Look, There’s a Cardinal

On March 3, 2016February 3, 2021 By Peggy BereIn Musings18 Comments

I’ve always loved the snow. I’ve written about winter many times and by now you should have a pretty good idea that it is by far my favorite season of the year. I’m not sure why it so gently pulls on my heart-strings but when I see the snow falling to the ground it always takes me back to a time long ago. My childhood.

Growing up in South Bend, IN, there was always an abundance of snow from November through February. Sometimes even into March. The snow was always piled high everywhere you went. It lined the streets and highways, which back then were mainly two-laned. It covered bushes and tree branches and lined yards throughout our neighborhood. Which in the winter would morph into a snowy blanket of soft white. A true winter wonderland.

It’s the beginning of March. March 3rd. As I sit in my cozy, warm kitchen looking out through the ceiling to floor window lined walls that surround me, snow if gently falling to the ground. It’s a very light snowfall. A snowfall that movies are made of. The ground is already blanketed and the grass is covered. So, the snow falling now is the icing on the cake.

As I look out at it and write, something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. I turn to look at the tall evergreens that line the entire side of our yard and spot a bright red cardinal. It spot’s my movement as I walk over to the glass door. I stand there for a moment and look at it. Soaking in its beauty. It turns its head and from where I stand, it seems to be looking back at me. paralyzed. Both of us are completely still. We continue to spy each other for a few moments. And then, just like that, it fly’s off. I watch it as it quickly streaks through the sky. Over the top of the neighboring homes. Over the tops of the trees. Into the sky. And then just like that, it’s gone again.

It’s been said that when you see a cardinal, it’s a sign of someone you’ve loved and lost coming back to visit you. Last month marked two years since I lost my beautiful mom. Taken from us all so suddenly and too soon. I’ve written about her Here and Here. And, she’s sprinkled all throughout my blog.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her and miss her. She was the reason I started to write. Well, one of the reasons. My dear friend Bonnie, who I wrote about Here – was the person who encouraged me to start writing. But it was my mom who was my biggest cheerleader. She would say to me, “Peggy, you need to write a book. I’ll be your publicist!” And then we’d laugh about it together. Over the phone. If it was in the morning, we’d laugh together while on the phone and chat over a pot of coffee. If it was in the evening, we’d spend our long distance time together over the phone, both with wine in hand.

She was such a treasure to me. I realize that not everyone in this world is blessed to have a true friendship with their family, but I was given the special blessing of camaraderie with my Mom. We had a very special bond. I miss her deeply.

So, the red cardinal came to visit me today. As we sat there, frozen in time, looking at one another, I could hear the distant voice in my heart of my mom speaking to me – “Peggy, here’s that beautiful snowfall you love so much.”

Out There In The Forest

On March 2, 2016February 3, 2021 By Peggy BereIn Musings17 Comments

Last year, just about this time, I surprised Clark with a puppy. It was a spur of the moment decision on my part to go out and get him (against the wishes of my dear, sweet hubs.) I saw no reason not to adopt a four-legged, fury friend into the family. My hubs could think of many reasons to just keep things they way they were. In the end, I decided to just go against his reasoning and take the plunge. So, I went out and adopted Duncan, our adorable 12 month old Puggle. And for that reason, I take full responsibility of my faithful companion.

Now nothing makes Duncan’s tail wag faster than knowing he is going for a car ride. If the destination at the end of that ride is anywhere near a park or woods, he is in heaven.

One of the most appealing things about living in Palos Park is that you are centered amid the forest preserves of Cook County. There are acres and acres of recreational land and open space where millions of visitors and residents alike can take advantage of hiking, biking, fishing, canoeing or simply relaxing and taking in the wonders of nature. And, spending time with their dogs on walks or hikes.

My youngest son, Brian, has been trying to convince me for the past 6 months that the preserves are by far a better place to go with Duncan than just taking him on our usual walks around the neighborhood. I’ve been reluctant to heed his advice because frankly, I’m with the little pooch all day long and have come to learn about his deep streak of stubbornness. In short, we have trust issues. I’m not so sure he’d stick close to me or would come if he got too far away and I called him.

Now, this past week, it was unusually warm for this time of year. I found myself standing at the sliding glass door looking out over what I had hoped was the end of the frigid, Chicago weather. It was gorgeous outside. The sky was clear blue. I looked down at my puppy who was sitting next to my feet, looking back and forth between his outdoor playground and up at me. His tail would wag every time our eyes met. It was as if he was speaking to me through his big brown eyes. In the back of my mind I could hear my son’s voice – “take him to the woods.”

And so, I did.

I changed into my hiking boot and grabbed his leash and off we went. He bounded into the backseat of the car as if he knew where we were going. His tail was wagging furiously as he pranced from one window to the other, back and forth, all the way until we got to our destination.

When we pulled into one of Palos Park’s many beautiful forest preserves, I parked the car and grabbed his leash. I held it in my hand rather than attaching it to his collar, as Brian had encouraged, opened the back door of the car and out Duncan bound. He stayed close by my side, walking briskly through the parking lot and over the attached opened field, his nose to the ground the entire way – sniffing as if his life depended on it.

We took the path that wound along the tree line as far as we could see. It eventually disappeared into the woods – and so did we. And here, this was the spot that Duncan felt free. He started to run. He ran along the ravine, jumping over felled trees and their stumps and through the thick patches of roots and brush. I was walking at a brick pace behind him. He’d get just so far ahead of me, stop to look and make sure I was still there, and then wait for me. As I would catch up, he’d begin this routine again. He’d race down hills and then back up again, huffing and puffing and panting. Always keeping his eye on me to make sure I was there.

I was amazed! I Loved it! And, I knew he did too. It was beautiful out and so peaceful in the woods. There were leaves matted all along the forest floor and winding trickles of streams. If you stopped and listened carefully, you could hear the sounds of forest life all around you. I felt invigorated! And, Alive! And like, Pioneer Woman! Yes! I was keeping up and hiking deep into the forest and through muddy underbrush – (very unlike me!) I quickly discovered that I loved this part of Palos and wandering freely all through this peaceful, beautiful setting. It was a glorious afternoon.

Soon it was time to turn around and head back. So we did. Back along the ravines and the hills. Back over the felled trees and muddy earth. Duncan led the way, I followed.

When we got back to the car, he hopped up into the front seat as if he felt he had somehow earned that place today. I walked around to my side of the car, got in, opened up the windows of the stuffy car, turned on the ignition and slowly pulled out of the parking lot. We were hot and dirty. My shoes had mud on them. He had dirt all over his fur. And, I was sorry to see our time in the woods come to an end. It had been such a great first experience together out there.

I looked over at Duncan. He was standing sideways on the passenger seat, head sticking out the half-opened window. His ears were flying back in the wind. His big gummy lips were flapping in the breeze. His tail was wagging.

I smiled to myself as we headed down the road towards home. I thought back to the time one year ago almost to the day when I went against Clark’s wishes and brought home our new family member. I knew deep in my heart that my decision was the best one. And, Nope, not a single day had gone by since that decision where either of us have regretted adding him to our family tree.

Santa Fe

On October 20, 2015October 20, 2015 By Peggy BereIn Musings9 Comments

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Ask anyone who has ever traveled to Santa Fe, New Mexico and you’ll get the same response – It’s a dream come true. My adventurous hubs, Clark, and I had the opportunity to travel to this lovely southwestern city in September and within hours of our arrival, it was easy to see that Santa Fe could have earned it’s state’s nickname – ‘the land of enchantment’ – all by itself.

This beautiful New Mexico city is both the oldest and highest capital city in the US. It’s special in that the area is a gorgeous combination of both mountains and desert. It’s population of approximately 70,000 residents, is small by comparison to other U.S. state capitals, but extremely rich in native American culture and history.

Santa Fe is known for its art scene, which is the 3rd largest in the U.S. by sales. It is home to the 20th century American artist Georgia O’Keeffe and the Georgia O’Keeffe museum where you can see her accomplished works. You’ll find talented artists by the hundreds all around its charming downtown square, up and down the lovely boutique filled streets and especially on its famous Canyon Road which is dotted with one gallery after another.

This winsome city is nestled amidst the Sangre de Cristo mountains. This combined with the striking Adobe architecture makes for delightful and breathtaking sceneries. It’s beauty surrounds you in every direction.

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With a large selection of amazing restaurants to choose from for dining, it’s no surprise that this city earns a top ranking among foodies. Geronimo’s on Canyon Road is rated #1 among many of the locals and tourists alike as well as being named in the top 100 restaurants in the U.S. It’s thick adobe walls, Kiva Fireplaces and wood beams which surround you make it warm and inviting. Executive Chef/Partner Eric DiStefano and Chef de Cusine Sllin Cruz create a wonderfully eclectic menu which changes seasonally. Additionally, this Southwestern city’s food scene is probably best known for the fire-roasted green chili. We were there at the peak of the chili season and saw it pop up on everything from your dinner rolls to the top of your cheeseburger and even on your breakfast burritos’ – a popular breakfast choice for locals.

Santa Fe’s beauty and endless list of activities makes it a top tourist destination in the U.S. This fabulous city offers everything from hiking to museums as well as wine tours, shopping and art. It has something for everyone and is a great destination for families. I highly recommend that this ‘land of enchantment’ be put on everyone’s bucket list.

I carry my stain stick with me – Im officially my mother.

On October 17, 2015October 17, 2015 By Peggy BereIn Musings35 Comments

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We’ve been told all our lives that the day would come. The day when we will officially turn into our Moms. It’s universal. It’s a mysterious phenomenon that can not be avoided and can not be controlled. One day you wake up and bam! – You can’t keep your kids names straight, you remind people to grab a jacket before leaving the house and you’ve become a bit more judgmental. *You’re going to wear that?*

I noticed the change slowly. I shrugged off the first few warnings, thinking it was just paranoia. I brushed off the comments when people started saying I looked so much like her. I ignored the first few signs, thinking they were just coincidences. A little similarity here and there. A comment about turning this car around, which I swore I’d never utter. The gestures. The mannerisms. All the little things. I’d catch myself standing with my hands on my hips, with a “because I said so” attitude all over the place. I chalked it up to a bad day, while in the back of my mind a quiet voice whispered to me, Good Lord, it’s happening.

I’ve noticed recently that I’m prone to spilling little bits of my lunch or dinner on my shirt. Something my Mom was famous for. It happens most when Clark is with me. “You’ve got a big blob of something on your shirt” I got tired of today’s young food servers staring dumbfounded at me, a look of confusion on their little freckled faces when I asked for a small glass of soda water to dab on my spill. So, I’ve started carrying stain sticks around in my purse. That’s right. I admit it. I carry stain sticks. Oh, I’ve seen older men just eat with a napkin tucked in around their neck to catch the spillage, like a big adult sized bib, but I think I’m a few years away from that yet.

The metamorphism has taken place slowly. Suddenly, running three errands to three different stores in a single day is exhausting. It’s just too much. And, I run the errands early because I feel the need to be home by 4:00 to start thinking about dinner. (By the time Clark gets home from work, I’ve usually got the restaurant all picked out. Hurray!!) It’s not that we don’t have enough food in the house to cook a dinner. No, we have plenty of food. After-all, I’ve started to stock up on things (just like my mom did) because if a storm or inclement weather is predicted, God forbid we don’t have enough tuna in the house. Or, frozen bread. My mom stocked up on things because there was a big sale she could not pass up – even if it was for something she never used. I’m on the lookout for that habit to start creeping into my everyday happenings.

So, why is it that our biggest fear in life is that we’re turning into our mothers? As a young girl, it’s a dream to be just like your mom. But, as you grow older it’s more like every woman’s nightmare. No matter how amazing our moms are, (and let’s face it, they truly are amazing) there is something scary about turning into them.

But, is it truly the fear of turning into them that has us all tied up in knots? Or, could it be the acknowledgment that we’re simply getting older. We suddenly start to walk into rooms and completely forget why we went there in the first place. *what was I looking for?* Our tolerance for alcohol started to diminish. It’s that second Cabernet or Martini that always puts me over the edge. (But what harm’s a little cockie now and then?) We shut the drapes at dusk so we can get into our jammies and be comfy and we get up at the crack of dawn declaring ourselves “morning people” when in reality, we are just getting older and need less sleep. We start to choose to stay in on weekend nights rather than go out and when we do go out, we go close to home.

So, have Mom’s been getting a bad rap all these years? Are we really so opposed to “becoming” the women who raised us and nurtured us and guided us through everything we know about life?

They were there for us when puberty turned us ugly and hostile. They stood by us when we resented their very beings and didn’t hold anything against us when we came out on the other side and became human again. And, as we grew into adulthood our mom’s actually became our friends – someone we enjoyed spending time with and talking to. All in all, when you really think about it, there probably are worse people we could morph into.

So, remember what your mom always told you. One day someone is going to be thinking the same about you!

How Absurd – we’re cool! Who wouldn’t want to be like us??

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Cowboy Diner

On September 30, 2015 By Peggy BereIn Photography, Travel9 Comments

Tia Sophia’s Cafe in Santa Fe, New Mexico

Wide open spaces

On September 28, 2015September 28, 2015 By Peggy BereIn Photography, Travel12 Comments

Beautiful Taos, New Mexico

Kodachrome

On April 29, 2015April 30, 2015 By Peggy BereIn Chicago, Musings14 Comments

Today is Clark’s Birthday. Hurray!! He’s my fabulous Hubs! Happy Birthday, Clark!!

It’s easy to remember his birthday because, well, I’ve known him for about 35 years. I’m also pretty good at remembering birthdays. Sending out cards is another story. I tend to either send them out late or not at all. I’ve had an ongoing deal with myself for longer than I can remember to work on that personal flaw. Each year when the New Year rolls around I challenge myself to not only send every single person I know and love a birthday card but to also send it to them on time. And, each year I break that vow. Not on purpose, but because I tend to be a bit unorganized. (A sign of creativity I’ve been told – *probably by my mother*)

When I woke up this morning, I put on my robe, grabbed a cup of coffee and headed towards our basement. I walked down the stairs into the messy, cluttered, musty space under the first floor of our home. I needed a picture of Clark. I needed a picture ~ or two ~ of him to post on Facebook. It’s been a longtime tradition of mine – along with everyone in the universe – to start our loved ones birthdays off on the right foot by publicly posting old, forgotten pictures of them and attaching some sort of sentimental blurb under it. We plaster these Jpgs (pronounced Jaaayyy-pegs) out onto the World Wide Web and into cyberspace for the whole world to see. Well, I exaggerate. But if you’ve Googled your name recently you’ll find I’m not too far off on my statement

At the bottom of my basement stairs, I walked back through a slim, cluttered hallway and towards what was once a working darkroom that Clark and I had built in a cut off, private section down there. I passed up stacks of stored once treasured objects laying everywhere that had once held coveted spots in the rooms upstairs. I got to the door of the old photo room, opened it and carefully stepped into what now looked like a cluttered room where most of our accumulated treasures from 30 years of marriage had landed. I looked around and thought to myself, good grief, we’ve become hoarders…

There were boxes and boxes of photos in that room which were saved in their original envelopes and stuffed into drawers. Jammed drawers that you could barely open up because there were heavy stacks of boxes upon boxes filled with junk and memorabilia crammed all over the place. The walls were also filled with cabinets that held a bonanza of old photo albums. Eventually, I got down to work and started searching for a few pictures that were Facebook worthy.

Not too far into my task I became unfocused as I sifted through what seemed like a million unorganized photos. It’s easy to get sidetracked when you’re looking at a photogenic history of your life. The sentimentality of the task pulled at my heartstrings. I started to examine the content of the piles of photos I was sifting through rather than finding photos of my hubs. Photography sure had changed…..

The Selfie – Those popular self photo’s taken with smart phones and hand-held digital camera’s, which are usually flattering and an attempt to *appear casual* had definitely not made it onto the scene yet. It seems that back before the digital age and social media, people took more pictures of the world around them than they did of themselves. Clark, being the nature lover that he is, seemed to be fascinated with landscape photos. I wasn’t even sure what I was looking at. He also shot tons of photos of birds…..and animals at Zoos. But, no selfies.

Photo Bombing – When I did come across the occasional photo of Clark from the olden days, I noticed that a few had some pioneer photo bombers in the background! They were different though than the photo bombs of today where the pranksters purposely put themselves into the view of the photograph with a goofy smile or waving as to tell you that they’re back there and they GOTCHYA!! These photo bombers were mostly elderly Aunts, Uncles or family members simply misplaced in the backdrop of the photo. Often funnier than the bombers of today.

Hairstyles – They will always give away what decade you are looking at.

Labeling Photo’s – I was always told to label the back of my photos with names and dates because one day I’d forget that information. I scoffed at that bit of advice knowing I’d never forget people or names or places. So, I didn’t label anything. And, for the life of me I could not place who half the people in the photo’s with me were. We must have been close pals though because mostly we were hugging and laughing together. Huh??

After a few hours of walking down memory lane, I had finally found a handful of pictures that would work as a tribute to my Hubs. They were awesome photos and during a time when we first met and started dating. His hair was long and he sported a thick, full mustache. He wore t-shirts with pictures of rock bands on them and cut off, frayed jean shorts. He drove a convertible and had a wild streak in him that caught my eye right away. These days he’s traded in that youthful attire and look for work slacks, ties and weekend golf shirts.

It was odd-looking back at those old photos. It’s odd how you don’t realize how much you age and mature from year to year until you look back. It hit’s you then and you think solemnly to yourself, wow, I’ve aged…. You wonder where the time went. How did thirty years fly by so fast. And, were the memories recorded in those old, treasured photo’s really as glorious as our minds would love to convince us they were? Or, is it true what they say; that it’s fun to remember the way things used to be, but the way things used to be probably could never live up to how we recall them. We tend to glorify the past with fabulous stories and timeless photo’s that make you think ‘all the world’s a sunny day…’