Category Archives: Gratitude

September 15, 2026 · 12:50 pm

The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep

Sometimes a walk in the woods is something you didn’t even know you needed—until you take that walk. For me, at least, it’s a good way to reconnect with nature and with myself, more specifically, by hugging trees, admiring moss and touching a lot of bark. There’s something incredibly cleansing, almost healing, about spending time in the woods—both for physical and mental well-being. Forest bathing, or shinrin yoku, is a term coined by the Japanese to describe the practice of wandering through nature, trees in particular, in order to reap a host of benefits. And apparently, there is some promising science behind that statement. As reported by the Cleveland Clinic, trees release tiny particles called phytoncides and when people inhale them, immunity is boosted. Cortisol, a stress hormone, is also reduced along with depression. So aside from the possibility of tick bites or a sprained ankle, a walk in the woods is thought to be good for you.

In my mind, it’s also a surefire way to fill one’s tank, so to speak—a way to escape the noise and chaos of civilization in order to drink in the calm and stillness of nature. A week or so ago, my husband surprised me with a trip to accomplish just that. Cook Forest State Park is an 8,500-acre expanse of old-growth trees and recreational facilities for hiking, canoeing, camping and cross-country skiing located in remote northwestern Pennsylvania along the Clarion River. As a many-decade resident of the state, I can’t believe I’ve never visited this extraordinary wonder of nature, until now.

To say that we enjoyed our excursion through the innumerable stands of white pine and hemlock is an understatement. The scent alone was intoxicating, not to mention gazing up at the canopy of leaves and needles far above—the sky barely visible, completely enveloped by the forest. A carpet of ferns stretched out before us in a blaze of green while countless trees that had fallen lay throughout the woods in varying states of decay. Like a great shroud above us, foliage blocked a good bit of sunlight as soon as we stepped foot on the trail, our skin noticeably cooler as we hiked deeper and deeper into the forest. Everywhere we placed our feet, rocks and roots greeted us, but thankfully, no snakes or poison ivy.

Well into our journey along the path (that was not especially well-marked), it was as if we had been swallowed by the very essence of density, surrounded by trees hundreds of years old—wonderfully disoriented, soaking in the eerie stillness, alone together with our thoughts. The quiet was what I found most striking of all, aside from birds calling to one another and chipmunks scurrying about in the thick underbrush, it was dead silent. No traffic. No lawnmowers. Not even a plane overhead could be perceived. But I swear I could hear my heartbeat.

Naturally, I turned around a number of times realizing just how easy it would be to become lost since I had long ago forgotten from which direction we had originated. We chuckled about that, and the notion that we had yet to see a bear. So, we kept moving forward, but in the back of our minds thought it best not to stray from the trail and pray that we get out long before dark, as the lingering shafts of afternoon sunlight served as a reminder of how long we had been there. And because the gods were smiling upon us, we did get out, but not before we heard the distant rumble of thunder along with soft taps of rain, which I found strangely comforting, cloaked by the forest all around.

Robert Frost was right. “The woods are lovely, dark and deep.”

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (recalling my respite, deep in the woods of Cook Forest). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

Let Them Eat Cake–Sometimes

Once in a great while, I stumble across a book that’s so good, I reread it. Glucose Revolution by Jessie Inchauspé (Glucose Goddess on Instagram) is just such a book. It might not be of interest to everyone per se, but since I have type 2 diabetes, I am wholly invested in its subject matter. Plus, I thought my doctor might be impressed to learn that I read it—twice. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to convince my husband to read it yet. He argues, “When they cure death, I’ll read it.”

At any rate, it’s written in a conversational tone, it’s incredibly easy to understand and there are cute little graphics throughout that appear to be hand drawn. And since I can relate to the topics the author discusses, I got a lot out of her book and actually applied her findings to my own life.

In a nutshell, she shares her research on what she calls “hacks” that help readers more efficiently manage their glucose spikes—or “flatten their glucose curves,” as Inchauspé refers to it. Now I’m not a medical professional, so please don’t take any of this information as if I were. You should always consult your doctor before implementing any medical advice. But so far, the hacks depicted in said book appear to be helping me control my blood sugar.

The irony here is that so many of her so-called hacks (there are 10 in all) seem almost counterintuitive—at least to me. For starters, apparently the order in which food is consumed matters. Who knew? I’ve lived on this planet since the Kennedy administration and never knew this mindboggling fact. According to Inchauspé, fiber in the form of veggies should start every meal, followed by protein and healthy fats, then carbohydrates and finally sweets, if at all. To put this into practice I ate an Italian sausage sandwich at a Crosscutters game recently by deconstructing it—plucking the delicious sautéed peppers and onions off first, then devouring the sausage and finally the roll—like a complete nutjob. Hopefully, no one was watching.

Another habit the author swears by is to walk after meals, so that the corresponding glucose feeds muscles instead of staying in the bloodstream. So much for morphing into a couch potato after I eat. Instead, I try to go for a short walk, but I get to pet dogs so it’s all good.

Yet another hack is to consume a bit of vinegar before meals—like olive oil and vinegar dressing on a green salad. I personally add vinegar by having a dill pickle—or three. And like Ray Romano once famously remarked, “Man, I love a pickle.” “It’s like a food and a drink.” I agree wholeheartedly.

Likewise, another practice mentioned in the book is to eat dessert immediately after a meal instead of snacking all day. I remember life as an exhausted parent of toddlers—becoming just as dependent upon the little baggies of Cheerios as my kids were. Apparently, though, having dessert spikes glucose less than snacking incessantly. So, if I’m going to eat something sweet, I eat it right after the meal and then go for a walk, ideally. As the ill-famed line goes: Let them eat cake—sometimes.

What’s more, I’ve added quite a bit of protein to my diet—like Greek yogurt. And I don’t even like Greek yogurt. But if you add enough blueberries, it’s at least palatable. Then again, I’m playing Russian roulette with fresh produce (i.e. Cyclospora). But I digress.

One of the most bizarre hacks the author touts in her book is to ditch cereal and juice for breakfast and instead eat something savory. My husband, of course, thinks it’s beyond peculiar when I choose baked haddock, green beans and rice (a prepackaged meal from Tony’s Deli) FOR BREAKFAST. Or leftover chili. Or cheese ravioli. Or any kind of eggs. Or avocado and cottage cheese. Strange, I know.

I guess it’s all in the name of trying to be healthier, as weird as some of the Glucose Goddess’s suggestions might sound. Time will tell if her hacks have a big impact.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (probably having a pickle). Visit me there at www.melindawentzel.com. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

Play Ball!

(I’m pictured above as M. Edgerton, second from left, bottom row)

As this publication hits mailboxes throughout Lycoming County, youth baseball teams from all over the world, regional marching bands, colorful floats and special guests will soon participate in the Little League Grand Slam Parade, headed down West Fourth Street in Williamsport to the delight of onlookers packing the sidewalks. I can attest to the fact that this is a terrific parade each and every year, only to be superseded by the talent displayed on the ballfields in the weeks to follow.

It surely takes a special kind of athlete to advance to the level exhibited at the Little League World Series (LLWS) held in South Williamsport each August. I can’t imagine the determined effort and commitment from players, coaches and parents alike in order to wind up here in the waning days of summer. It takes an extraordinary kind of village, indeed.

I’m not sure if I ever rose to such heights as a shortstop, but I did, in fact, play Little League baseball as a 12-year-old on a boys’ team. I was one of only two girls in my hometown to meet the qualifications back in 1974 (to my knowledge)—the first year that girls were allowed to play nationwide. It was the perfect pastime for a tomboy like me. What’s odd is that I was apparently so wrapped up in playing the infield and stealing second base that I never knew the LLWS existed, in spite of the fact that the games were played only about an hour’s drive from my hometown. The important thing, I suppose, was that I truly loved the game and wanted nothing more than to play.

So, imagine my surprise when I discovered that only one of our three children wanted to play baseball. The highlight that I remember most vividly from our oldest daughter’s experience was when she fielded a ball, threw it to first base and then completed a perfect cartwheel there in the infield. Granted, it was only Tee-ball, but her feat was certainly something to remember.

Thing One and Thing Two, by contrast, wanted nothing to do with baseball, or softball for that matter. I think they humored us, in large part, by participating in youth soccer, basketball and swimming for a number of years. Eventually, they expressed that they just weren’t cut out for sports and much preferred throwing themselves into their true passion—music.

And so, it began—purchasing expensive instruments followed by private music lessons, camps and hours upon hours of practice. In the end, I guess it wasn’t all that different from investing time, money and effort into a sport. Although my husband and I raised our youngest children without much influence from athletics (not for a lack of trying) and they followed their hearts along a musical path instead, both ended up performing in stadiums for thousands of people anyway.

One of them was a Penn State Blue Band member, performing in football stadiums all over the country throughout her college years. The other sang the National Anthem at Lamade Stadium before a packed crowd at a LLWS game. The irony here isn’t lost on me. They had come full circle and found a way to entertain people on an athletic field—just not the way I had imagined. The funny part was that the daughter singing for a crowd of 20,000+ had to ask where the pitcher’s mound was. I, of course, was in disbelief—but proud nonetheless, just as scores of parents from all over the world who are about to witness the Series will swell with pride for their kids on the field.

Play ball!

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (looking forward to watching lots of LLWS games). Visit me there at www.melindawentzel.com. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

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Filed under "N" is for Nostalgia, Endless Summer, Gratitude, Me Myself and I, music, sports

Tagged as athletics, baseball, childhood memories, humor, Little League, Little League World Series, LLWS, parenting, parenting humor, sports, Williamsport

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

July 7, 2026 · 12:22 pm

Thunderstruck

Apparently, I am a ceraunophile—a lover of thunderstorms. The term is derived from the Greek word keraunos, or “thunderbolt” and the word -phile, which means fondness. It’s a good thing my husband discovered the term lest I go through life not knowing this interesting tidbit of information.

It’s not a new development for me. I’ve always loved thunderstorms, even as a kid. I remember many a summer sitting with my dad, a fellow ceraunophile, for the duration of an untold number of storms, safe beneath our carport in scratchy lawn chairs. There was something special about the time we spent there, together sharing our fascination with one of nature’s most extraordinary events, talking about everything or instead becoming still and allowing the rumbles of thunder to shake us to our core and to swallow our conversations whole. Most of the time the thunder was our cue to get out of the pool and head for shelter, wrapping ourselves from head to toe in beach towels, the air heavy and humid. Those moments live in my memory even still.

Things haven’t changed much; I continue to be infatuated with summer storms, especially just before the rain hits—when the winds shift and swell, the trees sway with indescribable ferocity and the air fills with an electric energy that seems almost tangible. There’s something exhilarating about watching the skies grow dark and hearing a low rumble in the distance. Even the birds know something’s about to happen as they retreat to their nests and suddenly go silent.

I look to the clouds as they gather en masse, now steely gray or blue-black, in anticipation of the coming crescendo—when bolts light up the sky, thunderheads crash and torrents of rain pelt the parched earth. It’s such a moving experience and, to me, the smell and sound of the rain beating against the hot pavement is positively intoxicating. Never mind how comforting hard rain on the roof and rolling thunder sound in the wee hours of the night.

I’m pretty sure my kids have inherited my penchant for thunderstorms too, although when they were small, they were frightened by the deafening cracks and low rumbles that shook the house. We huddled together, as I remember, reading books on the couch in lieu of watching TV since we usually lost power if the storm was especially damaging. The dogs cowered, desperately searching for a place to hunker down in order to escape the rolling thunder that seemed to envelop us all. I’ll never forget one of the cats hiding behind our washing machine for the duration of one storm—a place I never once considered a refuge before.

At any rate, I am intrigued by an approaching storm, as the leaves of nearby trees show their undersides—especially the silver maples. Apparently, it has something to do with increasing humidity. And the more the wind intensifies, the more noticeable the silvery backsides of the leaves become, almost as if the trees are signaling a warning. And somehow the green colors deepen to an even greener hue during downpours (or maybe that’s just my imagination) as I watch the leaves drip onto the thirsty ground below.

What follows the storm is almost as satisfying to witness, as the clouds break and the sun finally reappears. The air has a newness about it, as the steam rises from asphalt, concrete and grassy spaces, warm puddles all around—so inviting to bare feet. The heat returns with a vengeance as the searing sun beats down upon the land.

Even still, a distant rumble of thunder can be heard, which makes my heart happy.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (anxiously awaiting the next thunderstorm). Visit me there at www.melindawentzel.com. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.