Years ago, my then primary care physician would end my annual checkup with the following statement, “You’re as healthy as a horse.”  Although I loved horseback riding as a camper, I never quite understood what a horse’s health had to do with me.

But as a survivor of an early-found breast cancer, I am fearful as my annual checkup approaches.  My doctor had some concern when I saw her a couple of weeks ago, so I was anxious about my scheduled mammogram last week.

When you’ve had breast cancer before, they give you the mammogram results within moments, and once more,

I have dodged a bullet. 

I have loved Vermont for decades.  My first visit to the Marlboro Music Festival was with my then boyfriend Mark in the 1960’s. And there were many more visits with my husband Peter.  But I hadn’t visited the Green Mountain State for a long time…

Until friends invited me to their home in Vermont.

It was déjà vu all over again. We had cloudless skies above bright green-leafed forests. We saw a small percentage of Vermont’s 124,000 cows, but we knew they were there.  We walked along unpaved roads.  Our fresh-air hunger was beautifully satisfied by our generous hosts.  The very low doorknob on my bedroom door reminded me that in early Vermont days, people used to be shorter than my (formerly) 5’ 10” self.

I was at my best-guest-self, hoping for an invite next year!

I do not have an AI “friend”, but from what I read, AI is a mixed blessing.

It seems that some younger people are using AI to replace friends.  That’s a problem beyond 80-something’s ability to fix.

For older people, however, AI can provide connection and community.  Plus it is available 24/7.  But we must be careful not to depend on a (ro)bot for friendship.

Bottom line:  AI offers a lot.  But it is not a person.

My oldest grandchild was away finishing up his senior year in college, and his brother was traveling, having just completed his freshman college year.  As a result, when I visited my empty-nester son and his wife last week, I had a choice of my usual guest bedroom or a child’s room.

I found my “guest” bed in my older grandson’s room surrounded by four walls of memorabilia documenting years’ worth of sports awards, posters, photos and more.As he heads off for his professional career, one wonders what goes and what stays.

With our boys, I recall, we left the décor as it was until we sold the home where they grew up.

But my mind’s eye can see those walls as if it were yesterday.

The Kugel family has benefited from higher education for decades, both in learning and earning (I couldn’t resist that.)  So, when Jeremy who is a vice-president at the University of Maryland and his wife sponsored a fellowship there, in honor of his father, I was thrilled.

Thus, at 7:00 a.m. last Friday, at the U. of Maryland’s extraordinary main dining hall, we established the Kugel Family Station for Omelet Excellence. Surrounded by various University dignitaries, Jeremy, his wife Katrina, and his mother (me) simultaneously broke open three eggs on the grill, to the applause of all in attendance and the wonder of early-rising students, one of whom could be a scholarship recipient some day.

Four hours later, Greater DC could watch the event on the local NBC morning program.

You can see it here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VfM92WK9Ldw

When I agreed to join my pal for a concert at her church on Sunday, I was reluctant to leave my newspapers and Sunday phone calls.  But I did.

And was rewarded by an orchestra called City Strings, made up of adorable kids, tiny to big, some with instruments bigger than the kids themselves. The littlest violins reminded me of my ukulele days at Camp Wingfoot a million years ago.

The orchestra was conducted by a lovely young woman, the audience was very enthusiastic.

And I am smiling as I write about it.

When ChatGPT let me know that I could describe an image and it would produce a picture, I couldn’t resist.

My ask was for “a picture of an ‘old’ lady with a great idea.”

In a few blinks of my eyes or maybe a whole minute, the photo below appeared on my screen:

Please note:  This is not me.

But—I got what I asked for…

Our older son often referred to Peter and me as his “classical-music-loving- parents.” And with good reason.  All our household listening devices were pre-set to Boston’s one classical music station.

The New England Conservatory’s Jordan Hall was one of out favorite in-person performance venues.  Last Sunday I attended a concert by Boston’s Civic Symphony there. The 1000-seat hall was sparsely filled—it seemed that there were more orchestra members on the stage than concert attendees.

The usual suspect (a Boston Red Sox game) was out of town.  There was a performance at Symphony Hall just around the corner, but there are enough potential concert-goers to fill both halls.

Where were they?

Let’s see…is there anything worse than sitting at the Toyota dealer waiting for your car’s annual service checkup?  Maybe losing your smart phone? Maybe the sound of your dentist’s drill approaching your open mouth?  

After two hours of waiting in the Toyota dealer’s “lounge” last week, I learned that my 2016 Prius with only 26,000 miles “needs” almost $1,000 worth of work. My car runs like a charm, has a few discreet scratches and gets me where I need to go.  But the service people are paid to repair, and they are good at finding worn-out or “broken” things to replace.

I was able to delay a couple of recommended fixes to next year (when I might not even be driving anyway) and cut the bill by $200. 

It could have been worse…

I don’t know how it came to mind, but it did.  I think it was while chatting with two friends about summer camp.  The subject turned to camp songs, and although from three different camps, we all remembered “Oh Dear, What Can the Matter Be…?” And we burst into song.  Here’s how it goes:

Oh dear, what can the matter be?

Seven old ladies locked in the lavatory.

They were there from Sunday to Saturday. 

Nobody knew they were there…

Listen on You-Tube. I guarantee that you’ll be smiling.

(As I am now.)