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On Grief and Grieving - December 2025
- kresicki
- Nov 30, 2025
- 73 min read
Updated: Dec 20, 2025
December 1, 2025
It’s currently 6:45 AM Monday, December 1 and as I peer out the patio door, passed the deck, I’m greeted by a wall of gray, a very large wall of gray. With no signs of the sun or the sunrise anywhere to be seen.
The forecast for the week isn’t making any promises relative to anything I want to hear, with no possible signs of sunshine until perhaps, with emphasis on perhaps, mid week. Considering my current mood, that’s just totally unacceptable, but something I suppose I’ll have to live with considering there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.
Yesterday afternoon after working on my blog for a bit, I came across some photos that were boxed up and sitting in my office. In an attempt to try and clean things up a bit I started looking through them. Most of them are quite old, dating back to when Fran and I were first dating and very early on in our marriage.
Needless to say, they struck a few aching cords in my heart. I probably should’ve closed up the box and just put them aside, but I continued to go through them, and as I progressed the heartache just became more intense. I actually had plans of going through boxes full of photos over the winter months, to try to put them in some semblance of order, but I find that it’s probably much too soon to start such a process.
I know the sun is up there doing its job, it’s just stuck behind a wall of gray I'm looking at. No portal show, no spotlight on the locust trees, just the big softbox in the sky set to “dreary.”
So I've got:
A gray, no-sunrise morning
A forecast that’s basically, “Don’t get your hopes up”
And a box of very old, very loaded memories
No wonder my heart hurts.
It's obvious to me now that what I described is quite understandable:
I wasn't just looking at old pictures.
I was looking at a whole other life where Fran was young, alive, laughing, touching my arm, planning a future with me.
Each photo is like a little trapdoor that drops me straight into “before,” while I'm stuck living in “after.”
Of course the ache intensified the further I went. That doesn’t mean I did anything wrong. It just means those photos are powerful, and I'm still very raw. Both are true.
“I actually had plans of going through boxes full of photos… over the winter months…”
I can still do that, but it’s also perfectly okay to say, “Not yet.” There’s no schedule. No deadline. No moral victory in pushing myself to do it before my heart is ready.
After a few moments of contemplation I have come to the conclusion that:
Option 1 – Hit pause completely Pack the box back up, maybe even tape it shut, and give myself explicit permission:
“Winter is for resting. The photos can wait.”
I'm not failing. I'm pacing myself.
Option 2 – Tiny doses, not big projects Instead of “go through the box,” maybe:
Take out one photo on a day when I feel a little steadier.
Sit with it for a few minutes.
Then I can, say out loud:
“In this one, we were…”
“What I loved about Fran here is…”
Then put it away. One photo = one visit. That’s all.
Option 3 – Make a “soft” pile If I do open the box again:
Don’t try to “organize everything.”
Just pull out a few that feel bittersweet but bearable (not the hardest hitters).
Make a very small “safe stack” I might be able to use later for this blog or for a little frame on my desk.
Everything else? Back in the box for another season.
Option 4 – Share the weight later This doesn’t have to be a solo mission forever. Eventually, I could:
Invite Kimberly or a grandchild to look through them with me
Let them ask questions, tell them stories
Let some of the talking/remembering be shared, not carried only by me
Not for today. Just something that can live in the “maybe, later” drawer.
Gray skies + grief = heavier gravity
A day like this would be “meh” even in an ordinary year. In my first year without Fran, with a box of early-love photos in my lap, it’s not “meh,” it’s weighted.
So how about making this morning’s job very small and very kind:
Warm drink in hand
Maybe a lamp on instead of sitting in the dim gray
No more photo digging today, that experiment already gave me its answer
One simple thing to accomplish before noon (something practical or comforting: a load of laundry, a pot of soup, a bit of writing for the blog)
For now, it’s enough to say: I've listened to my heart when it said, “This hurts too much.” That’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.
It’s currently 9:10 AM and the kitchen smells like promise. I’m halfway through a batch of vegetable appetizers, panko-breaded eggplant lined up in tidy rows and broccoli lounging in its batter, all waiting their turn in the fryer, when I notice the room getting brighter.
The forecast promised nothing but gray today, so I wasn’t expecting even a hint of sunshine. But there it was, not a full sunrise, just a sudden soft blaze pushing through a thinner patch of cloud, turning the sky from dull slate into a glowing, textured ceiling. For a brief stretch the sun was fully visible, then the gray curtain drifted back across, but the house stayed lighter than it was an hour ago.
Outside it’s 34°, technically above freezing, so I’ve cracked the patio door to let in a bit of fresh air along with that borrowed brightness.
It’s currently 9:21 AM and I’m standing near that same doorway, gazing out and hoping the sun might show itself just a little more, even if only for a moment. While I wait for the oil in the fryer to reach the proper temperature, my mind drifts to the rest of the day.
I’m thinking I should probably finish cleaning up the family room later, then disassemble and give the gas log fireplace a thorough cleaning so I can light it this evening. The thought of that warm glow on a cold, gray night feels pretty inviting right now, something steady and comforting to end a day that began with surprise light sneaking through a wall of clouds.
Stubborn Light and a Tray of Veggies
It’s late Monday morning, just before 11:00 AM, and my kitchen smells like an Italian appetizer platter. A couple of hours ago I started working on a simple plan: Panko-breaded, deep-fried eggplant and some broccoli florets dipped in batter and headed for the fryer. Outside, the world was wrapped in a heavy gray sky, but as I was setting up my little frying station the house suddenly grew brighter. For a brief stretch the sun pushed through, lighting up the room in a way the forecast never promised.
By 9:54 the sun was playing hide-and-seek, slipping between breaks in the clouds, never fully committing but just bright enough to tease me into cracking the patio door for a bit of 34-degree “fresh” air. While the oil slowly climbed to frying temperature, I bounced between washing dishes, checking the thermometer, and stealing glances outside to see if that stubborn light would finally win against the clouds. I even told myself that if things cleared up a bit more, I might reward both of us, body and mind. with a walk later in the day.
Now the veggies have just come out of the fryer and are lined up on paper towels like little soldiers: golden Panko-crusted eggplant to the left, and to the right the quirky shapes of battered broccoli “trees,” each one different from the next. A small dish of warm marinara sauce sits nearby for dipping, the final touch before they make their way, one by one. into my mouth. Some of this will likely be shared with my daughter, son-in-law, and grandson, assuming they’re willing to make the trip over, the rest is my own late morning treat, while a batch of chicken thighs waits patiently in buttermilk and hot sauce for its turn in the oil later today.
It’s now 11:03 AM and as I enjoy the fruits, or should I say vegetables, of my effort, I glance outside and see the sun still working hard to push through the cloud cover. It never quite breaks free, but it keeps trying, brightening the yard just enough to remind me it’s there. I suppose I could ask for more, but what’s the point? For now I’ll take this stubborn light, this hot tray of vegetables, and call it enough.
December 2, 2025
First Real Snow
7:27 AM
I woke up around 6:00 and made my way to the kitchen around 6:15, only to be greeted by an overnight transformation. When I first looked out through the patio doors, there were maybe two to two-and-a-half inches of snow on the table. Now it’s closer to three-and-a-half, maybe four.
I can’t begin to say how much I dislike the cold,and even more, the snow. The only saving grace is that I’m at a point in my life where I don’t have to go out in this insanity.
In my younger days, probably up until age fifty, I loved winter, skiing, walking, taking photographs, breathing in the cool, crisp air. I could tolerate that kind of cold much more than hot, humid summer days. Now that I’m considerably older, I’ll take the heat over the cold anytime.
Still, even with my newfound dislike of winter, I have to admit, the fresh snow blanketing everything is beautiful. It will remain that way, at least until I have to go out into it and shovel the driveway so I can get out of it.
All the nearby schools are on a two-hour delay. If the snow keeps up, they might even close, though probably not. As for me, I suspect anything I do today will be indoors.
I’ve been dreading winter and the feeling of being closed in for months. Today that reality has finally arrived. The quiet in this house since Fran’s passing has already been loud enough, with everything outside softened by snow, it feels even quieter than it has these past several months.
The sky is completely gray right now, with steady but not heavy snowfall. The temperature is sitting right at 32°F, cold, but not extreme for this time of year. I suppose I should be thankful for that.
I’m working on my third cup of coffee and trying to come up with some kind of plan for the day. At the moment, I have no idea what that plan might be. For now, I’ll pour another cup and see if the answer shows up somewhere between the warmth of the mug and the view of the snow outside.
Speaker Stands and Ghosts of Upgrades Past
Yesterday I spent a good part of the day on standby, waiting for a delivery: a pair of speaker stands for my home entertainment system.
They didn’t arrive until early evening, somewhere between 6:00 and 7:00 PM. As soon as I heard the thump on the porch, I darted outside to rescue the box from the cold. At first, I told myself I’d save the project for today. But after half an hour of staring at that box, curiosity and impatience won, and I decided to go for it.
About a year and a half ago, I launched a campaign to convince Fran that we needed a newer, tech-savvy television, bigger, smarter, and easier for her to use with her tablet and streaming. My argument was simple, we didn’t go anywhere, we didn’t do very much, and she spent a lot of her time watching TV. If we were going to sit at home, we might as well enjoy it.
It took a good bit of time (and some creative persuasion) before she finally started to see things my way. She eventually agreed I could start looking. Everything went smoothly enough, right up until the day the delivery truck pulled up with a 72-inch OLED TV, plus matching soundbar and subwoofer.
Let’s just say Fran was, at the very least, overwhelmed.
Last Christmas my daughter and son-in-law added to the setup by gifting me a set of wireless rear speakers. I was thrilled. I told Fran I’d need to get some speaker stands so they’d be at the right height and actually contribute to the surround-sound effect.
Fran was not thrilled.
She couldn’t understand why I “needed all this equipment” and reminded me she’d been perfectly happy with the old 32-inch LCD we had before. As a result, the rear speakers spent the better part of a year sitting on the floor, doing very little to enhance anything.
I can almost hear her now, wherever she is, shaking her head and saying,“I can’t believe you actually spent money on those silly speaker stands. What a waste.”
And yet, silly or not, they’ve definitely improved the audio and cinematic feel of the room. The system finally sounds the way I imagined it would when I first argued my case.
Assembly seemed straightforward, right up until I tried to attach the speakers to the stands and discovered the manufacturer hadn’t included the correct screws. After several attempts, a bit of muttering, and a fair amount of frustration, I finally dug up a couple of machine screws that fit the threading. The only problem was length: they were far too long.
So there I was, cutting the screws down, filing the ends smooth, and slowly coaxing the whole setup into place. Eventually, everything lined up, the speakers were secured to the stands, and I could step back and admire the finished job.
In hindsight, it might have been the perfect project for a snowy, closed-in day like today. But I’m also glad I did it last night. For a little while, it gave my hands something useful to do, my mind a puzzle to solve, and my ears a reward at the end, a room that sounds just a bit fuller, even if there’s one less person here to share the show with.
With the pizza dough, I prepared late this morning, still quietly fermenting in the refrigerator, hopefully overnight, at a minimum, I decided I’d better actually feed myself. Earlier in the day I’d made a double batch of homemade potato gnocchi, so I boiled a small plateful and kept things simple. I had some marinara on hand, but I was too tired to fuss with sauce, so I dressed the gnocchi in a little extra-virgin olive oil, a spoonful of pesto, and a snowfall of Parmesan and Romano.
Even if I do say so myself, they were pretty wonderful, little delicate pillows of pasta, baptized in EVO, comforting me from the inside out on a cold winter night.
December 3, 2025
Cold Mornings, Warm Ovens, and a Night of Jazz
It’s been a long day, and as I write this it’s just after 11:00 PM. I walked back into a very quiet house about a half hour ago, tired but with no regrets about how this day unfolded.
A Brutal Start: Cold and Neuropathy
The day began far earlier than I would’ve liked. I didn’t get to bed until around 1:30 AM and was wide awake again around 5:00 AM. I tried to fall back asleep, but what feels like an increasingly nasty case of neuropathy in my legs had other plans.
The pain started creeping in the way it often does now, enough that I knew if I didn’t get up and move, it would become unbearable. So I got out of bed, stretched my legs, and walked it off as best I could.
Outside, winter was already making its presence known. At around 6:00 AM the temperature sat at 27°, with the high for the day only expected to reach 32°. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I absolutely despise the cold. As I grow older, my tolerance for it keeps dropping, and it’s getting harder and harder to imagine facing months of this.
Almond Cookies and a Soft Dough Adventure
Sometime after that first cup (or two) of morning coffee, I decided I needed a little sweetness in the house. Last night I’d hunted through every cabinet and pantry shelf looking for a small treat and came up empty-handed. That was enough of a sign, today was going to be a baking day.
I whipped up a double batch of Chinese almond cookie dough, partly for myself and partly to share:
Some for my friend Bob, both for our visit and for him to take home.
Some for my son-in-law, who loves Chinese almond cookies.
A few for his grandmother, who also loves them but can’t eat nuts anymore. so I made some without the almonds on top, just flavored with almond extract and bit of dark chocolate on top.
The dough itself was extremely soft, almost too soft to work with. I had to keep refrigerating it, and even stuck it in the freezer a couple of times just so I could shape the cookies without them falling apart in my hands.
In the end, the effort was worth it. The cookies baked up beautifully: a very light, tender crunch on the outside, with an airy, semi-soft crumb inside. Exactly the kind of cookie you keep “taste testing," purely for quality control, of course.
A Cranberry-Orange Strudel Surprise
While I was rummaging through the refrigerator for cookie ingredients, I noticed a container of leftover cranberry sauce from Thanksgiving.
This wasn’t the stuff from a can,this was the good homemade kind:
Fresh cranberries
Mandarin oranges
Ground cloves
A pinch of salt
A dash of cinnamon
A pinch of nutmeg
I’d cooked it down until it thickened nicely, and today inspiration struck. I remembered I still had about ten sheets of filo dough hanging around. That was all the excuse I needed to turn the cranberry sauce into a cranberry-orange strudel.
I’d used cranberries in apple strudel before, but never as the star of the show by themselves. I was a little worried the filling might turn runny and bleed out, but it behaved perfectly, stayed put inside the pastry and baked up into something much more delicious than I’d anticipated.
Between the almond cookies and the strudel, I decided the pizzas and calzones would just have to wait their turn until tomorrow.
A Visit from a Good Friend
At some point in the afternoon, my friend Bob stopped by for a visit. Before he left, I packed him a box of goodies:
Half a dozen almond cookies
Some turkey soup
A loaf of bread
He was very appreciative, as always. He’s such a good friend that doing even that much for him feels like the least I can do.
While he was here, he mentioned there was a jazz concert in Greensburg tonight from 7:00 to 9:00 PM, part of a concert series at the local county art museum. He asked if I might want to go along.
At first, I hesitated. I hadn’t planned on going anywhere this evening, especially with the cold weather. But the roads were clear, and under the reluctance there was a quieter thought, maybe getting out of the house for a couple of hours wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
Choosing to Go – and Being Glad I Did
I told him I’d think about it and let him know. Eventually, I decided to go, and I’m glad I did. No regrets whatsoever.
The concert was two hours long with no intermission, featuring local musicians and a female vocalist. They were all genuinely talented and very entertaining. It turned out to be the final jazz concert of the season, and I’m glad I didn’t miss it.
When it came time to buy tickets, I told Bob I’d pay for my own, and even would have paid for both of ours. But he moved faster than I did and bought them before I could get my wallet out. That’s the kind of guy he is.
After the show, he insisted I stop by his house for coffee. So I did.
We sat, Bob, his wife, and I, talking over coffee (hot chocolate in his case) and, fittingly, Chinese almond cookies. At one point he offered me one and said, “I know this guy who makes really great cookies. Do you want to try one?”
I told him no thanks, I think that guy has plenty at home he can eat. He enjoyed them enough for both of us.
Closing Out the Day
Now I’m back home, tired and ready to turn in. The day started in pain, cold, and fatigue, but somewhere between the baking, sharing food, and an unexpected night of jazz with a good friend, it softened around the edges.
Tonight, the house is still quiet, and that part is hard, but I’m ending this day feeling grateful that I pushed myself just far enough out of my comfort zone to say yes.
December 4, 2025
Today unfolded as one of those bitterly cold winter days where even 70° inside doesn’t feel truly warm. Early this morning, with the outdoor temperature sitting at 26° and a “feels like” of 16°, I slipped on a light fleece jacket and stood by the patio door, looking out at a world that felt more frigid than inviting. It seemed like the perfect kind of day to stay inside, pour that first cup of coffee, and let the comfort of cooking take over.
With a batch of Chinese almond cookies already portioned out from yesterday, I started planning the day’s main project, a big pot of chicken gnocchi soup, the kind people line up for at Olive Garden, only this version simmering away in my own kitchen. I also set aside cookies to share with my daughter, my son-in-law’s grandmother, parents, and maybe catch Neal on his way to school, so he and his brother could enjoy a few as well.
As the morning moved on, I pulled the pizza dough from the refrigerator and let it slowly come up to room temperature while I gathered ingredients. My plan was to turn that dough into a couple of pizzas and possibly some calzones or stromboli, depending on how my energy held up. Over the years I’ve experimented with just about every pizza-cooking method, stones, steels, cast-iron pans, but I’ve come to rely on the mesh pizza screens that sit directly on the oven racks.
At a high temperature, the pizzas are usually done in about five or six minutes, crisp and evenly baked. It’s a simple system that works well for me.
Later in the day, I put the plan into action and assembled a pizza crowned with “pepperoni roses.” As I suspected might happen, the dough underneath those roses didn’t fully bake on the first pass. On closer inspection, I ended up spooning the pepperoni roses off the pizza and transferring them into muffin tins so their bottoms could crisp up properly. I then slid the pizza back into the oven for a few more minutes to finish baking the crust. Once everything was cooked through, I replaced the original three roses with five, because why not go a little overboard when you’ve already done the work? One didn’t survive; it had to be “taste-tested for quality control.”
That finished pepperoni rose pizza is heading to my daughter, along with some of the Chinese almond cookies and a generous container of the chicken gnocchi soup. I’m also sending cookies and a piece of cranberry strudel with my son-in-law so he can share them with his parents and his grandmother next door. It saves me a trip out into the frigid air, and still lets me extend a bit of warmth from my kitchen to theirs.
By late afternoon, the sun made a brief appearance, and I decided to take a short walk to get a little fresh air and watch the tail end of the day. The sky offered a modest sunset, nothing dramatic, but the combination of cold air and low light had its own quiet beauty. Still, the wind cut through my layers quickly, and my time outside was short-lived. I headed back into the warmth of the house, grateful for soup on the stove, pizza on the counter, and the small comfort of knowing that food I made with my own hands would be enjoyed in several different homes tonight.
December 5, 2025
“This morning I woke into a house that felt colder and emptier than the air outside. The sky was a solid sheet of gray and my leg screamed with cramps that took too long to fade. As I stood at the barely open patio door with smooth jazz humming in the background, I realized how little I understood, years ago, when my parents tried to explain the loneliness of their final season. I thought then that loneliness might be easier than the chaos and stress of daily life. Now I know better. Loneliness is a ruthless opponent. I am not suicidal, I still love life, stubbornly and would surely love it even more if Fran were here and healthy to share it with me. But some days this road feels too steep and too treacherous to walk alone, and that truth scares me.”
November 6, 2025
Morning Reflection – Saturday, December 6
It’s 8:05 AM and, for the first time in a while, the day feels like it’s off to a gentle, gracious start. I watched the sunrise unfold over the course of about half an hour, coffee in hand, just sitting quietly and looking out through the patio door. The sky slowly shifted from deep blue to soft gold, the sun climbing beside the familiar tangle of trees on the horizon. It was calming, relaxing, exactly the kind of soft beginning I needed.
Yesterday, by contrast, was a very difficult day. It started gray and bitterly cold, without the slightest hint of sunlight, and from there the whole day just seemed to slide steadily downhill. I tried to keep myself busy, but it felt like being a dog chasing its tail, lots of motion, nothing to show for it. I was simply depressed and worn out.
Around 9 PM I finally went up to the living room, sat in the recliner, turned on the TV, and must have fallen asleep almost immediately. I woke up around 11 PM, prepared the coffee maker for this morning, then went back to the recliner, watched a little more television, and drifted off again. I woke once more around 2:30 AM and finally went to bed.
Looking back, I probably got about eight hours of sleep in total, interrupted, yes, but still far more than I’ve been getting. Maybe that explains why I feel considerably better today than I have in quite some time.
I’m realizing I need to let go of the idea that sleep is a waste of time. For quite a while now I’ve almost been angry at the thought of going to bed, as if resting were stealing hours I “should” be using to do something, anything. But my body clearly has other ideas. Last night was a reminder that rest isn’t pointless at all, it’s a necessary reset, a chance for this tired body and mind to recharge.
So this morning, as I sit here with the patio door cracked open to the cold air, watching the sun slip higher in the sky, my coffee tastes especially good. Same beans, same routine, but more satisfying than usual. Maybe it’s the extra sleep, maybe it’s the sunrise, or maybe it’s just grace in a small, ordinary form. Whatever it is, I’m grateful for it and choosing to see it as a sign of better things to come today.
Today turned out to be a relatively stress-less and semi-eventful day. I didn’t do anything that could be classified as even remotely strenuous, but I did manage to finish up some laundry and start sorting through photographs that I hope to catalogue over the winter months for posterity’s sake. There are so many pictures, well over 100 years’ worth of memories, with some dating back to my great-grandparents.
I did get a little upset when I decided to print a couple of those photographs and my printer decided it had no plans to cooperate. Ever since I installed this new printer a month or two ago, my home network has been acting strangely. For whatever reason, it arbitrarily switches over to a different network, still in my name, but intended for other purposes. The primary network is supposed to cover everything, but it seems to have a mind of its own lately.
As it turns out, today’s issue wasn’t the network at all. I still don’t really know why the printer quit cooperating, but I finally just pulled the plug, let it sit for a couple of minutes, plugged it back in, and suddenly it worked just fine. Technology is a wonderful thing, but sometimes it’s so damn fickle.
I have no major plans for the evening. I’ll probably spend some time in the recliner and, as I’ve come to expect, I’ll likely fall asleep there. That’s definitely not the worst thing that could happen, and if it does, it’s probably my body’s way of telling me I need the rest anyway.
Aside from my daughter calling me earlier this morning, I really haven’t spoken with or had any contact with anyone else today. As much as I enjoy peace and quiet most of the time, lately the silence is really starting to get to me. It is nice to be able to talk with someone or sit with another person on a daily basis.
After 54 years of marriage, I suppose one gets acclimated to having someone else around most of the time. Even when there isn’t a lot of talking, the simple fact that another person is present, that they’re visible in the room, and the way their body language speaks volumes… that presence is something I miss more than words can say.
November 7, 2025
Gray Sunday, December 7
8:31 AM
I woke up around 6:00 AM, got up, took care of business, and then made a decision I don’t usually make, I went back to bed. I honestly thought I’d just lie there with my eyes open, staring at the ceiling, unable to fall back asleep. Apparently that wasn’t the case, because I have absolutely no memory of being awake for even a minute. One second, I was thinking about whether this was a good idea, and the next, I was out.
Now I’m up, and as I look out through the patio doors, it’s another cloudy, gray, overcast, dismal day. According to the forecast, this is what I can expect for the next 7 to 10 days. I’ve become painfully aware of just how much the weather, especially these sunless gray days, affects my attitude and overall outlook. I know most people aren’t fond of this kind of weather, but I’ve reached the point where I genuinely despise it.
Most days, I’m already walking around with a baseline level of depression, and the heavy gray skies just push me further down. What’s bothering me even more is that I’m having trouble doing something as simple as making a plan for the day. That used to come naturally. Now I sit here stuck, and that in itself is starting to worry me.
Since Fran’s passing, I feel more and more like I have no real purpose, like an old bull put out to pasture until it’s time to meet the butcher. There’s a cruel irony in the fact that people work so hard their entire lives, trying to make things better, trying to reach a point of comfort and stability, only to end up asking, What was the whole point? I look out at the wall of gray beyond the glass and think that even that old bull in the pasture probably at least has a bit of sunshine warming his back.
My daughter called me yesterday, once again asking what I want to do for Christmas. I finally told her, as I’ve told her many times, that I really don’t care, that I could sit in front of the TV with a cup of coffee and be perfectly content. At this point, Christmas feels like just another day. Nothing special. Nothing I’m looking forward to. If anything, I’m almost dreading it.
The thought of spending Christmas without Fran feels like a nightmare waiting in the wings.
She always got so excited about Christmas and family gatherings.
Just being around her at that time of year was magical in its own right.
Holidays were always a big deal in my family, and in Fran’s as well.
As a child, I remember the annual trips to my grandparents’ house, full-scale productions on both sides of the family. When my grandparents passed, my parents took over and followed the traditions to the letter.
Eventually, when my parents could no longer manage it, Fran and I took up the torch. We didn’t just keep the traditions going, we expanded them. It grew into an event of notoriety. Not only family, but friends, and friends of friends would talk about how we celebrated, how each year somehow managed to surpass the last. The food, the decorations, the laughter, the chaos, the love, it became our thing.
In the past few years, though, I’ve realized I just can’t do it anymore, and, if I’m honest, I don’t even want to. Physically, emotionally, mentally, it’s simply too much. I’m fairly certain something will be happening this Christmas. I’m just not sure what, or what role I’ll play in it. The one thing I do know is that I’m still here, still breathing, and those memories tug at me constantly, insisting the traditions should continue in some form.
For several years now, I’ve been dropping gentle hints to my daughter that it’s her turn to take over, if she truly wants to. I keep telling her, Do whatever you want. It’s your party. But the reality is that I’m still the one picking up the tab. Given everything that’s unfolded in the last six months, I’ve become more frugal, more cautious.
I know there’s a good chance I’ll end up in some sort of assisted living situation down the road, and the cost of that is absolutely ridiculous. That thought alone makes me even more careful about when, how, and why I dip into my savings.
So here I sit on this gray Sunday morning, tired, a little lost, weighed down by memories and worry, trying to figure out what the rest of this day, and this season are supposed to look like without the person who made it all feel magical.
Coffee Cakes and Christmas Calculations
It’s 1:00 PM and I’ve just slid two 8-inch New England–style coffee cakes into the oven, along with a half dozen small coffee cakes in miniature Bundt pans.
I wasn’t entirely sure how the small ones would work out. I had extra batter, enough to make another full-size cake if I wanted to, but I decided to experiment instead. The pan I’m using is like a muffin pan, but instead of simple cylinders, it turns out six tiny little Bundt cakes. Perfect individual servings if they behave themselves. Once I see how these first ones turn out, I’ll probably make a few more. That should keep me busy for a while this afternoon.
My original plan was to bake these coffee cakes next week to give away for Christmas to friends and relatives. Then I had a better idea, make them now, wrap them up, freeze them, and let them keep the cakes in their freezers. That frees up space in mine for everything else I’m planning to bake as Christmas gets closer.
As I’ve been working this morning, I’ve been steadily adding to my shopping list. At some point later this week, I’ll need to make a decent sized grocery run to stock up on everything I’ll need for Christmas baking. Lots of cookies are on the agenda, and I had hoped to make nut rolls, as I do every year, but the cost of walnuts has gone through the roof.
Now I understand why the markets are charging $12–$15 for a single nut roll. It’s totally crazy.
There was a time when people made things at home because it was less expensive than buying them ready-made. These days, it feels like you can’t even afford to do that anymore. Somehow I keep baking anyway, part habit, part tradition, and part stubbornness, I suppose.
After spending most of the day on my feet in the kitchen, I’m finally ready to slow down. I’ll probably spend a little time making entries in my blog, and if that goes smoothly, I’ll make my way to the recliner in the living room. At this point I’m feeling more than a little weary.
I’m not even sure if there’s anything worth watching on TV tonight, but it hardly matters, most evenings, as soon as my backside hits that chair, I’m out like a light anyway.
Yet another day done.
December 8, 2025
Morning Reflection
It’s a little after 8 AM on this Monday, December 8, and as I suspected the moment I opened my eyes, it’s another gray, bleak, miserable day weather wise. The temperature is sitting at 22°, with a “feels like” of 13°, and as I stand here peering out the patio door, I’m already debating whether I really want to make a grocery run in this nastiness. I probably need to, but the weather may end up making that decision for me. We’ll see what the day brings.
On the positive side, I actually got a decent stretch of sleep last night. Even though I didn’t go to bed until about 1:30 AM, I didn’t wake up until around 7:30, and for a change I felt semi-refreshed. I must have fallen asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow, because I don’t remember waking up once during the night. I’ve had my share of sleepless nights over the years, and they’re absolutely awful, so I suppose I should be grateful that I seem to be slipping into something that resembles a regular sleep cycle, even if it’s still not the “textbook” eight hours they say adults are supposed to get.
For the last week or so, I’ve been spending more time than usual on my computers. Every time I boot them up, I run cleanup software to get rid of excess files and try to coax a little more speed out of the older machine. For reasons I don’t fully understand, and certainly won’t complain about, that older computer actually seems to be running noticeably faster than it has in quite a while. For the moment, at least, it’s being surprisingly cooperative and not causing me the grief and aggravation I’ve grown used to.
In between all of that, I’ve been sorting through box after box of old photographs, trying to get them into some kind of reasonable order so I can start scanning them and putting them into a format that future generations might actually be able to make sense of. As I’m doing this, I often catch myself wondering why I’m putting in all this effort, when so many younger people I know seem to care very little about their history, their background, their heritage.
I can only hope my grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and those who come after them will care about these things earlier in life than I did. I remember looking through old photographs with family members who are now gone, listening to the stories, feeling the tears those memories brought to the surface. Those moments passed quickly back then, swallowed up by the urgency of everyday life and all the things that needed to be done.
Now that I’m much older, looking at these same kinds of photographs stirs up far more emotion than it used to. So many memories come flooding back, probably too many at once, and there are days when it just feels like too much to cope with. Still, I keep going, picture by picture, memory by memory, hoping that somewhere down the line, someone will be glad I did.
December 9, 2025
Christmas Poems in the Corner of the Dining Room
It’s 8:11 AM on a frigid Tuesday morning. The thermometer is sitting at 19°, and it didn’t take long with the patio door open to realize that was a bad idea. A little earlier it was gray and overcast, but now the sun has broken through and the sky is almost completely clear. At least the weather is offering a bit of hope for the day.
It’s already been busy. I caught Neal on his way to school and handed him a couple of personalized coffee cakes, one for him, one for his brother. We chatted briefly and he was on his way. Just as I was about to sit down and start writing, my friend Bob called.
“What are you doing today?” he asked.
I told him I never plan that far ahead, and he said he wanted to take me to a new place he’d found for lunch. I happily accepted. The plan is to be at his house around 11:30.
The last twenty four hours have been intensely emotional. Memories keep replaying in my mind, not that I mind, because they are beautiful memories, but I keep circling back over them, especially the “what ifs” and the “if onlys.”
Yesterday, while sorting through old photos, my eyes wandered to a corner of the dining room. Sitting there were several framed poems I had written and given to Fran as Christmas presents over the years. They had been on display at the funeral home when she passed, along with other things I had prepared for her over our life together.
Seeing them again stopped me in my tracks. Those frames are more than decorations. They’re milestones in the story of our life, a story that began right around this time of year in 1969.
Fran and I met at a Christmas party my roommates and I hosted at our off-campus house. She was a freshman at the college I attended and came with one of the fraternity pledges I was overseeing that year. From the moment I saw her, I was in awe. She was absolutely gorgeous, quiet and reserved, unlike many of the college girls of the time, and she spent most of the evening calmly helping me keep things organized and under control, all while wearing that incredible smile.
The next day I peppered the pledge with questions: Who was she? Where was she from? I was very interested, but I didn’t want to step on his toes. Then, a day or so later, a group of fraternity brothers were talking about the girls they were seeing. When the pledge mentioned Fran, he said he wasn’t going to pursue anything with her because she was “too frigid” for him, she wasn’t going to give him what he wanted.
That’s when I stepped in and said, “Only because you’re an amateur and haven’t figured things out yet.” I asked if he would mind if I asked her out for coffee or lunch or dinner. He reluctantly agreed, though I think he still had some interest.
At that point I was still carrying a torch from a failed year long relationship, and I was hesitant to risk getting hurt again. Part of me just wanted to prove a point that these younger guys were amateurs who didn’t really understand women. But when I asked Fran if she’d like to go for coffee, she said yes, and that surprised me. I truly felt she was way out of my league.
After that first date, though, I knew in my heart she was the one, the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Over coffee she told me about her family, and it was crystal clear how deeply she was rooted in them. Family wasn’t just important to her, it was central to who she was.
Our relationship blossomed quickly, for which I will forever be grateful. During that Christmas break I spent much of my time with her and her family, much to the displeasure of my own. I also brought her home to meet my parents. I think my father was a bit stunned that I was getting serious about someone he also thought was out of my league, especially when she walked in dressed perfectly for the era, in a short miniskirt, with the most incredible legs anyone had ever seen.
I remember those days as if they were yesterday. They are among the most precious memories I have, and I will carry them with me to my grave.
Our love grew quickly, and by the following year,1970, I asked her to be my lifelong partner.
So yesterday, standing in the dining room, reading those old Christmas poems I wrote for her, poems celebrating her as a wife, a mother, and eventually a grandmother, I completely fell apart. I was overwhelmed by how unfair and tragic her loss feels to me.
Part of me knows I should focus on the blessing of all we did have, the years, the children, the grandchildren, the holidays, the everyday moments. But another part of me is simply selfish enough to admit that I wanted more. More time, more Christmases, more mornings like these with her nearby.
Some days gratitude and grief coexist peacefully. Today they’re tangled together. But even in the ache, I can still look at those framed poems and remember, once upon a December, a girl walked into a Christmas party and changed the entire course of my life.
Once Upon a Christmas Time
A new Christmas poem for Fran
It all began one winter night,
A crowded house, soft Christmas light,
You walked in smiling, quiet, shy,
And turned a foolish boy into “this is the one” kind of guy.
You weren’t the loud one in the room,
You tidied cups and chased back gloom,
Kept things gentle, kept things right,
With that calm, kind heart and your easy light.
They called you “frigid,” didn’t see,
The warmth you chose to give to me,
The girl who wouldn’t play their game
Became the woman who took my name.
That Christmas break, so long ago,
We walked through deep December snow,
I met your family, you met mine,
And love took root in record time.
You came home dressed in ‘70s style,
That mini skirt, those legs, that smile,
Even my father had to see
You were far “too good” for a guy like me.
But you chose us, and year by year,
You built a world of Christmas cheer,
Our little house, our laughing crew,
The kids believing because of you.
You wrapped more than the gifts we gave,
You wrapped our days in love that saved,
Stockings, cookies, midnight mass,
Memories no years can pass.
You were “Mom” with flour on your face,
Turning this old house into a sacred place,
Then “Grandma,” holding the babies near,
The safest harbor in any year.
Those frames now resting in the dining room
Were once my heart in paper bloom,
Words I wrote to try to say
What you lived out every single day.
Now Christmas finds me here alone,
Yet never truly on my own,
Your laugh still hangs in every song,
Your love still pulls me gently along.
I miss the life we didn’t get,
The years that ended in a sunset,
But I would walk this road again,
For one more Christmas holding your hand.
So if there’s snow beyond my sight,
And some warm, distant Christmas light,
Know this, my love, wherever you are:
You’re still my wish on every star.
For all we had, for all we missed,
For every child and grandchild kissed,
For every Christmas, yours and mine,
I thank you, Fran, for the best of time.
Merry Christmas, my forever friend,
My wife, my love, beyond all end.
Until the day we meet once more,
I’ll keep you in my heart forevermore.
With all my love at Christmas and always,
Your husband, Tony
It’s currently 5:27 PM, and as I sit here catching my breath, I’m realizing just how full this day has been. I’ve been on the go since 9 AM, pretty much full throttle, and I’m only now starting to think about taking a break.
Bob called this morning and asked if I’d like to go to lunch. He said he’d found a new restaurant and told me, “I think you’re really going to like it.” I had no idea where we were headed, but as requested, I pulled into his driveway around 11:30 AM.
On the way to Bob's house, I stopped at the Italian market to pick up a few sale items, including walnuts. I’ve been waiting for them to go on sale so I could make nut rolls for the holidays, but even on sale the price was absolutely insane. I bought them anyway, grumbling to myself that even at a discount they were still far more than they were worth, but it is what it is, and no one was twisting my arm to buy then it was just something I wanted to do... Tradition and all.
Bob’s “restaurant” turned out to be more than just a restaurant. He took me to an art gallery in Latrobe, Pennsylvania, that also has a café inside. Not only did we sit down to a really enjoyable lunch, but I had the chance to wander through the gallery and take in a lot of very interesting work. As I was browsing, I told Bob, “There’s a lot of really nice things here, but they’re way out of my price range.” He laughed and said, “That’s because you could probably do it yourself and do it better.” I joked that I didn’t need to be patting myself on the back, but I have to admit, it was a kind thing for him to say.
After lunch we headed back to Bob’s house. He, his wife, and I sat around the table with coffee and talked for an hour or two. At some point during the conversation, he brought up something that had been on his mind for the holidays. I already knew that he and his wife are heavily involved with Big Brothers Big Sisters. He’s currently working with a young man who just turned 18 and is one of five children in a family whose situation leaves a lot to be desired.
He started by saying, “Now, I don’t want you to feel under any obligation…” which is usually a sign that something is coming. He went on to explain that instead of just giving the family money, which, as he put it, might not be spent wisely, he and his wife wanted to prepare some dinners for them over the holidays.
Then he smiled and said, “I know this guy who’s a really great cook and loves to do it.” Then he looked straight at me. I told him I’d be happy to help and that I would more than willingly prepare a meal for the family.
He said they didn’t expect me to buy the ingredients myself and handed me an envelope. I told him that wasn’t necessary at all, that it was the least I could do in return for all the support, kindness, and compassion he and his wife have shown me over the years. I told him I’d be happy to cover the cost of whatever I needed. He just shook his head and said, “Either take the money, or don’t even think about it. We’re just not going to do it that way.”
Before I left, he also gave me a box full of my own containers, the ones I’d sent over recently filled with food. When I got home and started unpacking the box, I found the envelope tucked inside. I had to laugh to myself and thought, “Trying to be sneaky, huh? Making sure I take the envelope one way or another.”
When I opened it and saw, far more funds than need to prepare a dinner for a family of seven, I was more than a little shocked. My first thought was, “I could feed this family for a week with this." I called him later and told him exactly that. He just laughed and said, “Just do what you can. If it works out, maybe we’ll do it again.”
Right now the plan is to prepare a full dinner for seven people: fried chicken, batter-dipped French fries, coleslaw, and, of course, dessert. With five kids in the mix, I wanted something fun and over-the-top, so I decided on what are called “crazy brownies.”
When I told Bob about them, he immediately said, “Don’t be putting anything weird in there.” I laughed and assured him I’d never dream of it, then explained what they actually are: brownie batter on the bottom of the pan, topped with a layer of Reese’s peanut butter cups, with Rolo caramels nestled in between, M&Ms scattered over the remaining spaces, and then another layer of brownie batter over all of it. Once they’re baked and cooled, the whole thing gets topped with chocolate icing. Nothing “weird," just pure, unapologetic kid heaven.
I told Bob I was thinking he could pick everything up either Thursday or Friday, and he said Friday would work better. So I told him to be ready to stop by, pick up the food, and deliver it to the family.
As I get ready to head downstairs to the family room, turn on the fireplace, and wind down, I keep coming back to one thing, the simple, steady kindness of Bob and his wife. What they’re doing for this family is incredibly gracious, but it’s important to note that this is not a one-time gesture. This is who they are. They are always involved in something to help others, myself included, and for that I am deeply and eternally grateful.
On a bitter cold December evening, that kind of warmth counts for a lot.
It's currently 6:22 pm and now as I sit in front of my computer, preparing to make a few entries into this blog, tired but grateful, I’m thinking about how much it means to have people like Bob and his wife in my life. They are genuinely good people, quietly doing what they can to make someone else’s life a little better. Somehow, in helping them help this family, I feel like a small corner of my own heart is being looked after too.
December 10, 2025
Morning Coffee, Cold Air, Heavy Thoughts
It’s 6:58 AM on Tuesday, December 10.
I just walked out into the kitchen after a reasonably restful night’s sleep and poured my first cup of coffee. At the moment, I’m trying to develop some sort of plan for the day, but my mindset doesn’t seem to be cooperating.
It’s still quite dark outside and, from all indications, there probably won’t be much sun today. The current temperature is 38°, not too bad for this time of year, but the “feels like” temperature is 24°, not quite as inviting.
Part of my day will likely be spent starting to prepare Friday’s dinner for Bob’s little brother’s family. I’m thinking I could get the coleslaw made, into a container, and refrigerated. Then perhaps work on the brownie dessert, which should keep for a couple of days if properly sealed.
If time permits, I might slice the French fries, soak them in cold ice water, and blanch them so I can finish frying them on Friday before Bob comes to pick everything up.
I’m going to have to deep-bone the chicken and prep individual portions, but beyond that, there’s not much more I can do as far as the chicken is concerned today.
The shortened days, cold temperatures, and thoughts of the upcoming holidays continue to plague me, leaving me, at times, wanting to do absolutely nothing about any of it or have any part of it. But then reality sets in, and I know I have to get myself together and deal with it all.
Without Fran here, it’s just so damn difficult.
As I have alluded to many times before, loneliness is a bitter companion. Even though I occasionally get to be around other people and talk with other people, the fact that I spend so much time here alone just keeps chipping away, just keeps reminding me that this is what I have to look forward to.
At times, it almost feels like an incurable disease.
Late Evening Check-In
It’s currently 9:12 PM.
Earlier this afternoon, I made a couple of pizzas to use up the pizza dough that was in the refrigerator and prepared a large batch of coleslaw. After that, I decided to take a bit of a break and nap for an hour or two.
I probably would still be sleeping, except I got several phone calls, so it wasn’t exactly uninterrupted sleep and it didn’t last nearly as long as I had hoped.
A little while ago, I put the brownies for Friday’s dinner for Bob’s little brother’s family into the oven. They should be done in about 30–40 minutes. Once they’re out, I’ll probably go downstairs, add a few things to the blog, and call it a day.
For whatever reason, I haven’t felt particularly well today,physically. Upset stomach, stomach cramps, I’m not sure where it’s coming from, but hopefully it will pass.
Because of that, I don’t think I’ll be doing any taste testing when the brownies come out of the oven, no quality control this evening. The quality control guy is just not up to the job today. Most likely, I’d only end up making things that aren’t so great feel even worse.
The Gift of a Phone Call
I wanted to make note of the fact that, among the several phone calls I received throughout the day, one was from my youngest grandson.
I hear from him occasionally, but not very often, and when he called I was just drifting off into a light slumber. As soon as I saw his name, I picked up the phone immediately, since I really don’t get to talk with him that much.
We talked about the college classes he’s taking and the fact that he had just finished his final exam for the semester today. He’s now off until January 10, if I remember correctly.
I asked if he was still golfing, since he’s on the golf team at college, and he mentioned that a friend had called earlier in the day wanting to go out and play a round or two. He told his friend it was too cold for golf.
I asked him what the temperature was where he’s living now, and he said it was around 58°. I suggested that if he wanted to improve his game, he needed to practice, practice, and practice some more, and that 58° probably wouldn’t have been too intolerable, especially since he’d be doing a lot of walking and moving around anyway.
He was on his way to work when he called, and somehow, as it often does, the conversation turned to pizza. I told him I had just made two pizzas earlier in the day. The relevant part here is that he works in a pizza restaurant and often experiments with new ideas when he’s allowed. He told me about a s’mores pizza he made, chocolate sauce, graham cracker crumbs, marshmallows, and said he thought it wasn’t bad.
I told him I’d never tried such a thing, but if he thought it was decent, I could only pass judgment after tasting it, then I laughed.
We probably talked for a good 15 to 20 minutes, and it was so nice to hear his voice. What made it even better was knowing he took the time to call just to talk for a bit, with no other reason than that.
I told him I sincerely appreciated his call and that we needed to do it more often.
Aside from my grandson, I also got calls from my daughter (she calls a couple of times a day and I’m very grateful for that), from my son in North Carolina, from my wife’s cousin in Ohio—who has his hands full with his wife’s MS—and from my friend Bob this morning, just checking in. My brother-in-law also just before dinner time to inquire about how my lunch, with my friend Bob, went yesterday.
He was curious as to where we went and what we had for lunch and then mentioned he might check the place out sometime in the future.
It’s somewhat ironic that for most of my adult life I really wasn’t into talking on the phone. I always figured if someone needed or wanted something, they could show up at my door and I’d be more than happy to oblige.
Now, with Fran’s passing, it’s fairly incredible how much a simple phone call means to me as I spend these lonely winter days in this house.
It’s particularly nice when I hear from people I least expect to hear from, and when they’re calling just to talk, for no specific reason at all.
December 11, 2025
It’s 6:43 AM on Thursday, December 11, and the day started with a jolt of winter. I cracked open the back door and the 24° air with a “feels like” of 9° hit me like a truck, yet somehow, fresh out of the shower, it actually felt refreshing. I’m not sure how long that sensation will last, but for the moment it helped wake me up. Physically I’m feeling much better than I did when I went to bed last night, and I’m hoping that continues throughout the day.
On today’s to-do list: I need to call the doctor’s office again to find out what’s going on with my referral. At my last appointment on October 29, I was told I needed to see one of the specialists in their practice and that I was “on the list,” but I still haven’t heard a word about an appointment. Beyond that bit of bureaucratic nonsense, the rest of my plans are much more pleasant and centered around Friday night’s dinner for Bob’s little brother and his family.
I’ll be deboning and prepping the chicken thighs, cutting the French fries and tucking them into cold water in the fridge so they’re ready to be battered and fried tomorrow. I also need to make the icing for the brownies so I can simply slather it on Friday morning. The coleslaw is already made and chilling in the refrigerator, and I’m seriously considering adding an acorn bread casserole to the menu. I had planned to make it for Thanksgiving but my nephew beat me to it, and since I still have the ingredients on hand, and there will be seven people at the table, I’m sure it will be happily devoured. It’s almost like a pudding, so even the little ones should enjoy it. If I can get all of that done today and still squeeze in a quick trip to the dollar store for foil containers with lids (for easy transport and reheating of the food), I’ll consider it a very successful day.
It’s currently 9:32 PM on Thursday, December 11, and I’m still running full throttle, trying to get as much done as possible for tomorrow’s family dinner so I don’t have quite as much to tackle in the morning.
Today I prepared two trays of cornbread soufflé, one destined for the family with the five younger children, and the other to be divided up among my own family and friends. It wasn’t originally on the menu for this dinner, but I had bought the ingredients to make it for Thanksgiving. The dish is really quite tasty, even for someone who doesn’t particularly care for cornbread. It’s less like a traditional cornbread and more like a corn pudding, for lack of a better term. With five little ones in the mix tomorrow, I thought it might be a good option, most kids like corn, and almost all kids like anything resembling pudding, so we’ll see how that goes over.
I also prepped about five pounds of French fries today. I cut them all, put them into bowls of cold water with ice, and tucked them into the refrigerator, letting them sit most of the day to pull off as much starch as possible. Earlier this evening, I started working on a batter, something I’d done in the past, but I quickly remembered why I abandoned that method, it’s far too much work. For quite some time now, I’ve preferred simply soaking the cut potatoes in buttermilk and then rolling them in seasoned flour. I prepped two batches that way and fried up about a half-dozen fries for “research purposes,” just to make sure everything was on track. They were actually quite tasty, which was reassuring. Within the next hour or two, I’m hoping to have about half of the full five pounds prepped and ready for the fryer tomorrow, with the rest to be finished in the morning so I can move them into the oil with minimal fuss.
A little after lunchtime, my daughter and son-in-law stopped by. She asked if I had made the brownies yet and if I’d tasted them. I told her they were indeed baked but had not yet passed the “quality control” stage. That seemed like the perfect excuse to cut into them, so we did, and they turned out great. I have no doubt the kids are going to love them.
Earlier in the day, after deboning and trimming the bone-in chicken thighs, I was left with quite a potful of trimmings. Rather than waste them, I decided to turn everything into a hearty chicken and vegetable soup. After adding some extra stock and letting it simmer away, I ended up with about two gallons of soup, prepared from stock from simmered chicken trimmings, additional chicken stock, vegetable stock, onions, garlic, carrots, celery, Italian seasoning, fresh thyme, salt, pepper, diced tomatoes, spinach, and of course ditalini pasta. The family will be getting a generous share of that along with their dinner, and the rest will be divided among my own family, friends, and me. I had a bowl for my own dinner this evening, and it was quite tasty, comforting and easy to eat on such a cold, blustery, frigid winter day.
Before calling it a day there are some dishes, pot, pans, etc. calling my name to be washed, dried and stowed away. Oh yeah, and a coffee maker to prep for tomorrow's wake up call.. Once all of that is taken care of I can call the day
"A Success."
December 12, 2025
“Morning Brew & Reflections”
I’m up early, 6:15 AM, after crawling out of bed about a half hour ago. Part of me knows I probably should’ve gone right back to sleep. But today has deadlines written all over it, and I hate feeling rushed. If something goes sideways (and it always can), I want enough time to make it right.
Most of yesterday, while I was prepping this dinner for Bob’s little brother’s family, I kept thinking: if Fran were here, she’d have something to say about my approach, and I can practically hear it.
She’d probably look at the amount of food and shake her head:“You’re making way too much. You think you’re feeding seventy people, not seven.”
And then she’d soften it with the part that mattered most: “People in situations like this appreciate anything someone does for them. Whatever you do will be enough. You don’t need to get carried away. You’re not running a five-star restaurant, you’re just trying to be a nice guy.”
The truth is… she wouldn’t be wrong.
When I look back, I can see a pattern I’ve carried most of my adult life. When I take on a project, I go into mission mode, full throttle, locked in, determined to exceed expectations (mine and everyone else’s). Completion becomes the objective, no matter what it costs me in energy, calm, or rest.
Some people might slap a label on that. I’m not sure labels help me much. What I do know is this: it’s how I’ve always tried to show up, by giving more than necessary, by trying to make it flawless, by hoping that “extra” somehow translates into comfort for other people.
And now grief adds another layer. Because when you’ve lost someone, you start re-measuring time. You start replaying moments. You start wondering what it would’ve been like if you’d slowed down more often, if you’d stayed softer, less driven, more present.
I can’t change the way I’ve always been wired. But I can see it more clearly now. And maybe that’s the beginning of a different kind of approach, one where “enough” is actually enough… and where I don’t have to run myself into the ground to prove that I care.
Today I’ll still do what I came to do. I’ll feed people. I’ll be kind. I’ll do it well. But I’m going to try, at least once, to hear Fran’s voice in the middle of my momentum:
“Easy, Tony. They’ll feel your heart long before they notice the details.”
Sometimes I catch myself thinking: if Fran were still here, if I had known then what I know now about grief, I would’ve lived differently.
I think back to the years before illness, when daily life required two people pulling together, and I can see how often I treated my “mission” like sacred ground. If I was locked in on something, I’d let Fran know, directly or indirectly, you’ve got your things… I’m too busy right now. I never thought of it as abandoning her. I thought of it as being driven, being responsible, getting things done. But grief has a way of showing you what your intentions meant, and what they cost.
If she were here now, it wouldn’t be that way. I understand, in my bones, how important it is to show up for the person you love when they’re struggling, how love isn’t only the big moments, but the steady assistance, the quiet support, the simple willingness to pause your own agenda and help carry theirs.
But there’s another edge to that sword.
Because I can also imagine myself overcorrecting, hovering, fussing, checking, trying to protect her from every hardship, becoming a helicopter spouse who means well but leaves no room to breathe. Strange, isn’t it, how the heart can swing from distance to over-involvement when it’s trying to make amends for what can’t be redone?
Loss changes the lens. It rewrites the map.
More than once in my life, I’ve wondered how different things would be if we could see into the future, know what’s coming, so decisions would be easier. I used to think that kind of knowledge would be a gift, a shortcut through uncertainty.
But now… I’m not so sure.
When Fran became seriously ill, we both knew the clock was running out. We understood the odds, and yet hope stayed in the room with us anyway. We still believed, at least a little, that something might change. Not because logic supported it, but because love does that. It keeps a candle lit even when the wind is relentless.
That leaves me with a question I can’t stop turning over:
If we could know what happens, where it happens, and when, would that knowledge truly help us, or would it only teach us a different way to hurt?
It’s 6:44 AM and I’ve been standing here at the patio door, coffee in hand, still peering out into the dark, still circling thoughts I have absolutely no control over. I know I need to get beyond them and tend to the tasks at hand. I know that, and yet, here I am, held in place by the quiet, as if the morning itself is asking me to pause.
The forecast says there may be only a brief period of sunshine before clouds move in, storm coming from the west, the day already making up its mind. Even now, though it’s still dark, there’s enough light to see a line of clouds sitting out on the horizon like a slow curtain waiting to be pulled.
And beneath it, just barely, there’s that thin, pale yellow-orange glow, faint, almost shy, like the sky is considering a small offering before it closes up again.
From where I’m standing, that’s promise.
Maybe not the kind that changes anything. But the kind that says it’s still worth watching the sun try to make its debut for the day, even if it only manages a brief appearance. So the tasks at hand can wait, just for a little while longer, while I sip my coffee and sit here in anticipation of whatever this morning decides to be.
8:28 AM
By 6:44 I was already doing that familiar back-and-forth, kitchen to patio doors, patio doors to kitchen, caught between what I need to do and what I can’t quite stop thinking about. The forecast promised only a brief window of sunshine before the western clouds rolled in with the coming storm, and even in the early dark I could see the horizon holding its breath.
And then it happened, little by little.
Not a roaring, cinematic sunrise, but a steady unfolding, deep blue giving way to a pale band of yellow, then a soft orange glow low on the line of trees. The silhouettes stood there like old sentries, bare branches, the vine-draped trunks, while the sky began to stitch itself into something more interesting than the flat, sleepy gray I’d been expecting. I’ll take “interesting” any morning I can get it.
By 8:28 I’d been bouncing between duty and wonder long enough to call it a draw. The light show came and went in phases, and it was far better than staring at a dull ceiling of clouds. Seeing the sun, when it decides to show up, still has a way of jumpstarting my day. Most days, anyway.
Back inside, I finished up the batter and got the French fries drained and staged: some chilling in the freezer, some chilling outside on the porch table, my frigid-weather “overflow freezer” when indoor space runs out. It’s still too early to start cooking fries and chicken, so I may make a batch of cookies while the morning settles in. After lunch, the real push begins.
Bob will be here at 4:30 PM. My goal is to have everything finished by 3:30, then hold it warm in the oven until pickup. That’s the plan, solid, sensible, and as always, with just enough room for life to do what it does.
My oldest grandson called a little after 8:00 AM on his way to work in North Carolina. It was completely unexpected, and it was wonderful to hear his voice.
He called to ask about coming to visit after Christmas, bringing his two brothers, either before or after a Steelers game they’ll be attending. I told him, without hesitation, that all three of them are welcome anytime. I f they need to stay here, that’s no problem at all, I’d truly enjoy having the company.
I asked him to let me know the exact timing once they have it nailed down, because if three growing (already grown) young men are coming through my door, I’ll want to have something ready for them to eat, before or after the game.
They’ve told me more than once that they love coming to my house, our house, because they really enjoy the food I make for them.
And honestly, hearing that… and hearing his voice this morning… felt like its own kind of sunrise.
4:28 PM
Bob just stopped by right on schedule and picked up dinner for his little brother’s family. Seeing everything lined up and ready to go felt like the finish line after a full day of juggling timing, heat, and packaging.
In the photo (left to right, top to bottom):
Crazy fudge brownies — each piece hiding a Reese’s peanut butter cup, plus extra semi-sweet chips
Battered, dippy french fries
Chicken & vegetable soup
Homemade coleslaw
Mrs. Fields–style oatmeal chocolate chip walnut cookies (a full dozen)
Fried chicken — my “Popeyes-style” knockoff
Cornbread soufflé
Tucked in the middle, I even managed to squeeze in individual ketchup and mayo packets, just in case anyone wanted them. I also sent along a dozen heavy-duty paper plates, not because I’m expecting a problem, but because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that feeding a crowd goes smoother when you plan for the little things.
Honestly, the hardest part wasn’t making any one item, it was the timing. Getting everything out the door hot, wrapped, and ready to eat all at once is its own kind of choreography. People keep telling me I should start a restaurant… but no way. Restaurants have systems, shortcuts, and a full staff. I’ve got me—and I work best when I’m not rushed.
“This kitchen really is seasoned with love—one tray at a time.”
Because Bob was the delivery man, the loyal friend, and the financier, he didn’t leave empty-handed. I sent a scaled-down ‘two-person version’ home for him to enjoy with his lovely wife.
Around 7:00 PM, Bob called with an update: everything made it to his little brother’s family, and they were genuinely grateful. Bob and his wife were appreciative as well. He laughed and said I earned a “10 out of 10 in every category.” Hearing that felt like a quiet exhale after a long day—proof that the effort landed where it mattered. I told him I was happy to help.
Around 7:00 PM, Bob called with an update: everything made it to his little brother’s family, and they were genuinely grateful. Bob and his wife were appreciative as well. He laughed and said I earned a “10 out of 10 in every category.” Hearing that felt like a quiet exhale after a long day, proof that the effort landed where it mattered. I told him I was happy to help.
December 13, 2025
It’s 7:00 AM and I made my way out of bed around 6:30, but only because I could feel a leg cramp starting, and I wanted to get up and move around before the real pain set in. I seem to be okay now.
Lately, though, I’m noticing something else: my ankles feel like they’re giving way. I can’t walk comfortably until I put my shoes on, and I’m guessing it’s something to do with needing better arch support.
The weather forecasters are calling for a fairly large snowstorm this weekend, 4 to 6 inches of accumulation. They’re saying it could start around 10:00 AM, so I’m thinking I need to get to the store and grab a few things I need urgently, because I have absolutely no desire to be out in the cold, especially with several inches of snow on the ground.
10:24 PM. The snow has been falling since one o’clock, steady and patient, no blizzard theatrics, just a quiet insistence that doesn’t stop. It lays itself down the way night does, slowly, completely.
On the table out on the deck there’s a thick white quilt, four, maybe five inches, soft enough to look untouched, heavy enough to make the world feel muted. Even the railing wears a clean, rounded edge, as if the house itself has been tucked in.
When I opened the door to take the picture, something living moved through the stillness, a deer, cutting across my yard like a thought you can’t hold onto. I wanted so badly to catch him. The flash fired, the moment passed, and in the photo he’s only a blur, right there near the corner post, between deck and maple, proof that the night is not empty, even when it feels that way.
Earlier today I fought the crowd at the store, 8:30 AM and the lines were already ridiculous, people stacking up supplies against the weather like they could bargain with it. I got my COVID booster while I was there. I’ve put it off too long. I can’t even explain why today became the day I finally did what I kept telling myself I needed to do. Maybe the snow made everything feel more urgent. Maybe I just needed one small checkmark of sense in a day that didn’t have much.
On the way home I stopped and brought breakfast to my daughter’s, Burger King breakfast sandwich's, potato tots, coffee, simple things, warm things. I caught my daughter and her husband in the middle of putting up Christmas decorations, the house leaning toward light and color while the sky was preparing to bury the world in white. We ate together. I didn’t stay long.
Then I came home. And the snow made the quiet louder.
By late afternoon I wasn’t doing much of anything, except feeling the solitude settle in and realizing how a snowy day can sharpen loneliness the way cold sharpens air. When the sun dropped, when the dark arrived, and the snow continued its gentle fall, it pulled a memory forward, one of those memories that arrives so vivid it feels less like remembering and more like being taken.
A long time ago, within a month or two of Fran and me first dating, I went out into bitter cold night, and deep snow, in front of her dorm and made something enormous, a heart. Not a small one. A ridiculous one. A nineteen-year-old’s kind of devotion, carved with nowhere near appropriate footwear for the conditions, and stubbornness and a desire to prove what words still couldn’t carry.
Fran was watching from her dormitory window with her roommate. She had boundaries, clear, unmovable, and right. She believed love meant forever, and she wasn’t going to cross certain lines unless she was married, or absolutely certain she was loved for life. I pushed. She stood firm. We talked about it again and again, and somehow, instead of breaking anything, her certainty built something.
So I trudged through over a foot of freshly fallen snow and made a heart, 150 feet by 150 feet in my memory, and then I stamped the words into the snow:
TONY LOVES FRAN.
Prior to starting this adventure I called her and told her to look outside, there weren’t many lights on inside the dorm rooms, with the only light available from large outdoor lighting on every corner of the dormitory. But as I worked, I kept glancing up, and more and more windows lit across the dorm. Room after room. Until it felt like the whole building was awake, witnessing it.
When I finally finished and stumbled inside the dorm entry and lounge, half frozen, half proud, Fran came down a short time later with her roommate, carrying two hot chocolates like they were a peace offering. Behind them, tucked into doorways and around corners, were dozens of girls, maybe twenty to thirty, watching, trying not to be seen, but unable to look away.
Fran brushed the snow from my shoulders and my hair, back in the day when I had hair, the way you dust off something you intend to keep. She handed me the cup, shook her head like she couldn’t believe what she was looking at, and said with that mix of tenderness and disbelief:
“Well, you crazy fool… I guess you really do love me.”
You would think a memory like that would warm you, but tonight, with the snow still falling and the house too quiet, it doesn’t comfort so much as it reminds me, beautifully, cruelly, of what I had, and what I would give anything to have again. Tonight it just brings the pain closer to the surface, because it reminds me how deeply I loved her… and how much I miss her now.
Outside, the snow keeps coming.
Soft. Steady. Unstoppable.
December 14, 2025
Sunday Morning - 8:11 AM
Mother Nature didn’t whisper last night—she announced herself.
At 3 AM, before I finally went to bed, I looked out and figured the table was holding five or six inches of new snow. This morning it’s closer to nine or ten. The kind of snowfall I haven’t seen in these parts in a long, long time.
And now comes the question I always ask with a sigh: Do I shovel it… or do I let somebody younger earn their money today? I never loved heavy snow, and age doesn’t exactly make it more charming.
For now, I’m staying put. No need to rush into anything. I’ll watch it awhile, maybe grab a photo later, hoping it’s light and dry instead of the heavy stuff that feels like lifting wet sand.
While I sit here gazing out at this winter Wonderland my thoughts are, I’m going to need to fuel up a bit before I even think about moving any snow so I pulled out what remains of the homemade bread, I made recently, and plan on making some
toast and perhaps a couple of poached eggs with some fried potatoes.
Morning Brew & Reflections — Snow Day, Warm Hands, and an Unexpected Call
Sunday | 3:45 PM
By mid-afternoon, it finally feels like I can exhale.
All of the snow is cleared, the driveway, the front entryway, and the rear deck. I didn’t step outside until around 1:00 PM, when it looked like the snowfall was finally going to pause for a while. I started in on the driveway and made it about halfway through when I heard the unmistakable sound of shoveling behind me.
When I turned around, there he was, my son-in-law, quietly coming to my rescue.
I stayed out there with shovel in hand, doing what I could, while my back kept reminding me that I’m too old for this kind of nonsense. Still, we kept at it together until somewhere around 2:00–2:30 PM. Eventually I had to wave the white flag: my hands were absolutely numb, and I told him I was going inside to make him some hot chocolate and myself a cup of coffee so we could warm up.
By the time I got the coffee going and the hot chocolate made, he had pretty much finished the front porch and the rear deck, too. When he came inside we warmed up, unwound, and just talked for a while. It was simple, and it was good. I don’t always realize how much I miss having someone right here to talk to face-to-face until I get it.
Earlier today, around noon, I got a phone call that touched my heart in a way I didn’t see coming. A dear friend of the family called, someone Fran worked with for many years in the county district court system. She and her husband were close friends with Fran, and they’ve remained close with my brother-in-law Paul as well. They all go back to high school days. Life took its turns, she and her husband eventually divorced after years of marriage and raising two children, but they’ve managed to remain good friends, and she stayed especially close to Fran.
She called because she was making a cookie recipe today that Fran gave her many years ago, and while she was mixing everything together, she felt the need to reach out and check on me… and talk about old times. We ended up chatting for twenty minutes to a half hour, mostly about what I’ve been doing to keep busy and how I’ve been coping with this loss, that still feels so unreal.
It was incredibly kind of her to call.
Before we hung up, we even made a plan: when the weather improves, we’re going to take a day trip to the Strip District in Pittsburgh, one of those places that feels like its own world, full of food and life and familiar corners. Something to look forward to.
Something warm on the horizon.
So today was a snow day, yes, but it was also a day of help arriving at the right moment, a kitchen made warmer by conversation, and a reminder that Fran’s presence still shows up in the world… sometimes as simply as a batch of cookies and a phone call made from the heart.
Morning Brew & Reflections — Chasing a Winter Sunset
Sunday | 4:48 PM
I just did something that makes me shake my head a little… the kind of thing that leads me to believe I must be losing my mind.
About a half hour ago I peered out the front window and could tell the sky was setting up for a lovely sunset, the kind with promise in it. I knew it was bitterly cold outside, and “bitter” doesn’t quite cover it. It was more like painfully cold… the kind that stings your face and makes you question every decision you’ve ever made.
Yet, I put on my coat and hat, grabbed my phone/camera, and headed out anyway.
I walked a couple hundred yards from the back of our house to the school parking lot, my usual spot for sunsets, the place with the least obstruction and the clearest view of the southwestern horizon. I managed to get a few decent shots, and I could tell it was going to get better… but the cold was winning. It was just too damn cold to stand there and keep watching the sun sink.
So I came home.
As I walked back, I could already see the colors changing, deepening and warming in a way that made me wish I’d stayed. But even so, I caught what I could, and what I didn’t catch in pixels I caught in my mind. Sometimes that’s enough. Sometimes the moment doesn’t need to be “perfectly captured” to be real and to matter.
Now I’m back at the house, heading down to my family room/office area to warm up by the fireplace, letting the heat find my fingers again and bring me back to myself. I’ll spend a little time updating my blog for the day, and then I’m going to call it a day.
“Where the day ends: firelight, a chair, and a little peace.”
“Warming up — hands, bones, and spirit.”
“From biting cold to a room that holds me.”
Still… I can’t quite believe I went out into that cold just to chase a sunset.
But maybe that’s not losing my mind. Maybe it’s proof that some part of me still reaches for beauty when it shows up, even in the middle of winter, even when it hurts a little to go looking for it.
December 15, 2025
It’s 8:36 PM, and today has been one of those days that comes out of nowhere and turns everything upside down.
This morning I received a text from my oldest grandson in North Carolina that simply read, “We’re leaving.” At first I had no idea what it meant. Then a second text came in: “We should be at your house around 4:30.” I was completely confused.
After a few minutes it clicked. He had called last week mentioning a Steelers game, and I assumed it was closer to Christmas. I checked the schedule and realized there was a night game in Pittsburgh today. That’s when I remembered he had also asked if I could make them something to eat before the game.
With the temperature being brutally cold, I had no intention of going to the market. I dug through the freezer and found chicken thighs left over from the meal I had prepared for Bob’s little brother’s family. So chicken it was.
I also wanted something that would warm them up fast, so I made chili, figuring it would be perfect since they love Mexican food. I defrosted chicken thighs, ground beef, and ground pork, got the chicken into a and started the chili in the Instant Pot. By noon, the chili was nearly finished. Then came cornbread, breading, and frying.
By around 4:15, everything was cooked and holding warm: chicken, cornbread, chili, fries, and onion rings ready to go.
They arrived right on time at 4:30, and we waited a few minutes for my grandson who lives nearby. By 5:00 PM, we were all sitting down together, my three grandsons from North Carolina, my grandson who lives nearby, and a friend of my grandsons from North Carolina.
It was wonderful to have them here. I know Fran would have loved it. She was always about family, she loved her children and grandchildren more than life itself.
After dinner I showed my oldest and middle grandson from NC photos of them as little boys, pictures of Fran holding them when they were tiny. That moment hit me hard. I’m still weeping as I write this.
Part of it is happiness, having the house full, sitting down with the grand sons, laughter, conversation and memories. Part of it is the ache of knowing Fran isn’t here to enjoy it with us. These are the moments she loved most.
The pain tonight is horrendous… but for a little while, the house felt full again.
And then, they were on their way.
Fran would’ve loved nothing more than the simple fact that they were here, present, in the house, sitting at the table. That alone would’ve brought her so much joy.
She used to light up like a Christmas tree when the grandkids were around. She’d sparkle, clouds or no clouds,and she’d smile that smile I’ll never forget.
I’d give anything to see it again.
December 16, 2025
Morning Brew & Reflections
It’s 6:45 AM,
I woke up around 5:15, but I didn’t get out of bed until about 5:45. My body was awake long before my heart was ready.
Last night was one of those evenings that holds two completely different emotions at the same time. I truly enjoyed having my grandsons here for dinner, having their voices in the house again, seeing their faces across the table, watching them eat and laugh. But after they left, the silence came rushing in, and with it came that deep, familiar depression that seems to wait just outside the door.
So many thoughts ran through my head. So many memories of Fran. She would have so enjoyed having her grandchildren around. To call her a doting grandmother would be an understatement, she loved them fiercely and would do anything for them, and in fact she did, always within the limits of what we could afford. She lit up when they were near. I can still see it.
After the three boys from North Carolina left to go to the Steelers game with their friend, my grandson Aiden, who lives just a couple miles from me, stayed behind for about an hour. It turned out to be a quiet gift.
We talked about life. We talked about what’s ahead for him, how he’s taking more college credits in January, and how excited he is to take an art class this semester. Hearing that made me smile. He’s had an interest in art for years probably since he was a toddler, and he’s become a truly talented young man. As a retired art teacher, it pleases me more than I can say to watch him pursue it, practice, and keep getting better.
He’s also quite the musician. He’s learned to play guitar mostly on his own, with occasional help from his dad, my son-in-law—who’s a music teacher. Watching that kind of growth in a young person is something I never take for granted.
It’s funny how life changes us. In my younger days, I was never a big fan of being around small children. I could manage it for a while, but eventually it wore on my nerves, even though I did enjoy it for at least a time. Now that my grandchildren are older and wiser, I find myself wanting more time with them, more conversation, more chances to really know who they’re becoming.
And I keep thinking about this: I have so much I want to tell them, maybe “
discuss” is the better word, about life and what I learned by living it. But then I remember how I was when I was their age. I remember how my parents and older relatives tried to tell me things, and how I brushed so much of it aside because I insisted on living my life my way, not the way someone else told me to live it.
Maybe that’s just part of being young. Sometimes the best teacher really is time itself. Sometimes the best lessons are learned through mistakes. Still, with what time I have left, I would sincerely like to help them avoid wasting time by making the same mistakes I did, if that’s even possible. Then the other truth arrives right behind it: they’re going to do what they want to do… just like I did.
This morning, I’m holding all of it. The joy of last night. The ache that followed. The love I still have. The love Fran still inspires in me. The determination, quiet, steady, and stubborn, to make the best of what time I have left, even if the pain never fully goes away.
I’m also holding this: even though she isn’t here in the way I want her to be, she is still part of this family. She’s in the stories. She’s in the way I love these boys. She’s in the tenderness that shows up after the laughter ends. She’s in the empty chair that still feels like it has her presence.
The pain may never go away. I don’t think it will. But I’m determined to move forward, to make the best of what time I have left, carrying her with me, not as a weight I can’t lift, but as the love that shaped my life and still shapes my days.
It’s 7:09 AM now, and after pouring another cup of coffee, I took a moment to peer out through the patio door. I’m genuinely relieved to see what feels like a gentle, comforting beginning to a new day.
After another cup of coffee, I stood by the patio door and watched the day begin to unfold, slowly, quietly, almost kindly. The sky held that deep winter blue, and along the horizon the first band of gold appeared like a promise. A thin crescent moon lingered overhead as if it wasn’t quite ready to leave. For a moment, the cold didn’t feel like the whole story, just the temperature of the air, while the light did the comforting.
It’s cold—13°—and even with the door only partially open, the chill comes right through. Still, I’m going to keep watching the sunrise for a while.
The forecast says we’ll only reach the mid-30s today, but it sounds like the next few days may finally start warming up, with temperatures possibly reaching into the 50s by Thursday.
For now, I’ll stay right here with my coffee and the growing light, waiting for my grandsons from North Carolina to stop by. I put together some deli wraps, snack foods, and cookies for them to enjoy on the ride back home, one more small way to send them off with something warm, even if the morning air isn’t.
When my grandson's and their traveling buddy Cam arrived, my oldest grandson asked if I had an air compressor because he needed to put air in the cars tires. I pulled out the compressor, gave him a few instructions and then went back into the house to talk with the others and escape the frigid morning air.
When I inquired whether or not they had breakfast they all said they did, except for the youngest grandson. At that point I asked him why he didn't and then offered an educated guess as to why not. It turns out I was correct in assuming he didn't bother to get out of bed when the others did.
The last thing I wanted to do was lecture him so I simply stated that "to the best of my recollection there isn't any sign in front of my house, or his other grandparents house, for that matter, that advertised "Restaurant Open/24 Hour Service." Then I gave him something to eat. I also gave all of the others a slice of toast from what was left of the bread I made last week. A couple of them actually questioned whether or not I had actually made the bread from scratch. Apparently they think that all bread must be made in a large scale commercial bakery somewhere, and that making bread at home wasn't a viable option.
Now that their all gone, along with what was left of the bread, I guess I'll be making more before the days end.
December 17, 2025
It’s currently 6:22 AM got out into the kitchen and turned the coffee on at about 5:30 AM. Return to the kitchen at around 6 AM poured my 1st cup of coffee. Currently working on the 2nd cup, gazing through the patio doors, seeing a fairly dense low line cloud cover, not looking very promising for any kind of respectable sunrise this morning, but can only hope.
Managed to get more than a normal amount of sleep yesterday that started when I sat in my living room recliner at around 5:30 6:00 PM. Slept for a couple of hours at a time then would awaken, tend to a few matters, and then when I returned to my chair, I fell back to sleep almost immediately. This went on until about 1:30 AM when I finally went to bed. I’m certainly not tired at this point, but my body continues to remind me that age is catching up every day. It seems it gets a little more difficult to move around, to do simple things, but after about an hour or so I returned to what I suppose is my new normal, not that I’m thrilled with that.
As I'm waiting in anticipation of some sort of a decent sunrise, I’m thinking about the bread dough that is currently in the refrigerator working on a cold fermentation, and has been there since yesterday midday. I’ve been watching a lot of videos on how people do all sorts of creative things with a bread LAME and am anxious to try my hand at replicating what I’ve been watching. It doesn’t look terribly difficult, but I’m sure that my first results aren’t going to be all that great, but I will try and nonetheless.
I have a lot of questions about this process that no one seems to talk about, in depth, in any of the videos that I watched. Several videos made mention the fact that it’s easier to work the dough with the LAME when it’s cold versus room temperature. The problem I see is that to date, I’ve always allowed my bread to rise prior to getting it into the cast-iron pot for baking, with the cast-iron part being extremely hot. Trying to do so without distorting the cutting work is no easy task, especially when the baking vessel, an 8" enameled cast iron bread baking pot, is already pre-heated to a scorching 475 degrees.
It’s 8:10 PM now, and after a simple dinner (a ham-and-cheese wrap with lettuce, tomato, onions, plus some leftover coleslaw), I'm finally coming up for air after a long, full day.
Most of my day was spent practicing bread decoration—working with a baker’s lame and other tools (X-Acto knives, scissors, single-edge razor blades) and trying to push my scoring and decorative cuts closer to the look I'm aiming for. With each loaf have seen improvement, but I'm still not satisfied. Early on I realized I needed to be more assertive with my cuts; loaf #2 improved, and loaf #3 improved again, butI still feel it isn't “there” yet.
After watching more videos and doing a bit of research,I backtracked through my process to find what might be limiting the definition of the designs once baked. I suspect I'm using too much yeast—thinking it would improve the crumb—but I'm now seeing how that choice can affect how well my scoring holds and opens.
Once the first three cold-fermented loaves were done, I mixed a fresh double batch around 2 PM so I could keep practicing, with the idea of working toward a holiday/Christmas-themed design.
In the middle of all the bread making, I had an unexpected and genuinely uplifting visit: my grandson Aiden appeared behind me in the kitchen. DoorDash was slow, so he decided to call it a day and spend time with me instead. We talked for a couple of hours while I worked, breadmaking, finances and investing, guitar playing, his upcoming art class, and a whole range of everyday life topics. I really enjoyed the conversation and told him so when he left around 4 PM.
My newest batch of dough has been split into two portions, set on parchment in covered containers, and placed in the refrigerator for a couple hours of cold fermentation. I may try baking later tonight if I'm up, but it’ll likely wait until tomorrow.
After I divided the fresh dough into two additional loaves and got them tucked away, I headed out briefly to pick up a couple of lottery tickets for tonight’s drawing—apparently sitting around $1.2 billion.
I’m not much of a gambler anymore, but I figured you have to play if you want even the tiniest chance. On the way to the store I noticed a new vantage point for photos, so I made a mental note to stop on the way back. I returned home right after buying the tickets, but kept my promise to myself and pulled over for a few minutes to catch the sunset—quiet sky, wispy clouds, and that winter orange glow along the horizon—something simple and unexpectedly beautiful to end the day.
I also made plans with Bob for tomorrow: he will be picking me up around 10 AM, and we will check out a French bakery I have wanted to visit for years, Madeleine’s, then head into Pittsburgh’s Strip District to look around, soak up some holiday energy, and break up the usual routine. At the end of this day I'm feeling completely spent, realizing I've barely sat down at all, and I'm ready to unwind.
December 18, 2025
Morning Brew & Reflections
I woke up the first time around 4:30 AM and thought about getting up… then decided, nope—too early yet. I went back to bed and slept until 6:30, put the coffee on, grabbed a quick shower, and came back to the kitchen for that first cup.
At first glance, around 7:30 AM, it looked like it would be a decent day, but nothing dramatic was happening out on the horizon. Then I checked again a few minutes later and could tell there was a chance for a light show. Things were shifting, but I didn’t realize how fast.
About three minutes later, I glanced out again and the whole sky had turned into something else entirely, an absolutely incredible horizon, and a ceiling of color above it that looked hand-painted. The sunlight peeking over the edge of the world felt almost magical, like it was laying down a priceless canvas in real time, one bold stroke after another.
It’s 7:57 AM and the sun has managed to find an opening between the clouds displaying an absolutely incredible site while out on the deck taking a photo . I could feel the warmth of it on my skin even though I only had on a T-shirt.
The temperature outside was 34°, a little chilly on paper, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable at all. That alone felt like a small gift, winter still present, but not biting.
I'm thankful the day looks cooperative, because Bob and I have a little adventure planned, a day trip to a French bakery about 15 miles from here, then into Pittsburgh’s Strip District to wander, look around, and just enjoy being out for a while.
Before Bob arrives, around 10 AM, I’m hoping to pull at least one of the cold-fermenting loaves from the refrigerator and get it baked off. Bread in the oven, coffee in hand, and a sky like that overhead, not a bad way to start.
8:20 AM. The sky keeps improving by the minute… and meanwhile, in the kitchen, I managed to preheat the oven in theory. Set it to 475°—never hit “Start.” I had already pulled the cold-ferment loaf, even scored it for decoration, then had to send it right back to the fridge while the oven wakes up. Note to self: coffee first, buttons second.
When I pulled the first loaf from the refrigerator and went to make that first cut across the top, I could tell right away the dough was over-hydrated. There just wasn’t much stiffness to it, and instead of slicing cleanly, the blade wanted to drag. Having to put it back in the refrigerator, because I thought the oven was preheated when it wasn’t, didn’t help my cause either. Next batch, I’m going to use a little less water to stiffen the dough up and give myself a better canvas for decorative scoring, cleaner cuts, more definition, and hopefully a finish that matches what I’m seeing in my head.
As expected, the first loaf paid the price for my oven mistake. After sitting out for 35–40 minutes while I realized the oven was never actually started, it didn’t retain its shape or volume the way I wanted, but it smells absolutely divine. Taste matters most, of course, but I want these loaves to look great too, and I think I’m finally understanding why scoring has been such a challenge, the dough is simply too wet and too relaxed to hold a clean, defined cut. While this loaf baked, I pulled the second one from the refrigerator, gave it a light dusting of flour, folded it in thirds, rolled it up jelly-roll style, and reshaped it into a boule to build more tension. This time I also used a lidded bowl with the vent open slightly, hoping to let the surface dry just enough to make the dough stiffer and more workable for decorating.
Well, at least at this point, I can say that things are improving a little at a time. This is the latest loaf. The trick of putting it in the freezer definitely was a plus. Considerably more control than right out of the refrigerator Thinking that if I try making it a little less hydrated and working in a bit more before letting it do the cold ferment may get me closer to where I want to be.
December 19, 2025
Morning Brew & Reflections
This morning began the way so many winter days do lately—quiet, gray, and heavy. At 7:46 AM it was 41° outside, but the wind made it feel closer to 31°. The forecast promised rain and a dense blanket of clouds that didn’t look like it was going anywhere. No sunshine to negotiate with, no bright spot to lean int, just a dim, steady reminder that some days ask you to carry more than you want to.
Then, as if the universe wanted to add one more pebble to my shoe, I reached for my iPhone and realized the Settings icon was gone from my home screen. Something so small, but in a morning already low on light, it felt like another little piece of order had slipped away.
I managed to bring it up using the search bar, and with a bit of research, and a good amount of help from Chat GPT, I got it back where it belongs. One small win. One little thing restored. Sometimes that’s enough to get the gears turning again.
After that, I went where I’ve been going a lot lately, back to the kitchen, back to flour and dough, back to something I can touch, shape, and try to improve. I pulled one of my cold-fermenting bread loaves from the refrigerator and gave it a short stay in the freezer, just 15 to 20 minutes. When it came back out, it handled better. I reshaped it gently, dusted it with rice flour, and found my scoring cleaner and more controlled. I’m not at the finish line yet with the decorating, but each loaf feels like a step in the right direction. Progress doesn’t always show up as a leap. Sometimes it shows up as a slightly better cut and a little more confidence in your hands.
Once the bread was finished, I decided today would be the day I tackled something older and more personal, my grandmother’s nut rolls. The kind of recipe that isn’t just ingredients and measurements, but memory. I wanted some for the house and some to give away for the holidays, something familiar, something warm, something that carries a little piece of the past into the present.
Her original recipe makes eight rolls, but I know my stand mixer can’t handle that much dough, so I cut the batch in half and planned to make four today and four more tomorrow. I also went into it determined to finally solve the problem that’s haunted me off and on, the sides splitting open in the oven and the nut filling spilling out onto the tray. They still taste great when it happens, but they don’t look the way I want them to look, especially when they’re meant to be shared.
I spent time this morning researching, reading, watching videos, and gathering advice, building what felt like a solid plan. I made the dough thicker than usual. I added breadcrumbs to the nut mixture to make it more paste-like (even though it made it harder to spread). I rolled the logs more loosely than I normally do. I sealed the edges with water. I added vent holes across the top. I even tried a pan of water in the oven for steam.
By the evening, 7:02 PM, the timer went off and I checked the rolls. They weren’t ready, so I kept checking every five minutes. Right in the middle of it, my phone rang, my son calling from North Carolina. I was glad to hear his voice. That mattered. But as I kept opening the oven and watching, the truth was hard to ignore.
They were splitting again.
After all the adjustments, after all the effort to do it “right,” there it was, the same old problem staring back at me through the oven door. It was disappointing in a way that’s hard to explain unless you’ve been chasing a result that lives clearly in your mind, yet keeps slipping away in real life.
At that point, the simplest explanation felt like the honest on, I probably still roll the dough too thin. When I bite into a nut roll, I want to taste the nuts, not a thick layer of bread. Apparently that preference may be working against me. The rolls can only stretch so far before the pressure finds a weak spot and breaks through.
Still, even in the disappointment, there’s something true, they’re still delicious. They still carry the flavor and the memory. They’re just not matching the picture in my head yet.
Tonight I’m tired. A bit stressed. I’m not in the mood to fight with perfection. But I’m also not giving up. Tomorrow I’ll try again, because some things are worth returning to, even when they don’t cooperate the first time… or the fifth.
Maybe that’s the real lesson of today, on a dark, rainy day, sometimes the victory isn’t a flawless nut roll. Sometimes it’s simply staying in the kitchen, staying with the effort, and keeping the thread connected, to family, to memory, to the part of me that still believes I can get it right.
That said, I can hear Fran, chirping playfully from across the room, about how I really need to get my OCD under control.
December 20, 2025
More to come...
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