Is it really 3 years?

3 years later.
What would Jim think?
His devoted wife living in the fast lane?
Ok, so not actually the fast lane, but the crazy woman living each day to the fullest?
I asked him years ago: “If I die before you, what then?”
He always answered: “Hello Gigi? Hello Fifi?, It’s party time.”
And then he would say, “What about you?”
I never responded.
He really didn’t want to know.
And I didn’t think that would ever happen.
It did.
Life did not prepare me for his death.
After 3 years, have I changed?
Not really.
I have always been a caged bird, longing for freedom.
And when it happened?
I immersed myself in the sorrow and grief, embracing that part of life.
Moving on, I became a free spirit, enjoying each day; thankful for the many friends who supported me as I rediscovered life as a single woman.
3 years later?
Yes, I miss him,
Yes, I have moved on.
My life has changed, and so have I.
I will never forget nor regret the many years we spent together.
I truly loved him.
Tonight, I am saying goodbye, once again, after 3 years.
Hey Jimmy!
I am ok.
Just a little goofier each day.
A loose cannon in a chicken butt’s disguise.


Sunday, September 29, 2019
The Pamster got up early, to make chicken soup for the soul, and for the Chicken Butt.
Pam is very thoughtful, extremely outgoing, and yet, a caretaker of the strays that wander into her life.
Take a look at what happens when she is tending the bar, on a weekend:
Everyone feels special, as they mingle, and are introduced to one another.
No matter how busy it gets, Pam handles the crowd, the personalities, the crazies, with humor and wit.
A raucous time unfolded all afternoon, bringing together the regulars and strangers, until the moment when there are no longer any strangers, just new friends.
Hot toddies?
No problem.
She knew I was not feeling the best.
Oh yeah.
Her watchful eyes knew when it was time to eat.
How would I describe her?
Skilled in the art of bringing people together, while keeping control over a wild and crazy crowd.
What a great Sunday.
Thanks, Pam!!


Just go home

A long awaited fun night, at the winery, listening to Frog Holler, with friends.
However, it was not meant to be.
A disappointing recurrence of the “cold” that just won’t give up.
And so, tonight, at 5:22pm, I am in my pjs, with a sore throat, ear aches and coughing.
To alleviate the symptoms, I did manage to injest a fair amount of garlic, hoping to keep the vampires at bay.
If not, at least I did not subject my buddies to a germ infestation.
Life has its lessons, and I, for one, have learned a few things, as I have aged.

  1. Acceptance: If you are sick, go home.
  2. Consideration for others: If you are sick, go home.
  3. Disappointment: So what? If you are sick, go home.

I am home.


Fat squirrels and falling leaves

I wonder what it means when the leaves start falling early?
A rough winter?
And all the walnuts already on the ground. Yikes!
Looks like the squirrels will be fat and happy this fall.
I miss the summer already.
It’s all about the sun.
The days are suddenly getting shorter, as another season struts in with its glorious colors and refreshing cooler air.
Yes, autumn has its beauty, as all the seasons do.
They mirror life’s cyclical phases:
Light vs darkness.
Happiness vs sadness.
Heath vs illness.
Young vs old.
Rich vs poor.
As we experience the seasons of the calendar and the seasons of our lives, we learn to adjust and to adapt.
Bring it on!
““Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each.” — Henry David Thoreau


What’s your name? Who’s your daddy?

Who really cares what anyone, or is it anybody, thinks?

I have witnessed this: “I know they are talking about me.”

Guess what?

Probably not.

We might think we are that important, in a moment of grandiosity, fueled by chemicals, aka known as booze.

For me?

I have learned long ago, that I am who I am, regardless of what others may think.






Of course.

Over the top?

Oh yeah.

Go ahead: criticize me.

I refuse to discredit your opinion.

Actually, I prefer those who will tell me I am a kook.

You see, some of us like being a kook.

And for those of you who think I am “talking” about you?

It usually is because I like hanging out with you.

Here’s to each and every one of us: Unique, and yet, so much like everyone else.

Until the next time,



Burning out the day…. and the night.

After a very satisfying breakfast, it was time to rest.

Or so I thought.

“Where are you?”

“What are you doing?”

“Are you on your way?”


I was ready to take a nap.

Temptation took over, and away I went.

Oh, the life of a cougar is never easy.

Wink wink.

From an obedient child, to a serious student, to a talented musician and finally, to a bitchy career woman, it has all come down to this.

A party animal of the highest order, burning out the day and burning out the night.

Meeting every one who crosses my path, with kindness and admiration, acknowledging their uniqueness and listening to their stories.

As Elwood P Dodd said, in “Harvey”, “In this world, you must be oh so smart, or oh so pleasant. Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant. You may quote me.”

Have a pleasant evening, everyone.

Just remember: You are special.


Ain’t I gorgeous?

78 degrees.

And there she was: in her black mink coat and hat, sitting at the bar, trying on necklaces, bracelets and earrings.

She piled on the jewels, flashing the patrons as they walked by, with the same question: “Ain’t I gorgeous?”

Sitting beside her was her new cast iron chicken, weighing in at 10 lbs.

It was Christmas in September.

And she was splendid, indeed, thanks to her friend, Mary, who is downsizing, moving to a new home, leaving her personal gems to the old chicken butt.

I felt like I was a little girl again, dressing up in high heels and jewelry and parading around the neighborhood like I was Marilyn Monroe.

Tonight, however, I paraded out to my car, wearing my coat and hat, at least 20 necklaces and bracelets, and carrying the heavy chicken.

I named the chicken “Cooter”.

It was a night like no other.

All because Mary awakened the child in me, to once again experience the magic of living.


Football: Win some and lose some

A day to watch the football game,

Hey! Patti, Ray, Bobby, Tommy, Jimmy, Megan, Dane, Connie, Sam, Ron, Nancy, Sam, and all the others: Go Eagles.

Well, so much for that.

As the afternoon unfolded, it really didn’t matter, we just had a rip roaring time.

Yeah, they lost.

Mark showed up, with a bouquet of flowers: Gorgeous.

He said: “Follow me out to my truck.”

And there she was! Miss Lilly in all her golden retriever splendor, wiggling, and peeing.

Oh yeah.

The young pup can’t control it.

Not when she gets excited.

She is an American beauty.

Puppies rock.

Definitely a crazy day.

Bobby asked me if he could text Dana and Sam, on my phone.

Go ahead, you handsome hunk.

He did.

What a hoot.

Home now, after the Lions defeated the Eagles, after an afternoon of ups and downs.

Tomorrow? Monday? Really?

What the heck?

In actuality, I have no concept of what day it is.

It no longer matters.

I live for the moment.

Try it!

Let me know if you love it.

I do.


Orange Crush

An Orange Crush Saturday.

Ms Pam, serving up orange, lemon or grapefruit crushes!

What a hit it was!!

From noon to 530pm, non stop conversation, laughs and craziness.

An easy, laid back, comfortable day.

People from all walks of life, coming together, on the last weekend of summer, free to be who they are, enjoying the experience.

Yes, it could have been a day to be productive, but it was, instead, a day to fondly remember.

After all, the purpose of life is to enjoy it.


Norwegian immigrants

Ashlaug Saugistad.

And her son?

Svery Saugistad.

For real?

Who would name their kid Ashlaugh or Svery?

Growing up in Minnesota was a hoot.

The phone rings:


The other end : “Tommy? Yimmy? Carolyean?”

“Yes, Ragna, how are you?”

Good old Auntie Ragna, calling to see if her sister in law, Dagny, is ok.

Dagny was my grandmother.

She survived a serious health epidemic, leaving Norway, with my Dad, Hans.

Her husband and other children did not survive.

I was 10 years old.

What the heck?

Ragna calls.

As always, I would say, “Auntie: My mom is right here. Good to hear from you.”

I don’t think I ever met Ragna in person.

She was just a voice on the phone: “Tommy? Yimmy? Carolyean?”

I was trying to come to grips with the Bay of Pigs and the Beatles invasion, at the same time.

Two separate, distinctive worlds, coming together, as we strived for the pursuit of happiness in the USA.

My ancestors?


Did they realize their dreams?

Did I?

And what about Ashlaug and Svery?

I hope they did.