Inch Six: Soldiering On

Why the oval pan? Because an 8x13 oval will do for a recipe calling for a 9" square pan, and I see no reason to go out and get a pan size that I have seen called for only TWICE in the last 25 years! 

"Soldier on." Many (most? some?) of us know that phrase. It means to keep on keep on keeping on, no matter what the obstacles, no matter what the weather (figuratively or literally), no matter what.

In looking for the origin of that phrase, I expected to find something dating back to WWII or maybe even WWI. Nope. The phrase came into usage in this country in the early 1950s, possibly (probably) in response to the Korean War. That was a war that had no clear goal; that was the war where our country's soldiers were stuck in mud and brutal winter; that was a war that Chaim Potok captured the trudgery so clearly in his novel The Book of Lights (and Potok served as an Army chaplain in South Korea after the war).  

Lately that phrase has been coming to my mind regularly. Both Warren and I have a tremendous capacity to soldier on on our various obligations. Warren is involved in at least six (Six!—Count 'em—Six!) major endeavors right now. Mine are not so numerous, but sometimes just as time consuming. 

Sometimes it would be nice just to say "Not now." 

I'm not talking about the inability to limit my commitments. I have no problem saying "no thank you" to most social interactions, any board invitations, and a whole bunch of other things. I'm talking about the commitments that are a part of me: Dad stuff, Legal Clinic stuff, other family stuff. Oh, and my own medical stuff. 

So why am I whining since I truly cut out that extraneous "stuff"?

Because I am tired of soldiering on. I know I don't have a choice (well, a moral choice, that is) when it comes to Dad, for example. I can accept that.

But I want to go away. not forever, just for a bit.

In a recent phone call with my son Ben, when I said we would not be coming out there this summer—too many obligations, with his Grandpa Dale being one of them—Ben immediately responded.

"Oh, I get it, Mom, I get it." (They lead a busy, overpacked life out there, so Ben does get it.)

I do too. All the same, it hit me hard when, paging through past blog posts, I saw one noting that 2020 and the pandemic lockdown made it the first year since 2013, when Ramona was still LITTLE, that we would not see her either here or out there. 

Oh.

We used to travel more, and just not to the Pacific Northwest. Heck, I used to travel more.

Soldier on.

And most days, trust me, we both do in this household without feeling the weight of that concept weighing us down. And how do I know that? Because Warren had a birthday a few days ago and I made the cake pictured above! No soldiering on there: just joy. 

Inch Five: A New Number

That's an exclamation point on the end! 

Last Friday, I turned 70.

70. 

That was a number, given my initial diagnosis of multiple myeloma (an incurable bone marrow cancer) in 2004, that I never expected to reach.

Ever.

And there have been major health issues since that initial diagnosis that made 70 unlikely. The initial stem cell transplants in 2005 that failed within 90 days? I learned years later that failure changed my prognosis to 18 months. Maybe.

70.

As with many cancers and other terminal illnesses, I have had many times, some chronicled in this blog and all in my personal medical notes, where my overall health declined and the myeloma increased.

70.

And let's not forget my spectacular non-cancer hospitalization in 2023, where I coded in front of my dear Warren, and my less spectacular but still splashy one in 2025.

70.

When I was diagnosed, Sam was 14. I hoped to live long enough to see him reach 18, so my ex-spouse would not be his sole custodian. Sam will be 36 this June.

70.

When I was diagnosed, Ben was just wrapping up his first semester of college. He is now 40, married to Alix for the past almost 16 years, and the father of Orlando and Ramona. 

70.

I never expected to live long enough to see (assuming they were in the cards) grandchildren, let alone the three (don't forget Lyrick!) we have and a 4th one (Warren's daughter) on the way.

70.

20 years ago this summer, Warren and I started to explore a relationship. We had a long, heartfelt, serious discussion (while eating homemade carrot cake in the lot at a grain elevator/railroad crossing in nearby Radnor) about my health. I knew I already loved him dearly, but did not want him or us to go any further without him hearing the scope of my health and my medical needs. Warren listened quietly, then said, "I'm already there for you as your friend. Why would that change?" He made it clear that our being a couple would only deepen that commitment. And he has shown that every single day since.

70.

My birthday (and the days leading up to and then the days after) was filled with texts and cards and emails and calls from all over. The April Justice Bus was the day before and I got birthday hugs from my colleagues. The Day itself included a front door chorus of former coworkers from Juvenile/Probate Court that our friend and neighbor (and judge) Dave had gathered and walked over to our house to sing "Happy Birthday." Later that day, our friend (and conductor and internally known trombonist) Jaime called me and serenaded me on trombone ("Happy Birthday," of course) and then was joined by his dear wife and mother-in-law to shower me with love and birthday wishes.

70.

Alice's Clay Contribution

Our neighbors on one side made me a loaf of "70 bread," and their daughter Alice made me a 70 in polymer clay. 

70.

Birthday Peeps! 

Our neighbors on the other side had me over for tea, Peeps, and a candle to blow out. That sash I am wearing? Dear friends from long ago Stockton days sent that, knowing I was not a "tiara girl."

Sparkly sash and all! 

70.

So here I am, at an age I never thought I would see, and savoring the sweet time.

70.

Watching the Groceries: First Quarter is a Wrap!

 

For the past several years, I have tracked and posted our household spending on groceries. "Groceries" in this blog means food and common household items such as toilet paper, tissues, and cleaning supplies. ("Groceries" does not mean eating out, which for us, unless we are on the road, tends to be very minimal. How minimal? Maybe three to four times in any given quarter.) I will be continuing that habit in 2026, separate and apart from the weekly Inch. 

Like all of us, I am watching prices rise, sometimes suddenly and steeply. I had to get some things for my father yesterday, and I grabbed a gallon of milk while at the grocery. The price for that gallon? $3.19.

$3.19. Just eight days ago (and maybe even more recently than that), it was $2.89, and a few weeks before that, $2.69. I have a milk tale to tell in a bit, but I was caught off guard with the new price. I am sure everyone who sets foot in a grocery store these days has similar tales to tell.

So what does our First Quarter grocery spending look like? $694.69 total, or an average of $231.60 a month for the two of us. Of that amount, $65142 was food: 94% of our total expenditures. And only because January was staggeringly low ($77.49 total) were we able to come in at an average of $232.00 per month. 

I track our spending in a simple spreadsheet, and make general notes as to what our purchases consist of. I also note victories and what I will call lost skirmishes. The last three months have held some of each.

During this quarter, there were two restocks at Aldi, one at the start of February and one at the beginning of March. The former totaled $240.48, with $213.70 being food; the latter was $110.82, with $99.61 being food. The March restock included about $30.00 of "special" soft foods—applesauce, large yogurts, cottage cheese, instant pudding, apple juice—because Warren was facing oral surgery in March and would be on a restricted diet of soft foods for two to three weeks. Even so, despite those two start-of-the-month restocks, our spending for both months were eye watering.

Sigh...and ouch. Or, as I noted on the spreadsheet after February came in at $329.61, Whoa!

I would note that we try to be good stewards and watch closely to make sure we don't waste food. I confess that the quart of cottage cheese (not a staple in this household) was a rare exception. It was shoved in the back, our of sight and mind, and the last quarter of it hit the garbage disposal when I "discovered" it and found it had turned. 

But there were some wins and some reasons to smile. With Easter coming, some of the stores dropped their prices on hams. No, we did not buy six. We bought only one. Our local Meijer (a midwest chain) had its spiral sliced ham selling for 89 cents/pound, 79 cents if you were part of the rewards program (we are), limit one. I had another $1.00 off, also as part of the rewards program, so the final cost per pound came to 69.5 cents. Okay, I'll take that.

But why only one ham this year? (Kroger also had a special on ham.) Because we reorganized BOTH of our freezers (the small upright in the basement and the fridge freezer in our kitchen) at the same time as the ham sales. I had already pulled the remaining ham from last year out to thaw. No surprise when we tackled the freezers: we had a LOT MORE of everything, from ham to chicken to corn to you-name-it, that we realized. We didn't need more ham. We needed to cut and wrap and freeze what we had, which we did over the course of two days, throwing the bones into a stock pot with pounds of beans (which, when done, also went into the freezer).

There were some other grocery wins that also made me smile. In February, I bought a large laundry detergent bottle at CVS for 30 cents, thanks to CVS bonus dollars and coupons. The topper was the gallon of milk story. At the end of March (yes, just a few days ago), milk was selling for $2.89/gallon. I noticed there was one gallon marked down to $1.30. It was nowhere near its pull date, the usual reason for a markdown. But it was the victim of a backroom hit and run with chocolate milk that had poured down over it and had apparently been discovered too late to clean up. 

It was a no brainer. The gallon container was intact; the lid had not been tampered with. $1.30? Yes! But wait, I also had a 65 cents off coupon, so the final cost was 65 cents. 

65 cents. You can't beat that with a stick.

The bargain milk. (Yes, I cleaned it up when I got home.)

I am hoping that with us once again being on top of the contents of our freezers, and turning to them and our pantry before running to the store, we can at least hold at $232.00/month, if not go lower (my hope) as we move on through 2026. 

Let's see what Second Quarter brings! 

Inch Four: Losses

Tracy Kidder

Last Friday brought news of two deaths, one a longtime colleague and friend, the other a writer who helped shape and uplift me by the power of his stories. And although it is several days later, I am still feeling the losses sift through my fingers like sand I cannot begin to catch.

The personal loss was John. John had ten years on me (he would have been 80 this fall) and I had known him probably for 30+ years. We first met when I represented an individual unhappy with his modular home and looking for redress from the company that built it. John represented the company. The contract called for an arbitrator, so we arranged for the parties to meet in the law offices I was an associate in; it had a large room where they could meet privately. So for the hour or so while the parties were in arbitration, John and I sat in another office and talked. Well, looking back, John probably did 99% of the talking: John could talk to anyone about anything for any length of time, without repeating himself. Besides being so loquacious, he had an excellent sense of humor, so time flew by quickly. 

John and I never crossed paths as attorneys again, but in later years, our paths did converge: he was a magistrate in our Juvenile Court for several months (when I was part of that staff) and we had a mutual good friend in Kevin, one of our Municipal Court magistrates. The three of us once had a hilarious (hilarity courtesy of John) lunch in which John told stories about his frat days at OWU (the local college) that had Kevin choking on his water and me just laughing helplessly. In addition, he and his wife Charlotte (who I had gotten to know well while she was still on the bench in the neighboring county) were at various Symphony events, as John was a Board trustee.

I last saw John at the afternoon concert on Sunday, March 22. I am grateful I did, because it was a classic John interaction. The orchestra had played a work by Ohio composer Ching-chu Hu, and John was fascinated with the gongs Warren played in the piece. He came onto stage afterwards (audience members are allowed on stage afterwards) and talked to Warren about the gongs. I told John that when Warren and I got engaged, he gave me an "engagement gong," which I keep in my study. John smiled, said, "that's engaging," nudging my shoulder to make sure I got the joke. He then told me how when he and Charlotte got engaged, he said to her he could either buy her an engagement ring or, because his father worked at Sears, for the same amount they could get a king size mattress and a large TV. Charlotte didn't hesitate: the mattress and the TV. John smiled telling the story, ending with "And that's how I knew Charlotte was absolutely the right woman for me." I went out in the hallway a little later, in time to see Charlotte join John and to hug them both before they left.

So when the phone call came from another friend on Friday, telling me John had died suddenly that morning, my hand went to my heart. John? We still had a note on the coffee table reminding Warren to order a gong for John. We had just seen him.

I am so grateful for those last precious moments. 

Friday was a packed day even before the news about John. So packed, in fact, that I did not even see my email (which I only check on my Chromebook or Mac, not on my phone) until late afternoon. I get a weekly email from writer/artist/fun guy Austin Kleon in which he shares some ideas and recaps some recent events. In scanning that day's list, I read "RIP author Tracy Kidder."

"RIP author Tracy Kidder." 

WHAT?

Kidder had died two days earlier and I had not heard. My hand went back to my heart. Tracy Kidder?

I recently wrote about Kidder, whose books I had read and loved for decades. I even saw and heard him give a talk once about, if memory serves me, his book Mountains Beyond Mountains, about Dr. Paul Farmer. 

And now not only was Kidder dead but I learned it only hours after learning about John. A double slam to the heart.

I have written before about the sliver of hope, after an author dies, is the books that the author left behind. It is that sliver that I am thinking of as I write these lines; I will always have Kidder in his books on my shelf and in the library, always. 

Loss is hard. And yet, as we all know all too well, life keeps moving on after death. As I rough out this post Tuesday night, the spring peepers are raising their voices. The almost full moon is rising above the houses and trees. And although I have lost them both, I am grateful that I knew both John and Tracy, each in his own way, and how much richer my life is for knowing them.

Last night's moon rising