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I don’t consider myself particularly superstitious.

Okay…maybe a little. I do pick up every penny I see, convinced that it’s my dad sending me support and messages from heaven. Does that count?

And Mike’s mom loved cardinals, so I’m pretty sure when I see one in our yard it’s Joan checking in on us.

That’s it, though…until the beginning of March of 2019.

Mike and I were returning from a much needed vacation at our absolutely favorite place outside Cancún. I had promised in an earlier post to detail some of what our life has been like in the last two years but, since we’re not on the other side of it yet, it’s still not time.

In April of 2018 we participated in the BCAN (Bladder Cancer Advocacy Network) walk to raise awareness and funds for this life-altering disease. The Philly Chapter is not very large yet, but we met some amazing people, and it was great for Mike to see that there are others in positions similar to his.

As with many organizations, one of the giveaways was an orange rubber bracelet signifying bladder cancer awareness month. Mike has been wearing his religiously since receiving it that day. Truthfully, I wear mine sporadically…not because of the message, but because of the fact that it’s orange, and orange is by far my least favorite color. Petty? Probably.

While we were in Mexico, Mike had another medical situation arise, causing us to lose some precious time in the sun, along with a few dollars.

While we were in the car being driven back to the Cancún airport, I noticed that Mike wasn’t wearing his bracelet. When I asked him about it, he told me he had left it on the sofa in the lobby at the resort. “It’s doesn’t seem to be working” was his reasoning.

Fair enough. I know he considered the bracelet more a form of solidarity than of hope.

On the way to our gate, he stopped to use the restroom. I waited outside with our luggage, sad to be leaving this gorgeous place, but anxious to see my pups and get back to our comfortable, if not frustrating, routine. I glanced around the crowded airport, enjoying some last minute, always unpredictable, people watching. I noticed something on the floor near my carry-on bag. It was bright orange…and rubber. There was no one around who appeared to have dropped it. In fact, there was no one within ten feet of our bags.

I thought for a moment it might be Mike’s bracelet that he hadn’t left behind at all, but may have fallen from one of the bags. It wasn’t. This one said No One FIGHTS Alone.

This was one of those “you’ve got to be kidding me” moments. I gave it to Mike, and he promptly put it on. He’s been wearing it ever since.

It wasn’t a penny or a cardinal, but I guess sometimes you need a reminder to keep the faith.

 

xo

 

 

Mike and I are still not ready to tell the entire story of exactly what he has going on. We need to be at the tail end of this to be comfortable enough to share everything in excruciating detail. We both appreciate your patience and unending support.

That being said, there are more side-stories to this adventure than I could have ever imagined. People we’ve met, incidents we’ve witnessed, and hours we’ve logged have all contributed to this wild ride.

We’ve both become pros at waiting. The waiting is absolutely endless. Waiting in an Emergency Room (be it in Philly or Voorhees) for someone to realize that you’re in REAL distress. Waiting to have a test that will determine the extent of an imminent surgery. Waiting to be assigned to a room when you knew weeks before that you were going to be admitted to the hospital. I feel like we are entering the home stretch. Or in this case, the homeless stretch.

It was during the over seven hours of waiting today that several notable stories came to light. We were sitting (yet again) waiting for Mike to be assigned yet another (his fifth) room at The Hospital at the University of Pennsylvania.

We were not-so-patiently sitting and watching people come and go, when in walked a young woman clutching a dog – maybe a Yorkie mix? – and about six tote bags overflowing with blankets and other unidentifiable stuff. A man, who was there with a relative, approached her and asked about the dog. She spoke in a whisper, but said that the dog “was working.” The man looked slightly confused, but walked away. When it was finally her turn (we were STILL waiting) she went up to the check-in kiosk with only the dog. It was very hard to hear the answers to the questions she was being asked by Margaret, the Admissions Clerk. More on Margaret later. Anyway, the quiet woman (whose name I couldn’t discern, even though she spelled it out) clearly was homeless, and all her possessions went where she did. She was actually very pretty, and each time our eyes met (ok…I was really trying not to stare) I was searching to interpret meaning in her gaze. There was nothing.

Mike and I were chatting about how we hoped his room was on his “regular floor” instead of one of the alternates he’s had. His least favorite was the Neurology floor. It’s actually reasonably quiet, but most of the patients on that floor have had serious neurological issues or surgery, and it’s very sad to see. Quiet Woman, upon hearing our comment about neurology said “you don’t want to go to the Neurology floor – they mess with your brain there. I’m going there, but it’s the worst.” I told her how cute I thought her dog was, and she told me the dog was her daughter, and her name was Meghan Davis. The dog’s sweater matched the woman’s coat, and I told her how sweet they looked together. She then commented on my periwinkle purse, and asked me what I thought about autism, since purple is the Autism Awareness color. Talk about a loaded question. I told her I supported anything that helped those with autism. She seemed satisfied with my answer, clumsily gathered her belongings, and headed to her room. It became clear to me that she was suffering from some form of mental illness. I thought back to Margaret (who took care of her admittance) and how gently and kindly she spoke to her. She was my new hero. Our turn with Margaret was finally next.

Margaret was on her cell phone when we were called up to her desk. She apologized, and said she needed to make sure her grandson was picked up. She was trying to figure out what to do with us – there had been some paperwork confusion – and she was clearly embarrassed at how long we had been waiting. The situation was obviously not her fault, and she was so flustered that I asked her some questions about her grandson to diffuse her frustration. She told us he was two years old and she and her husband were raising him. She told me “I’m way too old for this, but I can’t bear the thought of him being in the system.” That phrase stopped me in my tracks. The SYSTEM. Without this amazing woman, this child would be in foster care somewhere in Philadelphia. Margaret told me she took someone’s shift, so she was working from 6:00 am til 7:30 pm because she needed the money. She showed me a picture of her adorable grandson in his tiger Halloween costume sitting with his Pop Pop. She also told me how wonderfully supportive her husband is, and that she couldn’t do it without him.

Angels do walk among us.

One thing became clear today. When I’m reflective or sad about the hand we’ve been dealt, I will think about Margaret, the Quiet Woman, the man with no legs whose wife changes his diapers, the elderly woman in a wheelchair who had no one with her as she was admitted into the hospital, and I will be grateful.

I think we’ve all been in a position when everyone around us – once they are briefed on a situation – advertises the requisite “let me know if I can do anything.”

News flash…don’t ask. JUST DO IT.

I don’t know about you, but I have serious trouble asking anyone for help. My wiring is such that I would rather rework the choreography of a problem than seek assistance. I have driven myself to the hospital with a fractured ankle. I unboxed and dragged a projection television down a flight of basement stairs. I changed out a bad power switch in a treadmill. I’m a doer, not an asker.

My relationship with my husband has been littered with opportunities to solicit help from others. We cared for his mother following a stroke. My beloved has had seven surgeries…several of them major…since we met. I know every doctor in South Jersey, but never have I reached out and asked for assistance from anyone.

This time is different. I’m older. Yuck. I’m doing both his job and mine until he is back on his feet. I’m exhausted from driving from Marlton to Vineland to Penn and back again.

I finally snapped and reached out for help…with our dogs.

We have three. It sounds like a lot, but in my fantasy-crazy-dog-lady-world I would have a few more. Anyway, they are pretty well behaved, but they need to be let out to potty more than once every twelve hours. All my planning goes to shit when something like traffic or work demands mess with my schedule.

Enter my longtime friend Cindy, Celina, the Trenton cop who cleans our house every other week, and our niece Kaitlin. Over the last two weeks I’ve had to humble myself and ask each of them to find the hidden house key and let the pups out because I just can’t get home in time.

Why am I bringing this up?  So that the next time you find yourself uttering the words “let me know what I can do to help”, don’t just say it….mean it. JUST DO IT.

Drop off a bottle of wine. Stop and grab take-out Chinese or a pizza and leave it on the doorstep. Ask where the hidden key is and let the dogs out. Try to understand that being a caregiver is one of the most frustrating, exhausting and depressing positions imaginable.

Oh, and flowers are always the answer.

 

It’s been a while since I’ve posted on this website. There’s a good reason, but I’m not going to tell you about that now. You’ll just have to stay tuned.

We sleep in on Sunday. It’s just what we do. I’m not good if my technology gets too far from me, so I keep a Kindle and an iPad by the bed. I occasionally have trouble sleeping and I need a digital sleeping pill. Whatever.

This morning at a little after 4 A.M. I woke up feeling like I had been asleep for two days. I hadn’t. We spent the day with dear friends floating around in their pool and drinking citron vodka. Sadly, I didn’t feel the after-effects of the vodka, but rather the need to check in and see what was going on in my unpredictable world. An unexpected surprise greeted me.

Let me digress for just a moment. As most of you know, I spent almost five years at Apple. I absolutely loved the job, but eventually grew tired of the demands of retail hours. Without question, my favorite part of those years was the people I met and the interactions (that’s a big Apple word) we had.

Back to my story. While checking my email, I had only one…a “hello” from a former student of mine at Apple. I haven’t seen this person in almost three years, but she did leave a lasting impression. As an essential part of the internal culture, Apple stresses how elements of the human condition integrate with technology. In a training environment full of boobs and dick-pics (people take pictures of pretty much everything) we, as trainers, sometimes had the chance to feel like we were spectators in the lives of our customers. The author of this email was an exceptional case. She was in an abusive marriage with an IT executive who used his computer knowledge to manipulate and control her. She came to the store with a sense of hopelessness…she needed to complete an online form in order to obtain a restraining order and had absolutely no idea how to do it. Her ultimate plan was to file for divorce, and we became part of the plan.

We were always taught not to judge, but instead to use our best judgement in addressing  the customer’s issues. This case was pretty far out of the ordinary. Several of the morning trainers (she usually only came in early before the store opened) got to know her, and continued to provide assistance, even though it felt like we were participating in her incredible secret. She eventually got through the divorce and, through some sort of universal intervention, met a wonderful man. It feels voyeuristic to be so involved in a customer’s personal life, but apparently we were positioned in such a way…intentionally or not.

This is the email she sent me. She drastically overstates my technological abilities, but that’s not the point.

Dear Rosemary with the Beautiful Name,

Earlier today, I ran into one of the former Apple instructors I was so fortunate to know, and learn from at our local store. Of course, you were the best – so compassionate, wise, creative and technologically brilliant. Also, the smartest to leave when company policies changed.

Hope all is well with you, your family, business, and  life. Still racing around in your Mini Cooper?

Can you believe I have been married to Richard for over 2 years? God, I love to be spoiled! We are good companions, love to travel, and ready for a new adventure…maybe time to pick up and leave the area.

Please stay well, stay in touch, and maybe we could meet for a strawberry martini. You were an excellent influence in my life.

Warm regards,

(name withheld by me.)

Make a difference. Sometimes you get a chance to realize the impact.

xo

 

 

 

 

 

Spring has truly sprung (achoo), and Mike and I felt the need to hit the pavement today…HARD…and take advantage of the lovely weather. We’ve had a pretty busy year from May to April…Spain (it was BUSINESS), Ireland, Punta Cana, Boonville, San Francisco, Napa. The IRS, college, and a couple of other obligations will keep us grounded for a while, so we’re looking for adventure wherever we can find it.

After considering all our options (and reflecting on the beauty of new life with the baby goats born next door) we headed into Philadelphia. We took PATCO, and decided to walk to the Art Museum (where we are members.)

Impressed with our interest in “culcha?”

Anyway, the walk was quite enjoyable. Mike loves to smoke a cigar while walking through Rittenhouse Square. I heard one woman proclaim “this is like sitting on the boardwalk!” The people (and dog) watching is spectacular. Although, is it really necessary to do yoga handstands by yourself surrounded by people you don’t know and who don’t care about your level of “limber?”

I’m just jealous.

The streets between Rittenhouse Square and the Art Museum are actually picturesque and quiet. We approached the museum and were amused at the long line of people (probably tourists) waiting in line to take a picture with the Rocky statue. Then the harsh reality struck. People are pigs.

The steps of the Art Museum were littered (pun intended) with water bottles and other trash. In one spot there was a completely discarded fast-food picnic that actually included a Dunkin Donuts Box of Joe.

The trash can was five feet away.

Or less.

Really?

This museum is a significant piece of Philadelphia’s history. Show some respect.

We walked (slowly) up the famous Rocky steps and took a breather. We’re old.

Mike suggested lunch and I readily agreed. As we walked back toward Center City we were surrounded by political campaign volunteers placing brochures under doormats and lots of joggers. Mike said it was like being in the middle of a track meet. I sort of started jogging.

Ok, walking fast.

I knew there was a cocktail at the end of this part of this expedition.

The only thing standing between me and some sort of refreshment was a slightly deranged woman screaming that she was “racing for the cure.”

In her bare feet.

On 21st Street.

Threatening to “cut” the taxi driver who was staring at her.

Mike put his hand on my lower back and encouraged me to “jog” a little faster.

We happened upon a mural that I thought would be perfect for Earth Day.

I’m late.

We have a favorite Cuban restaurant on Pine Street. It was the site of a phone call several years ago when my sister was heading out on a cruise for her 25th wedding anniversary. She was frantic. She and her husband had missed the boat.

Seriously.

They got to the seaport in Baltimore after the cruise line had stopped the boarding process. They had to fly to Bermuda later that night. I was sworn to eternal secrecy. I will take this opportunity to tell you that I told her it was going to happen.

The boat left at 4:00 pm…at 12 noon she was getting her nails done.

In Chadds Ford.

I knew they were toast.

Back to today…the service at our restaurant was slow.

Mike was losing patience at the delay of the delivery of his beer, so I took the opportunity to eavesdrop on a couple of guys clearly on a first date.

Is that so wrong?

When you choose to dine al fresco you’re fair game.

Because Mike was more interested in the progress of his fantasy baseball team, I continued to listen.

I think things were going well. Typical first date stuff. (Less martinis than were involved in our first date, though.) The guy on the left was cool, handsome and wearing beautiful blue driving mocs. The guy on the right looked a little nervous and did WAAAYYY more talking.

And belching.

Isn’t that bad “first date” karma? I couldn’t see his face, but I’m guessing suave Left Guy was grossed out.

They talked about all sorts of things. Movies, prior relationships, breakups, and various states they had lived in. Bar Mitzvahs (guy on the right) and First Communions (guy on the left.) Left guy had lived in Florida and was fluent in Spanish.

Then the talk turned to mental health. Right Guy started to go on and on about the medications he was taking.

Lexipro was working well for the last year or so. Thank God.

He also thinks he’s OCD.

At this point I’m waiting for  Left Guy to make a dash for the door.

Oh wait. We’re all outside.

I’m no genius, but shouldn’t you save medication and mental health for a later date?

We had a train to catch, so I’ll never know how it worked out.

If it worked out.

I’m going with no.

On the train home, the guy in front of me looked like he was studying an NCAA playoff bracket.

Way too closely.

On closer inspection, I realized he was looking at some sort of molecular structure.

I think I may have judged incorrectly.

Sorry. He’s probably going to cure some horrible disease.

I expect the worst on the train. I can’t be blamed…I was on sensory overload. Maybe I should consider Lexipro.

I’ll stay out of the city for a week or two.

Have a great week.

If you have ever been in the Philadelphia area in the fall, it’s hard to resist finding every possible reason to be outside. The weather is crisp and exhilarating and Center City is alive with activity. We saw at least 5 wedding parties taking photos all over the city…a bride couldn’t ask for a more perfect day for a wedding.

We were invited to an event called “Bring Out Your Dead” … by our accountant. Go figure. Apparently every year the firm sponsors an historic sightseeing tour of Old City. This year they put a twist on it – we would see buildings that are apparently haunted by ghosts.

We took PATCO into the city early and decided to walk around and do some people-watching. It was glorious…there was even an open-air market surrounding Rittenhouse Square. After a couple of hours, we headed toward the “meet up” destination, The Race Street Café, for a couple of drinks and a snack.

Eventually the rest of the group arrived, and we waited for the guide to arrive. We waited…and waited….and waited. He never showed. After an hour of so, someone was able to reach him and we were told we were at the wrong place. He was waiting for us at The City Tavern. The City Tavern is the oldest restaurant in Philadelphia, and has entertained the likes of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and the rest of the colonial leaders. While listening to some history of the building and the area, we were treated to a “shrub” – a colonial drink that was kind of unimpressive (as cocktails go.)

I won’t bore you with details of the tour (which was actually quite interesting even though we learned way more about the city on the Duck Tour several years ago.) The best part of the tour was the guide (who is apparently one of the most knowledgeable in the city) – I actually can’t tell you his name, because to us he was a strange combination of Benjamin Franklin and Grandpa Munster.

The fascination with him started when it became very evident that he had been hitting the “shrubs” LONG before he hooked up with us. As we walked Old City, he was slurring, wheezing and nearly stumbling along the uneven cobblestones. He was quite informative, but we were too distracted to absorb the information. We stopped at the Physick House, which is a well-preserved colonial mansion that I’ve never seen our recall even walking by. Our guide left us in the care of one of the dependents of Dr. Physick while he “rested” in the kitchen. The refreshment at this stop was Madeira wine…noticing a trend? The house is gorgeous, and well worth a visit. Dr. Physick was quite an interesting man…he is credited with inventing the first carbonated soft drink in 1807, and performed surgeries at that very house – his medical instruments are quite alarming.

I share this with you for only one reason. Tipsy tour guides aside, Philadelphia still continues to fascinate me with it’s history and authentically preserved structures and artifacts. It was obvious after our trips to Madrid and Dublin that Europe is rich with antiquities, but it is hard to argue that Philadelphia’s exceptional contribution to the story of the United States is indisputable.

Have a great week! xo

And so we are at the end of our Irish adventure. Once the pictures are edited I will post them, but here are some final observations we noted on this incredible journey.

• Even though the Irish drive like complete maniacs, We didn’t see one person texting and driving. Part of this might be attributed to the fact that most of the cars have manual transmissions (and are super small.) Either way, it was refreshing to see.
• At the beginning of the trip, we tipped in pubs and restaurants as we normally do. About halfway through, we noticed that in most places there were NO tips being left at all. We asked someone about it, and were told that any tips are welcome, but not expected.
• The roads are really narrow. In most cases there is no shoulder, and we even encountered several “dodgy” roads that were little more than single lane.
• “Pedestrians have the right of way” – this concept is non-existent in Ireland. It wouldn’t take much effort at all to get mowed down.
• I commented earlier on the weather. Apparently the summer in Ireland was absolutely miserable….we heard this from everyone we spoke to. (Most of the Irish talk about the weather endlessly.) We had one morning of light, misty rain. Other than that the weather was spectacular…mainly like a lovely fall day around the Philly area.
• For the most part, the houses are modest. There seems to be a sensitivity to cost and ecology. In several places, we were told to let the water to run for a few minutes to allow the water heater time to warm the shower.
• In school, children are all taught to speak “Irish.”  It does not seem to be an easy language to learn!
• We saw mothers pushing babies everywhere…I’m guessing when they finally get a nice day, they take full advantage. The same goes for people walking their dogs. Lots and lots of dogs. (and sheep and cows, but you already knew that!)
• In the major cities, I noticed that most of the women were wearing pantyhose. I honestly can’t remember the last time I did that.
• The power converters are different than those we brought to Spain. (Not too glamorous a tip, but worth noting!)
• We found the Irish people to generally be very warm, chatty, and helpful.

Til chéad uair eile (til we meet again.)

This post comes to you after we’ve been home a few days. Since Dublin was last on the agenda, we did a “hop on, hop off” tour. As it turned out, we never hopped off (the bus) – we wanted to make sure we saw as much of the city as we could. We also had the added stress of packing, returning the rental car, and getting to the airport in enough time for them to thoroughly ransack our bags.

The actual REAL reason this post was delayed is that after importing the Dublin pictures into the computer (like I’ve done at LEAST 1000 times in the past)  when I went to look for a few to put on here, they were all missing. After some sheer determination, I finally found them buried in a library. Whew. Crisis averted. Stay tuned…I’m going to do some editing and will post a bunch of pictures on a separate page later.

But now….Dublin.

I’ve been clear about the driving challenges in Ireland. None of these compared to driving in Dublin. Armed with a regular GPS as well as my iPhone 6+ (I don’t EVEN want to look at my bill this month) it took us an ungodly amount of time to find our hotel. The GPS kept wanting to direct us to the bus lanes, where a lovely, unfortunately positioned officer continued to flag us in the opposite direction. After driving in circles for the better part of an hour, we finally found our hotel…and their teeny tiny sign. I’ve had better luck in Boston (which for my money is the most horrible city in America for driving.

My next post is going to outline our overall impressions of Ireland, but let me share our thoughts on Dublin.

Irish Wolfhounds are really big.

People were not overly friendly…even more than New Yorkers, they all appear to be in a HUGE hurry to get where they’re going.   Dublin is a VERY busy, crowded city with very few WOW sites. We were advised to avoid Guinness – nothing but a big tourist trap. The Book of Kells (at Trinity College) is supposed to be a Dublin highlight. We stayed on the bus – maybe because we were at the end of the trip, but it just seemed like too much effort to “museum” site see. We were more than satisfied to ride the bus for two and a half hours and get a nice overview of the city. We had done the same thing in Madrid (but did our fair share of “hopping” off.

The Irish are really passionate about rugby, soccer and Irish football. There were some major matches going on while we were there.

Dublin (like the rest of Ireland) is chock full of pubs and restaurants. Because of a soccer match against Germany, we tried very hard to find a pub that wasn’t all about sports. Fortunately there was a spot 2 doors down from our hotel.

It was a great way to wrap up the trip. Next up…overall impressions and lots and lots of pictures.

I’ve never met anyone who has gone to Belfast while visiting Ireland. Not sure why…it’s just not on the “vacation radar.” We left the suburbs of Londonderry to head toward Belfast, but decided to stop at The Giant’s Causeway on the way. It was as spectacular as described.

Legend says that a giant named Finn McCool sculpted this phenomenon. Regardless of how it was formed, it is spectacular. We climbed stairs and walkways for miles…it was exhausting but gorgeous.

And there were sheep.

Then we headed an hour southeast toward Belfast. Belfast is kind of a sad, nondescript city. They have pink double-decker busses.

And it’s where the Titanic was built and launched. The museum is alleged to be the same size as the hull of the original ship.

The museum was closed by the time we got there. We walked back to the City Centre, but were happy to head back to our humble abode for the evening.

Tomorrow is our last day in Ireland. Dublin…here we come! Again!

…Northern Ireland. It seems tourists are reluctant to enter the “forbidden” world of Northern Ireland. We decided to throw caution to the wind and explore the ENTIRE COUNTRY…not just the touristy part. Before leaving Sligo, we stopped to see the grave of Yeats, but decided against spending much time in the ancient city…we still have some ground to cover.

Crossing into Northern Ireland was pretty unexceptional. In fact, we didn’t know we had crossed the border until we went to pay for a souvenir at Belleek…they wanted payment in British Sterling (which we had!) This lovely bridge is the dividing point…no armed guards, no border patrol. Just a text message on the phone about the rates that apply in Great Britain!

We bought the only souvenir I suspect we’ll buy at Belleek. It’s a Celtric cross that we’ll hang somewhere in the house. Belleek holds a special meaning for me. My father had a small collection of delicate pieces and, the first year I dated Mike, I gave one of my father’s pieces to Mike’s mom as a Christmas gift (given her Irish heritage.) We have it back now, but she reminded me of him so I thought it was something she would appreciate. (She did.)

We thought we might go to the Giant’s Causeway and head back to Londonderry, but thought better of it and checked in at our home for the night. We later went back and toured “The Walled City” – another reminder of the division between the two religions factions in Ireland.

Tomorrow we’ll hit the Giant’s Causeway on the way to Belfast. In the meantime, here’s your photo of the day. Yup…even in Northern Ireland you can buy crap at a discount!