In his car was not much more than his clothes, a guitar, and a crock pot.

Anyway, we’re ordering our pretentious drinks when I see my husband carefully punching in his card number on his phone.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

One afternoon spent at the lakeshore stands out the most in my mind, but I don’t have a photo to remember it — and frankly, since I only have my memory to rely on, it’s started to take on a life of its own.

If I had a dollar for every time I heard these words! People like telling me their secrets, and I willingly partake.

We visited my daughter the other day, for a brief 30 minute-stopover while we happened to be driving through the quaint Wisconsin town where she works. As she met us on the gravel lane between the road and the camp, I could already detect a difference, the way her messy ponytail bounced with every step. She looks casual and comfortable, as if she’s recently discovered that her skin fits her perfectly. 

Remember granny squares? I watched my mother work her crochet hook like a magic wand when I was a little kid in the 70s. The sight of her yarn morphing into squares, which were then stitched together to become handbags and blankets is a core memory for me. So is the click-click of her knitting needles. As well as the whir of her sewing machine. As I grew into a teen, I rejected all these things, because I was determined to be more contemporary, not wanting to continue these “old lady” hobbies.

That’s how I found myself helping to direct community members out of my workplace — a public library — on an impossibly beautiful spring day. A suspicious call came through to a public desk. The caller spoke through a voice changer and made threats to the building and the people inside. Immediately, staff called 911 to report the threat, and the dispatcher advised that the building be evacuated.

I really do believe this, and it plays out during the day when there are minor infractions committed against me, like getting cut off in traffic, or seeing when someone hasn’t cleaned up after their dog in the neighborhood, or the cashier forgets to scan a coupon.

Once that first warm day hits, it instantly becomes Porch Season at our house. I defy rain, cold, or wind to keep me from my porch, no matter how heartbreaking midwest springs can be with their inconsistent mood swings. My front porch serves as a fort where I feel completely safe and cloistered without constraints.

This trip was a bit of a homegoing for me, since I lived in Colorado a long time ago, when I was a newlywed and my husband was studying for a master’s degree. Now, my husband is a high school band director in Illinois. Colorado has become part of the rotation of band trips, which also includes Disney World, New Orleans, and Memphis.

The show features five Little Sisters of Hoboken, Catholic nuns who are bitten by the showbiz bug after putting on their first successful benefit revue. Itching to get back in the spotlight and thank their audience for their support, the sisters take to the stage yet again for a hilarious “thank you” show that goes haywire.

Winter in the Midwest, where I’ve lived most of my life, is an exercise in survival and fortitude. The familiar “winter burrow,” when my neck and shoulders begin to melt into the rest of my body in order to conserve heat, begins in November. That’s when cold winds strip the trees of the remaining leaves and the world seems to be all shades of browns and grays. In December, there is some relief because of all the festive holiday lights and decorations. January settles into a cold, desolate winterscape once again. The lights and tinsel and baubles have been packed away, but a fresh layer of snow can brighten things up.

This time, I approached the Genius Bar with trepidation: I had been given the daunting task of picking out a computer to replace the old desktop my parents used for the past two decades; it was so old that it was no longer able to be updated; the keyboard and mouse were, on a good day, slightly functional at best. Despite their best efforts to keep it going, it was finally time to find a replacement.

“Oh, you must go to Cafe du Monde and have beignets!” said one person after another, almost word for word, which had me suspecting they were part of a mass marketing campaign aimed solely at me.

Sometimes I’m not sure if he’s being funny or overly dramatic. So I wait.

I felt a twinge of it with the first snowfall of the season. I woke up to a beautiful wonderland blanketed with snow and something bubbled up inside me. Instead of checking the temperature and worrying about levels of antifreeze in my car, I poured a second cup of coffee, sat in my comfy chair, and swiveled to face my picture window. Everything was still and sparkling and bright, while I sat in jammies and slippers thinking how lucky we were to have a cozy house.

Putting his writing together in a volume had been on his mind for nearly 20 years, but lack of confidence kept Fox from taking the final step to publishing. Three years ago, Fox moved into Sun City and discovered that his next-door neighbor, Herb Fuqua, was writing a book. Fox felt encouraged.

On November 9, the Heins are inviting the Del Webb community to participate in a service project at Fountainview Lodge, where community members will create comfort items that will be donated to local hospitals, senior centers, and nursing homes. Attendees are asked to pay an “entrance fee” of a monetary donation to Grafton Food Pantry, which serves Grafton Township, all of Huntley, and portions of the surrounding area.