson that I learned during NaNoWriMo? Writing is a solitary activity, so when you are visiting with people who you do not get to see often then writing is not so fun. I love to write, and I love to corner myself into a spot alone to think, write and read. Visiting my parents in California or hanging with old friends is not the ideal time to write. I put away my iPad and notebook and sat with my mom over coffee. Best decision ever. (Another good short sentence.)

The third lesson is that writing is not so fun when it feels like an assignment. School was not easy for me, I was a big procrastinator and ended up burning the midnight oil cranking out papers right before the due date. My mom reminds me of the night I sat at the dining room table crying over the report on Leif Erikson in the sixth grade. A blister on the inside of my ring finger on the pad formed from gripping my pencil for several hours straight. I cannot remember much about that Norse explorer (I even had to google that), but I do remember the tears and my stomach ache from the stress of so much due with so little done. “It would never happen again,” I told myself. It did. (look at that, another short phrase and with a subject and a verb!)

I realize that writing will come with deadlines, especially if I am lucky (or talented) enough to get to that point. But for where I am now, my motivation to write is much stronger when the gate is wide open. In fact it is precisely that message I tell myself when I feel writers block or self doubt or when I abandon a project I have spent a long time working on. I say to myself, “No deadline.” For those of you ambitious goal-setting people this may seem reckless and aimless. It works for me.

Over the last year or so I have been like a dog circling the floor finding just the right spot to lie down. Koda and Summer do this on top of our sofa, spilling the throw pillows off kilter. I bounced from one project to another, one genre to another: children’s book, historical fiction, memoir,  contemporary rom com and even sci fi. I let myself travel down these paths, building characters and plotting story arcs. “Write what you like to read,” is what I was told. So I read books in all of those genres. I spoke with other writers in zoom chat groups. I listened to a fantastic podcast called The Writer’s Routine. I bounced book ideas off of anyone I felt brave enough to spill the weird thoughts ruminating in my head.

And then one day…it happened. Something landed for me. I took out a black and white composition notebook and a pen and started to write. The letters formed words, the words into sentences, scribbled in a hybrid of print and cursive, my thoughts began to take shape. It was not November with the NaNoWriMo; nothing against that because many writers love the team goal of that challenge with inspiring words from others. (Uh oh, back to a long sentence again). It was actually right in the middle of the busy holidays when I was struck with writer’s “energy” or whatever is the opposite of writers block. 

There were still people in my house, some on vacation who were wanting to play games with me or watch some football. I tried to sneak in my ideas onto my cellphone or iPad. But back to Lesson number two about spending time with the people you do not see often, I put my project aside because I knew I could really dive back into it when the holidays were over.

So here I sit in my office with notebooks, colored sticky notes and index cards, various books on the craft of writing (Save the Cat is a good one) spread around the room on the floor and on the walls, and two dogs napping at my feet. I am writing, and loving it so much. The other day I was telling someone that writing the first draft of a book feels like you are reading a novel you just cannot put down or binge watching a series that makes you put off all household chores. 

When I do emerge from the depths of my writing cave, to get water or food, or go to the barn (yes the 13 chickens, 2 horses, and 7 goats are doing great), I stretch and check the clock. It is unreal how fast time goes by when your mind is in another place and time. I must looked dazed and confused as I adjust to the present moment. The funny thing about writing is that when I step away is when even more ideas for conversations or chain of events takes place. I could be mucking the stalls and suddenly it dawns on me to change the point of view from third person omniscient to first person. The importance of getting up and moving during the writing hours cannot be understated. My back and my dogs can attest to that.

If it is not evident, I am having a ball. The first draft is a ride with twists and turns and loads of cotton candy and kettle corn (not literally, unless perhaps I have my characters go to the fair, now that is an idea). I realize a lot of what I am writing will be cut during the editing process. So months (hopefully not years) from now when I am reading my manuscript for the fourth time and am growing weary please remind me of how excited I seem right now.

As for my grizzlybearma blog, I am afraid to say that it will continue to be sporadic. The big thing about writing is getting in a flow state. It is an awesome feeling. However, breaking from it to write my blog is tough. Just this piece today took me a few hours, time when I could have been writing the “catalyst” in Act 1 (see Save the Cat to understand that reference). 

To my faithful blog followers, however many of you who are still hanging in there, you mean a lot to me. Your support is what bolstered my confidence to stretch out of my comfort zone and commit to writing a book. Thank you! I will keep you all posted and might even drop some excerpts here on the blog. But do not rush me because as I said, “No deadline.” 

Yet. 

Maybe some day .

My writing assistants, Koda and Summer (hoping for a walk)

Returning to My Hometown: My 5 Takeaways

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn Deep Thoughts, FamilyLeave a comment

(1,943 words or 18 minute read)

Recently I had the rare opportunity to revisit a time period in my life that shaped me. I was lucky enough to rewind the clock by several decades, long before I was a mother, a wife, a goat farmer or a Virginian. The past few years I have been busy with moving houses, graduations, weddings, farm animal accumulation and entering the empty nest stage. Caring for the humans and non-humans I love has been my primary focus for a long time. A chance to step away and reflect back on the “younger Carolyn” sounded intriguing.

Six months ago I opened my email to find the invitation to my 40th high school reunion. I missed the 30th, probably because of a conflict with football games. My life revolved around the sports and activities of our kids. “I cannot miss the game,” was often my excuse. Priorities change (or children grow older and the nest is empty). So I marked my calendar for the high school reunion. It coincided with a hunting trip my husband was taking so our plan was to go our separate ways. Then as a reunion “add on” my girlfriends and I came up with a short jaunt down to Mexico. Geographically it made perfect sense. I was traveling west to the reunion in Northern California, so to hop on a plane down south to Puerto Vallarta was just a little detour before returning home to Virginia. 

I packed my suitcase with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The contents in the large suitcase would be a challenge for someone to guess where I was going: bathing suits, old journals, new clothing from Anthropology and Ann Taylor that required multiple shopping trips (agonizing over what to wear to the reunion) and baby books. I squeezed in a visit to meet my three week old grandnephew. I wanted more than the three days set aside to visit my 83 year old parents. So it turned out that my oversized overweight bag was not enough because I decided to extend my trip one week longer.

The chance to linger awhile in reflection and observation was hard to resist. Last Sunday, after seventeen days away, I returned to Virginia on my cross country flight with a heavier bag and a fuller heart. I exited the security doors at the airport and almost walked right past my husband. He sat in the waiting area in a flannel jacket, a sock cap, and a beard that he grew while I was away. Maybe he was inspired to change it up when he found out that I cut my hair shorter one tipsy night while in Mexico. I strut right past him with my bouncy bob and did a double take. “Kevin?” I rushed into his arms and ran my hand over his soft beard. We laughed. I was still me but with an extra youthful energy I gained from revisiting my roots.

There is so much I can write about this time travel of a vacation that left me feeling grateful, tired and inspired.  I came up with FIVE TAKE-AWAYS.

FIRST Takeaway 

I was so lucky to call Lafayette my hometown. It is truly an exceptional place. It is a small suburb 25 minutes outside of San Francisco. After passing through Berkeley where both my parents went to college at Cal, you drive through the tunnel and enter the utopia known as Lamorinda (Lafayette, Moraga and Orinda). Beautiful neighborhoods are nestled in the creases and valleys among the golden hills. My elementary school was aptly named Happy Valley School. I went to school with the same people from kindergarten through high school. Mt. Diablo Boulevard is still the single main street in town. Most restaurants and stores have changed since I lived there: Bill’s Drugs is now CVS, no more Baskin Robbins or Bottle Shop, but Diablo Foods grocery store remains (albeit fancier and gourmet selections). I found Lafayette to be a bit more crowded and much more expensive. In the 70s and 80s it was small enough to feel familiar and simple; you could not go anywhere without running into someone you know. It was a great place to grow up. I am grateful to my parents for choosing this town and staying put for 21 years. Lafayette holds all of my childhood memories: from riding my bike to the Sandpiper with quarters in my pocket for jaw breakers and Swedish fish to getting my drivers license and cruising around in my orange Honda Civic with Styx blasting on the stereo. The Round Up Saloon, a mainstay in the center of town on Mt Diablo Boulevard, was the first stop for our reunion weekend. Of the more than a dozen different towns in which I have lived, Lafayette will always hold a special place in my heart.

SECOND Takeaway

Quality time with old friends makes me feel young again. The high school reunion was filled with classmates I came of age with, from kindergarten to awkward puberty years and into the identity searching teenage years. We share all of the reckless memories from before our frontal lobes were fully developed. For a few classmates I needed the name tags, but seeing all of the familiar faces was like stepping through a time machine. Add to that a DJ playing Rick Springfield and Journey, it was like we were 16 years old again, at the Friday night dance in the gym after the football game. Reading my high school journals I can see the young Carolyn that struggled with insecurities. Even at 58 years old I could feel myself fall back into an old habit of clinging to the arm of my best friend Gretchen as we entered the crowded bar. It got more comfortable as the visiting with old peers continued with great conversations. The mutual sentiment was, “We are lucky to be here. And growing older is not so bad.” As my family knows, I measure a good time by laughter. I laughed all throughout the reunion and even more on my trip down to Mexico. To sit with lifelong friends over margaritas (or coffee), to talk, to float on the water, and to laugh together, is just some of the best youth-infused fuel my engine needed. 

THIRD Takeaway

“It takes a village.” This phrase applies to my upbringing, and I was lucky enough to be able to reconnect with many members of my “village.” I extended my stay in California one week longer so that I could spend more time visiting with my parents and also attend a Celebration of Life for a good family friend. I had something growing up that we were not exactly able to give to our children because of our moving a lot. My parents’ friends and the parents of my friends were all key people in my childhood. School activities, LMYA swim team, neighborhood parties, and vacations with other families were a few of the many memories we all shared. I spoke with a friend at the Celebration of Life, and we both agreed how lucky we all were as kids, and how special it was to come together to honor one of our “dads” who passed away a few months ago. It was standing room only. As I leaned against the wall of the community center and looked at the faces of the moms and dads my parents’ age, I was moved to tears not about loss but about gratitude. These people gave us the space to enjoy life and flourish as we moved through stages of our lives, while at the same time they modeled what being good friends looks like. The grown-ups had a ton of fun themselves as I recall, which may also be why we kids were able to run wild in games of ditch on camping trips and games of quarters at Sun Valley. Something I have seen with our kids is how much they value conversations with our adult friends. I remembered feeling the same way when I talked to my parents friends (my village). The opportunity to be in California to acknowledge these parents and this one charismatic dad from my childhood made my experience of reflection complete. 

FOURTH Takeaway

My parents have a cool rhythm these days. My visits with them are usually crowded with other family members. This time it was just the two of them and me. No spouse. No sisters. No grandkids. I had them all to myself. I loved it. We enjoyed great food and conversations. I listened to them play the piano. One morning I sat in my mom’s favorite chair in the living room in the center of the house. From one side I could hear my dad watching the Jeopardy he had recorded from the night before, and from the other side of the house I heard my mom taking a zoom yoga class. They went through their daily routines, and I was there to just relax and be present in them. When my four children were little our California visits included day trips to Fisherman’s Wharf and Pier 39 in San Francisco, or to ride the carousel or Fairyland in Oakland. I am exhausted remembering those busy visits. This one was perfect timing. On the heels of weddings, a high school reunion, and a festive trip to Mexico, just chilling with my folks was a dream. Speaking of which, one night while there I had a nightmare and screamed loudly. My mom came into the guest room and rubbed my back, just like old times. They are both 83 years old, have been married for 62 years, and are truly inspiring in how they live their lives. I will treasure that extra week that I added onto my vacation.

FIFTH Takeaway

Home Sweet Home. It is exactly as the Chris Daughtry song says, “I’m going home to the place where I belong.” Before I left for this trip I was a little apprehensive. It felt odd to return to the old me. My life before Kevin was such a different “Carolyn.” My whole world today is my husband, our children, our animals and our friends who know this Carolyn. I was close to pulling out of the trip at the last minute, and I am glad I did not. Returning to my old stomping grounds and seeing the other kids I navigated those years with helped reinforce my sense of identity. At 58 I sometimes question my purpose or my choices in life. It helped me to examine where the foundation was laid for who I am today. I have a lot of the same personality traits as I did growing up: I like to be silly and laugh a lot, I suppose I still seek attention, and I can still feel insecure at times. But I have grown and changed in a lot of ways. My younger self who struggled in school (especially reading and writing) would never have imagined I would be writing anything for anyone else to read. And little Carolyn who never moved once in all of her schooling, and was comfortable in that suburb bubble, would not have dreamed she would be living across the country in Virginia (after moving her family to different cities and states a dozen times). I hated endings and goodbyes as a child. I still do.

I am home now with my husband, our kids nearby, and the herd underfoot. I am grateful for all of the feelings that this 17 day trip stirred up inside of me.  And I am happy to be back to the place where I belong.

Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce? I Am here For It and Let Me Tell You Why

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn Children, Comic Relief, Deep Thoughts, Family1 Comment

(5 minute read)

Normally I do not poke my nose into the business of celebrity match ups, but with this pairing I feel compelled to speak up. From one Mama Bear to a couple other mama bears, Donna and Andrea, I will get right to the point. Your kids are just right for each other.

There is more to the union of these two gorgeous and famous 30-somethings. The hype and hoopla around their public courtship has been fun for music and football fans alike. Travis at the Eras concert with a friendship bracelet. Taylor wearing red in the box cheering on the Chiefs. The two, hand in hand, decked out in fearless fashion, exiting the building. Tweets. Posts. Pods. ESPN sports center coverage. Commercials. Taylor and Travis are everywhere. 

For a moment, let’s go back to Donna and Andrea. The mothers. The ones that want the best for their babies. Fame and fortune have been achieved by their young dreamers. Both moms can remember the days of driving to football practice or guitar lessons. Donna had two rambunctious football boys to shuttle around and feed. I wonder if she ever imagined a day where both boys would be playing in the NFL, in the Super Bowl, on opposing teams. Or if Andrea ever envisioned her daughter selling out football stadiums, being so loved, that scores of fans danced in the parking lots just to be close enough to hear the performance.

As moms, we all want our children to soar, to reach for their dreams. We are there for them when times are tough, during setbacks and disappointments. Our love and support lifts them when they need it. Our normalcy grounds them when they need it. But through it all, what is at the core of our mama-bear love, is to see our babies find their own way in life, to make good choices, and to flourish.

Are Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce making good choices in choosing one another? Yes. And let me outline the three reasons why:

  1. Travis is a tight end. For those unfamiliar with football, the tight end position is on offense. The players who play it are tall and strong (at least 6’4” and average 250 lbs). The best tight ends can both catch passes and block defenders. They are just the right combination of confident leaders (a little showy at times), playmakers, and protectors (willing to do what it takes to help the team by providing coverage, so not always showy). This makes them attractive partners in life. I consider myself an authority on this because I married a tight end that I met in college, and we raised a son that played tight end in college. Often tight ends were Quarterbacks in youth football. True for my husband, my son, and Travis. Smart, athletic, decisive, protective and ultimate team players, the tight ends make great husbands and fathers. (I would also add that centers and unicyclists make for good partners as I have a couple of those in the family as well). Travis was also a pitcher in baseball (another strong leader position).
  2. Taylor sings the songs she writes. So many artists out there lend their God given voices to the words of talented lyricists. Nothing is wrong with that (I wish I could sing). What makes Taylor so loved by the world is the heartfelt songwriting she does in addition to her beautiful vocals. She is a storyteller. This makes her very observant and reflective. Taylor can express the feelings she has for others like a poet. Her albums are the chapters of her memoir. She puts it all out there. Her dreams as well as the heartaches. I raised a daughter who grew up loving Taylor Swift and attended three of her tours, and last year stayed up until midnight for an album release listening to it into the wee hours of the morning on a work night. I know the positive impact her music has on people. She inspires and moves her fans. What mother would not want her son sharing his life with such a person? Better yet, who wouldn’t want this strong woman mothering her future grandchildren? 
  3. Grandchildren. That is my third reason for the pairing of Travis and Taylor. Stating the obvious, they would make gorgeous babies together. His blue eyes and her blonde hair. Tall. Long fingers (big hands) for playing guitar or piano or football or baseball. Physically, the combination of these two needs little explanation. As for them as parents, I can picture Taylor singing soft lullaby songs and writing lyrics that tell the stories of her babies’ lives. Look no further than Travis, as Uncle Travvy, on the podcast he has with his older brother Jason (“New Heights”). His nieces adore him. That says a lot. Perhaps the biggest challenge as parents they will face will be keeping some sense of privacy and normalcy for the family they raise. I am certain Grandma Donna and Grandma Andrea will help keep them grounded.

As final words of wisdom on the topic of Taylor and Travis directed at their moms, kids will love who they will love. I just married off two of our four children. Each wedding and union was unique and different from the other. I gained a wonderful son and then a wonderful daughter. My children are happy. What more can a mother ask for? 

As my own mother sang to me as a child, “Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be. The future’s not ours to see.” 

If Taylor and Travis are meant to be then I am here for it. Go Chiefs! And I look forward to the next Taylor Swift album! I shared this blog post idea with my husband, the tight end, and he said, “How do you know they’d be a good match? You don’t even know them.” 

I just know.

Who is in your Framily?

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn Deep Thoughts, Family1 Comment

(6 minute read)

I was a freshman in college when I first met my framily. At the time, I had no idea how much these people would mean to me in my life. During the early months of dating the tall boy with freckles who was two years older than me, I heard about the close friends he had from his small Catholic high school in the valley. I talked about my friends from the San Francisco Bay Area, who I’d gone to school with since kindergarten. I liked that we both valued strong lifelong friendships. It made him even more attractive than his cute dimpled smile. Fraternity theme parties, Sorority formals, and dinner dates laid the foundation of our relationship. We both loved to have fun dancing, dressing up and socializing. We soon realized it was more than just a college crush; it was time to meet the hometown friends. Meeting each other’s families had already taken place at football games and parents’ weekends. 

What concerned me most was if his friends who I had heard so much about would accept me. I was two years younger, not from the valley, and there had been a previous long term girlfriend in the picture. Perhaps this last part was what worried me most. His high school sweetheart was part of their friend group. They dated through the first couple years of college and broke it off shortly before I came onto the scene. I remember on one of our first dates he was driving me in his burnt orange colored Camero. On the visor above the front passenger window there was a dried rose attached. It was a boutonniere from a prom or some special occasion. For someone to keep such a thing within eyesight every time they drive their car made me wonder if this guy had really moved on. How in love were they? Did everyone from his hometown and his family love her as well? I did not let these questions get in the way of our growing relationship at college. Our love blossomed and grew with ease. Then one day he announced that a good friend was getting married and he wanted to bring me to the wedding in his hometown.

Despite the fact that we had one year of dating under our belt and his ex-girlfriend was history, I still felt nervous. I wanted his friends to like me. At nineteen years old, twenty-one year olds seemed so much older. I remember meeting all of his friends and feeling shy and young. Luckily, I was not the only outsider. One of his close friends brought his college girlfriend from Southern California. While she was two years older, I connected with her right away as one of the newcomers to the Catholic school close friend group. At one point she even pulled me aside and said how happy she was to have me there, and that she like me “way more” than his previous girlfriend. I guess that’s all I needed to hear. I loosened up and enjoyed the wedding. We danced and talked. It was fun getting to know the friends who meant so much to my boyfriend. I guess I must have passed the test. It was the first of many social occasions we spent together. 

At the time I did not know that any of them would become framily. My experience with the concept of framily was through my parents’ friends. There were several families who were tight knit, traveling together on ski trips, staying up late on New Years Eve, or sharing Christmas Eve clam chowder together. The way I remember these close friends of my parents is that the adults and the kids shared special bonds. The parents were close, and the kids just as close. Something about the ease of familiarity made our trips together comfortable and memorable. The framilies I had growing up were a big part of different stages of my life. First communion, swim team parties, Rock Creek camping trips, Aptos beach vacations, and fun themed gatherings my parents liked to host. We had summer swim parties, hot dog parties, tennis tournaments, and tamale making parties. Up until now, I think I took for granted how special those framily times were growing up. As the child, I looked forward to seeing the kids and playing while the grownups socialized. Then as I got older I liked having life conversations with my parents’ good friends. They wanted to see me do well and enjoy life as much as any aunt or uncle would want that for their niece or nephew. That was framily before the word was ever even a part of my vocabulary. A real gift to be treasured.

Framily, according to Urban Dictionary, is “when friends become like family, they’re framily. Closer than close, they may know you better than your own family.” My sisters may challenge that, but I do believe another definition I read about framily is spot on: “Friends to whom we would actually choose to be related, because the relationship is mutually respectful, close, supporting and affectionate.”  That is how I would describe my framily. The people I met almost forty years ago at a wedding in the valley have become true framily to us and to our kids. We have been there for each other throughout the years, through the ups and downs. The tough losses we have faced as well as the most joyous celebrations of life. Weddings, babies, big birthdays, vacations, our children’s weddings. What builds framily is time, shared experiences and connection. I believe there is also some magical chemistry that is part of what keeps framily together. Many miles separate us, but that does not matter. Busy family lives can sometimes draw out the time between our gatherings, but that does not matter. Our connection remains strong, perhaps even stronger as time goes on.

This past week the framily reunion took place in the majestic Sierra Nevada Mountains next to Lake Tahoe, a place that holds many memories of our time together through the years. It used to be that we parents were the organizers of the daily activities on our trips, but times of changed. Our children are now the next generation of our framily. This past week my heart has been full as I watch all the kids catch up with each other, chatting and laughing (always my measure of a good time). Tearful goodbyes as everyone departed at different times reminded us all of how special our friendships are. How lucky we are to have had over forty years together, and I look forward to many more to come!

Do you get Cancel Pleasure?

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn Deep Thoughts, farm life, Uncategorized1 Comment

(5 minute read)

I am usually one for “cancel pleasure.” Not today. Right now I should be up in the sky above Virginia en route to the west coast. Instead, I am sitting with my coffee and dogs at home on my sofa. Usually, I am one of those odd home bodies that like when plans fall through, and my day is reset with the gift of no agenda. I refer to it as “cancel pleasure.” I developed a taste for this antisocial “return-to-the-cave” feeling back when our children were young and we lived in Connecticut. Snow falling and accumulating on the ground brought forth the news, highly anticipated by all children in the north, announced through an automated phone call, “Due to inclement weather, school is cancelled.” Or in our house the kids shouted, “Snow day!”

I shared their joy in the cancellation of school and activities. Stay in pajamas. Make pancakes. Watch movies. Build a snowman or a snow fort. Play restaurant in the kitchen. Get out all the legos and blocks and turn a whole room into a city. More movies. More snowball fights. The best part was that our car stayed inside of the garage. No school also meant no after school activities to shuttle my kids around to. Cancel pleasure at its best! Unfortunately the euphoria wears off by day four, then cabin fever sets in. Come on, plow the roads! My house is a mess, the refrigerator and pantry shelves are becoming sparse. I love my kids and they love each other, but fights are starting to break out. And then, just when we get over the punchy hump and find our confinement rhythm, the schools open back up. A tiny part of me would oddly be sad that our break in the busy hustle of school and activities was over. Back to the daily grind.

Snow days still impact my life, though not as much. I no longer live in the Northeast so we do not get the snow or ice like we did. I also no longer have children in school. COVID was the closest thing to a snow day, confining us all at home. Even my college age kids were trapped here. At first we were scared of the dangerous virus, then we became upset with all of the cancelled celebrations. Then we hit our stride by taking a page out of our Connecticut snow days of the past. We watched movies. We played games. We made pancakes. We also cooked great meals and enjoyed cocktails together. We read books, played video games and basically made the best out of a tough situation. I cannot really say that I had cancel pleasure during our COVID social distancing, but I will admit that as a mother, it gave me a lot of quality time with my adult children and husband that I would not normally have gotten. Then the world reopened. I did not realize how much I missed seeing my friends.

These days the little bits of cancel pleasure I get are rained out tennis matches or rescheduled social plans. The strange thing is that I love playing tennis, and I love to get together socially with people. But for some reason, the little gifts of time that I get when something is taken off my schedule give me a tiny bit of satisfaction. I remember once when my son Jack was home from college and was supposed to go golfing with a buddy. His friend cancelled on him. I smiled and asked, “Aren’t you just a little relieved? You can chill out and relax today. No plans.” He did not agree with that sentiment at all. No such thing as cancel pleasure for that boy. He wants to always be doing.

I am sitting here wondering right now if there is any part of me that has cancel pleasure. I have spent weeks lining up the caregivers to watch over the herd (dogs, cats, chickens, goats, and horse). Months ago I made lodging and travel arrangements. I have written pages and pages of instructions for my sons and others who will be taking over what I do (It takes a village to run a farm). My bags are packed and sitting by the front door. Last night I said my goodbyes to the goats. I cradled little Ada in my arms, envisioning her growing in my absence. I snuggled our dogs on the sofa, worrying they will miss us badly. My sister reminded me that dogs live in the present and will not long for me, but will be happy to see me when I return.

Well, I am still here this morning, Koda. I greeted Ada in the barn. “I thought you said goodbye last night,” she bleated. I know, I thought I would be half-way to Denver by now. Our flights were cancelled. Not delayed, but cancelled. My husband, the experienced traveler, rebooked us on new flights in a couple days. So, even though I am ready and was excited to begin my vacation, plans change. We now have the “gift” of two more days here with the herd to prepare for our absence (but I am already prepared). There is nothing planned for the next two days. It appears that this may just be a gift of time, a little cancel pleasure? It sure beats the feeling of cancel disappointment.