Category Archives: Family Affair

October 27, 2026 · 1:15 pm

Refrigerator Art

Our refrigerator used to be the hub of our home, mainly because it was covered with photos that depicted almost every milestone or significant event in our lives as a family—to include preschool graduation, Halloween costumes, photo booth fun, birthday parties, family vacations as well as a snapshot or two of an ordinary Tuesday here at home. Of course, in those days there was also a giant calendar wedged between the photos upon which we had scrawled important upcoming dates and phone numbers. By contrast, I keep practically everything in my smartphone calendar and contact list now. No need to hang a ridiculously large master schedule smack in the middle of the fridge anymore.

At any rate, we remodeled our kitchen and replaced our old fridge with a stainless steel one a number of years ago. So I boxed up the wealth of photos and kids’ artwork and put them somewhere safe, although I can’t recall where just now. For longer than I’d care to admit, I pined for the antiquated fridge with its canvas of snapshots and magnets inscribed with favorite quotes, often finding myself standing in front of it, reminiscing over times when my children were small.

In all honesty, it took more restraint than I had imagined to refrain from plastering the entire surface of that new fridge with an embarrassment of photos once again. Self-imposed restraint, I might add. I don’t think my husband, or the kids for that matter, really had an opinion about how pristine (or not) the new fridge looked. They probably would’ve been fine had I festooned it from top to bottom and on three sides once more. But I didn’t. However, I couldn’t completely kick the “refrigerator art” habit. I settled, instead, for designating just one side of the new fridge for photos and the like. As a result, the part of me that appreciates an unblemished, smudge-free surface that gleams in the morning sunlight is happy. Similarly, the part of me that reveres seeing the cherished photos and reading the inspirational messages on a handful of magnets is thrilled. It’s a win-win situation, I guess.

Not surprisingly, I chose photos of my favorite people and pets this time, too, although most of them are updated, more recent versions of the originals. There are favorite images of our twins caught in mid-performance in the marching band they so loved, some of them during their college years, some printouts of old holiday greeting cards we had made, some of my parents and mother-in-law who have since passed away, a dear church friend we also lost and even a picture of our old fridge—the one that was inundated with the trappings of life. I also added a smattering of pics (and even an ultrasound image) of our granddaughter, who is now eight.

I think the pics of the pets we’ve lost get to me the most. They pull at my heartstrings. Even though our curly-haired, pint-sized Bichon whizzed indiscriminately on the floor almost every day and our 95-lb. yellow lab “puppy” occasionally dragged us across the street because she wanted to eat other dogs, I still miss them. And our black lab mix, with the caramel-colored eyes that made me melt—he is missed, too, along with our black cat, Mr. Binx, once feral and eventually tamed. And I can’t forget our long-haired orange tabby, who was known for fetching things like a dog and for sleeping on whoever happened to be ill, to perhaps make them well again. Since the space on the new fridge is limited, I framed and hung pictures of nearly all of our pets in an adjacent room. The Pet Wall of Fame, if you will. Now I rekindle the abundance of memories I possess standing somewhere besides the kitchen when I want to revisit a time when they were all here. Of course, I’ve included images of our current cats who are alive and well in that room, too.

It’s a far cry from the coveted fridge space, I suppose, but it’ll have to do.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (probably admiring my refrigerator). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

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Filed under Daily Chaos, Family Affair, Gratitude, Growing Pains, Home Improvement, In the Trenches of Parentville, Love and Other Drugs, motherhood, Mushy Stuff, Normal is Relative, Refrigerator Art, Welcome to My Disordered World

Tagged as family, family photos, growing pains, kids' art, life, love, memories, parenting, refrigerator, refrigerator magnets

October 6, 2026 · 1:59 pm

So Many Questions, So Few Answers

Generally speaking, I think people prefer to know why things happen as opposed to being in the dark. They like certainty versus uncertainty. A black and white rendering over endless shades of grey. At least that describes my inclination.

And although a great deal of time has passed since my brother’s suicide, 20 years to be exact, it seems that shades of grey are all I have been left with, even still. There are so many questions and so few answers. He didn’t leave a note that might explain why he decided to drive off the overlook of the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon one cold, January evening in 2006. There were no outward signs of being troubled that my family noticed—at least none that we recognized in the moment.

He seemed okay on the surface. He had two great jobs—one as a special education teacher and another as a part-time funeral director. He had friends. He had wonderful neighbors. A lovely home. A dog. To say that his students adored him is an understatement. They showed up at his funeral in droves, as did half the town. I remember seeing their faces, so sorrowful, so forlorn, so lost—much like my family who stood beside his casket for five hours, trying to console them or to offer some semblance of a “why” for my brother’s actions. We didn’t know why. We could only speculate.

In hindsight, there were signs. He was overly generous at Christmastime, probably spending more on us than he could afford. I pushed away thoughts that questioned how he was able to give with such abundance, chalking it up to having two jobs and no family. He seemed to genuinely enjoy that day, soaking in the joy our kids experienced while opening their gifts. Another instance involved a conversation we had not long before the event. He called me out of the blue and asked in all sincerity if I was “happy.” At the time, I thought it was an odd question, but looking back, I think he was curious to know if I was content with my life, perhaps hoping to learn that I would continue to be okay if he were no longer here. A way to check in with me before he left this world. It pains me now to see those instances for what they were—a goodbye, on his own terms.

Turns out, my brother was gay—at a time when no one admitted to it. He hid it well. Even I didn’t know for sure. There were girlfriends throughout high school and college—ones that he brought home to meet our parents. Ones that he spent a great deal of time with, seemingly invested in their relationships. But it was a ruse. Everything he did was in the name of protecting his terrible secret. I’ll never know the gravity of what he had been dealing with his whole life until he cut it short at 39. I now suspect it was in large part why he chose to end his life. I just wish he could’ve talked with me about it. I certainly would’ve accepted his gayness.

In different times, like our current ones, perhaps his life wouldn’t have been tragically cut short. I’d like to think that we, as a society, have grown since then and have become a more inclusive, accepting lot. National Coming Out Day (celebrated on Sunday, October 11^th) has been around since 1988 in the US, supporting the LGBTQIA+ community as a whole. I only wish my brother had felt comfortable enough to live his life openly, as a gay man, with or without a national commemoration.

My husband and I recently got tattoos of a semicolon, signifying a pause in people’s lives, as opposed to an end. It’s a small way of remembering and honoring my brother’s sacrifice and his battle to stay here among the living. It’s also a way to stand with others who struggle with suicidal thoughts.

When all is said and done, I guess we do have some insight into my brother’s life. It’s just sad that he chose to end it, for whatever reason.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (wishing I could go back in time with the knowledge and certainty of today). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

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Filed under Family Affair, Love and Loss

Tagged as brothers, death, family, LGBTQ, love, Love and Loss, National Coming Out Day, suicide

July 14, 2026 · 11:30 am

Jet Lag

Confession: My husband and I haven’t flown in over 16 years—and it shows. I don’t know how that happened, it just did. Life got in the way of our travel plans, I guess. At any rate, we looked like fools at the airport, not realizing that people check in with an electronic kiosk now instead of interacting with an actual human. Thankfully, we were traveling with our daughter and her partner so together they were able to walk us through the process of tagging our enormous suitcase and printing our boarding passes—which would’ve been a nightmare for tech-challenged people like us.

Of course, packing that enormous suitcase (that came unreasonably close to exceeding the 50-pound weight limit) was an exercise in futility. We scrutinized the ridiculous list of approved substances for our carry-on bags, the recommended baggie sizes and permitted volumes of liquids along with all the restricted items until we were ready to scream. And because the gods hate me, my 3-oz. bottle of shampoo leaked anyway. On both flights.

As one might expect, our TSA experience was tolerable in both airports, but still inconvenient and time-consuming because of the incredibly long lines—and because I had to remove my belt and almost lost my pants shuffling to the scanner. Everyone else was in the same boat which made it entertaining. Sort of. Thankfully, only one of us had to be subjected to a pat-down and the thorough inspection of a backpack—all because of sweat and the fact that the stupid machine couldn’t “see” through a hardcover book. As a result, we almost missed our return flight. But on a positive note, we encountered some adorable cats that were also waiting in those long lines and at least one of us got to pet them. On a side note, I’m fairly certain the cats were more personable than the TSA could ever aspire to be.

I know I’ve used a travelator/moving sidewalk in the past, but I don’t remember it being such a challenge to keep pace with while hauling an embarrassment of bags and constantly looking over my shoulder to see how my husband was managing with his embarrassment of bags. As an added bonus, he had to maneuver around an oblivious toddler who was planted near the exit path like a tree. The good news was that neither of them wiped out and we made it to our gate in time for preboarding.

I also don’t remember navigating an airport so large it should be criminal via a people mover, which is a glorified subway where it’s common practice to hang on for dear life. But it got us to where we were going—in a hurry.

The actual flights were good in that we took off without incident, stayed in the air and landed safely, all the while tracking our path across the country on a nifty little screen situated on the back of the seat in front of us. Being the nerd that I am, I truly enjoyed such a device and felt compelled to inform my husband every time we flew over a city, lake or other noteworthy landmark. I figured he’d thank me later. The only downside was that our kids were seated next to an oddball who never spoke—not even to the flight attendant or to them when they needed to scoot past him to use the restroom. It takes all kinds, I guess.

Interestingly enough, I later learned that Newark and Denver made the list of 11 most stressful airports in the United States. Naturally, we hit both of them in one day. But because of the expertise of our wonderful AAA travel agent, Felicia, all went according to plan. She made arrangements for both hotels, two-way flights for the four of us and a spacious rental van for the amazing week we spent in Colorado with another daughter and her fiancé.

Needless to say, we all had a terrific time bonding for the first time as a family since January—unless you count FaceTime. We visited with some friends who live nearby, shopped ad nauseam and had a blast at Topgolf together. Never mind the delicious meals. And the trip to the summit of Pikes Peak was especially exhilarating via the Cog Railway. Only three of us needed canned oxygen and/or an inhaler, so I’d call that a win.

And because every adventure is educational, I learned that it’s not a vacation until someone gets a tattoo. For the record, four of us did. I also learned that jet lag is, indeed, real.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (poring over gorgeous photos of snow-capped mountains). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

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Filed under Family Affair, Gratitude, Life is a Highway, Ode to Embarrassment, Rantings & Ravings, Road Trip, Vacation Schmacation, We Put the Fun in Dysfunction

Tagged as airports, Colorado, family, family vacations, humor, humor marriage, parenting, stress, travel, vacations

June 16, 2026 · 12:00 pm

Good Grief

My parents’ estates have long since been settled, but over the years I’ve found that I’m still tethered to my past—not only because of the memories I hold dear, but because the tangible possessions I inherited help me connect to those memories in a very positive and concrete way. Perhaps a good type of grief, triggered by remembrance.

I can still envision just where the antique prints, mostly of children and their pets, were situated in our ranch-style house. I never thought much about the paintings growing up, but I now see why my mom was so drawn to children as subjects. She was a third-grade teacher for most of her career and, of course, loved kids. She had so many paintings that they were almost too numerous to count, let alone hang on available wall space. I sold the majority to an antique dealer in town, but kept a handful—my favorites—to place in my own home. I don’t think there’s a day that I refrain from noticing a new, small detail in the artwork, one that I somehow hadn’t before and I now understand what attracted her to each individual print.

Likewise, the furniture I received is special in so many ways. As I run my hands over the primitive oak, mahogany and yellow pine pieces I instantly return to my life growing up in my parents’ household. I remember which dishes were housed in which cabinets and kick myself for not keeping those, too. They were so pretty. At least I salvaged some of the earthy, old crocks and decorative trinkets, my parents’ dressers that were handmade by my great-grandfather and the tiny wooden cabinet I played with when I was a child—one that is inundated with a cache of vintage, metal dishes that my cousins (as well as my mother) played with, too. Moreover, I kept a pair of Adirondack chairs that we had gifted to my parents years ago—chairs that they lounged in as they watched the deer gather in their front yard on many a summer’s evening. Never mind that the paint is fading and the wood has seen better days.

And I can’t forget the massive hutch my mom picked up for me at an antique sale—the one that boasts four doors, five shelves and its original metal latches. Together we painted it on a sweltering summer day in the shade of our carport. She chose the color—a glorious shade of forest green that now complements my rustic kitchen décor. Who knew it would one day be wedged perfectly between our windows that overlook the front lawn?

What’s more, I can’t forget the cozy, faux leather chair my brother and I somehow crammed ourselves into—together with our dog—while watching entirely too much Bugs Bunny and Tom and Jerry. My husband and I had to have the chair reupholstered once it wore out because I just couldn’t part with such a tangible reminder of my past—especially since my brother is no longer here to reminisce with. A generous sampling of his décor now adorns my kitchen countertops and the aforementioned hutch, too, and I can’t help but recall how they once looked in his house. The wicker basket he used for incoming mail. The beautiful canisters of colorful pasta. The crock full of old wooden spoons he collected.

I think he’d be happy that I’ve placed them prominently.

And then there’s the car—my mom’s black BMW coupe. I loved that car and surmise that she loved it, too. I truly hated to part with it, but had to trade it in eventually because the Blue Book value kept inching downward with each passing year. I drove it for close to nine years, never once becoming involved in a fender bender, thankfully. Frankly, I don’t think I ever felt so comfortable behind the wheel (before or since). It just fit me as if it knew me—like it was cradling my body. It fit my mom apparently, too, which is probably why she kept it so long. I sometimes scroll through my photos to find her car—pictures I took just before I traded it in—in an effort to say goodbye, or hello, to Mom. I zoom in to the photos to remember the details, its sleek design, its undeniable beauty—and I smile.

Sometimes the grief we experience is the good kind of grief—remembering what was, (and as they say) smiling because it happened.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (probably smiling). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

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Filed under "N" is for Nostalgia, Family Affair, Gratitude, Love and Loss, Love and Other Drugs

Tagged as estate settling, family, grief, inheritance, keepsakes, love, Love and Loss, memories, remembrance

June 9, 2026 · 12:44 pm

Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

Fred Rogers was right. Having good neighbors is a very important thing, and it’s equally important for people to reciprocate that act by being a good neighbor. Rogers’ famous song, “Won’t You Be My Neighbor,” was situated at the start of each episode of his beloved PBS television show, Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. He kept the lyrics simple, but despite their simplicity, they clearly resonated on a deeper level the message of caring about others.

Unfortunately, according to a Pew Research Center study, a lot of people these days don’t even know their neighbors, let alone consider them friends—which is a sad commentary on our modern society. Worse yet, the trends are heading in the wrong direction. Perhaps for a variety of reasons, people are no longer investing the time to hold real conversations and form lasting relationships with those who live near them. Lots of people have busy schedules, or they rent and may move often—which might explain some of the effect.

Regardless of why it’s happening, it surely is happening and I for one think it’s tragic. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without my wonderful neighbors. Aside from socializing around a firepit or catching up with them on our daily walks and interacting with their kids or pets when we encounter them, I’ve depended on them on more occasions than I can reliably number.

I’ll never forget the time Beth S. raced across the backyard to our house one night, wielding a golf club (an iron, I think), while our kids were home alone and afraid because they heard a strange noise outside. After talking with her, I remember feeling extremely relieved that all was well and thankful she had come to the rescue, once again.

I also remember Tony D. giving us invaluable peace of mind when he checked the entire perimeter of our home because we called to tell him we had received a notification from our security service while we were sitting in Carnegie Hall in New York City. Once again, it was a false alarm, but we felt immeasurably better because of his kind act.

Nor will I forget the time our neighbor, Ron C., bailed us out by picking up our family after our Jeep broke down and needed to be towed. He took time out of his day to drive to the outskirts of town and haul us all home, our kids likely jabbering the whole time. And as I mentioned a few weeks ago, our neighbor, Jay R., not only started our leaf blower on more than one occasion, he also helped us relearn how to vacuum our pool the old-fashioned way (by hand) without once chuckling at our ineptitude.

And there was the summer that our neighbor, Craig C., helped my husband dig through an ungodly amount of shale to install our new mailbox—one that was attached to a wooden post he painstakingly measured and built in his shop, just to be neighborly.

What’s more, our friend and neighbor, Jeremy J., plows our driveway every winter with his nifty four-wheeler (sometimes with his daughter aboard), never once asking to be compensated for his efforts. Likewise (and before Jeremy moved in), Nick Y. shoveled the mound of snow and ice embedded at the base of our driveway—because the township snowplow, of course, had undone all the work we had accomplished with our snowblower.

Another irreplaceable neighbor, John I., offered to go with me to visit my husband who had just arrived at the ER via ambulance. I recall we had barely settled into our house, now almost 30 years ago, and already he was willing to be there for us.

And there was Tera B. who literally saved our marriage by assembling a Pack ‘n Play for us while we held our newborn twins and looked on in amazement at both her patience and mechanical skill.

Yet another treasured set of neighbors, Christine and Phil J., will forever hold a special place in our hearts because they kept our new puppy overnight on Christmas Eve—so that our daughters could experience one of the biggest and most memorable joys on Christmas morning when they were six. They still talk about that Christmas surprise to this day. I can only hope my husband and I have returned the many favors I’ve described here. It’s likely I’ve forgotten to mention some.

Fred Rogers was, indeed, right. Neighbors are some of the most important people in our lives. Be like Fred—make an effort to get to know your neighbors.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (feeling grateful for my neighbors). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.