I heard at recess today one of the oldest problems known across playgrounds worldwide:

My best friend won’t play with me.

“Sometimes you need a break from each other,” I told the girl, a first-grader. “Give it a day and try again tomorrow.”

The look on her face brought me back several decades. A day, a recess period can seem like a lifetime to a 7-year-old.

What can us as adults, particularly women, learn from this?

Sometimes we have minor differing of opinions with our closest friends. And sometimes relationships can become toxic, or at least heading towards it. Perhaps suffocating, even.

Sometimes a brief break is needed; other times a longer one. Play with other girls, at least for a day, I tell the grade schoolers. The same can be for those of us older. Call other friends or meet up with someone you haven’t in a while.  

And you know, more often than not, after I tell the girls to separate from each other for a time, the very next day I see them side by side, playing together like the day before never happened.

Whatever it is, time apart does not always mean forever. Reaching out to others or playing with another group can be invigorating. It could lead to you realizing what you’re missing out on or, conversely, make you feel appreciative for the friendships you do have.

When I was younger, and by that I mean up until last year, I loved having weekend plans set the week before, if not sooner.

Then Covid hit.

Gone were the live theater productions I had tickets for. Gone were the beer run 5Ks (walking, of course) I had scheduled. Gone also were the annual trips to the arboretum, countless happy hours, and movies in actual movie theaters.

I was seriously bummed. I’m a people person (except during the morning) and don’t mind crowds of people jostling me at concerts or museum exhibits.

Things began to open up a bit in the early fall, as we all know, but came crashing down again around Thanksgiving.

I sought out fun in other ways.

Some events I attended online, such as author interviews and book talks and my husband and I went to a select few friends’ houses for drinks and games (albeit those who were comfortable).

Eventually, weekends on my calendar became blank.

Weekend after weekend.

After New Year’s, things slowly started to open back up. And not just venues, but, dare I say – minds.  

Friends of ours who decided to combat the Covid blahs started brewing their own beer. They bought all the equipment and ingredients to produce their magic elixir. When it was ready last weekend, they texted us – on a Saturday, at 5:30 p.m. – an evening of which otherwise would have been already booked, inviting us to try their moonshine.

The husband and I were already prepared to make chicken wings and popcorn and settle in for an evening of Hulu on the couch.

Were we available and open to trying their first batch of moonshine, or friends asked?

Hell effin yes!!

The next day was the SuperBowl, that quintessential American E-V-E-N-T that consumes equal fans and non-fans alike. Our neighbors texted us – would we want to hop over and party with them and another couple?

Again, hell effin yes!!*

*Neither my husband nor I are football fans but always find our way to a party each year for the food and free beer.

And even though places have gradually started to open up, of which I’m completely ecstatic about, I have found wide open weekends to be quite amazing.

Last minute plans can indeed be the best unlaid plans, if you will. And I’ve resolved to leave at least one weekend evening open for future spontaneous plans.

Is there anything more annoying than talking to someone on the phone and they start telling you about the car that just whizzed in front of them or the dead deer they saw on the side of the road?

Answer is no. At least it is today.

It’s Valentine’s Day. As the day approaches, I begin to think about the small gifts and candy I’ll purchase for our two children, ages 22 and 17. The cards I pick out give me a chance to write down how I feel about them.

But when my son came home after a weekend with friends and I pointed out the bright red gift bag I had set on the table for him, he rolled his eyes. I wasn’t surprised.

For the last few years, I’ve noticed he doesn’t tear open the holiday cards from his grandparent and avoids the sight of any gift bags sitting out for him at Valentine’s Day. I have to practically set the item on his lap to get him to acknowledge it. And today was no different.

I wasn’t hurt by this. Instead, I recalled all the years I gave the same reaction to my own mother as I got older. I remember shrugging off or taking for granted the gift bags filled with goodies my mom would annually give my brother and I well after our college years. Even when I was a harried young mom she’d give my husband and I Hershey Kisses and a gift card to a restaurant.

Something changed in me along the way, however, as my own children have gotten older.

I realized those small tokens my mother shops for and purchases are a way to hold on to being a part of her children’s lives. And now, I’ve come to pass along that same small tradition to Wyatt and Eva.

As the parent of older kids I feel there’s not a whole lot I can do to maintain the magic and wonder of holidays. But I try to show them in buying them candy, beef jerky, gift cards for gas or sandwich shops, or a new shirt.

My son eventually picked up his Valentine’s bag. I watched as he touched the small gifts his dad and I got him. Then he came to give me a hug.

 “You’ll always be my Valentine,” I whispered to him.

And please continue to indulge me, I whispered to myself.

I realize it may not mean a lot now, or possibly ever to him or his sister, but I want them to know in some form or another, how much I love to spend time thinking about them and shopping for things they like.

My desk. My happy place. My comfy chair. Sadie on a pillow beside me. A crossword puzzle. My diamond art in front of me. Journals and idea notebooks at my fingertips. My colorful gel pens and sharpened pencils. My glass of wine and my keyboard. My large window overlooking the snow and our street, American flag blowing in the wind. My perfectly picked out picture frames containing photos of my family. My bookstore fragranced candle aflame.

Anyone else try this thing called diamond art?

I love bison and after a quick search online I found one on Amazon (where else, right??). I work on it while listening to podcasts and audio books while sipping on my requisite Pinot Grigio.

A little pen picks up teeny tiny dots that stick on corresponding letters, numbers, or symbols on the canvas.

It’s super fun and, as this title says, wildly addicting.

Give it a try – bet you a bottle of wine you can’t stop doing it!

Sometimes I just want to be independently wealthy, live alone, and nap whenever I want.

Had the folks over yesterday.

The opportunity presented me with something I rarely do – cook.

Cue in The Most Interesting Man in the World meme:

I don’t always cook; but when I do, a three-year-old could do better.

My two meat-eaters, husband and son, were out of town ice fishing so I was able to make a light but filling lunch without having my husband toil over a grill with 2-inch steaks, only to have my senior parents nibble one-third of it.

After considering options, i.e., Chinese take-out or Arby’s (America’s Roast Beef, Yes Sir! –remember that??), I realized I had better put some kind of effort into preparing something for my parents.

So I resorted to the same way I do things I really don’t want to do – half-assed.

What I basically mean is I take food already made and add my own touch to it. I do it all the time for dishes I bring to parties. I’ll buy a pasta salad at the deli counter and add bacon and avocados to it back at home.

Thus, after a short trip to the grocery store, I purchased a rotisserie chicken, large red grapes, a can of cashews (halved), a bag of Caesar salad, potato chips and dip (Top the Tater, a.ka. Liquid Gold), and a plastic carton of butter croissants from the bakery section. I already had my requisite green olives and mini dill pickles on hand at home.

A girlfriend made it for a party once, and man, my family couldn’t get enough of it.

In a nutshell, you mix the following in a bowl. Nothing is exact:

• About 1 cup each of mayonnaise and sour cream
• 1 tbsp lemon juice
• 1 tsp salt and 1 tsp pepper
• 3 lbs cooked and shredded chicken breasts
• 3 cups halved red seedless grapes
• 1 cup halved pecans

And voila! I served it on the croissants and laid out the other stuff.

It was the perfect light lunch.

We shouldn’t want things to go back to “normal.”

That’s what my pastor says.

As this so-called pandemic rages on, or at least the lock downs in the state of Minnesota do, people, including me, often wish life would snap back to January 2020, when the bars were full and our lives were plugging along as usual.

Normal, of course, is relative. It means something different to each person. I believe what normal really encapsulates is the essence of being comfortable. Of being free. Sure, we, including me with my cancer, had a difficult 2020. But in America, at least, we don’t take too kindly to being told what to do – particularly if it infringes on our right to, well, basically what we’ve always been able to do. Go to work. Go out for a nice dinner and beverage. Take our kids to the zoo or a movie.

Sitting down, slowing down, has never been our forte.

But stepping back for a minute, I have to admit it’s been kind of nice.

Sure, the large wedding of a cousin and his fiancé I was excited to attend in June was pared down to members of the immediate family only, which didn’t include mine. My family of four spent Thanksgiving without grandparents or siblings. Indeed, I missed my annual lunch and shopping date with my mom and daughter in early December as well as my yearly girlfriend Christmas meal at our favorite fancy restaurant.

Yes, I’ve been starving for live theater and school being taught on-site and meat raffles being conducted in my local VFW (hey, I’m from Minnesota, after all).

However…

My family and I learned a new board game together. We started having weekly meals with our neighbors across the street. With a pared-down baseball season and our beloved hockey being pushed back for months, my husband and I watched more new TV shows and movies together.  

As a bonus, I’ve never read as many books as I did last year.

And our two pups – well, they’ve never had quite this much couch time.

Me, my husband, and kids are social people. We’re all looking forward to gathering at venues outside of the house as soon as possible.

But I will not go back to what I thought of as normal. I will hold close to my heart and never give up the newfound intimacy I’ve discovered with my family.

Is there anything so comforting as a range light left on when you head to the kitchen in a dark house?