60,000! Yes! 60,000 give or take a few hundred. I have kissed the 80th decade of my life and over that many years, I have prepared approximately sixty-thousand meals. That’s a big number. Some days, it’s hard to be creative. It’s hard to even think about preparing anything. When there was extra money, those were the days that we went out to eat. Now, I think that eating out is not so much of a treat when I consider the expense and the hassle of the whole process of the restaurant experience. AND, the last few times we’ve eaten out, the meals have been more than disappointing. What a waste of time, money, calories, and energy.

In my mom’s later years, especially the last two years of her life, when she was 91 and 92, she so hated cooking for herself. She would call either me or my brother and offer to buy dinner or lunch if we would just go out with her. My brother usually had an excuse of some kind. I did too. I struggled with my weight, and eating out was a killer for managing my weight. I would come up with my own reasons that I couldn’t go with her.

I think back to those two years and can still hear the disappointment in her voice. I wish now that I had gone with her and trained myself to just order salads or soup. A restaurant menu for me is like a little kid in a candy store. It’s hard to choose sensibly. For her, it was the company as well as the relief of not having to cook. She was so lonely. Her friends had either passed or where unavailable to go out. They were either in assisted living or were no longer able to drive. For someone who’s world had been filled with activities with family and friends, living alone with little contact with anyone other than my brother and myself must have been painful. The emptiness had to be oppressive most days.

My mom must have prepared upwards of 80,000 meals over her lifetime. There were the big family meals when my grandma and grandpa, as well as my aunts and uncles with their families gathered in the summer or at holidays. Those meals were masterpieces of elegance and excess. She was as good as any military general in the strategic planning and organization of meal prep and presentation. Everyday dinners had a protein, two vegetables, a green salad, potato/rice or pasta, bread and butter (always bread and butter), and dessert.

Oh, Lord. It’s mind boggling to try and comprehend the history of her cooking. She was an accomplished baker and cook. When I was in Junior High and High School, she made wedding cakes for family and friends who were getting married. The cakes were multi-tiered works of art. She made my wedding cake when I got married at 19. I would not have had it any other way. Plus, she made all the cookies for the refreshments after the wedding. And, she made my wedding dress and two of my bridesmaids’ dresses – but that’s a story for another posting.

Every Christmas for all of my growing-up years, she make generous boxes of cookies, some candies, and Christmas yeast breads to give to family and friends. She started baking the weekend after Thanksgiving. The rich cookies were carefully stored in tins and boxes in the basement fruit-room. At that time, the fruit-room had dirt walls and floor with a wall vent to the outside for managing humidity. That room stayed just above freezing in the winter and a cool 55+ degrees in the summer – a perfect place to keep home-canned goods, root vegetables from my dad’s garden, and baked goods at Christmas. When there became an overflow of boxes filled with baked goods, boxes and tins were then stored on the enclosed front porch since the weather in December assured of near freezing weather. There was nothing like walking out to the porch and seeing all those containers of deliciousness. No, we did not sneak any cookies. We knew how to manage expectations. The holidays would come soon enough. We could indulge then.

I figure she made nearly 30 different kinds of cookies. She also made at least a dozen large, elegant, twisted, filled, frosted, and decorated yeast breads for people to enjoy at breakfast. Back then, the department stores and dress shops had large boxes that they packed your clothes in when you purchased a dress, suit or coat. Coat boxes where large. She used coat boxes to fill for special friends and family. There were usually a good half dozen coat boxes filled to the brim with her wonderful Christmas goodies. What a lovely holiday experience it was to deliver these gifts fill with not only good things to eat but brimming with my mother’s love.

I tried following in her footsteps when I got married. I think it was our second Christmas that I started baking cookies with the idea of gifting like my mother did. I, of course, did not make the number of cookies and breads that she did, but I did have a nice variety. The sugar, flour, and butter for the baking was expensive. Expensive in a way that we surely could not afford, but I needed that tradition to make it feel like Christmas. I had not connected to the fact that my grandmother, who had money, was the one who bought all the ingredients for my mother’s baking. Eventually, I had to give up on the excessive Christmas baking due to the cost and the amount of time it took to accomplish the number of cookies to be able to put gift containers together.

It is no wonder she wanted to finish her last years on this earth eating out. Plus, trying to cook for one person and that one person didn’t have much of an appetite had to be depressing to face each day when you are just plain tired of it all. I can now clearly understand her better in this regard.

Today is the first day that I have seen real fall colors in the trees and bushes as we drove from New Richmond, WI to Hudson, WI, a 20 minute drive. We’ve had a few nights where we needed another blanket on the bed. The last of the caterpillars are voraciously eating the milkweed bushes with a final push to fatten up for chrysalis forming. This picture was taken yesterday. Today, there are only two of the five caterpillars to be seen. The magic is happening somewhere close.

A small flock of Canadian Geese landed in the field across the street today. They are gathering to fly further south for the winter. Our pond freezes over in the winter so they won’t be staying here.

My husband made a statement a couple of days ago regarding winter. He said, “I think winter is going to be hard.”

I instantly thought of the snow removal and driving on wintery streets. And the predictions of a harsh winter this year, colder and perhaps drier. Gray days for sure.

He said, “Difficult not in the way you may be thinking, the physical challenges, but emotionally with the gloomy days and not being able to get out and about to lift our spirits.”

I know what he means. We tend to fatten up during the darker winter days. Eat to keep us warm with bigger fat cells. Eat to nurture our souls and feed our sagging moods. Less active because it’s just harder in the winter.

Last winter was hard. But then we were out in the foothills of the Snowy Mountains in central Montana. We had to wait to be plowed out, and the 10 miles of gravel, ice, and snow-covered roads could be challenging. A few white-out snow storms, a couple of precarious slides nearly into ditches, and a few white-out fog covers were just this side of terrifying. We were housebound a few times throughout the winter, one time when we couldn’t get out for 5 days. The folks up the hill drove their snowcat into town to get us milk, bread, and eggs.  Here, we will have an easier time getting out and doing things. Here, the snow-covered city streets are quickly dealt with, and our homeowners’ association takes care of our walks and driveway.

We still have weeks to go before the snow flies for the first time this fall. Time to get out and enjoy this fine fall weather before the gray gloomy descends.

This was a word picture, not really a poem, that I wrote many years ago after we had moved for the umpteenth time. Each time we moved, I contemplated the idea of “reinventing” myself or at least making some kind of change in me for the better like to be more organized, more outgoing, more creative, less grumpy, less judgmental. Well, the list went on depending upon where I was in my personal development, and what I was dealing with at the time.

The first big move I made with my family was from Denver to Bismarck, North Dakota. Whoa! That is a life change. The weather for one was something to survive. We flew into Bismarck in January to look for a new home. When I got off the plane the bitter, fridge wind hit me with a blast and as far as the eye could see were piles and piles of snow. Before I could stop the comment I said, “Now, I know what they mean when they say ‘when hell freezes over’. Hell must be just over the horizon, or maybe, it’s right here.”

The moving trip to Bismarck was in February in a U-Haul truck towing our car behind. As we settled into our new home, it became evident that the snow only fell one direction – horizontal. Since there were few trees between central Montana and Minnesota, there was nothing to stop the wind and all those fence posts were certainly doing nothing to slow it down.

Looking around my new situation, I thought it was the opportunity to invent a new “ME”. But what was that going to look like. Did I want to start wearing wild, crazy clothes. My wardrobe consisted of quite sensible clothes and colors. My mother taught me well. Or maybe I should join the local community choir and theater, become a local personality, get my picture in the paper. Or turn our lives and home into a community gather place for great food and drink, a place that neighbors and colleagues stopped by knowing they could at least count on appetizers and cocktails every evening or pastries and coffee every Saturday and Sunday mornings. Or a place where all the neighborhood kids and school friends of our boys would come to play and be entertained. Or delve into crafting and create marvelous things that people cherished, and that I could sell making lots of money.

In actuality, some or pieces of each of those things in some form or another did happen. We did have people over for cocktails and dinner. The boys did have friends over to play. I never joined a singing or theater group but I did work at the local YMCA in their preschool so that was community involvement. And one of the neighbor kids arrived every morning for breakfast dressed in his underwear sometimes like that in the middle of the winter. I did art and crafts that family and friends appreciated and cherished.

As far as major changes in who I actually was. Hmmmm! I guess the word “picture” above says it best. I’m changing, always changing but so slightly that it’s hard to see it happening. Right now, I’m trying to build a new life; more writing, eventually more art; perhaps some community involvement. It’s a totally new community, here in New Richmond, Wisconsin. I do know one couple that moved here a few years back that lived in our old neighborhood in Hudson. We have connected a few times. I’m contemplating reaching out further.

But MAJOR change? Does that really ever happen. I think we are imprinted at birth and in our early growing up years with who we are. Unless some cataclysmic thing happens that alters who we are, the changes are gradual. I’m different but you’re not going to see it unless you are someone from my “way-back” years. Here’s to staying the same and always changing. 😉

My friend, Brad and I, were just leaving our workout at the gym. We’d spent an hour doing our regular routines of stretching, walking on the upper-level track, and working out on weights. In order to leave the gym, we had to go through the treadmill area. People standing around and those on treadmills had stopped their workout and seemed to be tranfixed in some movie that was on the multiple television screens at the front of the large room. We stopped for a moment to see what was so interesting. A crowd began to gather.

The screens were showing a very tall building with billowing smoke rising from 3/4 of the way up one side. Brad leaned over to one of the by-standers and asked what was going on that was so interesting. That’s when we learned that the Twin-Towers had been attacked and were on fire. We looked at each other in shock and left immediately.

I called my son and daughter-in-law to get the TV turned on and that I was coming over. We spent that day watching the devastation unfold on the screen. We all felt hollow inside and frightened.

I owned a management and human resources consulting business in Seattle. My son and daughter-in-law were my employees. Our business was quite successful with plenty of work to afford my two employees and myself a good living wage with occasional bonuses. However, the next day at work after Septermer 11, 2001, the phone began to ring. We had 75% of our business with higher education, which had significant amounts of state funding. These clients were calling to cancel work that we had started and cancel contracts that had yet to be started. It was chilling.

Over the next few months things got even worse. Bankruptcy of my business loomed in the foreseeable future. I began shopping my business around to other firms, firms much larger than mine that were able to withstand the economic impact of the 911 attacks. My daughter-in-law went to work for another firm. My son stayed with me to be my main support person. We ended up merging with a medium-large accounting firm in Seattle that had their US headquarters in Chicago. It proved to be an unsuitable fit for both entities. Other events happened, and I eventually had to close my business. I moved to Montana, where I lived with my brother for a year and a half before I was able to purchase a home of my own.

That was the personal impact of 911. The country-wide impact was in the economy, travel and purchases that required large amounts of money such as a home. We all know how travel changed with TSA screenings. Many businesses could not withstand the economic downturn. Everyone experiences the now embedded fear of future attacks.

When I went to buy a home using inherited money, I was treated like I was getting the money from unsavory places. I was required to provide extensive documentation of where the money for the down payment came from. That had never happened before. Fear not only existed in each and every person. It traveled all the way to the top of organizational functions and ways of doing business.

We continue to experience the hassles of airline travel. That is not going to change ever again. Fear and distrust are now part of our lives.

So, today being the anniversary of that terrible day when so many innocent lives were lost and our world changed but not for the better, I will pause to reflect on what life used to be and be grateful for what I have now.

The United flight is partway from Minneapolis, headed to Denver. From there, United takes me to Billings, MT. My friend, Toni, will pick me up in Billings, and we’ll drive to Lewistown. Scott and I have a nearly full storage unit with life’s stuff that wouldn’t fit on the moving truck when we moved to Wisconsin. I’m going to spend the rest of this week dealing with these accumulated items, items that were once important, and some maybe still are.

I have moved 21 times. Letting go is something I understand. I don’t embrace it. I’m not a minimalist nor a hoarder. I still have things from that very first home, home #1. Not large items, mind you, but still items I am not willing to part with yet.

With each move, I am challenged by the process of letting go. With each move, there’s a period of grieving, not grieving like with the loss of a family member or a friend, but still a loss.

At my current age, I can see the end of my life approaching sooner rather than later. And the “stuff” that will have to be dealt with either by me or family. My mother refused to let go of much of anything, so I was the one who had to deal with it. Wow! Daunting! Some of what’s in storage is her stuff, plus a couple of generations before her that she kept. There is not only physical weight to those accumulated things but emotional weight. The letting go of those things carries a heavy dose of guilt. I am the last generation that cares or even halfway remembers the history of these things. I tried to get my mother to write the history down, but she was tired, just plain and simply… tired. I can understand because I’m at the age at which point I begged her to do the writing. I’m now tired. And what family member would care anyway?

So, what hasnt already gone to the few relatives that did care will be sold for pennies, going in a garage sale.

I haven’t even gotten into the gigantic question of why I and ultimately why any of us “buy” so much stuff then turn around a few years later and get rid of it.

A few years back, when I was actually thinking about retiring, I read where I should have various activities to ensure boredom doesn’t take over which would eventually sink me into the murky mud of mundaneness. With that challenge in mind, I decided that I would learn Spanish and French. I had taken a year of Spanish in high school and still knew a few words. I took the equivalent of two semesters of French in college and retained almost nothing. So, starting over learning these language was not new, so to speak, but I would be starting from the beginning. I had read where learning a language is good for brain health. If such an activity can ward off dementia then I’m all for it. I bought the diskettes for each language. And they sat on the shelf until I finally put them in one of my several garage sales. Staving off dementia by learning a new language will not be happening for me. My ultimate goal was to travel in countries where I could use the new languages that I would learn. It became apparent that I was not going to travel to said countries so why learn the languages if I was never going to use them. Anything I learned of these languages would quickly sink into to black file cabinet of lost learning deep in the catacombs of my brain.

I also read where learning to play a musical instrument was another way to ensure brain health and keeping dementia at bay. Learning to play the piano keyboard was my instrument of choice. I had taken piano lessons as a 7 year old so I wasn’t totally unfamiliar with the piano. Plus, I had done a lot of singing in high school and some in college. There was always a piano around to plink out a tune while I learned the sheet music. Plinking the keys was as advanced as I had gotten from my year as a piano student.

Prior to retiring, I bought a used 88-key keyboard online and as with the language tapes, it sat unused for a few years. Where ever I lived, I did set up the keyboard so it was there if ever I got inspired to learn to play. I bought books of music so I was “ready”. Finally, a couple of years ago, I screwed up my courage and signed up for keyboarding lessons. I asked my teacher, Chris, to treat me as a beginning student. I needed to start at the bottom of the learning curve. When I took lessons as a 7 year old, I was a master at hearing my piano teacher play the new pieces I was to practice that week. I was a master at hearing the piece once or twice and play it by ear immediately. I could not read the music or very little. Finally, the music got hard enough that I had to read what was written, and I couldn’t. I still can remember the fear I had walking into the teacher’s house for the lessons when I knew I had to “read” the music. I can still conjure up that heart clenching panic that meant “failure. The piano teacher told my grandmother, who was paying for the lessons, that it was useless to continue paying for lessons. I wasn’t learning to play, only learning to hear what was played and regurgitate it back. My piano lessons ended. I vaguely remember my grandmother being disgusted with me. No one knew at the time that I had a fair amount of dyslexia so reading sheet music was like looking at dancing dots on the page.

Once again, the keyboard sat lonely in the basement of the Hudson house. One day I took on the challenge and signed up for lessons with Chris, a Hudson piano teacher. I felt that same heart clenching fear as I walked into his piano lesson room that first day and a twinge of that same feeling every lesson thereafter with him. He was patient and took me to the point that could actually read what was to be played by my left and right hands, but just those two octaves on either side of middle C. I still felt challenged by the notes on the page. I worked hard to make sense of them. I still have a strong need to play these simple songs by ear. I can actually feel it taking over and then refocus on the notes on the page. It’s work.

The next octaves further out from middle C are where the mysteries begin. I had to end lessons before we got to those outer limits of the keyboard. That’s where the murkiness starts. I watch people on TV and little kids on FaceBook Reels play the entire 88 keys. Wow! Terrifying. I can actually feel my brain reaching, or trying to reach beyond the wall of fear that lurks on that mysterious edge.

The keyboard sat unused when we were in Lewistown for nearly 2 years. I only played it a couple of times. Today I set it up for the first time since we moved back to western Wisconsin. I played a few of the beginning songs and resisted playing them by ear. I’ll get familiar again with the music so I can once again play the simple songs without using my “ear” and without mistakes.

Then, I will find a piano teacher that can take me to the outer limits of my brain into that twilight zone of the out octaves. That’s where the mysteries lie. That’s where the magic happens.

The latest update on our Monarch butterfly event is that we have “many” caterpillars. I’ve lost count. I take the tiny half-inch long caterpillars on their chosen leaf, pinch off the leaf, and put it in the butterfly cage where there are several robust milkweed plants. There is plenty of food for the little buggers. We’ve had three fully mature caterpillars that have reach the stage of forming chrysalises. One actually attached itself to the inside top of the butterfly cage. I jerry-rigged a dead branch in the cage with the idea that the caterpillars would find it attractive to attach to but none have seen the beauty in what I have provided for them. One fat caterpillar actually used the branch to escape the cage. It meandered across the top of the cage, arched up on its many feet looking around at the possibilities, precariously leaned over the far edge, maneuver under the ledge, and inch its way to a more glorious place to do it’s magic trick of becoming a beautiful butterfly. I have searched the surrounding area for a lime-green, bullet shaped chrysalis but to no avail. Tricky little guy. Yesterday, there were two other caterpillars that were ready to go through the change of life. This morning they were nowhere to be found as well. Guess you can provide a lovely safe environment for the tiny creatures, but you can’t guarantee that they will stay or find it worthy of the magic that is soon to happen.

It takes the chrysalis 8 to 14 days to form a beautiful butterfly. I can’t wait to see the next stage. We experienced this in Clearwater, Florida when we lived there, but truly, it never ceases to be amazing.

As I was sitting at my desk, looking out the sliding glass door to the patio, I saw what I thought was a ladybug on one of the Butterfly Bushes. I had to go investigate. I like having ladybugs on my plants to keep them clean of aphids. Yes, turns out I was right. We do have little black aphids on those plants so it goes to reason that those buggers will attract ladybugs. Feast away little red and black helpers. Feast away!

While I was checking out the plants for more activity, what should I find but a Monarch caterpillar. YAY! What a success. I wasn’t sure we would even see Monarchs this year especially in this location. Like I said previously, I haven’t seen many butterflies of any kind this summer here in our New Richmond, Wisconsin location.

So here I am, sitting writing about the wonders of finding a Monarch caterpillar on our butterfly plants and what do I see next? A Monarch Butterfly, for real, flitting around the flower heads drinking in the nectar of these flowers. Oh, my! This is a big, gold star moment.

Just a note for the survival of our little striped friend eventually to become a grand winged Monarch. We had a gigantic rain and wind storm a couple weeks ago that blew large limbs off trees and uprooted trees throughout the area as well as on the Association’s property. I watched as the wind whipped the huge maple tree outside our backyard by the pond. The branches nearly bent in half from the gale. The maple tree down the way by the pond lost nearly half of it size with a large section breaking off and dropping partially in the pond. The storm seemed to have near tornado type winds. One of the aftermaths of the storm has been a decrease in the number of birds in our little area. Prior to the storm, we had lots of redwing blackbirds, starlings and crackles as well as many small song birds and a fair number of water fowl. Since the storm there have been none of the above except a family of Mallard ducks, a mother and 8 goslings. No blackbirds, starlings, grackles or song birds. It makes me think they all blew away. Most likely, they relocated to safer territory.

The reason I make note of this bird situation is that the lone caterpillar now has a chance of survival. No birds to pick it off for its breakfast or dinner.

I’ll be watching.

Growing up in central Montana, Monarch butterflies were prevalent all summer long. My dad had a large vegetable and fruit garden just a half of a city block from our house. Along the edge of the garden, next to the street, milkweed grew in abundance. I don’t think my dad was particularly happy about the weed, but he must have know that the Monarchs needed it to survive. He left it alone.

When we were growing up, my brother and I would chase the butterflies and sometimes had makeshift butterfly nets that we could actually capture one now and then. If we had know how fragile and amazing they were and are, we would have been more respectful. Those that we caught in our nets rarely lived long. We were curious about their wings and the dust that came off in our fingers when we held them by their wings. They didn’t fly so well after that.

Scott and I have been looking for Monarch butterflies for a few years now. There aren’t so many now as there were when I was growing up. A lot of their habitat is gone. Highway crews mow the roadside grasses and weeds to cut down on the chances of fire and keep deer away from grazing along in the ditches. The milkweed gets mowed right along with the grasses. Farmers and ranchers spray for weed control. The weed sprays kill the milkweed and other necessary vegetation for butterflies plus the sprays are harmful to the fragile species.

When we lived in Hudson, Wisconsin, from 2017 to 2023 with a break in that timeframe to live in Florida from October 2019 to March 2021, we experienced some wonderful and unusual butterflies. In our first living time in Hudson we started a pollinator garden on the slop behind the house. We had many amazing butterflies visit our garden the summer of 2018. Not only Monarchs and Swallowtails but a variety of others including one very large white butterfly that was the size of a saucer. I have yet to identify just what that butterfly was. It was amazing.

Our most intense butterfly nurturing was the time we spent in Clearwater, Florida. If anything were to take us back to Florida, one of those things would be the Monarchs. The two springs that we were there, we experienced the Monarch migration from their little sanctuary in Mexico as they headed north on their way to Canada where they would spend time until the end of the summer.

That first spring in Clearwater, I noticed quite a few Monarchs flitting around. That was exciting. Then I noticed the caterpillars on the milkweed that had been planted along side our home. We bought a mesh butterfly house that was about 2″ x 2″ x 4″, filled it with milkweed that we had purchased at the local nurseries, and started gathering caterpillars to fill the structure. Over the first summer, which was Covid-summer, we assisted in the birthing of nearly 80 Monarch butterflies. Most of them emerged from their chrysalis whole and healthy, ready to make their way north to the mid-section of the country. A few hatched with crumpled wings, of which there is no way for that butterfly to shake out the deep folds. We tried to give them a few moments of joy by putting them on one of the nectar plants that they need to survive. We definitely had a passion and a purpose. In Clearwater, we were certified as a Monarch Flyway Waystation since we had so many Monarchs that stopped by to lay eggs with availability of milkweed where they laid their eggs and nectar plants for feeding.

In March of 2021, we headed north from Florida and back to our Hudson home. We once again worked on our pollinator garden. In that short two years, the number of butterflies had diminished. Even with the addition of more milkweed and other pollinator plants for different varieties of butterflies, we had very few in our garden that year. The next year, we opened up a large area at the front of our property and planted Western Wisconsin native wild flowers and pollinator perennials. Our vision was to eventually every summer have an array of wild flowers in that area that attracted butterflies, bees, birds, other insects including fireflies. I envisioned a winding path through that area with private sitting areas for meditation and peaceful contemplation. We made a good start. Then we sold our home and moved to Montana.

One amazing highlight of our travel between Florida and Wisconsin is traveling through Arkansas. The State manages over 200,000 roadside habitats for the Monarch Flyway. Traveling from Clearwater to Hudson and also Hot Spring, Arkansas we were amazed by the divided highway center strips with an array of wild flowers that were obviously planted to attract and feed butterflies and bees. It would be great if all states did that. Following is a link that gives more information about the Arkansas initiatives to support all pollinator insects and make their freeways more appealing to travelers. https://www.landcan.org/pdfs/Arkansas-Monarch-and-Pollinator-Conservation-Plan.pdf

As we learned and researched information regarding the Monarchs and other pollinator insects, we learned about the lifecycle and travels of the Monarchs. One of their main winter homes is a small acreage in Mexico and to specific areas in California. Monarch butterflies migrate to specific overwintering locations in the fall to escape the cold weather and lack of food in their breeding grounds. It’s a 3,000 mile journey north to Canada and then again back to Mexico. The eastern monarch population migrates to the oyamel fir forests in central Central Mexico, specifically the Monarch Butterfly Biosphere Reserve. These trees, also known as sacred firs, create a microclimate that protects the insects. Western monarch populations migrate to the California coast, roosting in eucalyptus, Monterey pine, and Monterey cypress trees. In the spring, the butterflies fly north to the southern states, lay eggs and generally die soon after. The butterflies that result from this egg laying event then travel to the mid-section of the country and upper states where this generation of the butterfly lays eggs. This resulting generation flies on to Canada where eggs are lain once again. The butterflies that live and produce in the lower 48 states only live 5 – 7 weeks. However, the generation that emerges from the chrysalises in Canada are the only generation that has the genetic code to know how to fly back to their wintering grounds in Mexico and California. This generation lives up to 8 months. When they are ready to head south to Mexico, they ride the air waves and jet stream back to Mexico or California. This helps them conserve energy and to make the long flight efficiently. Then the cycle starts all over again.

At our new home in the townhouse community in New Richmond, Wisconsin, we have planted milkweed and butterfly-friendly plants in pots and boxes. We’ve seen some activity around the plants but it’s minimal. We’ve seen some nice wild milkweed out and about our walks and driving along the roadsides and fields. There’s a chance that we will see Monarchs this summer.

We’ve had a thought that perhaps working with the city of New Richmond we might be able to turn the field on the street side of the pond into a pollinator garden. We are developing a plan. Time will tell. The Monarchs and pollinator insects will definitely benefit. So will we!

The first surprise gift that Scott gave me was when we got together in June 2016 for a get-acquainted and renew a friendship from the past in a five day adventure in Billings, Montana, and a quick trip to Yellowstone Park. We had worked together in the Chicago area at Burger King restaurants in 1979. Our lives went very different directions after a short, somewhat difficult work experience together. We reconnected on FaceBook after some 35+ years later. We got fairly well acquainted via texting and a few phone calls. So, this trip together in Montana was our first real meeting in 3+ decades. That first encounter is a story unto its self.

Jumping ahead a few days, we are saying our “good-byes” at the Billings airport. Scott reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small jewelry gift box and hands it to me. I open it to find a tiny silver buffalo on a thin leather cord long enough to go around my neck. After our heroing adventures the past several days, I wasn’t sure Scott would ever want to see me again. I would not have blamed him.

Tears welled up in my eyes and hope eked into a corner of my heart. The good-bye hug was a bit tighter and a bit warmer after such a thoughtful gift and remembrance of the many buffalo we encountered in Yellowstone. We wave good-bye as he disappeared into the revolving doors of the airport. There was still a small inkling of doubt as to whether I would ever hear from him again.

We did reconnect and more amazing jewelry surprises were gifted to me at unexpected moments along with flowers and décor items over the years.

Since that moment in time in 2016, we have moved too many times with the painful task of getting rid of items that we just won’t be able to take with us so adding décor items to what we already have doesn’t make a lot of sense. AND I have a chest full of amazing jewelry that Scott has surprised me with throughout the years. I rarely have places to wear all the lovely things he’s given me.

Like most of us, I like something sweet at the end of our dinner meal. There’s always ice cream, sometimes a baked good, but currently, my favorite are a few pieces of Bit-O-Honey taffy. I had run out a few weeks ago so had to make due with whatever I could find that satisfied that sweet desire each evening.

Then what should appear on the counter after Scott had been to Hudson for one of his appointments but a giant bag of Bit-O-Honeys from Fleet Farm. Wow! This man still knows how to make may day!