We just returned from a birthday celebration in Georgia for my 85-year-old friend, Mary.

Mary is the kind of friend that James Taylor songs are written about.

I think it’s safe to say that if you’re 85-years-old and black in America today you’ve seen your fair share of strife. I know Mary has not had an easy life, but a more positive and inspiring person, you will never find.

Mary is always telling me how much she appreciates me, but the truth is, I am the benefactor in this relationship. Whenever I need a little pick me up, I call Mary. Talking with her leaves you feeling wrapped in her love.

There were 200 people at that birthday party. Along with Mary’s kids and grandkids many of them got up to speak and they all described a version of what I am saying here. It was amazing to see how many lives she has touched. Amazing, but not surprising. I’ll bet Mary ends her phone calls with all of them just the same as she ends mine, “I love ya, Boo, and tell Joe I love him, too.”

Postscript: One of Mary’s dreams was to own a mink coat. Being an animal lover, I don’t love this, but, it’s Miss Mary. At least her kids went with used when they decided to pool their resources to make their mother’s wish come true. I must admit she looked like a million bucks. Now I’m kind of glad she made the move to Georgia as church days would have been pretty unbearable in a mink coat in Florida.

One of my summer commitments was to swim each day for 20 minutes. (Thank you for the idea, P.) Somehow this challenge stretched past September and into October. (I probably missed a total of ten days.)  Now when I say swim, I’m being very generous. What I do does not even remotely resemble the stuff they did in the pools (and rivers) of Paris this past summer. It’s more like a scene out of the movie Cocoon minus the bathing caps. I call it aquasizing with a side of creative writing.

I like to say that I haven’t been bored since I was seven years old. This pastime, however, could have easily gone that route if I hadn’t found a way to “write in the pool.” I’d think about ideas for posts, or if I already had an idea going, I would work on how to improve it. (The challenge there was remembering when I got out of the pool.)

This “summer” thing turned a lot more challenging when October rolled around because now the pool is no longer a balmy 86 degrees. This is especially ironic since I recently contemplated one of those Cold-Water Plunges that are all the health rage. If you’re not familiar, it’s a big barrel filled with 40-50 degree water in which you submerge yourself. Proponents say this “cold therapy” can help muscles recover, improve mood, boost metabolism, reduce inflammation, and more. For me, it would be just another effort to help my “maturing” skin. Alas, who knew my cold plunge tolerance was 78 degrees?

So now that the summer challenge is (thankfully) coming to an end, I must find a new activity to spark my creative juices. According to Bruce Springsteen, writing is magic – you simply take something out of the air and make it physical. If that’s so, I suppose any activity will suffice. I’m thinking lying on the lounge chair sounds good.

As we like to say in Florida, we dodged another one. The folks on the west coast probably aren’t saying that, but we were very, very lucky. Again.

Sure, we spent all day cleaning up debris and still do not have power, but I consider us lucky. We are all well and none of us had major damage.

Another thing to be grateful for is the weather. Often when the power is out up north it’s freezing, and down south it’s sweltering. But, today is a beautiful 72 degrees and I am able to sit out on the porch as I write. Of course, my power bar is shrinking, and eventually I will have to go across the street to charge if the electric isn’t restored soon. But, hey, I have a device to charge and a neighbor to ask. Right? This is the same neighbor who is storing our frozen food. Just the valuables. We showed our appreciation by telling them the Ben & Jerry’s ice cream was theirs to keep.

As we struggled with cleanup, a few neighbors came by offering help and one tried to lend us his generator (which, by the way, is all I hear right now). But, we’re old school. It’s candles and propane for us. We put whatever was defrosting quickest on the grill and had a smorgasbord with one of our elderly neighbors who lives alone. She brought along a salad to contribute to the “feast.”

I woke early to go to the local convenient store with Yetis in hand in search of coffee. This is where I usually get gas, but I have never actually been inside. I fumbled with the process and went to the counter to pay. After waiting a few minutes, a lady came from across the store (it’s way bigger in there than I thought) and asked, “Is that all you’re getting, honey?” When I said yes, she said, “You go ahead and have yourself a nice weekend.” I actually got a bit choked up for a moment at her unexpected kindness. Of course when the sun came up, I realized I looked like a real sad sack after rolling out of bed and dragging an inside out sweatshirt over my bed head.

Postscript: We were only without power for two days. On the second night as we sat in the living room lit by a flickering candle and a laptop screen, the power popped on and the house came to life. We were hopeful when we saw the workers in the neighborhood that day, but once the sun set, we figured, oh well, maybe tomorrow. We were so caught off guard that when the lights came on, we looked at each other and screamed like little kids.

We like to think we realize what a luxury electricity is, but I don’t think you can truly appreciate it until you go without once in a while.

I said I was going to start posting every other week, but I felt compelled to weigh in on the hurricane situation.

I have lived in Florida since 1980, so I have a bit of experience. I know that folks who have not experienced hurricanes often wonder why someone wouldn’t evacuate. Many Floridians, like me, have evacuated only to have the hurricane change directions. In my case, I evacuated to Orlando with my husband and golden retriever only to have the hurricane hit there. We found a hotel and prepared to hunker down when we got a knock on the door telling us to leave because dogs were not allowed. We rode out the hurricane in a parking lot. I vowed then that I would never evacuate again. With that said, we are about four miles from the river and at least seven from the ocean. We have gotten good at planning for the worst, hoping for the best, and hunkering down.

Also, we are in a good area that has never suffered a direct hit (on record). I’ve read that NASA actually chose our location because the Gulf Stream is about 30 miles offshore and hurricanes have time to dwindle, making our county less susceptible to extreme damage and direct hits. I choose to think that’s true, and I hope it continues to be even with the changes in weather we’ve been experiencing.

Hurricanes are scary. The sounds can be terrifying. We’ve been without power for two weeks with soaring heat. But, we have good neighbors and a great family. Often in our neighborhood one side of the block is without power and the other isn’t, so you’ll see extension cords run from house to house. We’ve shared cell phone chargers, food, water and ice with folks and have stored neighbors’ frozen goods in our freezer; we’ve been shown the same kindness.

The latest forecast predicts this hurricane may be a dangerous one. Coming on the heels of a monster like Helene, it has folks very nervous. I pray for the best for all in its path.

I appreciate the support I’ve received for my blog. I’m happy to say it’s exactly what I hoped it would be – a vehicle for my writing with the added benefit of connecting with folks.

Blogging was definitely out of my comfort zone, so I decided to take a page from my friend Sandy’s never-boring playbook. When she was interviewing for a somewhat ambitious Department of Defense position, she decided to assume the Oprah persona as she addressed the interview panel. Sandy was, of course, prepared for what they would ask so she shared the autobiography of her career and when she was done simply got up, shook each of their hands, and wished them well in filling the position as she breezed out. I can imagine the look on their faces as this force of nature swooped out like she was the busiest person in the world. Needless to say, Sandy got the job and is still crushing it more than five years later.

So, when I was a little intimidated starting this blog, I decided to channel Sandy. I simply acted as though my favorite NY newspaper (Newsday) asked me to do a weekly column, and I just ran with it.

I’m sure you’ve heard the saying, “Fake it til you make it.” There really is something to it. Confidence is key.

Thanks again for the encouragement, the kind words and ongoing support.

JUST A NOTE: I’m going to cut back to posting every other week. (I’ve notified Newsday 😉)

It’s that time of year when kids are returning to school. This year, I’m one of them.

Our local university has a program where Older Americans (I can’t believe I prefer this term over Senior Citizen) can audit classes at no cost. Applying for this program was one of the first things I did after retiring. 

I can hear my high school friends laughing. After all, I was the master forger of parent signatures, had the most detentions, and barely graduated high school. I’m not proud of these things. As a matter of fact, the way I treated school growing up is one of my biggest regrets. I am doing my best to make up for it. (Same friends: “Would you let it go, Susan.”) 

The biggest relief upon entering the class was when I realized I was not the oldest person in the room. There are three other OAs who have been auditing classes since 2008. During one lecture, one of them raised his hand to say he went to school with Colin Powell. Another shared that his wife still receives royalty checks for the oil found on their family-owned property in Oklahoma once deemed “worthless” during the Trail of Tears. I admit I found these tidbits interesting, but I’m not sure I’d say the same for my fellow students.

The class is the History of the U.S. Presidency, so, of course, we often begin by talking about the current political landscape. Today we discussed the U.S. Secret Service, which put me in mind of my experiences working there for the Carter administration. I’m happy to report that I kept my big fat fish mouth shut.

I always say that New York is a great place to be from. What I mean by that – in all its grammatical clumsiness – is that I’m happy I get to return so often because I really do love New York.

Although I consider my “Escape from NY” to be what saved my family, it wasn’t because New York failed us. It’s more like we failed New York. I knew it was time to leave when I couldn’t even get a library card there. So, I took my family’s sketchy history to Florida where I can proudly say we have not failed.

New York will always be a huge part of our family fabric, and my recent visit reminded me of why I love my birth state – the food, the weather, the accents…add to that fun with forever friends and a healthy dose of sibling bonding – fuhgeddaboudit!

The word gratitude is tossed around a lot these days. Don’t get me wrong; I think this is actually a good thing.

When I was recently sick with Covid I made the comment that I was going to remember how I was feeling so I would be grateful when I felt better. It’s such a simple thing really but with how busy everyone is and how fast everything moves, we forget and lose sight of the little things to appreciate, like feeling well.

In preparing for this post, I read a lot about gratitude (and believe me, there’s no shortage of stuff out there). This was something that resonated with me:

Someone else is dreaming about the things you take for granted.

So simple, but something to think about.

Really. Think about it. Think about what you have that someone else might dream about. It could be something obvious, like a home. Or something simple, like enough to eat. How about feeling safe? Good health? Or, to quote Eddie Vedder, “To count on both hands the ones I love.”

Try it. If just for one brief moment once in a while. Maybe when you lay your head down at night, or while you’re brushing your teeth; maybe even while pumping gas; think about something for which you feel grateful.

Just maybe the secret to having it all is knowing that you already do.

Whether or not you consider yourself a fan of the space program, I highly recommend the four-part, docuseries, Space Shuttle Columbia: The Final Flight. It’s sad, of course, but so well done. It reminded me of how fortunate I was to witness up close and personal much of the space shuttle program and how that experience culminated – go figure – in writing.

When it was announced that the Space Shuttle program was ending, I sat down and poured out my feelings for the space plane, which mesmerized me from the first moment I laid eyes on it. Originally titled, I Love the Space Shuttle, I submitted my “masterpiece” to our local newspaper’s Op-Ed page.

I, of course, felt that all 837 words were perfect. So, when the editor at the time, John Glisch, told me it was too long and would have to be cut almost in half, I said, “Are you kidding? I couldn’t possibly say everything in so few words.”

“The Gettysburg Address is 272 words,” was his response.

Years later I went to work at Eastern Florida State College and who would be one of my co-workers, but one John Glisch.

I waited a few weeks after we were introduced to tell John my story.

“I used The Address line on you,” he chuckled. “That was a good one. It never failed me.”

If I’m being honest, the article below which ran on January 8, 2010, is much better than the wordy original.

Touché, John Glisch.

Read, write and cook. That was my answer when asked what I planned to do in retirement. The read and write part I get, but cook? I think I was simply caught off guard and said the first thing that popped into my head. I do like to cook, but does it deserve “Do what I love and love what I do,” status? (https://susanscribbles.com/about-me/)

I don’t think so.

Many years ago, someone convinced my parents that a child who wanted to play piano should play the accordion first. Let me just say that if you ever want to squash someone’s musical aspirations, place in her lap a funny looking instrument that weighs almost as much as she does, and that she may or may not have ever even seen before.

Unsurprisingly, I have absolutely no memory of how this all went down, but when I picture me at ten with this contraption (no offense), it’s no wonder.

In my parents’ defense, perhaps it was simply the only thing with a keyboard that they could get their hands on. It was the Sixties after all. We were still a long way from having Amazon trucks zipping around delivering anything a heart desires.

Fast forward to the present where I just received a keyboard from my wonderful family to put into action my recently modified retirement plan:

Read, write and play piano.

Wish me luck.