OK, we’ve reached the last day of 2025. It was certainly not the year I had hoped for when I worked on the 2024 election. Let’s face it, a full year of Trump 2.0 has been devastating. Ain’t no way to sugarcoat that. And we’re only 25% done with the senile tangerine rapist’s second term.
But I’m going to look back on non-political memories of 2025 and post 12 photos (one from each month). I double-checked that these are all photos I haven’t previously posted. No more Ireland pics I promise!
January—We lit a fire in our fireplace and I made a truly top notch s’more.
February—a black and white butterfly in the Key West Nature Conservatory
March—a hauntingly beautiful self-portrait by Vincent Van Gogh at Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts. This one was painted around the time he was hospitalized for severe mental illness.
April—my driveway on April 12. This is the only major problem with Massachusetts…winter lasts forever.
May—a chilly and misty weekend in Portland, Maine with my dear friend Gail who turned 60 about a month before I did. Who knew cruise ships stopped in Portland?
June—For my birthday, my dear friend Susan took me on a “Karen Read” tour of our old hometown (Canton, MA), which was the epicenter of the Karen Read Murder Trial in 2025. Here she is in front of the infamous Waterfall Restaurant, where we had lunch. (IYKYK)
July—I went to a very elegant wedding in the Boston Public Library and my dress matched the library gates. It is hereafter known as “the wrought iron gate dress.” August—my son, husband and me on a Boston Harbor cruise in late August. It was already getting chilly at night be then, but at least that meant I got to wear my new wool sweater from Ireland.September—my granddaughter turned one that month. I love her and her wonderful mommy so much. 💕October—Monthly flower arrangement from BloomsyBox
November—I went to a wonderful concert in Boston’s Symphony Hall with my dear friend Eileen who absolutely HATES to be in photographs. I’ve never seen anyone refuse to smile for a camera like Eileen. We had a great time up there in the second balcony.
December—We had the most wonderful Christmas with this darling girl.
Wishing everyone a Happy New Year’s Eve. Our plan is to go to the movies to see Wicked Part 2. I’m a Wicked fan, but we haven’t seen Part 2 yet due to The Knee. Hopefully this first foray back to the movies will go well.
OK, I’m back in a good mood now. I had a lovely Christmas Eve.
I felt profound gratitude for four things last night:
1) I have a good son. Mothers of good sons, you know what I mean! Last night my son drove me to church for choir practice and came back an hour later to sit with me during the service, which was especially meaningful as my husband couldn’t make it to church this year due to his knee surgery. My son offers his arm when we walk through icy parking lots together. ❤️
2) SINGING: I just love it. Especially on Christmas Eve at our beautiful candlelight service.
My church on Christmas Eve
3) My husband felt well enough to go out to dinner with us after church. It was his first time in a restaurant since his surgery a month ago.
4) A negative mammogram. Ladies, you know how good that feels. Even if you’ve never had breast cancer, we all have friends or family members who have had it. (I got my results on Christmas Eve at 10pm.)
And now we await the arrival of our “celebrity guest” (as my son is calling her)—my precious one-year old granddaughter and her parents.
My husband preparing his famous Lasagna Bolognese with an ice pack strapped to his new knee
I’m sad about Rob Reiner and Michele Singer being murdered by their drug-addicted son.
I mostly feel badly for their other three adult children.
I have no idea what went on in this family, but I can relate to the situation of having a sibling for whom life is considered “more difficult” and is therefore indulged and supported endlessly—especially financially.
In my opinion, parents of adult children should keep careful track of how much money they give to each adult child. They should also consider the huge and selfless undertaking of raising children (aka their grandchildren) when sharing their resources.
If one adult child is allowed to act like a teenager into adulthood (aka Peter Pan Syndrome), you’re going to have problems.
Equity matters. Sometimes tough love is required. Never ask a healthy, functioning adult child to get involved in their sibling’s problems. (That’s up to them, if they want to do that.)
Having multiple children is a choice. Siblings may or may not get along later in life. One way you can increase your chances of family harmony is to expect adult behavior from adults. And keep track of how much financial support you provide each adult child. This may sound cold and calculating, but it can help you see things more clearly, when needed.
27-year old orphan Romy Reiner with her late father Rob. This poor girl found her parents’ bodies and had to name her brother as the killer. How did it get to that point? What choices were made?
I’m afraid the 2025 holiday season will be forever remembered as the “Year of the Knee.” Arthroplasty is rough, people. My husband is doing OK, but the pain is quite brutal. Thank goodness for opioids. I honestly don’t know how anyone gets through this without a partner. (I know they can and do, but it would be really hard.) Outpatient PT has started and now I get why folks call the PTs “Physical Terrorists.”
But on to happier things…
I have been enjoying looking at the lovely, happy holiday posts and photos from Scillagrace and others.
Last year was such a special Christmas because we had my brand new baby granddaughter—so perfect in every way. After the sting of the horrible election in November 2024, she gave me so much hope. She was—and is—a miracle. All babies are. I thank my wonderful daughter for the greatest gift of all last Christmas. Infants are pure love, pure light, pure joy.
My granddaughter and me last December Our tree last year The new mom managed to decorate—and even bake—last year. Hand-dipped and decorated Oreo cookie ballsWhite roses for Christmas last yearI got Christmas “crackers” from the British imports store and did special napkin folding last year.
I hope everyone can find some way to enjoy the season this year, despite whatever pain or hardships burden you. I recommend watching Sweden’s National Santa Lucia Day broadcast this Saturday, December 13. It’s always such a beautiful celebration of light in the darkness, with gorgeous choral music—including young children singing in tune. It’s typically available on YouTube the same day.
December Rx:
Music, lights, babies (if you can’t get your hands on a baby, watching young children sing is a good substitute)
165 Congress Street in Portland is a John Calvin Stevens building. Stevens (1855-1940) was Portland’s most prolific architect. He was known for Shingle-style and Colonial Revival designs.
My son and I took a trip to Portland in July 2021, when he was a 20-year old college student. We rented an AirBnB in the historic Munjoy Hill neighborhood of Portland (which is where these cool indigo doors are located). We had a nice time walking around, eating, and shopping. We also went to the outlets in Freeport, Maine and got a bunch of clothes.
A lot of mothers say that it’s hard to stay close to adult sons once they get busy with their own families and careers. I hope that doesn’t happen to us. My son turns 25 next week. My baby. We’ve got a shopping trip planned for next Friday.
This is the pic that came up today when I searched the ginormous folder on my computer for a “door.”
There was no geographic info in the file name or photo data. All I know is that it was taken with my old Canon PowerShot camera in June 2011 and that the two kids on the balcony are mine.
I had no recollection of this moment, but Google Lens figured out the location (amazing). It’s downtown Winchester, Massachusetts (my husband’s hometown). My father-in-law was alive and still living there at the time, so it makes sense.
It’s an area now called “Winchester Terrace.” AI found this photo on Apartments.com that shows the exact spot:
At the top of the staircase on the right is the spot I posed my kids in 2011.
This discovery sparked a memory of my very dear father-in-law—“Nonno” to my kids.
He was most the wonderful man who enjoyed life’s small moments like no other. Martini time, a beautiful operatic aria, an excellent meal, a grandchild’s kiss (he called it a “buzz”), a friendly joke with a stranger (especially waitresses!), and random bits of foreign languages sprinkled into any conversation. He always made me feel like the most amazing, interesting, gorgeous woman who ever lived. A true charmer. He lived well into his 90s.
Yesterday was the last week of my 8-week class called “Loosen up with Watercolors” at our local (amazing) community arts center.
Against advice from the teacher, I attempted to paint a portrait of someone I know and love: my granddaughter. The reference photo (taken by my daughter) was from last summer when my granddaughter was 9 months old. (She’s walking now!)
I had the idea to use wine bottle webbing in the background for her playpen siding.
I had fun doing this, but I get why the teacher said not to paint family members as a total beginner. You’re too attached to the subject!
I want to learn how to make smooth skin tones, but I was too afraid to experiment on her adorable little face. I will try a stranger again next time, like that random chef from a magazine, which was my first ever watercolor portrait.
I read this article about a woman’s harrowing coming-of-age in Franco’s Spain and it triggered memories of a trip to Madrid I took with my parents in 1984 or 85—less than a decade after the end of the authoritarian Franco regime, which had lasted 36 years.
I cannot find a SINGLE photo from that trip, but I know it really happened. (Someday, if I find photos in my parents’ house, I will add them to this post.)
Here’s what I remember:
My father was in the process of selling his small company to a British company and had to go to London on business, so he took my mother and me with him. This was my first trip to Europe, so they wanted to visit one other city while we were over there and they randomly chose post-Franco Madrid. (For some reason, my sister did not come. She stayed home with the family dog who fell into the foundation of an unbuilt house and died while we were away.)
Of London, I remember only some heinously spicy Indian food, other bad food, and cream being poured on everything.
Here’s my very hazy memory of Madrid.
It was dark and dirty. We ate extremely late in the evening in smoke-filled restaurants. My parents spoke no Spanish, but still rented a car and drove up a one-way street the wrong way. A cop pulled us over and somehow it was communicated that he would take cash in lieu of giving my father a ticket.
We went to The Prado Museum and I looked at lots of dark paintings.
“David With The Head of Goliath” by Caravaggio (c1600) has been in The Prado forever. I feel like I remember seeing it there. So gruesome.
We visited Toledo, which is outside of Madrid, and I got a piece of their signature jewelry, which is also dark. They make it with black steel. I no longer have the piece, but it looked something like this.
And that’s it. That’s all I remember. The lack of photos doesn’t help.
Back to the BBC article about that poor young woman whose parents turned her over to the authorities and suffered the cruelest treatment imaginable during the Franco regime. I can’t imagine how she (or her daughter) carried on any type of relationship with her ultra conservative Catholic parents after that. The gall of that 90-year old grandfather saying “we suffered a lot too” is outrageous. I noticed the word “forgiveness” is not used.
Thursday will mark 50 years since Franco’s death. Spain has since seen a revolution in women’s rights – but survivors of the Patronato are still waiting for answers and are now demanding an inquiry.
If someone asked me yesterday if I’d ever been to Sacramento, the capital of California, I would’ve said no.
But I was wrong. My high school friend Susan and I took our 11-year old sons on an epic Northern California road trip in the summer of 2012 and stopped at the famous Squeeze Burger (formerly Squeeze Inn) in Sacramento. We were on our way to her house in Lake Tahoe from Oakland.
Upon further research, I found pictures of the famous cheese-skirted burgers online, which look familiar.
We were in the second Sacramento location (now closed), which featured the original tiny Sacramento storefront as a booth in the restaurant. Perfect for two boys traveling with their moms.
This is why pictures matter people. By the time you hit 60, you will not remember half the stuff you did in your life.
My college in Hartford, Connecticut had a spectacular gothic chapel on the quad. So Hogwarts! We were not an Ivy League school, but with that chapel on the quad—and scores of rich classmates from the snootiest boarding schools on the Eastern Seaboard—we could pretend we were. A couple of my more diligent classmates were able to transfer to Ivy League schools after freshmen year, but most of us just stayed and partied in Hartford.
My daughter had absolutely no interest in attending a small, private liberal arts college, but we did stop by one day when we were passing through the area. And the chapel still looked gorgeous.
My daughter in front of my college’s chapel doors in 2013.
The same doors as seen through an arch on the day of my graduation in 1987.
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