Category Archives: Love and Other Drugs

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.

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Filed under Family Affair, Gratitude, Love and Other Drugs, Won't You Be My Neighbor

Tagged as family, Fred Rogers, gratitude, love, neighborhoods, neighbors, parenting, Won't You Be My Neighbor

May 19, 2026 · 1:09 pm

Into the Woods

It’s no wonder the novel The Secret Garden resonated so deeply with me when I was around ten. I found myself identifying with the characters who became immersed within the natural world, inside a special, hidden-from-civilization plot of greenery that ended up healing them in some way. And since I grew up surrounded by woods and thickets, I became enveloped by endless groves of tall trees, season after season, never wanting to leave what seemed like home.

The scent of pine mingled deliciously with the tang of autumn, only to be overshadowed by the sweet aroma of blossoms each spring. And I can’t begin to describe what it felt like to be enshrouded by the lush vegetation come summer. I still remember how cool and smooth the maple leaves felt against my skin. Even winter, with fresh snow sitting atop tree branches, offered a special brand of awe in my secret garden.

Although much of the time I was alone in the woods, sometimes my brother or the neighborhood kids would join me. For hours on end, we’d wander through the trees and brush, turning over flat rocks to see what hid beneath them, transforming errant sticks into spears and knives and building all manner of forts over what seemed like limitless acreage of forest. Footpaths snaked through the woods, connecting each of those beloved forts.

The ravine where most of our time was spent was a challenge to climb as I recall, but we managed to make it to the top despite masses of leaves slipping underfoot. Of course, it was worth it because the view from the other side was spectacular. Besides, after reaching the summit, we’d discover multitudes of huge, moss-covered oaks that beckoned for us to sit and read a good book, if we remembered one, that is. I’m not sure there’s a reading nook quite so perfect, nestled on a spongy blanket of moss while leaning against an unyielding tree trunk, breathing in the intoxicating scent of the earth.

To say that I’m grateful to have had such a nature-immersed childhood is an understatement—chapters of my life that I won’t soon forget. I think all three of our kids had one, too. But I fear the majority of kids today aren’t being afforded a similar experience. Whether it’s due to trepidation regarding the safety of our charges while they’re unsupervised or because said charges are inextricably glued to screens.

Regardless of why, I still think scores of impressionable youths are missing out on connecting with their environment in a way that could positively impact their lives. That said, kids need to play in the woods. They need to breathe fresh air. They need to build forts. They need to work together with their friends toward a common goal (constructing something that won’t collapse right away) and get their hands dirty in the process. And they need to spend time in those forts—forts that are in a constant state of development and redesign, utilizing their creativity and making their brains work harder. Tree forts, I dare say, require even more critical thinking skills. I’ll never forget the one my friends and I attempted to erect using an enormous cardboard box and ladder, perilously fastened to a tree. It didn’t end well, but we all learned something valuable.

Thankfully, by the time our daughters were traipsing around in the woods with hammers in hand, we had enough sense to provide them with wood scraps and pallets, not cardboard. And the forts that were built out of them held up to the weather for years, although now there’s little trace that said forts ever existed.

But they know they existed, and that has made all the difference.

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

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Filed under A Tree is Nice, Bookish Stuff, Endless Summer, Gratitude, Love and Other Drugs, Lovers of All Things Rockish, Me Time, Unplugged

Tagged as childhood, childhood memories, love, nature, nature lover, outdoors, parenting, trees, Unplugged, woods

March 31, 2026 · 1:27 pm

All That Jazz

I have a confession to make: I love caffeine. Just like a lot of people, I depend on it to get stuff done. Stuff I don’t necessarily want to do. Like taxes, cleaning up cat puke and spending a ridiculous amount of time in the kitchen or laundry room. Truth be told, I need my caffeine fix to overcome a default setting of abject lethargy. It’s embarrassing, I know.

What’s ironic is that I don’t especially like coffee. I tried acquiring a taste for it in college while I pulled all-nighters, to no avail. I resolved that issue eventually by mixing it in my dark chocolate hot cocoa so that I can barely taste its bitterness. Problem solved.

Oddly enough, it only takes about a teaspoonful to get me revved, or as my husband likes to say, “jazzed.” As in, “Oh no, you’re all jazzed now and I’ll have to deal with THIS version of you!” But this version of me feels invincible—like vacuuming the entire house, cleaning the gutters or going on a 10-mile hike (not that I actually will). Needless to say, “caffeinated me” irritates him to no end because, of course, I talk incessantly and remind him of things he needs to do. I also interrupt his precious scrolling time. I figure I’m just helping him help himself to not be so addicted to his phone.

I think what aggravates him most about this situation is that he prefers being energized early in the day while I prefer later in the afternoon and into the evening. What’s more, he could consume five cups of java and not feel a thing, whereas the mere thought of ingesting a few sips of the brewed wonder makes my leg bounce in anticipation. It’s par for the course, though—take two people who are opposite in almost every way imaginable, and invariably they marry each other. That’s us.

In the end, I guess we’ve learned to tolerate each other’s differences—even the ones that involve caffeine, which delights me because I can’t imagine having to sacrifice either my dear husband or my dear coffee/cocoa fix. That said, caffeine makes me happy. It’s like sprinkling joy all over my day—especially on the days I have to will myself to do anything remotely cognitive, like balancing a checkbook, paying bills or (you guessed it) writing this column.

That said, my brain just works better on caffeine. It bounces from one task to the next with remarkable hyper-focus which helps me accomplish a host of gotta-dos in record time, all thanks to a liquid form of motivation. It inspires greatness within me regarding physical tasks, too, causing me to achieve the impossible—like making our mattress pad fit on the bed without committing hari kari.

Out of sheer curiosity, I Googled images of caffeine and apparently the crystals look wild under a microscope—like clusters of jagged little particles, poised to wreak havoc wherever they might land. It’s no wonder it does what it does to the body and brain. I encourage you to Google it, too. You won’t be disappointed.

Not surprisingly, frappés are my decadent treat, especially if they contain pumps of Frappuccino roast and dark chocolate java chips. My doctor will be pleased to know that I don’t make a habit of ordering them that often because it’s basically diabetes in a cup. That said, I look forward to meeting up with my dear friend, Barb, at Starbucks in the very near future. I’m sure we’ll catch up on all the latest happenings in our lives and enjoy something delicious (and caffeinated) in the process.

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

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Filed under Captain Quirk, Gratitude, Love and Other Drugs, Ode to Embarrassment

Tagged as caffeine, coffee, humor, marriage, marriage humor, motivation

February 24, 2026 · 3:39 pm

Sunspots

My indoor cats know where it’s at—basking in the sunspots throughout the house. Those warm and welcoming havens where the sun streams in through the windows and pools on the floor and furniture below are especially inviting on these cold, wintry days. They’re no fools. They know it makes perfect sense to curl up in a place where heat is literally raining down from the sky, warming their bodies through to the bone.

I can tell just by looking at their furry faces how euphoric this makes them. The way they turn their heads toward the source and slow blink as if to say, “Don’t bother me; I’m in a zone.” What I find hilarious is watching said cats squabble over what is apparently prime real estate—a two-foot square expanse of hardwood flooring in a corner of our living room that is bathed in sunlight nearly every morning. If I could fit there (and if I got up earlier), I’d be hijacking it myself.

I’m like a house plant, only less photosynthesis is involved.

It’s not as if we set the thermostat below a reasonable temperature and we’re all freezing to death. It usually hovers right around 70 degrees. It’s just that the sun streaming in feels so ridiculously good—especially on bare feet. And if it’s a blue sky type of day, the sunspots appear on the northwestern side of the house in the afternoon too, providing even more opportunities for lounging in the warmth.

So I guess it’s not the least bit surprising that I, much like our cats, follow the sun in winter. Housebound, I find myself seeking out the shafts of light pouring in and soaking it all up before the clouds close in or night falls. If I didn’t look like a complete idiot, I’d be tempted to sprawl out on the floor just like the cats and devour every sliver of sunlight to be had—charging my batteries so to speak. It’s no wonder almost every vehicle I ever owned came equipped with a sunroof, lest I be deprived of a solitary photon.

For what it’s worth, there’s an amusing YouTube and Instagram video about northerners enjoying February sunshine on a family vlog and blog called Story of This Life. It’s created by Thad and Esther Anderson and I highly recommend you check it out (with the volume on) for a good laugh. The woman in question practically transforms into a cat as she slinks over furniture, stairs, walls and flooring to absorb every available ray of sunshine in her home. These past few months she has become my spirit animal.

What’s more, I sort of identify with the solar panels we had installed on our roof last summer. They love the sunshine, but have been more than a little frustrated by the snow and ice still covering a good portion of their surface. Let the melting begin.

I suppose I should take my husband’s advice and use my Miroco Light Therapy Lamp more often, particularly on gray days when it’s not very sunny. It’s a nifty device for people who suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder (that I, of course, diagnosed myself) that simulates natural sunlight without UV rays. It has multiple brightness settings, a timer and it swivels for convenience. For whatever reason, though, I just don’t seem to be inclined to fetch it from the bowels of our cabinet where it’s housed. Maybe because I know in my heart of hearts it’s not the same as actual sunlight. Obviously, my cats think it’s a marvelous idea to use it in lieu of competing for their precious sunspots.

Little jerks.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (probably lying in a sunspot, squinting like the cats). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/notesfromplanetmom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

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Filed under Gratitude, Love and Other Drugs, Me Myself and I, Normal is Relative, Unplugged

Tagged as cats, February, humor, Seasonal Affective Disorder, sunshine, sunspots, winter, writing

February 11, 2026 · 12:10 pm

Romance for Dummies

My husband is a hopeless romantic. Albeit an accidental one. Of course, he’s always done the stuff that hopeless romantics do. He sends me roses—just because. He writes me poetry and remembers our anniversary each November. He surprises me on my birthday, without fail and bestows upon me sinful quantities of chocolate on Valentine’s Day—knowing full well that I’d do almost anything for a slab of dark chocolate almond bark. And though I love him dearly for doing so, those are not the things I find especially romantic—never mind what the world at large may opine.

No doubt, he’d be stunned by this news, and perhaps disappointed to think he’d been missing the mark all these years. But he hasn’t been missing the mark. He’s simply oblivious as to why I find him wholly irresistible. Indeed, he’s clueless when it comes to recognizing what he does so completely right. Hence, the ACCIDENTAL component of the hopeless romantic equation.

That said, he unwittingly seizes the ordinary moments of life and somehow makes them special, which, to me, is deemed slightly wonderful and oh-so-romantic. More specifically, he leaves endearing, little notes everywhere with nary a holiday in sight. I stumble upon them throughout my day—under my pillow, in the kitchen, thoughtfully affixed to my computer screen, where I cannot help but notice—and smile. “I LOVE YOU—ALWAYS,” it will read, or “I’M PROUD OF YOU.” Then again, some of his messages are entirely pragmatic: “I FED THE DOG ALREADY. DON’T FEED HIM AGAIN,” or mildly sarcastic: “REMEMBER TO PUT THE FISH IN THE FRIDGE OR WE’LL ALL DIE OF FOOD POISIONING.”

Either way, I’m instantly charmed.

Likewise, my Romeo is liable to warm my heart by bringing me a beef and cheddar panini from Jazzman’s—an exceedingly delicious mid-day indulgence inspired entirely by that-which-moves-good-deed-doers-to-action. What’s more, the man has texted me while perched atop the lawn mower—proclaiming his abiding love for me under the blazing sun. Or maybe it was to remind me to pick up an errant flip-flop in the lawn. I can’t remember now, but I’d like to hope it was the former.

While I was pregnant he satisfied all sorts of culinary cravings, too, whipping up a shameful quantity of raspberry milkshakes and fetching dried apricots in the dead of night. He also tied my shoes, as the swell of my freakishly large belly thwarted my every effort to reach my knees, let alone my feet.

Further, the man has no qualms whatsoever in dealing with our brood when they are beyond the point of persnickety at mealtime, obscenely tired and cranky at the close of a trying day, impossibly giddified over this or that perfectly inane thing or even while hurling profusely into a big bucket—all of which I find inordinately romantic. Strange, but true. Plus, he fixes stuff that’s broken. He ferries children hither and yon. He masterminds our every holiday feast. He cooks and shops and bears in mind what he’ll need for meals—which isn’t normal, I’m told. Not for a man. Nor is suggesting that on some lazy afternoon we should rent Doctor Zhivago—an epic love story in the truest sense. “What’s so weird about wanting to watch a movie together?” he’ll ask, puzzled by my stunned silence.

Oblivion abounds, my dear Romeo.

Lately, said oblivion has risen to a new level, giving me reason to shake my head in disbelief. Just before Valentine’s Day, following an appreciable snowfall, he got up at dark-thirty to take the dog out, which necessitated shoveling a path in the back yard so that our vertically challenged pooch might not disappear altogether in a snow drift. “How thoughtful,” I mused. Some time later, I went to the window to admire what he had done. Lo and behold, he had carved a most enormous heart there in the sparkling snow—roughly 20 feet across with an arrow piercing its center. “Whoa,” was all I could mouth, astounded by this wonderful thing he had surely done to woo me once more—as if Aphrodite herself had guided the shovel there in the grayness of dawn.

Naturally, I showered him with gratitude, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him closer to the window so we could gaze at this thing of beauty together, hand in hand. “How sweet and kind and UTTERLY ROMANTIC of you!” I gushed.

“Romantic?” he repeated, fumbling over the word and glancing in the direction of the window.

“Yes! ROMANTIC!” I affirmed, sure that he was merely playing dumb. “How on earth did you do such an amazing thing?!”

“What amazing thing? I shoveled a path in the snow. For the dog.”

“No no no. That’s not a path. That’s a HEART! A GINORMOUS HEART NESTLED BETWEEN THE PINES JUST FOR ME—FOR VALENTINE’S DAY! That was so completely ROMANTIC of you!”

Stupidly, he looked out the window and back at me with an expression that clearly conveyed the wheel is spinning, but the hamster is dead. It was the point at which he could have and should have rescued himself. A simple nod of agreement and a half-hearted smile would have sufficed. But no. Not for my oblivion-minded Romeo. My (accidental) hopeless romantic.

Planet Mom: It’s where I live (with my dear, sweet Romeo). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesfromPlanetMom, too. This column also appeared in Mountain Home Magazine entitled as “Love Notes.”