In The Kitchen

We've lived in this old house for 33 years, and have been emptying it out, getting it ready to rent. The kitchen is one of the last rooms to evacuate, since we've still been cooking in it, but today is the day to empty the cupboards of food and pans, but for me, the memories are still there.
There are three of us working in the kitchen. My husband is changing the funky old knobs to cute chrome ones shaped like a cup and saucer and a teapot.

A friend is emptying out the cupboards so he can clean them, and putting the contents around the kitchen for me to sort through. I call my job "search and destroy", but it's not true. For each item, I have to decide if I want to keep it, (does it give me joy?)...... does someone else want or need it?..... Should I put it out in the changing pile of "leavings" that we've left by the curb for passers by to take?..... Can it be recycled?..... or, is it truly garbage?

The hardest part of this sorting for me, is to also consider if the item suits our mobile home in Palm Springs, or the condo at Lake Tahoe, or could we use it in the little "in-law" we're making for ourselves downstairs. Our kitchen there, will consist of a microwave, a crockpot, a coffee maker, a George Foreman Grill and an electric pot to heat tea water......no place for pots or pans. Storage is at a premium, so I have to be brutal, but if I have fond memories of an antique cookie sheet or muffin tin, I'll bring them to Palm Springs to replace things that were already in the kitchen when we bought the place. Things for entertaining go there too, since there are always a lot of pot lucks.

It must look as if I'm moving in slow motion, to my co-workers in the kitchen. I see the clutter on the counter of bowls and utensils and half used cleaning products growing, it's upsetting to me that I can't seem to keep up with the flow. My brain, in the meantime, keeps playing movies of times past. As I get out the muffin tins from a corner of the cupboards, I fondly remember the "apartment" that Tigger, our orange tabby had made in there. We found that he opened the cupboard door with his paw, crawled in and didn't come out. Turns out, he could see the side of the drawer that had dishtowels in it, and he reached into the drawer, and pulled out a few towels with his claw to make himself a nice little nest in the cupboard. I discovered his lair one time when I was suspiciously low on dishtowels. He watched as I cleaned it out, and in a few days, he had refurnished it.
Another time, I caught Tigger rubbing up against Tessa, our dog, and ending up with his head in Tessa's gentle open mouth!

The soon-to-be-replaced kitchen sink brings back a vision of a favorite photo of my kids, Jennie, 5, and Lucas 1-1/2, way back when, standing on chairs, "doing dishes". Lucas especially concentrated on the Tupperware cups that were unbreakable. Both of them had vintage child's aprons on, and Jennie's hair cascaded down to her waist. This has always been one of my favorite photos, and it has been the problem with getting this story done. It has gotten temporarily lost in this huge shuffle we're in the midst of, but when I find it I'll add it in. I promise.
The kitchen sink was also captured when someone got a picture of Polly, our cherry headed conure (one of our menagerie) perched on my back as I washed my hair.

This reminds me of more animal activity in the kitchen, which, when I think about it, was pretty common.

A few cocktail glasses appeared on the counter. Some were Christmas glasses with poinsettias on them, that would probably be sent to Goodwill.....but others were etched glass, ones that had been brought over from Hawaii, when Helen "Tutu" and Wally, "Grandpa" came over on the Lurlene, a cruise ship that brought my kid's Dad, Walt, at 3 years old, laiden with leis, to the mainland.

 I remember in 1998.. ., Wally was gone, Helen lived with me, and when I came home from a days work at Kaiser, I'd find her sitting in the old rocking chair in my kitchen, decked out in a nice Muu-Muu with matching nail polish, and sometimes a silk lei. While I jumped right in to cooking dinner, still in my scrubs, I told her what happened at work that day. She told me what happened at the house, and we had cocktails. We made up our own, one time calling a tequila and apple juice drink a "Juanie Appleseed". Good times.

There were so many other memorable things that happened in this old kitchen. Lucas shot magnetic darts past my back onto a target on the refrigerator as I did the dishes when he was 5, and Jennie practiced her shuffle-ball-change on the linoleum when she was seven. I truly hope that the new family that moves into this home has as many wonderful, wholesome memories in this kitchen and in all the other rooms. God bless them.

A Stroke of Bad Luck, From Dependence to Independence : A story I wrote in 1998

I saw something tonight that made me cry while I was waiting at a stop light. A man started across the wide street, slowly, with a cane in his right hand, his left hand curled up in front of him. He did the slow step-together walk of the wedding march, that I've become used to.  It's not that I've been in so many weddings, but because Walt walks that way, since his stroke in 1987.

Walt in 1988

I wondered about the man who was slowly crossing the street.  "What kind of life did you have before? ...before life as you knew it was changed in the twinkling of an eye? Your blood flowed through your brain and got stuck there for awhile, long enough to damage crucial parts. What was your life like back then? Did you have big plans? Was it your birthday? Do your children recall what you used to be like? Maybe not. Some of them may have been too small to remember the warm hugs and the rides on your shoulders."

As I sat there in my car, I prayed that the man would make it all the way across the street before the light changed. I imagined the tension of the people in the other cars as they thought about the places they had to be 5 minutes ago. I thought that the folks in this man's family and those who know Walt, should acknowledge the people that these men were before, but should also appreciate how courageous any disabled person has to be to go out into the world on their own. We all must remember how they used to be and then appreciate how difficult it is for people with strokes and for other disabled and even blind folks to go out, and on with a new life....a completely changed life with fewer skills to draw upon.

This is not something you would wish on anyone, and you hope doesn't happen to you or anyone you care about. Just imagine someone you love suddenly not being able to sit up, or walk or speak with you in a simple conversation. It's not a dream. It's really happening and it won't go away. "What will I do?",  you think. But what will THEY do?......these people that are struck down? They're given a lot of support through physical, occupational, and speech therapy, but they have to have a strong spirit to pull themselves out of an hospital bed and into their new lives.

The attention they're given is like water on a plant. Sometimes Walt would brighten up all through his physical therapy sessions, and swear enthusiastically to the therapists that he would do all the exercises, only to come back the next time to charm her once again with his crooked smile, without having practiced one exercise.
As these people are given the skills they need to get on with their new lives: how to sign their name, cook without  being burned,

Making his own lunch.

and how to make a phone call, they bravely go out into the world using their canes, wheelchairs or electric Lark carts, to try to take care of themselves. Walt, for one, hasn't let the stroke keep him at home. Even when family members tried to protect him, and keep him there, he found ways to escape from his home in Richmond, CA, take BART to San Francisco riding his Lark cart, and visit some of his old haunts. He used to work at the Hilton as a banquet manager, and fight for the union rights of Local 2. He'd have lunch, and then come home a little too late to keep the family from worrying.

Soon it was realized that he still had his sense of direction, and even though he had trouble communicating with speech (aphasia), and was paralyzed on his right side, he could still have adventures and have his longed-for freedom. His daughter made him a little card that he hung around his neck with his ID, explaining about the stroke and his difficulty with speech. In order for his family to know where he had been that day, he collected souvenirs, like matches from restaurants, business cards, notes from people he met or sometimes he took a photo.

Perhaps since he has had more "time on his hands" (not really, if you count the extra time it takes just to get dressed), Walt notices things that are wrong about the world of the disabled. He likes to feel he can do something about them. Conditions that effect disabled people are at the top of his list. People in wheelchairs (including Walt), have gotten off at BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) station where it's necessary to go to a different level to transfer to another train, only to find out that the elevator has been out of order. Very frustrating! "ADA!", he shouts, pointing his left index finger to the sky. (FYI: ADA is the Americans with Disabilities Act, which was passed in 1990).

On the night that I write this, he tells me through a series of charades, words, and faces, that handicapped people who have had trouble with the elevators on BART have a class action suit going on. "Class Action!", he shouts. He and some of his friends documented all the times they were left stranded without an elevator, leading to the suit being won. The result of the suit was that everyone who sent in a form stating that they had had a problem with this, could get a free BART pass. Also, if you are standing in a BART station you'll most likely hear an announcement about which elevators are working, or which ones are out of service. There is also a number you can dial to make sure the elevator is running at a station you are about to go to.

Walt is always proud to think he had something to do with that. He likes to think he's a helper. Sometimes he's hard to understand, and he can be very exasperating, but he really would like to make a difference. This new person he has become is one of those people riding around on a Lark cart with a red flag sticking up for safety. He could also be the person walking slowly in front of your car as your stop light turns green. Give him the time he needs and smile at him. Give him a little wave. He could be YOUR husband or father. He could be YOU. Think about it. He's on a mission ....to live his brave new life.

Walter Romer is living now (in 2015), at the California Veteran's Home, in Yountville, CA.  He still makes regular trips in his electric wheelchair by bus, BART and even the train. The folks at the Veteran's Home have gotten used to his comings and goings. He still has a good sense of direction.

Giovanni's Mama

Back in 1974, I worked as a hostess at Giovanni's Restaurant, in Berkeley. I was hired, as most employees were, because I was related to someone. My husband had worked there as a waiter in times past, and as was the tradition, I became part of the restaurant family seemingly by osmosis.

The family atmosphere of this Italian restaurant was heightened by the frequent visits of Mama, Giovanni's mother, to share cakes and cookies she had baked herself  with the customers. Her portrait hung over the mantle piece of the fireplace. There she sat, a proud Italian mama in her black dress with a white lace collar and her hands folded on her lap, looking out over the customers as they ate some of the recipes that she had invented. (Our favorite is Chicken Marsala).

Last Saturday, Doug and I decided to have a "date night", including dinner and drinks at our beloved Giovanni's. As we approached the building, we saw yellow caution tape over the windows, and the bar gate was closed over the front door. As we strained to look inside, we could smell charred wood and saw that the fireplace had been torn apart. There was a note on the door that a fire had occurred on April 22 at 6 AM, and that no one had been hurt. I was heartsick, as I stood at the door with an old story in my hand that I had written for a newspaper about the owner John's "Mama" way back in 1980, right after she had passed away. I had wanted to give it to Giovanni, his wife Anna, and daughters Anastasia and Sarah, since it is close to Mother's Day. I couldn't, so I'll copy it out here instead.
                ________________________________________________________________

From the Archives.     Written in 1980, by Reilly Romer (AKA Me, Pat Reilly Harbo)

                                                                 MAMA

Mothers are wonderful people. They nurse us and care for us and cherish us, spoil us and discipline us, protect us and love us. Many young people think that once they've left the nest and are flying on their own, all that nurturing and worrying ceases.

But they've never been mothers before. I haven't been a mom for very long myself, but I know it's a very special thing to be one. It's even more special to be called "Mama" not only by your children, but by everyone who comes in contact with you.

Mama Savaria (Sarah) Schipani was that type of person. She died in San Pablo, CA, on December 30th at the age of 75. When she was a child in Calabria, Southern Italy, little did she know that she and her cooking would be the wellspring of at least five fine restaurants.

Cooking was to become Savaria's life. While growing up, pasta and bread making were everyday events and she became adept at the recipes that were indigenous to that region of Italy. Eventually, the couple left Italy for West Virginia, where Bill worked in the coal mines. They lived with Bill's cousins, so Savaria helped with the household chores and the cooking, picking up additional recipes from her new-found family. The region that these immigrants came from was richer than Savaria's, so they had more meat in their concoctions and they used slightly different spices. With these recipes added to her repertoire, she was becoming quite creative in the kitchen.

While living in West Virginia, Savaria earned the title of "Mama" by giving birth to four children: John, Frank, Rosie, and Katherine.

Next, the promise of big money in the steel mills brought on a move to Indiana. Like most immigrants, Bill worked hard and saved his earnings. He subsequently opened a bar in Gary, IN, called Bill's place. It was only supposed to be a bar, but there was a kitchen, so Mama was naturally in it, cooking. Customers got a whiff of the delicious aromas and asked if they could buy some of whatever she was making. Mama loved to see people enjoying her good cooking, so it didn't take long for Bill's Place to develop into both a bar and a restaurant.

During the years in Gary, tragedy struck, and daughter Rosie drowned at the age of eleven, but Mama's family continued to grow. Bill and Savaria had three more children, Fran, Bill Jr., and Jim.

In 1962, California lured eldest son John away from home to open his own restaurant in Berkeley, called "Mr. Pizza". Gradually, his brothers and sister Fran followed and also fell in love with California. Mama and Papa wanted to be close to most of their family, so they too, relocated in the Bay Area.




Forever the cook, Mama enlarged John's pizza and salad only menu, by cooking her spaghetti and meatballs. The customers loved the addition, and that encouraged Mama to come in a couple of days a week to concoct her recipe for lasagne.

The restaurant's name was changed to Giovanni's, (John's), and in 1967 business was so good, a move was made to a couple of blocks down Shattuck Avenue to a larger building. Caffe Giovanni continues to be a popular place to dine mainly because its fare is based on Mama's recipes, like her Veal Scallopini and her stuffed Eggplant Parmesean.

Mama's special touches always made dining out a pure delight. She made the customers feel at home by passing among them with a tray of cookies. Many regulars began calling her Mama and asking for her when they came in to eat. Mama never spoke much English, but she managed to communicate her appreciation to the people who enjoyed seeing her.



Employees grew to expect a huge cake baked expecially for them each week. Daughter Fran read the recipes to her in Italian, but Mama couldn't let a chance go by to change a recipe and make it her own. She added an extra egg or two this time, maybe four next time, or perhaps some pudding (before it was even thought of by Betty Crocker). Mama would especially delight in watching the thinner employees devour her creations , commenting in her dear broken English and sign language something like, "You gotta eat! You too skinny! Mangia!"




At Mama's house one day, Franny told me, that the milkman finally confessed to her that every day after making his delivery and smelling the aroma of Mama's cooking, he had to run out to his truck and eat his sandwich because he became so hungry. Fran laughed and relayed this loudly into Mama's ear, for her hearing was impaired. Immediately a chair was pulled out for him, and he was told to "Come! Eat!" So began a weekly routine for that milkman....every Tuesday for over two years, Mama had a luncheon waiting for him.

At one point, he said his wife wasn't sure she believed his innocent story of eating at a nice Italian lady's house every week. When Mama heard this, she had him take his wife a picture of herself and said, "Tell her I old! No worry!" She also sent a jar of her special spaghetti sauce home with him. When that milkman left the company, his replacement was hoping he would get the same fringe benefits. In Mama's eyes he never qualified for a free lunch.....maybe a piece of cake.

Mama Savaria is what the restaurant business is all about. She loved to cook and she loved to watch people eat what she had cooked. She treated employees with respect and warmth. An example of her big-heartedness to everyone, she was instrumental in training her offspring to be generous. The sense of "family" seems to permeate anything Mama has had anything to do with. The Schipani's have acquired a reputation for hiring people who, if they aren't related to them or their present employees, they are old friends, or friends of friends. This provides the atmosphere of caring of which Mama was very proud.



Savaria was full of pride when it came to her family. She has a right to be. Sons Billy and Jimmy helped Johnny operate Caffe Giovanni's for years until they each decided to branch out on their own. Bill and his wife, Karen opened the popular Shattuck Avenue Spat's Restaurant. Fran Bisbiglia, Bill's sister, also helps to run the Berkeley restaurant, and Mama regularly came in to prepare several of her specialties and to ply the employees with cake.

John decided to enlarge upon what he did best, and opened Baci's, a seafood restaurant on Pier 39 in San Francisco, while brother Jim moved to Reno to open the elegant Washoe Zephyr Restaurant. Even daughter Katie, still in Hobart, Indiana, owns a restaurant called the Mortor Joynt.

There's only one son that isn't in the restaurant business. Actually, he used to have a restaurant, but he's found something more lucrative. Frank is a professional blackjack player.

It seems to me that Mama has left quite an inheritance. There's not only her legacy of love, but of recipes, aromas, and happy taste buds....of memories, values, and old ways......of family ties that are strong. What more could a Mama want?
                                                                         The End
             __________________________________________________________________
Post Script: This story was written 35 years ago. (hard for me to believe too!) The lives of the people in this great family have had many twists and turns, as all of ours have. I was just going to hand my typed copy to the family when we went to eat at Giovanni's, but since we saw that there had been a fire, decided to post these memories for all to see. Our prayers are with Johnny and Anna, Anastasia and Sarah, and all the crew at Giovanni's.



We hope that the damage wasn't so much that many folks' favorite restaurant won't reopen. There are still many taste buds waiting to be tantalized!       Pat Reilly Harbo

An Old Cat and Dog Story from 2001

In the last few years, my family's pet population has dwindled from two cats, one dove, one cockatiel, one cherry-headed conure, two parakeets, 19 bunnies (it's true that they are prolific), and 12 goldfish in the pond. The menagerie has declined, due to old age, bunny sales, birds flying the coop or being buried in the side yard, racoons, and no replacements. We are now down to two pets.

Alas, our cat, Tigger, a 14 year old orange striped tabby, has cancer. All of six months ago, he had a surgery which supposedly removed the whole tumor from his abdomen. Because of his age and our fondness of him, I figured the $180. for the surgery was affordable, but I knew I didn't want to invest in chemo. When the tumor returned, the vet said, "Just let him have anything he wants. If he starts to feel bad, let me know and you can 'bring him by'." On the way home, I stopped at the store and bought Tigger some special kitty treats.

That's how my morning ritual started. Tigger directs the scene as it opens from his post outside the kitchen window over the sink. It's 6:30 A.M., and my dog Tessa, and I come down stairs to the kitchen. The rather heavy pit bull/lab scrambles down ahead of me and anxiously waits for me to fill my whistling tea kettle with water for my cup of coffee. She finally makes eye contact with me, and then pushes her way past me down the laundry room stairs, wiggling her whole body impatiently till I get the back door open. She runs in place on the cement like a cartoon dog, before bounding out to pee under the plum tree. She is noisily greeted by the dog next door, but doesn't take time to respond. I close the door just enough that Tessa can push her way back in.

Tigger stands on his hind legs outside the window doing his morning stretch, reaching almost to the top of the second pane, showing me how bad his sore is on his belly. He scrapes his nails luxuriously down the upper window pane. I raise the window and he jumps to the counter and then the floor, where he stops to rub against my leg. Next, he saunters over and sits in front of the little bowl I've placed on the floor in the corner for his morning treat, instructing me to open the cupboard and get out his first course.....salmon-flavored kitty treats. He munches on them and makes a strange guttural sound, as if he's devouring a bird he has just killed.

In the meantime, Tessa has made her entrance through the back door and looks toward the cupboard for her "usual". I toss her one small bone-shaped biscuit, which she handily catches in her mouth and takes to chew on the living room rug. She comes back wagging, happy to find that I've hidden another bone on top of the recycling basket. I'm touched that she remembered from yesterday and the day before.

Tigger's not finished. He meows when I get my milk out of the fridge for my coffee, and sits by his bowl again. I act like I don't notice, and he rubs against my leg and meows a pitiful cry. I say, "Of course I'll give you some."..... but I think to myself that I never used to give him milk very often. The vet did say though, to "give him anything he wants". Now, for the first time in these last few months, this athletic, lanky cat is finally getting some meat on his bones, cancer and all. I wonder if he's noticing the pampering... that I'm honoring him and showing him my love in this little ritual of ours. Whatever he notices, he's got me trained pretty well.

Lucas with Tigger 2001

Koi in the Library

As I sat in a comfy chair in the Palm Springs Library, browsing through the book choices I had made, I spotted a little 4 year old girl running toward the Koi pond that is in the center of the building. She was calling out "The fish, Grandpa, the fish!" He told her to stay right there while he was close by. She installed herself, standing on tiptoes. I noticed her blue overalls, as she held on to the circular railing, to gaze at the fish.

She stared, delightedly as the fish gathered near her, and then she let go one hand from the rail to give them a shy wave and said "Hi", softly.
Grandpa came to say that it was time to go, and she reluctantly followed him. A couple of minutes later she galloped back to the railing to peak at the fish one more time, and standing once again on her toes, waved and said "Bye". Before leaving, she looked at all the Koi, who seemed entranced with her, jumped off to the floor and called out for all to hear,"I wanna be a fish too!"

A Different Kind of Christmas: 2014

Some of you may have read the story I wrote last year called, Getting Ready for Christmas: The Tree. The zeal and Christmas spirit shown in that tale have been harder to come by this year. After stating how much I've loved Christmas in the big old house we've lived in for 33 years, it looks as though this will be the last one here.

Wonderful things have happened to us in the last 12 months though. Happy decisions were made..... lifestyle changing ones. There was no plan to make the changes we did. One thing just led to another, each opportunity seemed right, if not daring, in some folks eyes.

Last January we fell in love with and bought a retro 1955 trailer in Palm Springs, that had been added on to each side with a long room with vaulted ceilings. We decided it looked more like a beach cottage in the desert, and have pushed that idea, adding on to the seashells that were already abundant in the yard. There is also a patio facing the big mountain, where I've installed my potter's wheel. All this for less than the price of a new car!

Many of the residents in this over 55 park are artistic, as evidenced by the decor and the different types of gardens, some lush and tropical, but mostly desert plants. We/ve even planted an orange tree and a lime tree. Tlie lime tree is the happiest, sporting some cute little blossoms. Every year there's an influx of Canadians, Washingtonians and New Yorkers.... the "snowbirds" are happy to thaw out in the warm pool. This park has also been discovered by gays, and they, along with the youngish seniors have fun together at the wine tastings, ice cream socials, and pool parties. We've decided that we'd like to spend our winters in Palm Springs, but not the summers, since the temps could rise to as high as 115 degrees! As I write this, though, in early January, the night temps have been about 34 degrees and 50 or 60 during the day. Next week, is predicted to be more to our liking, at a civilized 79.

Before we left there in April, I noticed that the dizzy spells that I had had since February were happening more often. I ended up in the ER, where it was discovered that my heart was "pausing", or as I say, "stopping" for 5-6 seconds every time I had one of those spells. When we got home to Richmond, a cryo (freezing) surgery was planned, but not right away.

Our 2004 Prius had a few dents in it, and the air conditioner died, so Doug said "Hey, let's just go check out the new Plug-in Priuses."  I was dumbfounded, but agreeable, and we ended up getting a Plug-in, and sold the 2004 to his daughter.

The new Prius, of course, had it's maiden journey two weeks later to camp at Donner Lake, where we slept in it like a tent, just as we did in our lovely 2004 Prius all over the country. It was near Lake Tahoe, my old stomping grounds. It was beautiful, and brought back a lot of memories for me. Next thing I know, we were driving on to South Lake Tahoe, where I had been a blackjack and roulette dealer in the early 70's. We contacted a real estate agent, and ended up buying a condo there, which is rent-able during the winter months when we'd rather be in Palm Springs, and helping to pay for itself.

After all that, I had my surgery in September. The cardiologist said she was "delighted" with the outcome, since, she said that she doesn't always have the instant gratification of seeing the heart beat regularly while doing the surgery. We were too. I kept feeling my pulse afterward, and my heart was beating like a champ. Thank you Lord!

About now, folks are thinking we should give retirement lessons! The final piece of the puzzle is that we realized that we should rent out our house in the East Bay Area that I have lived in for 33 years, and save the bottom two rooms and bath for us to stay in when we're home to visit with family. At first it was hard for me to take.... to MOVE...and clean out all the places I had stored and stuffed so much memorabilia! Then I had an "aha!" experience! Most people move more often than 33 years. Well, at first it seemed daunting, and I was kind of frozen when it came to letting go of Anything. From then on it became a "freeing" experience. (I just realized that I used the words "Frozen" and "Let It Go" in the same sentence.)

Back to Christmas.... I usually go shopping for the tree with someone, but Doug was in Home Depot, and I ventured out to see their trees in the parking lot. All the 7-8' Christmas trees were gone, and I had to resort to a 6-7' size. only a few were opened up, and it was cold out. I found one possibility, and then walked over to another section. When I spotted another family headed for my first tree. I was certainly at a disadvantage being by myself! I ran over and held on to my tree and looked at all sides, sort of claiming my territory. It was taller than me, (one of the criteria), and looked pretty good. Not perfect, but it would do. I could feel myself letting go of the perfection that I had always demanded.

My two kids couldn't make it from New York, a disappointment..... but all of Doug's kids and our 8 grandchildren helped bring the excitement of the season back to me. A couple of the grandkids helped put the ornaments on the tree, after I had painstakingly put on the lights. They were very good at hanging each one in it's appropriate place, the angels on top, the wise men and Jesus nearby, a section for birds, and for Santas, but as I looked for my first ornament, the little nutcracker, all we found was his head! So sad! It wasn't till the next day, that I found his body and carefully glued him back together.

We spent our Christmas Eve together, only on Dec. 20th, so everyone could come. We did the Danish dancing around the Christmas tree, opened stockings, exchanged gifts, and ate too much. It was beautiful! The next night, Doug and I invited some old friends (only 8 of us), to fondly remember past Christmases and to appreciate this last one here.

Having Christmas early was a boon for me, since I could take time to go through some things....setting some aside for a garage sale in the spring, making many trips to the recycling center and thrift shops to make donations, and giving things to friends. Thank God I have 3 places to furnish, so I can keep Some of the things that have memories, but are also useful.

One of the traditions has been to spend Christmas morning with one of my sisters and her family, so that brought back nice memories, and we got to see all of her growing family. Doug and I stayed later and sang songs with my sister on her ukelele, Doug on the piano and I on my guitar. There were lofty ideas of us starting a band....

What happens next Christmas, I can only estimate. Looking back at this last year I never would have believed all the unexpected changes in our lives. We'll just have to play it by ear. Celebrating Christmas in Palm Springs is a thought...... but that's a decision for another day.