In Which I Begin My Final Chapter With The Summer Of Yes

You guys...

I RETIRED!

I was actually planning to hang up my lanyard in April of 2024, but as the Universe would have it, I moved it up a year. Back in October of 2022, the GM called for a mandatory meeting with both shifts. BOTH shifts. That's never good. And it wasn't. 

They revealed their grand plan to automate the studio, which basically means the audio, visual aspect, and camera operations would all be run via a coded computer program. The only positions left manned, besides the program operator, would be prompter and floor manager, ironically the two positions that have been threatened to be eliminated for decades now. Anywho, all the managers were singing the praises of the system, how easy it was going to be, how much better life would be for all involved, yadda yadda yadda... 

This Home Girl decided right then and there she was having none of that BS, and in her head, chose a date to leave as she exited the building that afternoon. She also decided to stop referring to herself in the third person. Praise Baby Jesus.

The only person from work I told about my impending departure was my good friend, Beets. When I opened the door to our abode, the first thing I said to Geo was "you need to get a job, because I'm out". My Ever-Luvin looked at me with wide eyes, and told me how much I love my job, to which I not-so-gently informed him he doesn't get to tell me how I fucking feel about my job. Oh, it was a full-on, in-your-face retort with head shakin' and finger pointin'. LOL Bottom line is, you know when it's time to say Buh-Bye, Buttheads.

Here's the thing, when I turned 62 in 2022, I felt a sense of liberty. I called it my freedom age. I was STOKED! I know. Weird to be excited about being 62, right? But hear me out. At 62, if things take a turn for the worse at your job, you're 62. You're not stuck, forced to become numb to the latest pain inflicted upon you by the Powers That Be. You can collect Social Security, yo! You are free to tell them all to fuck off. 

Holla!!! 

Added bonus, you get half price train tickets on New Jersey transit! 

Can I get a Whut Whut!!!

Anywho, all that financial crap worked out fine. We def aren't millionaires, but we are still firmly in the middle class. Hooray for loooooong indentured servitude and 401Ks!

Having made my decision six months prior to my best-bye end date, I had the luxury of time to figure out my exit plan. I mean, I had been at the Special K since the tender age of 23. I grew up there. I learned to live on coffee, honed my twisted sense of humor, and perfected my ability to cuss like a GD BOSS there. To get a job in the field in which I studied, and spend my entire career at the only station I ever wanted to work, was a dream come true. I couldn't NOT do something to help me process this crazy, chaotic, amazing job I was leaving behind. I'll be honest, at times I both loved and loathed my job, but mainly I loved it and the beautiful freaks with whom I worked. I toiled in the real world prior to KD, so trust me when I tell you, even with all of the madness, insane hours, intensity of live programming, working in television was a waaaay better fit for me. I could not have chosen a more appropriate profession for my skewed personality. I am grateful for my time there, and the life it afforded me.

Speaking of insane hours, we went on the air at the ridiculous time of 4:30am. Depending on which job I was on, I would not be unable to leave my position for up to 2 1/2 to 3 hours. Ergo, I had to precisely time my coffee intake in a manner that would a) not cause a bathroom mishap, and b) keep me all caffeined up to floor manage PTL at 9am.*

*side note: one of the greatest things about retirement is now my colon is Free to Be! No time restrictions anymore, it can do its thang whenever, BABY! It's glorious!

But I digress...

One night as I struggled to fall asleep, the idea of a career countdown came to me. I measured out 30 k-cups, and at the mark of my final 30 work days, I did a k-cup countdown. Every day I took a photo of the k-cup with the numbered day then added photos of the many incredible actors, musicians, comedians, local superstars, and animals I had the pleasure to meet throughout my 40-year tenure.  The link above highlights each of my final 30 days, if you're horribly bored and interested in some of the rubbish I posted, click away.

first k-cup countdown

final k-cup countdown

I felt particularly nostalgic one weekend, and videotaped a final look around the station. We had recently gone through a wide renovation of the newsroom and lower level. It's funny how you can be so ready to cut the cord, but then get choked up by the realization you won't be walking these familiar halls daily.

Everyone was so unbelievably sweet to me on the lead up to my departure. So many kind words, big hugs, and tokens of affection. I started marking the "Lasts": the last time I would switch a show, the last time I would come to work on three hours sleep because I am my own archenemy and stayed up too late on New Year's Eve, the last time I would work on the Sunday Steelers show, the last time I would scheme to be off on the weekend for an out of town concert, the last time my name would appear on the schedule. 

 

I honestly did not expect anything special at work to commemorate my retirement besides a cake, but my family from our little morning show that could, PTL gave me the best sendoff. I was invited to join them on the desk during the A block, and again on the couch at the end of the show on my penultimate day. I didn't find out I was going to be on until the day before, and full disclosure, I was more than a little concerned I'd swear on the air. I swear a lot. A LOT. Anywho, the day of, my bosses, Bobbo and Toooodd, who were my friends before lording over me, came down to the studio for moral support and remind me not to cuss. LOL 

As evidenced by the video, I made it through with clean language, if not sweaty pits. HaHa! I only teared up a little at the end, which was a fucking relief! Thank God I washed my unruly Medusa locks.

And now you know what my voice sounds like. I'm so sorry. 

Moving on... 

As the Gods would have it, my final day was Take Your Kid To Work Day. I'm usually off on Thursdays, but I chose April 27th as my last day, because, clearly, I hate myself. Aaaaanyway, for those who don't know, TYKTWD (i abbreviate like the cool kids) is when employees are encouraged to have their progeny shadow them throughout the work day as a way of showing the kids what they do for a living, inspiring them to think outside the box, yadda yadda yadda. Whatever. Everyone gets free ice cream at the end of the day. Or something like that. At the Special K, the kids get to be on PTL. 

I could not have picked a more fitting way to end my career than the absolute mayhem of TYKTWD. We had 24 kids, their parents, and department heads all in the studio at once. We had four different set ups in the main studio AND the kitchen studio. The kids made slime, decorated cookies, there was magic, baby kangaroos, gators, free fancy AF popsicles. Thank sweet Baby Jesus there were three of us working the floor, wrangling kids and talent, and shuffling mics between two studios. My Ever-Luvin and our nephew, Alex, who is a news producer at a competing station (no, he did not ignite upon entry) came down to help me celebrate my grand finale. When the kids were in the kitchen for a segment, I had a minute to breath and finally say hello to them. My nephew was wide-eyed, mouth agape, and said "I have NEVER seen anything like this before" to which I responded, "Welcome to PTL! Gotta run and grab a mic." The hour was crazy and complete chaos and it. was. GLORIOUS!!! But the best part for me was the final segment of the show.

When I made the decision to call it a career, the only thing I wanted to do was smash my GD tyrannical alarm clock. That son of a bitch lorded over me for 30 years, screetching at me at the unGODly hour of 2:30am. That motherfucker needed to be silenced for GOOD! The only thing I asked for from the producers of PTL was to smash my alarm clock live on the air. And guess what...

YEAH, BABY!!!

No more shall that maniacal mechanical monster reign over me!

I think the kids were more excited than I was to watch me smash the shit outta that thing. My coworker's son kept a piece for his treasures box. LOL

Back in 2004, our long-time cameraman, Lenny retired. He left behind the plaid jacket he wore everyday in the studio to keep warm. As tribute, we hung it in the rafters on the lighting grid with 04 pinned to it. Thus began our tradition of hanging a token from everyone who retired from the Special K. Anyone who knows me knows of my undying love of Paul Rudd and the fact the pins on my lanyard reflect everything else you need to know about me. So of course my contribution to the rafter was my lanyard with all of my flair and the remains of my clock draped over a photoshopped picture of me and Paul Rudd. 

Geo's handiwork

Tooooodd doing the honors

My timing could not have been more perfect. The very next day training on the new system started. I managed to spend every minute of my life at the K doing what I loved. Take THAT technology! In your face!

We had a fantastic bash two days later. I was humbled by the turn out and the outpouring of love thrown my way. I'm surprised by how little I miss my job. What I do miss is seeing these faces on the daily. As I wrote in my farewell email to my KD family, some of our friendships will fade with the passing of space and time, but each and every one of them has touched my heart in an indelible way, and made my life that much richer.

I love this beautiful pack of freaks

It's been six months since my release from indentured servitude, and I can say without hesitation, 5 stars. Highly recommend. I haven't looked back. Perhaps the greatest gift of retirement is sleep. I didn't realize how fucking tired I've been for the past 30 years. I burned the shit outta that candle, YO! I was exhausted, but regret absolutely NOTHING!

Here is a list of a few things I was looking forward to once I became a free bird: NOT setting an alarm; watching every hockey game to the final second; staying up to watch award shows; going to concerts any day of the week and NOT getting up early the next day; choosing where to travel to see my favorite bands by city, not day of the week; having ALL OF THE HOLIDAYS OFF! 

On May 11, I declared this my Summer of Yes. I did whatever came my way. I traveled every month, but one. I met up with friends at the beach, the Midwest, Texas, Maine. Finally spent a long weekend with my high school and college friends. Went to a ton of concerts, plays, live podcasts. Basically gadded about, free as a butterfly. Of course, I couldn't have done any of that without the love, support, and endless patience of my Ever-Luvin who constantly puts up with my bullshit with grace, humor, and a few head shakes. 

I have no idea what awaits me in 2024, but whatever happens, I know I will be rested and ready to jump onboard. At 23 I couldn't fathom being 63, let alone retired. I can tell you, young, sweet, innocent(?) Murray, your old-ass is having a helluva good time!

 RIIIIIIIIING!

Me: Hi, Toni!

.....

Me: Toni? What's up?

Toni: ... I have pancreatic cancer. Stage 4.

Me: NoNoNoNo! I'm coming over.

And that's when my heart splintered into a thousand pieces. 

It's funny how six little words can completely devastate you. I hung up the phone, and drove straight to my sister's house. She was already writing down all the information we would need to take care of her estate after she was gone. She always was the sibling of action. Decisive. Once she made up her mind as to what she wanted to do, she plotted a course, and achieved whatever she set out to do. Her life's plans meticulously mapped out in spread sheets and spiral bound notebooks. These dire circumstances were no different. 

She was 68 years old. The same age our Father was when he died 32 years prior. An irony not lost on either of us. "You know I'm the same age as Daddy" she said when I arrived. The same thought struck me on the drive over. We had just buried our Mom, FFS. This wasn't supposed to happen, not now anyway. The two of us were finally going to be able to relax, hang out together again, go back to the beach without the burden of caregiving. Toni was the healthiest of all of us. That she was going to be the first of us to go was beyond imaginable. Losing my beloved Big Mar was hard, but losing Toni was heavier than anything I had felt before.

I am fortunate to have amazing siblings with whom I am close. They are all smart, funny, and spectacular in their own individual ways. As we aged, Toni and I got closer. We had more opportunities to spend time together. We went to the same church, were in the same Card Club (that she started), and traveled together. Any family parties/celebrations that happened, she and I planned them. Surprises for big birthdays, she and I schemed them. She was always willing to be my wingman for any travels. I could always count on her to be my +1. Her lightness of being, infectious laughter, and loving spirit made her an easy companion. As spontaneous as she was, she was also steadfast, her feet solidly on the ground. She was so much like Big Mar in that way, and so many other ways. She had this innate ability to talk me off the ledge when I was beyond irritated with people, or the weight of caregiving got too heavy. She never failed to make me feel better, and help me rationalize my ire away. She was my touchstone.

After her husband, Art passed away in 2013, Toni set out to make her home a happy place for gatherings, friendship, and laughter. People were drawn to her warmth, wit, and magnetic smile. She was the center cog of so many circles of friends. She hosted game nights, birthdays, and a discussion group with her single friends called The Kid's Table. When Big Mar moved into the senior living center, Toni became the center cog of our family, too. Like our mother, she hosted family holidays with ease, grace, and love. 

March 2021 changed everything. Everything shifted. I became Toni's person. I went with her on her medical journey. I was with her when she received the definitive results of her biopsy. I was with her when the paliative care doctor discussed her options. I was with her when she decided there would be no treatment options. 

Hospice set up a pain medicine regimen which 

And that unfinished sentence right there is where I stopped writing a year ago. I had planned to vomit my feelings in time to post on the one year anniversary of her passing, but I just could not. It was too hard. I started and stopped at least 200 times in the past year, composing mainly in my head, but not committing any of it to paper. 

 Anyone who knows me, knows how much I adored Big Mar, and how much I miss her every day. This doesn't diminish the depth of my grief for her absence, but losing my sister was an entirely different beast. It is so much harder. The grief is off the charts. It's unfathomable until you go through it. I feel compelled to apologize to my friends who lost a sibling, for not understanding the depth of their pain. It is beyond anything I could ever have imagined. I was and still am gutted.

When the hospice nurse set up Toni's pain med regimen, my sister was able to keep the dosages straight. Within a few weeks, the opioids made her mind too foggy to handle her drugs properly. It was clear she needed assistance, especially overnight. When I reached out to family and her friends for help, no one turned me down. Everyone pitched in to make sure she wasn't alone. Her two best friends selflessly volunteered to stay overnight to make sure she got her meds at the proper time to minimize her pain. A beautiful testament to how Toni touched their lives. 

Each day that passed, Toni got weaker, less clear-headed, and unable to eat. One day halfway through the end of her time on Earth, I felt particularly devastated by the inevitable. As dumb as it sounds, I needed my Mom. On the drive to the cemetery, I screamed so long and loud in the car, I lost my voice. All I wanted to do was purge the sorrow, rage, and pain. I'm certain I looked like a psychopath, but I gave zero fucks about that. I guess it helped a bit. I don't know. I was unmoored and raw and pissed off. I knew I had to get my shit together, and not fall apart in front of my sister. 

My oldest sister, my brother and his kids drove out to visit around Easter. Toni rallied while they were here. We had a big gathering at her house with the family and a couple of her close friends. She looked so happy to be in the middle of her loud family. The laughter did her good. By the time they all left, the copious amount of Tylenol and the cancer spreading to her liver turned her eyes and skin yellow. A few weeks later, the hospice nurse called me in the early morning. Toni had become incoherent overnight, and the nurse felt it was time to move her to the hospice facility. When I hung up the phone, I literally wailed and dropped to the floor. I have NEVER done that before. I couldn't help it. I just collapsed. Geo was in the shower. He doesn't even know it happened. I never told him. I guess he knows now. Ha Ha! I have never felt debilitating grief like that before. This was the beginning of the end. I was devastated. 

By the time we got to Toni's house, she was more lucid. She was laying on the bed with her eyes closed, but she was more aware of her surroundings. Like I said above, I was her person. When I asked her if she wanted me to call her son, she said she didn't want him to worry if she was going to be in and out of hospice. It broke my heart to look her in the eye and tell her she wasn't coming home. This was it. I saw the meaning register, and I hugged her. 

Okay, here's a weird thing. When the ambulance finally arrived 9 hours later, the EMT asked my sister if she could walk to the stair climbing we had installed for her, or if she needed them to carry her. She looked at them and said, "No. She can walk." He asked her again, and she repeated, "No. She can walk to it." So weird, right? Like someone else was speaking through her. I think it was Big Mar. Toni and I used to talk about this kind of spiritual stuff all the time. I miss our talks.

We took her to Canterbury in Lawrenceville on a Friday. The nurses there are full-on angels on Earth. They are so caring and loving and amazing. I don't know how they do it. I would be in tears all day. They took amazing care of Toni. Their hearts are super sized. 

Toni was a bright light in so many lives, there was a steady stream of visitors every day to shower her with love on her final days. Even my cousins drove up from Virginia just so they could see her one last time before driving back home the same day. On May 4th, five days after she arrived, my sister peacefully crossed over, her oldest friend by her side. 

The time between February 14 and May 4 of 2021 were, hands down, the hardest days of my existence. I was a listing ship, damaged and adrift. Moving at the mercy of waves of overwhelming feelings too visceral and raw. I could very easily be Sad Girl, but I don't want to be Sad Girl. I choose NOT to be Sad Girl. Life is too precious and full of exceptional things and people and places. I still feel sad sometimes, and that's okay. Two of the most important women in my life are missing from this mortal coil. Of course my heart still hurts. I miss them literally every minute of every day. 

I find it's easy to talk about Big Mar with genuine joy. Memories of her that pop up on Facebook make me smile, laugh, and give me the warm feels. I'm trying really hard to normalize talking about Toni without crying. It's a lot tougher with her than my Mom, but I'm getting better. I've been scattering her ashes at some of her favorite places like LBI, where she got married, and the two excursions on my recent Outlaw Country cruise. Sometimes I've cried spreading her ashes, and sometimes I felt okay. 

Grief is weird. Full stop. 

When her beloved husband and soulmate died in 2014, she had both of their wedding bands made into a bracelet of interlocking hearts. She wore it every day. When Toni was settled in her hospice room, she took it off and gave it to me. The night she told me she was sick, I asked her if I could have the bracelet to remind me of her and Art. I, too, never take it off. Every day I wake up with my cherished sister on my arm. 

 

 Toni was my buddy, my partner in crime, my dear friend as well as my sister. I will miss her every minute of every day, but I'm eternally grateful for the life we shared together. Hug your people every day, man. A future with them is never guaranteed.

About Last Year...

 I don't know where to begin.

Last year was the hardest, most devastating year of my life. Never have I felt so unmoored, rudderless and adrift, watching the dock grow smaller and smaller, unable to reach a lifeline. 

2020 aged me. 2021 tried to kill me. 

I've attempted to write something, anything a thousand times, but I could not break through the fog. Hell, I couldn't process it all, let alone articulate what I was feeling, thinking, avoiding. I was numb, on autopilot. I have no idea where this is going, so please forgive me if this is all over the fucking place. I'll try not to soil your shoes as I vomit my feelings all over this blog. Welcome to my therapy, MOFOs! LOLOL

2021 started off with so much promise. A viable Covid vaccine was already being administered, two in fact, and my beloved Big Mar's senior residence was slated to be among the first to be vaccinated. When she got her first dose on January 18th, I cried. She was going to make it through this GD pandemic! The stress of working at the station and being the only member of the family permitted to help care for her was a weight as heavy as an anchor. But because of those amazing scientists, she was going to make it. Hallelujah! After being separated for the holidays, we were finally going to be together as a family again. 

At 4am on Valentine's Day morning, I got a call from my sister, Toni, that Mum had fallen in her apartment. She had fallen without injury a few times in the months prior, but this time was different. This time she broke her back. My other sister, Vicki was on the phone with Big Mar until both the paramedics and Toni arrived. It was still heavy duty Covid times, so only one of us was permitted in the emergency room at a time. Toni and I took turns sitting with her, talking to doctors, making decisions. In the afternoon, the decision was made to transport her to AGH where a geriatric specialist would diagnose her injuries and formulate a treatment. We followed the ambulance to the hospital, but quickly found out only one of us was allowed in the hospital. They wouldn't let us swap out. 

So I stayed. 

By myself. 

Trying to keep it together without my two rocks, Geo and Toni. Watching my Mom wince in excruciating pain, whispering "Help me", and me powerless to do anything to help her besides keeping her still. I try to push it down, but I still hear her little voice pleading with me. 

Big Mar LOVED this chicken she was gifted for her 99th.

She kept it alongside her chair and squeezed it when she needed a laugh. 

I keep this on my phone and play it when life gets too heavy.

By the time the specialist arrived at 9pm, she was barely able to speak. What few answers she gave were unintelligible. I thought it was the pain meds taking hold, but that was wishful thinking and denial. She had very little urine output. I knew her kidneys were failing, but I didn't want to say it out loud. Again, denial. I wanted to believe she would be okay, that she would recover by wearing a back brace, which, come on, she was 99. That would have been torture for her. Eventually they found a room for her, and I went home.

At 4am the phone rang. 

The telephone ring sounds different when there's bad news on the other end. I don't know why or how that is, but it's different. You know immediately something is wrong. It was her doctor. We had to make a decision. To keep her on an IV and put her through dialysis, 

or to let her ... go ... peacefully into the light. 

Calling my siblings that morning was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. But in the end we agreed to let it be. The doctor left word at the hospital the four of us, Geo, Toni, Vicki and I, were to be permitted at Big Mar's bedside for as long as we wanted. 

Her room was quiet, dimly lit, no wires or beeps. On the bed, the nurse had placed a blanket attached to a hose that circulated warm air to keep Mum comfortable. I reached under the blanket to hold her hand. Her fingers was toasty warm for the first time in a long time. That made me smile. Her hands wouldn't be hurting when she left us. 

It started to snow big, fluffy, snow globe flakes as soon as we entered the room. I called my sister and brother who were preparing to drive to Pittsburgh that morning from New Jersey and New York, and told them not to come. The weather was bad and they wouldn't make it in time anyway. We four held her hand, shared some stories and a few laughs, and told her we loved her, as well as other private things we wanted to whisper to her. I know Toni and I told her it was okay to go. She didn't have to wait for Buddy and Laura. 

At 8:40am on February 15th, Big Mar stepped off this mortal coil. She took two deep breath, and she was gone. Her passing was so gentle and peaceful. It was a privilege to be with her at the end. I hope she felt the love pouring over her from both sides as she made her way across. I like to think my Dad reached through and grabbed her, spun her around, and dipped her just like when they were young. They are both young, slim and healthy. My Dad in his favorite zoot suit, and Mum back in her beautiful heels. I imagine she and her two sisters are hanging out on the porch together talking, arguing, and laughing their butts off with a High Ball in one hand and a cigarette in the other. 

My God, I adore this photo of our parents 💗

The Bossola sisters reunion

 Mum's big fear was falling. She told me that many times, especially the last few months of her life. I feel awful I couldn't protect her from the one thing she feared. I think about how much pain she was in, and how terrified she must have been. I didn't want her to die like that. She was such a good person, she deserved to pass quietly in her sleep, which I guess ultimately she did. Thankfully, her suffering was mercifully brief, less than 30 hours. In many ways, the Universe did her and us a favor. I think her body was starting to slowly shut down. Three weeks before her fatal fall, she wasn't herself. Little things started pinging my radar. She was sleeping a lot throughout the day. She stopped caring about watching the Penguins games. And the biggest red flag of all, she didn't want to go to Happy Hour when her favorite, Mikey Dee was playing. She LOVED heckling him, and he looked forward to her needling. If she hadn't fallen, I have no doubt her life would have been a slow decent filled with too many trips to the hospital, poking, prodding and agony. She would have hated it. 

Big Mar was so universally loved, but we were still in the throws of a stupid GD pandemic wherein very few people were vaccinated. As much as we wanted everyone to celebrate her with us, we opted to have a private family viewing. Geo's brother, the priest did a small service for us at the funeral home. We told stories, we laughed, we cried together. It was really lovely. To be honest, it was easier with just us, the immediate family. We didn't have to comfort or entertain or all the other things you end up doing to get through an open funeral. It was nice. Mum would have been proud of us. 

Big Mar rocked this thing called life

We used this photo for one of her prayer cards.
No lie. I ask you, is there a better depiction of her glorious spirit?

I wrote her obituary. I didn't want her life to be distilled to a few mere generic facts. I wanted people to know her indomitable spirit, her effervescence, and the way she brought joy to everyone she met. She was everyone's Mother, Grandmother, therapist. My sister-in-law called it a love letter. I guess she's right. I loved Big Mar with all my heart. She was my friend as well as my mother/mentor. Toni used to say Mum must have been my child in a past life. Our bond was deep. 

You can read all about our magnificent Mum here. 

Over her last couple years, I took on more of a caregiver role, which is crazy ironic, being as I am NOT a caregiver, or patient, or selfless. I didn't resent my responsibility, but I'm not gonna lie. It wasn't always easy for me, which is why I took all those little road trips with my friends. I don't have kids. I'm not used to looking after someone constantly. Those trips were my way to recharge and be a better person for her. It was a privilege to spend that time with her.  

Mum was so pleasant, funny, sharp, giving and loving, how could I not step up. I'd shop for her, take care of her meds, and help her take a shower twice a week. At first it was a little awkward, being so intimate with your Mom, but I came to treasure the days I helped her bathe. She was always so grateful. She never failed to thank me for giving her the pleasure of a shower. 

and she was, yo!

We had great conversations in that bathroom, and a lot of laughs. Our hair dresser sent her a card for her 99th birthday that read "You're still the shit!" I taped it on her bathroom mirror and would point to that card and say "remember Mum, you're still the shit". She'd laugh and tell me to get the hell out. She taught me a lot about growing old gracefully, with humor, strength, and kindness.

sporting a fetching new hat on her 99th

she was always a good sport LOL 

My God, the outpouring of love showered upon our family was unbelievable. A true testament to the amazing person our mother was. Friends sent cards, flowers, and food. My God, the food! I cannot express how thankful we were for the food. We never had to think about meals, and that is a true gift. I was and still am overwhelmed by the immense kindness shown to us. 

Our sweet neighbors made this snowman in our front yard
to cheer us up the day after Big Mar passed

After the funeral, we gathered at Toni's house for lunch. My brother suggested we all have a high ball in Mum's honor. I'm not a brown liquor drinker, I had a nasty affair with a bottle of Canadian Mist back in the Stone Age, but the combo of ginger ale and whiskey was the perfect salute to the amazing woman who created us. 

And then there were five
Big Mar's spirit demanded bright colors

Prepping the High Balls

When Big Mar moved out of her house, all of the holidays shifted to Toni's house. Our out of town siblings started staying with her. It worked out beautifully. Toni's home became the center of the family, just as loud and jolly as Big Mar's. After the funeral, I was so proud of us. We had it all figured out. I mean, we were going to miss Mum big time, but at least a big portion of our family life would not be in turmoil. We had our place to gather and be together.

And then two weeks later we got news that completely gutted us.

The first time I looked at my phone this morning, it was 8:46am. The exact time the first plane, Flight 11 from Boston, crashed into the North Tower.  I looked outside to a nearly cloudless, crystal blue sky. A sky akin to 2001.

It's been 20 years since the towers fell, and the weight and sorrow and infinite sadness of that day are still living right under the surface of my being. Geo and I were at the shore, watching the events play out in horrifying, graphic detail on the tiny television screen in our hotel room. I suppose these feelings will never leave me. Yes, I move forward, living life as fully as possible, loving family and friends to the best of my ability. 

And yet. 

And yet. 

And yet. 

All it takes is an image date stamped 9/11/01 to send me back.

I felt restless today for some reason. I'm not good at sitting still, especially on a glorious day. I stood still much too much over COVID season. I decided to take a walk through my favorite cemetery. Cemeteries are the best places to walk. It's quiet enough to let your mind wander, there are hills (because Pittsburgh), and this one in particular has interesting tokens left on headstones of departed loved ones. 

Today there was a silent 9/11 walk through the gravestones. The panels depicted the events of the day, chronologically, beginning with the 7:59am departure of Flight 11 from Boston through the collapse of the North Tower. The images scattered throughout were many iconic photos from that day: the North Tower ablaze; the second plane just before impact on the South Tower; both towers on fire as seen from across the river; the South Tower falling; the fallen chaplain being carried out of the wreckage by firefighters; the jarring image of a lone, vertical man plummeting to his death. 

All of these photos send me directly back 20 years to the rawness I felt then. That last one though. When I look at it, I hear the sickening thud of human flesh hitting pavement and see the horrified cringe of the fire chief's face from the 9/11 documentary released months later. To choose to leap to one's death rather than risk being crushed by a toppling tower. Wow. I don't know, man. I can't even imagine having to make that choice. 

With the personally devastating year my family and I have had, not to mention perpetual COVID, it somehow seems fitting that it is also the 20th anniversary of the defining moment in our country's modern history. Sure. Why not. Let's heap it on. Maybe if we get all the bullshit out, we can finally have nice things in 2022. Even I'm not buying that, and I'm generally a positive person. LOL 

I would love to believe we, as a nation, we can come together for the good of the country again. That we can be kinder to one another, be respectful towards each other, embrace our diversity, believe in science, care for one another enough to wear a fucking piece of cloth on our faces without equating it to GD fucking Nazi Germany, stay out of women's wombs. But alas, I cannot. Not today. Today I feel like we pissed it all away. 

I would love to end this missive on a somewhat optimistic note. So here goes. 

We all woke up today, right? To feel the sun's warmth on our face, or hear the rain on the roof, or to sniff the aromas of the oncoming fall. I'm looking at you, pumpkin spice.

We all have survived our worst days, 100 percent.

We all get another chance to make a difference, however slight, in the lives of others. Be it a phone call, a text, or a rando encounter in the wild.

We all get a chance to hug someone, maybe it's your Mom, or your sister, or your significant other, or a dog, or your neighbor's adorable cherub who runs up to you to show you their new toy. Hugging is healing. It's a science fact. It IS! No lie.

And finally, never pass up the opportunity to pee, eat the damn dessert FFS, and sometimes wine DOES fix everything. Or at least it may help you laugh so hard you almost tinkle, at which point I refer you to item #1 of this paragraph. 

Bless me, Father, for I have slacked. It has been three years since my last blog post...

Is this thing on?!?

Hello? *taps the imaginary mic three times to the annoyance of the equally imaginary audio tech*

Oh hey! So, this still exists. How about that. It's more than a tad dusty, and I think rats have been squatting in the dark recesses of this blogosphere, and DAMN this place could use a fresh coat of paint, but who has the energy. At least it's not condemned, just merely in need of some TLC from a hunky no-name carpenter on HGTV, or Home Depot. Whatevs. As long as there is no plumber's crack involved. Ain't nobody got time for that.

So, how have things been? 

In this present reality, things have been, well, to put it mildly, fucked up. The past three years have been filled with lots of great music, road trips with friends, general shenanigans fueled by bad judgement juice (I'm looking at you post wine flight holiday pop-up bar), and countless other socially satisfying events. It was also filled with a constant barrage of heinous actions perpetrated daily, nay, hourly by an unhinged wanna-be autocrat, hell bent on destroying our precious democracy, one seditious act of treason at a time, enabled by a complicit and cowering GOP Congress. To each and every one of these Kool-Aid swilling cowards I say, HE LOST THE ELECTION (THANK BABY JESUS)!! GET OVER IT! Post election has been a disgusting display of reprehensible attempts to subvert democracy by a vile bunch of despicable criminals who should be jailed. Go Google it. I can't bare to write about it. I have flipped the bird so often over this past year in particular, I have tendonitis in my middle finger. I am not even kidding. Fucking tendonitis. If for no other reason, I am looking forward to a Biden/Harris administration for the shear radio silence of rampant 3AM insane toilet rage tweeting. The silence will be a GD gift. Oh, and KAMALA HARRIS IS OUR VICE PRESIDENT!!! Holla!!!

And then there is the disgraceful mishandling of the pandemic. 

I started and stopped so many blog posts throughout the past 10 months, mainly in my head, while falling asleep, in the shower, driving wherever. (Man, I miss road trips.) All of those potential posts were much better in all ways, but today is when I am forcing myself to click the keys. Oh well. If there is one thing I had to learn during this GD pandemic is to forgive myself. I mean, just getting from one day to the next was an achievement. I had extra time off from work because of a reduction in on-site staff out of an abundance of caution, and absolutely zero social obligations, and yet I couldn't focus on finishing a sentence, let alone a book or home improvement project.  Plus, add the all-consuming stress of trying to keep Big Mar alive and healthy through the duration of this crisis, and you have me trying (and failing) to keep my shit together.  So, forgive me if this is more than a little scattered.. SQUIRREL! If not, well, fuck off. Now there's the Murray you know and loathe!  😂

But let's back up to January when the world as we knew it still existed. I crossed a personal milestone in January. I marked 60 years on this crazy spinning orb. It was a celebration spanning two weekends, and one of the best birthdays ever. My sisters threw me my first-ever surprise party. Disguised as a regular monthly Card Club meet up (full disclosure: we don't play cards-just eat, drink, and yak incessantly, you know, Book Club without the book), I opened the door to a roomful of lady friends from nearly every facet of my meager life. Family, college, KD, Card Club, concerts, WYEP. All in one room, meeting each other for the first time. The greatest Sisterhood gathering ever! It was magical! I felt so incredibly loved. 

I wore a GDAMN TIARA, MOFOS!

Little did I realize this photo would be the theme of 2020.

The following weekend continued the celebration with axe throwing, bowling, and imbibing with even more friends. FYI, axe throwing ain't easy. Not at all. 

2020 started off so well. I was freakishly happy. 

Then in March the Universe said, "Hold my beer." 

BOOM!!!

Pandemic, Bitch!

And the entire world shut down for months. 

To be honest, I kinda feel somewhat responsible. I mean, I have been hemming and hawing about growing out my hair for at least two years. I think the Universe at large was sick of hearing about my stupid locks, and decided to shut all the shit down so I would shut up and let the follicles flow. I kid. The Universe gives zero fucks about my Medusa hair, although I think I heard it choke on popcorn once when all of my "sparkles" appeared in my snake-headed mop. 

I had so many great plans for 2020. Geo and I were going to embark on a long-talked about two week baseball park trip through the midwest to Dallas and back. I had two trips to the shore planned. I missed the beach so damn much. I had so many great concerts lined up. Concerts. Remember those? Actual live music played out in front of your eager ears, shared with throngs of other like-minded enthusiasts, singing and dancing with abandon. Feels like ages ago. I miss them SO FUCKING MUCH! I only managed to attend two concerts at Club Cafe before the world closed; Wesley Stace on February 3 and Caroline Rose on March 11, two days before the shut down. All of the other shows I had booked were postponed until Fall, then eventually cancelled altogether when it became abundantly clear 'Murica's refusal to take COVID 19 seriously would close all of the arts and sports gatherings until deep into 2021. Thanks, asshats. Normally by December 31 there is a ginormous stack of concert tickets, wine flight tickets, airline tickets on my jewelry box. Proof of a year well lived. Today there are four sad and lonely pieces of paper giving witness to the unprecedented year that was. That's right. I used the ridiculously overused "U" word.

Initially, I couldn't wrap my head around what was happening. The five years of March and April were nothing any of us have ever dealt with before. The isolation, the uncertainty, the lack of solid answers about a virus indiscriminately slaying thousands. The worst by far in that initial lockdown was the suspension of personal contact. I'm a hugger. I like to hug. I miss hugging. 

Some random observations during lockdown:

• Zero cars on the road during rush hour

• The Powerball and Megamillions amounts on the billboard I drive by every day barely rose

• The prevalence of masks dangling from rearview mirrors

• Every day felt like Saturday

• Increased anxiety when approached on the street by someone not wearing a mask. 

This is one of my biggest superficial gripes about the pandemic. I hate that this stupid virus has made me do fucking algebra. "There are two unmasked people walking at different speeds towards each other. Solve for x, which is the time it takes for our paths to intersect and me to kick them square in the GD nards." WEAR YOUR MASKS, ASSHATS!!

But I digress...

I managed to write a small blurb in an unofficial personal journal from April that sums up my feelings at that point.

"I am so sad to put my social life and concert life on hold, but by far, the worst part is the suspension of personal contact. I miss touching my friends when we speak. I miss going to bars for day drinking with my best friends. I miss hugging my friends, our PTL guests, my coworkers, Big Mar, the two little girls next door. And HOLY CRAP I am tired of constantly washing my hands, the groceries, the GD steering wheel in the car. If we had actual adult leadership, we wouldn't be in this extreme circumstance. IF. But this is where we are. We will come through this, hopefully with a better sense of humanity. Hopefully. Some positives from this mess are a renewed sense of family time. For some, it's the first time their families are together without distraction from their overbooked lives. People have been kinder to one another, helping neighbors and strangers alike. There is a deeper appreciation for essential workers who are risking their health, both physical and mental, to do what we all need them to do. Doctors, nurses, aides, EMTs, bus drivers, custodians, postal workers, grocery store staff, restaurant workers, maintenance and utility employees, and yes, journalists on the front lines. These are the real heroes."

Side note: I'm still sick of washing my hands to bleeding, but oddly the mask wearing has become so normal, I forget to remove it sometimes. And now, added bonus, I physically recoil if someone gets too close to me, with or without a mask. I am going to need therapy when this is all said and done. 

Initially, people across the country stood on their porches, opened their windows and cheered for the medical personnel and emergency workers at 7pm every night. It was incredibly moving. People were kinder and gentler towards one another. The absence of human interference allowed the world to begin to reset and heal. There are amazing photos and videos of dolphins and fish visible in the cleaner canals of Venice, crystal clear skies in LA, and images of the Taj Mahal unencumbered by cloaking smog. It was all peace, love, and Kumbaya for months. Humankind got a much needed mulligan. A chance to hit pause, take a breath, and realign priorities for a better approach to life. Surely once restrictions were lifted, things would be better. People would be better, right?

WRONG!

As soon as the strict lockdown was reduced from red to yellow, people started shooting each other again. It's like people spent their three month downtime composing murder lists instead of gratitude lists. It was beyond disappointing. And don't get me started about the selfish, whiny anti-maskers who continue to refuse to wear a fucking piece of cloth to protect their fellow man because it "goes against my civil rights". There were protests wherein armed white men stood on capital steps across the country waving signs that read "My Body My Choice" without one ounce of irony. 

For realz. 

They had that kind of nerve to say that shit. The same stupid ass motherfuckers who are down with the government getting all up in women's vaginas. Yeah. And this went on all year, and is still going on even as the death toll keeps soaring from unmasked super spreader events. It's insane. Wearing a mask isn't even a sacrifice. It's a simple act of love to end the spread of a deadly virus. Period. White people are weak, yo. 

There have been some big positives to come out of this year of madness. The horrendous death of George Floyd and sadly, so many others, at the hands of police have spark the flame of civil unrest and activism in a new generation. The daily protests over the summer shined a light on systemic racism still prevalent in our society. More and more younger people became more and more engaged in the political process to change society. Their actions give me hope for the future progress of our country. And because of the continued health concerns caused by the never-ending pandemic, the entire country offered mail-in voting. It was super easy for everyone EVERYONE to cast a vote from the convenience of their own home. The turnout was historic! Paper ballots = tamper proof from foreign hackers. This is how we should vote always IMHO, especially in the age of the interwebs.  

On a personal note, one of positives from the lockdown was the surge of online performances. Faced with an empty calendar, musicians flocked to online outlets like Facebook, YouTube, and StageIt. These platforms became a lifeline for the artists and fans alike. They have been soul saving. Bands like Low Cut Connie (who should not be missed on Saturdays on FaceBook), Kevin Griffin of Better Than Ezra, Jill Sobule among others have filled the void of live concerts with their interactive shows. The biggest gift for me was Rhett Miller's immediate jump on the StageIt platform. He has mastered the process of playing 4 times a week. Over the course of his 150+ shows, he has played every Old 97's/solo album in its entirety, shared outtakes and unrecorded extras, and told tales of the background and circumstances behind many of the songs. Each show is a gift. They are light, airy, and uber entertaining. The perfect calming distraction from the barrage of angst from a difficult reality. The intimate nature of the platform makes it feel like we're all at the bar, shootin' the shit with Mr. Miller. It has been amazing. 

All I can say is thank Baby Jesus for technology. What would we have done without it? Because of the internet, children are attending school, people are working from home en masse, family and friends are staying connected. For that last one, I am most grateful. Because of this virus, my Old 97's fan friends and I have instituted twice weekly Zoom Happy Hours before Rhett's shows. The number of participants fluctuates between 9 and 15, but the core group is about 10. I have enjoyed these women for years, but the past 10 months have forged a much deeper love and friendship. We have bonded hard, yo! We even became aunts to a litter of 5 kittens born on one of our Wednesday night happy hours seven weeks ago! OMG, kitty cam is the best therapy EVAH!! I love these women and the two lone y chromosomes with every fiber of my pointy heart. 

Last night the hideous dumpster fire, flaming turd of a year that is known as 2020 was kicked to the curb. Thank the Goddesses! We are still in a heap of woes, but there is hope. Hope from not one, but two vaccines. Hope from a new adult, experienced, compassionate administration beginning at noon January 20th. Hope we will be able to gather, laugh, hug each other again in the not-too-distant future. I mean, time became irrelevant in 2020. Every day was Blursday. What's another six months, right? Fare warning to friends and family: when it's truly safe, there will be much hugging, oh, yessireebob there will be! And the hugs will be long and uncomfortable. Prepare yourselves.

Every holiday was weird in 2020. We all had to adapt, but we figured out how to stay connected and celebrate with the ones we loved even if it was over a little wire magically connected to these marvelous devices we had no idea would be so fucking vital to our very existence when the original tech wizards dreamed them up decades ago. 

So thank you again, Steve Jobs and Bill Gates for giving us the opportunity to keep a final annual tradition alive in the year we all agree to never speak of again.

                                        BUH-BYE YOU RAT BASTARD OF A YEAR

Please don't kick us in the collective nuts, 2021. We'll bake you sour dough bread. 💖

Til Death Do Us Part

Okay, so it's been quite awhile since I roamed through this abandoned fortress of a blog space.

Jebus, the dust bunnies are the size of Volkswagens in here!! I'm going to need an industrial-sized shop vac to suck up all the dust, debris, and monster-sized arachnids lounging on the couch, binge-watching Judge Judy. GODDAMN those eight-legged freaks are fucking slobs, leaving popcorn and Reese's wrappers all of the floor. I should probably just go ahead and firebomb the entire place, coz they don't look like they're going to play along with this here eviction notice in my sweaty paw, or be repelled by the overuse of hyphenated wording.

Jerks.

Anywho...

Hey. How have you been?

Me? I've been kinda messed up. There have been times in the past two years I started to write, only to find myself mentally incapacitated. Seems I allowed some humans to take the wind out of my penning sails, and that's just plain fucked up, yo. It's totally my fault. I'm a grown-ass adult. (There's that dang hyphen again!) Ain't nobody gonna tell me what to do, except for the last couple years, apparently. I call bullshit on MYSELF for getting sucked into the vortex of self doubt, self pity, self serve line at the grocery store. And don't even get me started on that motherfucker, 45*!

But that is all behind me. I guess. Maybe. I don't know. Quit looking at me with that raised eyebrow. I'm getting there. I'm a work in progress, dammit! Baby steps. Y'all (read: the two of you) were probably happy for the respite anyway. But enough of this BS. Onward, mofos!

SHUT UP, LUMBERGH! I'M TRYING!!

So anyway, here's my happy return to the blogosphere.
yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.


I murdered my beloved Rita.

For those of you unaware, Rita is my darling red Pontiac Vibe(rator). She is the great mechanical love of my life. She is, hands down, the perfect vehicle; nary an issue, reliable to the nth degree, low to zero maintenance, care free. She exudes happiness, elan, and a verve with every atom of her ruby exterior. She is my 4-wheeled soul mate. As the great Katherine Hepburn says in The Philadelphia Story, she is yar.

And I paid her back by slaughtering her on a suburban street.

Ford Escape: 1
Rita: last rites

I'm so sorry, my love

I'm one of those weirdos who gets attached to cars, and boy, was I attached to Rita. She was amazing. For example, her bumpers were sublime. On more than one occasion, there was a minor altercation wherein the other car had visible damage, but Rita was virtually unscathed. She was a fucking tank!

Except for yesterday.

Yesterday there were many tears.

And gnashing of teeth at my unfathomable stupidity.

I cried real tears when I said goodbye to her. Sure, she's not technically deceased. The insurance adjuster hasn't called the time of death yet, but, look at her. She's pretty much flatlined on life support.



For over 12 years Rita and I had countless adventures together. She was my faithful steed when my love for Rhett and the Old 97's bloomed. Geo and I traveled all over the east coast for Rhett Miller/Francis Dunnery weekend shows. We hit up countless house concerts, private parties, beach trips... Man, could we pack a shit ton of crap in her hatch.

Some of my favorite band road trips with Steph and Leslie were played out behind the wheel of my little sassy, ginger angel. Rochester, City Winery, The Rubin Museum, a blisteringly hot three day 97's road trip to DC, Richmond and Baltimore...

Besides those whom I hold precious, i.e., Geo, Big Mar, my sisters, and my closest friends; some AMAZEBALLS butts have sat in Rita. I used to joke to Geo I could never part with her because the phenomenal talent I have shuttled about in this car is too spectacular to leave behind. No pun intended, mostly.

Here's a list of famous butts who have warmed the seats:

1. Modern day Renaissance man and friend, Francis Dunnery.

the king of hugs and cusses

I had the honor of driving him to breakfast after his only Pittsburgh TV appearance.

As soon as he closed the door to my car, he let loose with a string of every curse word imaginable, let out a big sigh and declared "That's better. I haven't f*cking swore in 20 f*cking minutes!?! Right. Let's go."

He is my swearing spirit animal.



2. Noted YA author and king of all things YouTube and Vidcon, John Green.

in the so-called green room of the Special K

He and I had an incredible conversation on the drive from his hotel in Oakland to downtown where he was a guest on PTL (Jesus Loves You) one year before The Fault in Our Stars was released, and his popularity exploded to quantum proportions. We were his very first television appearance. Now he is a regular guest on legit, big ass, network morning programs. I doubt I will ever have this unique, intimate opportunity again. Ever.



3. Three quarters of the Old 97's.

Murry, Ken and Philip have permitted me the honor of transporting them to and from dinner, the radio station, the airport. Murry has since become a friend and frequent passenger. It is a rare treat to cart Ken and Philip around. One time Leslie and I picked Ken up in front of a magic shop in the South Side after he did his laundry. Those particular Ken stories were hilarious. The blue-eyed one is the lone missing member to make an impression on Rita's front seat. Alas, his inclusion shall never come to pass.

you see him sitting on that hill.
he's bummed he missed the chance to ride with me.
maybe our next car, bud.

4 & 5.  Brian Rosenworcel and Ryan Miller of Guster.

OMG. My friend, Lizzie and I got to spend the BEST SNOW DAY EVER with Guster. I chauffeured Brian and Ryan in my car to search for a suitable dumpster, while she had Adam, Luke and their merch guy in hers. What a crazy, fun day! The recounting of that day is one of the last posts I wrote before I abandoned ship. They are the best!


Do you see why I'm so crestfallen about losing Rita? So many great memories packed in that little red compact car. I'm seriously contemplating having the front passenger seat turned into a chair for the living room. No shit.

Fingers crossed there will be repeat visits from these talented gentlemen in whatever model of transport we choose to follow in Rita's tire treads. They all have an open invitation to ride, in perpetuity. I fear John Green is a goner, though. Who knows who else will find passage in the comfort of our new front bucket seat.


Farewell, my lovely Rita. Rest in peace, my sassy, sprightly, unshakable mechanical sidekick. Thank you for a dozen years of enchanting exploits. You will be forever missed.

In Which We Celebrate Life And Loss

Back in September, my siblings and I pulled off the greatest surprise EVER. Our beloved Big Mar was turning 95 on the 25th, and we decided to have a big party for her because SHE WAS GOING TO BE 95!!

You can't drag your feet on that shit.

Anyway, my ever-loving, thoughtful Geo declared my Mum's last remaining sister, Elsie should be, nay, NEEDED to be there to celebrate this incredible milestone with her big sister. When I called to ask my 92 year old Aunt if she would be willing to travel to Pittsburgh to surprise Big Mar, she immediately said yes and cried. She had been wracking her brain trying to figure out how she could get to see her sister for perhaps the last time. You see, the sisters Bossola talk to each other every week, but have only seen each other in person three times over the past 10 years, the last time being two years ago when we Pelino sisters took our Mum to Aunt Elsie's on a trip dubbed the Traveling Sisterhood.

the bond of sisterhood is strong with these two

When we left her standing at her back porch waving us goodbye as we drove away, we all felt the weight of the elephant in the room, or car, as it were. This might be the last time they would see each other. I have three sisters, and I can't even begin to fathom the idea that some day will be the last day I see any one of my siblings. How do you even process that? But at 93 and 90, respectively, that was their cold, hard reality.

So, we plotted and planned behind Big Mar's back to execute Operation: Surprise Big Mar. The plan was for me to secretly fly to Midway, get a car, drive west to Geneseo, pick up Aunt Elsie, drive back to Midway, fly to Pittsburgh and stow her at my sister's house until the next morning wherein Elsie would casually walk into my Mum's dining room for the big surprise.

For over a month, EVERYONE had strict orders NOT to slip up and give anything away to Big Mar. Every time I spoke to anyone in on our caper, I reiterated for them to KEEP THEIR GDAMN TRAP SHUT! Like, I-will-slice-you-in-two-if-you-spoil-this-thing level threats. Seriously, I will cause you un-fucking-fathomable harm if you spill it. Worked like a charm. Except for one person. The biggest asshat in the group--

ME!!!

GDammit, if I wasn't the one who blabbed to her. You know, all casual-like on the phone.

Big Mar: What should I make for dinner for everyone on Friday night? Should I make a big lasagne?

Asshat Child #5: Don't worry about dinner Friday, Mum. We're all going out and the cousins are taking you and Aunt Elsie out to dinner....
*punches self in face super fucking hard*

Big Mar: What, honey?

GinormoAsshat: Mish and Terri are taking you to dinner while we're out.
*sweet baby jesus! please say she didn't hear me*

Big Mar: Oh, okay. That will be nice.


Whew! So yeah, dodged that bullet. For once I was thankful for her compromised hearing.

The day finally came to retrieve my Aunt. It was one, long-ass day for me. I was gone from 4am to 10:30pm. I got to see a beautiful sunrise and sunset at Midway, and in between I got to spend some quality time with my vivacious, remarkable, spunky Aunt.

Good morning, Chicago sunrise!
where's my GD coffee

13 hours later...
i'm just going to close my eyes for a secon..zzzzz

you had one job antique shop. ONE.
#labelingfail

We shopped, we ate, she told stories on our long drive back to the airport. And I gotta tell you, she was like the energizer bunny. At 92, she was keeping up with me pace for pace. She had no trouble climbing in and out of the shuttle or walking through the airport. I honestly kept forgetting she was 92! She was amazing! What a joy.

And then the next morning this happened...

Mission Accomplished

Wait. There's something wrong with my eye. Salty fluids keep gushing out.

I posted the video to the Interwebs immediately, as one does in the 21st century of self involvement (my new band name), which sent my social media peeps weeping. I mean, C'MON! How could anyone, whether you know these two women or not, not shed tears of happiness while watching their reunion?

Hooka, please! Pass the Kleenex.

two inspiring ladies

just two fabulous old broads catching up

The entire celebration weekend went off without a hitch. So much love, joy and laughter. Outside of our one cousin who recently moved to South Carolina, everyone on the Bossola side of the family got to visit with Elsie. We couldn't have asked for more.

And Big Mar...

she could not have been any happier, surrounded by all those she holds dear and who love her back, including her little sister.

Miss Datable
What! What!

the outrage is real, mofo

the golden girls

la familia

the entire rag-tag lot of us

Before you knew it, the weekend was over. Tearful, heartfelt goodbyes and lingering hugs were exchanged between the stoic sisters. Geo and I packed our dynamo of an aunt into our car and set off for Illinois.

traveling through land as flat as the Ohio "A"
oh, and corn 

oh hey, more corn

what a surprise...
corn

We offered to break up the 600 mile journey into two days, but Aunt Elsie wouldn't hear of it. Over the course of 10 hours, passing corn field after corn field after corn field in the flat lands of America, Elsie regaled us with the story of her life. And what a life it was. Joining the Marines at 20, meeting and marrying her husband (a marine himself) within two week's time, living in Japan and California, and finally settling in her husband's quaint hometown of Geneseo, Illinois.

She had three passions: her husband, golf and ballroom dance. She and my uncle met at a military dance and basically never stopped. Dancing was there favorite pastime. They'd don their fanciest clothes, she'd put on her favorite heels, and off they'd go to swing, jitterbug and waltz the night away.

all dolled up for a night on the town

I mean, look at them. So stylish in their finery. They were so happy together. They were unable to have children, but they had each other. And a couple of cats to fawn over. Life was good.

there's always time to dance while the steaks are cooking
I adore this photo.
to me, this sums up their relationship

Geo and I had a blast tooling around the boutiques, tchotchke shops and artist markets of Geneseo with my Aunt. Everywhere we went, Aunt Elsie told the clerks how we took her to Pittsburgh for her sister's birthday. She gushed about the party and her visit to everyone who would listen. I gotta tell you, it felt good having brought her so much joy with our little birthday scheme. Our spirits were as lifted as hers.

The next morning, after a full farmer's breakfast, many tears were shed by all three of us as we hugged and kissed goodbye.

with Miss Spunk, 2016

a tearful goodbye 

The last image we have of Aunt Elsie is her arm waving to us out of the window of her sparkling, white 25 year old Chrysler as we embarked on our long journey east.


And now she's gone.

And now this gets really difficult to write.


Less than two months after Big Mar's party, Aunt Elsie was hospitalized for congestive heart failure. She was retaining fluid around her heart. When we traveled to Pittsburgh in September, she and I talked at length about her need for valve replacement surgery similar to the one my Mum had the prior December. The surgery had improved Big Mar's life tremendously. There was no reason why my hail and hearty Aunt would not have a positive outcome as well.

But Life had other plans.

For the first time ever, she was tied to oxygen and a walker to get around. A quick succession of falls took away her courage and independence. Too fearful to stay in her house, she moved into an assisted living facility with the intention of moving into an apartment once she recovered from her valve replacement.

But she never got strong enough physically to have her surgery.

By mid-December, she decided she had enough of hospitals and needles and being bed-ridden, and chose to call it a day. She was ready to wrap up her life and go be with her husband again. As much as I didn't want her to stop fighting, I gotta respect her decision. She stepped off this mortal coil on her own terms. There's some comfort knowing we all have a modicum of control when it comes to the end of our time on this crazy planet. My sisters and I were able to talk to her on the phone and tell her we loved her the day before she died. Big Mar never got through to her for one last chat. I don't know. Perhaps it's best that way. She gets to remember her voice strong and feisty.


I still can't wrap my head around her death. The rapid decline of a woman so vivacious, vital and healthy is unimaginable to me. For Christ's sake, at 92 years old she was still washing her windows and walls twice a year!! Her trip in September is made all the more precious by her absence now. Her visit was a gift to us all. She accomplished what she set out to do, that is, spend time with her family and big sister one last time. Maybe that's why she cried when Geo and I left her in September. Maybe subconsciously she knew that was our swan song.

None of us were able to make the trek west for her funeral. The weather was too unsettled and there was no way we were going to risk Big Mar's health in the vast mid-west winter. To be honest, I didn't want to go. I want to hang on to the memory of my spirited aunt from her September visit and replay the above video over and over again.

I'm going to miss my vibrant Aunt. We were just getting to know each other better. Life is a right-royal bitch sometimes, but you know what? I'm happy for her. She lived a rich, full life chock-full of love, laughter and friendship. And now she's back with her beloved husband; young and beautiful and dancing her heart out in her favorite high heels.

Godspeed, Aunt Elsie. The grace with which you lived your life, especially the latter part is an inspiration. May your dance hall never close.
xoxoxoxo