My November 2025

Thanksgiving With The Ghosts Of Estrangement, Indifference & Distance

Yesterday was Thanksgiving.

The day started out okay. Normal stuff for me - up at 5:30, coffee in the bedroom as I start the day slowly, morning toast.

By 8am I had the turkey all dressed up and in the oven.

By 8:30am I realized I was in the middle of a bona fide anxiety attack.
No explanation for that while it was happening, it just came up out of nowhere.  It was just going to be the two of us so it wasn't like I was panicking about the details that come with having company.  I've cooked turkeys and Thanksgiving meals dozens of time so it wasn't that either.  Weird.  Later in the day I would understand why this happened.

Eventually the anxiety attack passed and the rest of the morning was spent doing just a bit more meal prep (I'd cooked most of everything the day before) and playing around with artwork.  At some point I mentioned to JP that I didn't want either of us to dwell on not having family or friends to share the day with as we often tend to lament about on special days.  Sort of like: "This food is great, the house looks beautiful. Too bad we don't have people to share it with."  That's the sort of thing that always gets said on every birthday, holiday, Arbor Day, Groundhog Day, etc.

But the truth is, even if one of us isn't saying it, we are both definitely thinking it.

For a little bit I had the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on the television which brought back a flood of memories for me:  being a little kid and going to the parade with my father, freezing to death until he bought me hot pretzels from the street cart man and a steamy hot chocolate with tons of whipped cream on top; taking Sherb to the parade when she was little, bundling her up in twelve layers of clothing.  
Moving on from the parade memories to remembering my mother getting mad if you didn't want to eat a particular Thanksgiving food that she thought you should be eating (I used to not like sweet potatoes which bothered her as if it were something personal) and also her annual attempt at making stuffing which everyone referred to as "wet bread".  Thinking about the corny joke that we still laugh about that my beloved and estranged nephew made on Thanksgiving about geting more turnips on his "next turn up" to get a second helping.

You know, the bittersweet kind of memories.

11.26.25

11.11.25

The Sad & Terrible Opposite Of Preservation

This morning I had the absolute misfortune of driving past this travesty on my way home from the post office.

Seeing them destroy this beautiful farmhouse was like a literal punch to my gut. Actually brought tears to my eyes. 

I got halfway home but decided that I had to go back and try to capture it with my camera before it was completely gone...but as you can see I was too late because that were working at a feverish pitch to destroy it.

Of course, the whole area that the house sits on that was once farmland is now marked off because I'm sure we'll soo see lots and gray and tan ugly new subdivision houses or some such similar thing in its place.  It's happening all around us.

I know that some people won't understand my very strong visceral reaction to things like this, but what I see here is not simply a house being torn down, but the destruction of history and memories and the stripping of the heartbeat and soul of a town/state.

Be careful, Delaware.  Your soul is eroding and you're well on your way to being known as the Land Of Overpriced Ugly Houses.

My Life In Watercolor: Vogel's Records

Did you know that a retail store can change your life?

It's hard to express in a way that would make people understand how a retail store can mean so much to me (and to so many others).

I'm struggling to put into words what music meant to me then (and now). It has been a lifelong love affair - thanks, in large part, to having the greatest record store "uptown", just a short bus ride or bike ride or long walk from home.  The love affair started with the purchase of so many 45s, eventually progressing to albums.  The first one I bought there, on my own with my own allowance money, age 13, was The Runaways because - oh my God! - Cherry Bomb. Can't stay at home, can't stay in school.

I remember that my mother surprised me with the Frampton Comes Alive album around that same time that she purchased at Vogel's. A double album!  I'd died and gone to heaven.  Do you feel like I do?

I particularly recall many trips to Vogel's with my friend Cathy, who had this really cool liquid blue eyeshadow that was all shimmery and you painted it on your lids with a brush. I was mad jealous of that eyeshadow but she shared it generously and we painted our eyes and set off to Vogel's to buy KISS albums because we were oh so cool like that.

You pushed open the door of that store, stepped inside, and your little world expanded on a soul level which sounds dramatic but isn't if you, too, have had a lifetime love affair with music.

What a great thing to have grown up in the era of great music...readily available at great record stores like Vogel's.

My Life In Watercolor: Spirito's Restaurant

My love affair with my hometown of Elizabeth, New Jersey, continues (in watercolor).

Here we have the famous Spirito's Restaurant which, sadly, no longer exists.

I'm still having a hard time accepting that. 

How do you say goodbye to the place you've been going to since the 1960s? 

The place you went for every special event growing up or just because you wanted the best Italian food (even though they didn't serve butter with the bread)? 

The place you drove to with your girlfriends when you first got your license, age 17, and pushed our luck when we ordered "Bacardi and Coke" because we didn't know what else to order and they actually served us? 

To never again sit in one of their wooden booths with their formica tabletops and the low lit wall sconces at every table? 

Oh, the bittersweet memories!

They recently filmed the movie "Nonnas" at the already closed Spirito's. There's a couple of scenes where you can still see the ghost of what Spirito's was when it was open. You should watch it.

It might be gone now, but it will not ever be forgotten. 

That's the thing about being from Elizabeth...these places are somehow in our blood.

My Life In Watercolor: Tommy's Italian Hot Dogs

My grandfather lived around the block from Tommy's, on South Street (maybe you remember the gray house with pink shutters? lol) in Elizabeth, NJ.

I have a very clear memory of walking with him, hand in hand, to Tommy's - it had to be just after they first opened because my grandfather died in 1970.

Grandpa used to take me for walks all through what we Elizabethans know as 'the 'Burg' (aka Peterstown). I can't wait to watercolor more of the places we'd go.

Tommy's Italian hot dogs are amazing but you really haven't lived until you've had their potatoes in a cup.

My Life In Watercolor: DiCosmo's Italian Ice

And here we have my watercolor rendition of DiCosmo's Italian Ice in Elizabeth, NJ.

If you are ages 1-125 and you're from or have been to Elizabeth, NJ...then you have likely had Italian ice from DiCosmo's because that's how long they've been at this location, no joke.

My father used to buy their lemon ice by the quarts so he'd have it after they closed for the season.

You wouldn't believe the love and memories people have for this little place that's been around for generations

My Life In Watercolor: Jerry's Hot Dogs

I've decided to document some of my life (good and bad) in watercolor.

I was lucky enough to have been born and raised in Elizabeth, NJ - just outside of NYC. There are places there that are institutions for anyone who is from Elizabeth. You might think it's weird to honor a hot dog stand but when you've been going there for many decades with every family member, with every boyfriend/friend/husband, and many time just going there by yourself when you needed to touch base with your roots or you just craved the best hot dog there is...well, you'd understand the reverence I, and countless others, have for this place.

Examples: my parents divorced when I was very young and my father moved to North Carolina but would come back for visits periodically. When I was old enough to drive, I'd pick him up from Newark airport (just a few miles from Elizabeth) and we'd head straight to Jerry's where we'd buy way too many chili dogs and then sit on the bench across the street and chow down and catch up, just the two of us.

Then there was the time we actually got my housebound (by choice) mother to leave her apartment to take the hour long drive to Jerry's from where we lived at the NJ shore. She couldn't resist the lure of eating Jerry's, which she'd been doing since she was much much younger. She was hesitant, to say the least, and afraid that her sensitive stomach couldn't handle the hot dogs but we got her to go anyway.
We drove her all around Elizabeth, past all of the places she'd lived, her schools, and other memorable places in her life. All of this culminating with sitting in the pickup truck chowing down on Jerry's. What a day that was! And her sensitive stomach, which would very often act up at the slightest thing, did just fine that day.

Memories of sharing Jerry's with my parents are priceless and are one of the many reasons Jerry's Hot Dogs is much more than just a hot dog stand to me...and those countless others who have similar stories to tell.

The Sky's The Limit

Here's my video featuring the collection of my magical realism artwork that will be 

included in theexhibition "The Sky's The Limit" at the

Syrna Opera House

Dickinson Gallery

Smyrna, Delaware

10.16.25 - 11.14.25

Life Stories: Oreos & A Late Night In An Irish Bar

That time I was in a Manhattan Irish bar very late at night. This was

the kind of place where you had to know someone to be let in after hours.

You walked down about six steps from the sidewalk & entered thru an unassuming

front door.  The music was live, lively & loud. The Guinness flowing.

But I was hungry so I went across the street the the only open place - a bodega.

Bought a box of Oreos & some milk, snuck myself & my snacks back into the bar.

Big, burly, Irish bartender saw me eating, asked what I had.
I thought I was busted & would be asked to leave but instead I spent a very

memorable night sharing my Oreos with Ryan, the not-so-scary afterall Irish bartender.

The Value Of Human Work

What My September Looked Like

Upcoming Event

I was invited to participate in this exhibition which was a pretty big honor.

I've been out of the game for awhile and it's honestly been pretty great getting back into it.

Does this mean I'll go back to creating photo art more regularly again?

Time will tell.

Back To School On The Cul-De-Sac

It's back-to-school week here in these parts which is something I usually look forward to.

I have been working from home for a lot of years writing, editing, art-ing, so when September rolls around I have always looked forward to the return to quiet in the more lively neighborhoods where we've lived. But I've also always looked forward to the morning 'kid noise' as they wait for the bus, or the chatter of the parents with their coffee cups in hand as they see their offspring off. I've even always looked forward to the sound of the school buses as the pull up to their stops on the corners, arriving always at a precise time, say 8:11am or so, like clockwork every day, pun intended.

Except here on the cul-de-sac there is no back to school noise.

I think the few kids who live on this street get driven to school by their parents maybe, but whatever the case, there is no sign of them.  No little groups dressed in their new back-to-school clothes, unscuffed sneakers, stiff backpacks not yet broken in. No squeals of excitement for a new school year, for being back with their friends even though they've been lamenting the end of summer vacation.  

Instead, it's ghostly quiet, like living in a retirement village even though we did actually live in a retirement village a few years back (55+) and while there were no schoolkids or school buses in that village, there was still people noise, signs of life. 

Here?
Not so much.
And I don't like it.

this morning, no signs of life.

I can't get used to living in an area of no life signs.

Yesterday the neighbor had their house power-washed. I was annoyed by the noise of the machine at first but then I realized I was feeling glad to be hearing it, comforted even.  Life. People. Busy workers doing worker things. Less of that alone, deserted feeling.  Today, I can hear the sound of hammering in the distance and, again, I'm comforted.

Yes, I like going out on my back deck and hearing nothing but the birds singing and the cicadas cicada-ing.  I don't want to hear traffic and sirens and horns honking at the tailgating jerks who rule the roads nowadays.

                                                                    view from our quiet deck

But I do want to hear life.  Not noise, but life.
I want to know people have come out of their houses to enjoy the fresh air that's finally here after months of oppressive and depressive heat and humidity.  I want to hear more than sprinklers watering manicured lawns that no one actually uses.

And if I can't hear and see life in my own neighborhood, then I want to be able to go downtown and be amongst the living.
Except we don't have those kinds of downtowns nearby anywhere. 
Why is everyone always inside?

There is, of course, much to be said for quiet neighborhoods. Obviously that is a very desirable feature when one is searching for a home.  

However there is such a thing as too quiet.  Does that make sense?

So it seems the gypsy wind might be starting to stir and shift again, friends.  What does that mean, actually?  I'm not sure. But, as it has in the past, that old restless feeling has started to ever-so-slightly swirl around me.

I've become very aware that I need to throw myself a lifeline.  To rejoin the living.

My July 2025 Calendar

Neighborly Weekend

I decided to make a big batch of blueberry bourbon jalapeno bbq sauce this weekend and package it up to give to some of the neighbors who have been friendly-ish with us since we moved into this small, cul-de-sac development 15 months ago.

It's my way of reaching out, trying to be friendly and neighborly, especially since I am a hermit who doesn't actually leave the house all that much.  Also - and this will come as a shock to those who know me very well - I am extremely shy until I get to know someone pretty well.  The shyness has gotten much worse because of the psoriatric/lupus situation that has shown up all over my face making me look like a meth addict unless I wear heavy makeup which I don't often do or want to do.  Additionally, that situation has affected my teeth, making me doubly self-concious.  So I haven't really been out there, being as friendly as I normally would or could be.

Thankfully, JP is not the shy one in this relationship so he's the one who has mostly been doing the neighbor interaction thing, sort of like our own version of good cop/bad cop.  I'm the bad cop neighbor who is sitting in the house eating donuts while he's out there being the charming good cop neighbor to everyone.

The Laundromat + Delawareans v. NJ

Yesterday, in a cleaning frenzy, I decided that I needed to wash all of our blankets and quilts and then I decided that I needed to also wash all of our floor rugs and bath mats.

Being that this would require about 10 loads of wash, I decided to load up the truck and take it all to the laundromat because they have those giant machines.

I was expecting to go there, throw all my stuff in machines, then get out ASAP but I haven't been to a laundromat in a very long time so I needed a little help from the manager, a guy I'll call Pat in the interest of his privacy.

Well, it turns out that Pat is a really nice and helpful guy who manages the place. Pat had to show me how to load things so I didn't over- or under-fill the machines. The machines aren't marked to tell you how much they are, so Pat helped me with that, too ($11.50 for the ultra giant machine and $8.50 for the regular giant machine - total cost with drying was near $40!).  

He and I got to chit-chatting while things were drying and it turns out that, like me, Pat is also from New Jersey.  In fact he still vacations with his family in Point Pleasant, where I'm from. He showed me his NJ area code tattoo which is the literal mark of a loyal New Jerseyan.

 
Pat asked me how I was liking Delaware and I admitted to him that I'm struggling with living here due to it being vastly different from NJ (I'll elaborate in a future post). He said he understood because he's been living here for years and he's still strugglng, too.  He confirmed what I've been feeling since I moved here:  Delawareans don't take too kindly to New Jersey transplants.

The New Jersey transplant thing has gotten old for me and I roll my eyes every time I hear some Delawarean go on about it.  You know what NJ is filled with? People from other places. You know what NJ does about that?  Nothing, except maybe build more places where all the people from all over the place can spend their money like restaurants and shops and delis.  New Jerseyans are smart like that: they act on opportunity when they see it instead of sitting around whining and taking to their keyboards to complain about it.
Also, why are there no real delis in Delaware? Why does everyone go to Wawa instead for hoagies (God, I hate that word. It's a sub.)  Why is there no culture here?  It's the East Coast, for God's sake. Except for that one Italian area in Wilmington which is barely Italian compared to Italian areas in Jersey, there are no cultural areas in the entire state.

When I was a little kid in Elizabeth NJ, my friend group consisted of Polish kids, Irish kids, Italian kids, black kids, Puerto Rican kids, Filippino kids, Brazilian kids, Portuguese kids, some kids from NY, and that one girl from Sacramento, CA.  

(i'm the one seated behind the girl with the yellow shirt)

You know what we all did?  We played together and went on adventures and got to eat a whole bunch of different foods that our mom's cooked and fed to us neighborhood kids (Okay, my mom didn't really cook all that much but we almost always had baloney and Wonder bread home to eat.  And PB&J. And my mom worked in a diner so we could go there if we got hungry), like those sandwiches Mrs. Diaz used to make with that Portuguese cheese on Portuguese rolls. 

One time I remember me and my friend group walked from school to White Castle on the Route 1&9 highway.  We looked like a walking advertisement for United Colors of Benetton, there were so many nations represented among us.

By the way, people come together for White Castle. It's still that way. Everyone is equal at White Castle.
But Delawareans wouldn't know that because there are no White Castle's in this entire state!

OK, sorry about the tangents. You should know I'm like the queen of tangents.

The truth is that I'm not happy living in Delaware - there, I said it - and one of the reasons for that is the NJ transplant thing that I'm beyond tired of hearing about.  I should add that when we lived in New Castle county some years back, no one there cared that we were from NJ.  In lower Delaware (Kent/Sussex) they do care. A lot. Be mindful of that if you're thinking of moving here from anywhere.

Last year I had some painters come around to give estimates.  One of them asked me if I was from NJ. I said I was and he said that he'd "be adding 25% to the estimate ha ha".  Guess who didn't get the job?
That's how we roll in Jersey.  Ha ha.

Anyway, the laundromat.
So I met Pat and had a nice chat with him and then there were some other nice people there and the place is super clean and now I think I'm going to bring my laundry there regularly even though I have a perfectly new washer and dryer, because I need to get out of the house more and be around people more and God knows there's nothing else to do in the godforsaken state*.

I just won't tell them I'm a proud New Jerseyan who is counting the days until I can move back there.
I think Pat will keep my secret.  He's one of "us".

My new hobby: hanging at the laundromat.

Oh well.  Maybe I'll get some good stories out of going there like when you overhear stuff at bars and hair salons.

It might be time to get that 'literal mark of a true New Jerseyan'. Is it irony if I go to a Delaware tattoo shop to get a NJ tattoo?

*My feelings about downstate Delaware are based on my own experience. There are plenty of people who love it here and I'm glad for them because it's terrible when you don't like where you live.

July 2025 (aka Month In Which I Accomplish Nothing)

Here's where things are at right now:

July is endless and terrible and humid and stifling and far too sunny even though it's been raining frequently and did I mention humid, etc?
Back in the olden days, it would get cooler and less humid after it rained.  Not so anymore. Nowadays the rain seems to make it worse.

I'm reverse hibernating, as I do every summer - looking forward to coming out of my cave once the air becomes breathable again in fall and winter.

I noticed some unusual activity for this blog in the form of more views, counter hits, etc.  Got me wondering who is coming here to read my drivel.  Neighbors?  Arch-nemeses? New friends to make?
I went ahead and installed some tracking things so I could find out.  Might be interesting to see.
Hello, whoever you are.

Sherb turned 40 on 7/13 
I'm still trying to wrap myself around that.
So is she.

I spent some time thinking about the those who have cast her aside (you know who you are) for the sole reason being that she is my daughter...and all that they are missing out on by not knowing and loving wonderful her.  Their loss, her gain...because she deserves quality people in her life, not asshats.

I'm putting forth more effort to learn the video software I purchased at least a year ago.
I love making videos - the process is so fun and creative - but I haven't done it in a pretty long time.
I am not loving the new software and can't seem to find a program that flows seamlessly enough for me.
Oddly, I used to make videos that featured my artwork very regularly using Windows goofy and basic movie program, but they eliminated that and nothing's felt right since.  Experienced video makers will make fun of me for being a simpleton but it's fine. I believe that you should stick with what works for you even if it means not doing something the way the masses are.

Yeah, that applies to much more than movie-making, by the way.

                                        

I also want to update my website.
Except every time I log on to do that I wind up just sitting there, staring at the monitor, overwhelmed until I blank out (blaNk, not black) and log off.

I pay a ton of money to have that website. One day I hope to actually do something with it. 😕

I have to go now so I can go outside in the searing heat to water the plants for the millionth time in the ongoing battle with the sun, which gives life while also trying to kill everything it sets itself onto.

Sixty-something days until fall, y'all.
If you're summer weary like me, hang in there.  We'll get through it.

actual picture of me going outside to water the plants

June 2025 Watercolor Calendar

I decided (in mid-June) to start keeping a monthly calendar featuring a daily highlight illustrated in watercolor.

It's a way to spark my creativity every day and it's really working because after a few days I started to very much look forward to filling in each day.

Here's what the second half of June looked like for me:

:: click on image to enlarge ::