Author Archives: Judy Habel

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About Judy Habel

I am at a crossroads in life and figuring out which is the right path for me. I am a mom to a grown-up, wife, sister and friend. My career path has taken some zigzag routes, as a graphic artist, retail business owner, travel writer, social media mentor and now Certified Duct Tape Marketing Consultant. What's next? I'm still figuring that out. Blogging is a great first step!

Summer Signals

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firefly

This is the time of year that I like best. Mid-late June, complete with super-long days, warm weather, nights that are still cool, and everything is lush and beautiful. Flowers, grass, trees, the birds and the bees. But most especially I love lightning bugs! I wait impatiently for them to appear every year and it is one of the high points of my summer.

Most people call them fireflies and for many years I called them that, too. It sounds, well, cuter somehow. But we called them lightning bugs when I was a kid in southern New Jersey, and now that my parents and both of my brothers have passed on, it seems more important to me to honor those childhood memories and the simple joys they bring back to me. They are, once again, Lightning Bugs.

I was amazed to learn a few years ago that there are many different subspecies of lightning bugs, and that each one blinks in a different and distinctive pattern in order to attract a mate of it’s own type. There is even one type, synchronous fireflies, found only in two places in the whole world, that can synchronize their flashing light patterns!

The lightning bug is the one of the few insects that I really and truly like, along with stick insects (another childhood favorite) ladybugs, and of course cicadas, which provide a wonderful soundtrack to late summer.

The other night the lightning bugs in our back yard were putting on a spectacular bioluminescent show. My husband and I walked to the darkest part of our yard, way in the back, so we could get the best view. The trees and bushes were lit up with probably millions of them, and the overall effect was one of twinkling Christmas lights. It was mysterious and amazing and somehow seems new every year when I see them again as if for the first time.

My husband got out his iPhone to try and take some photos, and then he was trying to capture them on video. I wandered away a bit and then turned to see what he was doing. And there he was, my sweet husband, optimistically holding his iPhone up to the trees. I thought to myself that he kind of looked like a big lightning bug with his own light flickering, surrounded by all the smaller ones. I thought about what a wonderful husband he is, this unassuming man who I love so much. The man who slept in the car in the hospice parking lot, so he could be near me when my brother was dying. The man who makes me laugh every day with his funny observations and who loves to have friends over for impromptu burgers on the grill. The man who is secure enough to hold my purse for a minute if I need him to. The man who married me and became the world’s best stepdad to my then-14 year old son.

And I realized he was blinking a signal that only I could see, out there in the yard. And I was drawn to him again.

 

A Summer Sunday Evening

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On Sunday I was feeling kind of grumpy. The weather was beautiful, a perfect summer day, but I was stuck inside at my desk working. It was good work, work I enjoy doing, but that weather was so nice! However I persevered until late afternoon, when it was time to head over to our friend Pat’s home for dinner. Now Pat and I have been friends for nearly 30 years, and we always love to go to her home. She has a knack for making things beautiful and comfortable, and she is a great cook. We were looking forward to a few hours sitting at the table in her lovely garden, eating and drinking and catching up on conversation. However I was feeling pressured by the work left undone, and I briefly considered canceling our date. But I knew that was a bad idea, and that I needed a break, and also that she had been most likely working hard getting things together for the meal. So I sucked it up, shut down my computer, and got ready to go.

As soon as we arrived I felt better. There was my friend and her beautiful little home and garden. We took a brief stroll around to see what was blooming. Roses! Honeysuckle! Herbs and ferns and hostas all growing with abandon. The birds were chirping. The neighbor’s dog barked. I felt my shoulders loosen up.

We sat down at the outdoor table, the one she rescued from the trash and re-tiled the top. Bright new cushions made the old chairs comfy. We ate too much guacamole and drank iced tea. After a period of time, just when we were getting ready to go into the house and get the dinner out, we heard the loud rumble of a Harley Davidson pulling into the driveway. Pat looked surprised and pleased. She had invited an old friend that we hadn’t seen for over five years, and he said he would stop by “if he could”. She didn’t expect he would actually come, and she didn’t even think to mention to us that she had invited him too. But just in time for dinner, there he was, a little hot from the ride but smiling broadly. Now there were four of us to sit in the garden and eat the good food and catch up on old times. By this point in time I had not forgotten the work, but realized it would be better work if I was more rested and less grumpy while I was doing it. So it was all good.

The long, slow summer evening wound on, and we brought the dinner dishes into the house. Our friend with the Harley had to get going, he was going to stop by and visit his daughter and her boyfriend and see their new puppy. A “wiener dog”, he called it. We laughed as he pulled away.

And then this happened:

strawberry shortcake

Yes, that’s exactly what you think it is. Homemade strawberry shortcake, with piles of organic strawberries from the CSA, fresh whipped cream, and a homemade biscuit-style shortcake. The best dessert on the planet, my absolute favorite thing to eat in the world. Heaven on a plate. All three of us worked on putting it together, and then we carried it out to the table like a trophy. Right before cutting into it, I said “take a picture!”. And Pat did, and she sent it to me. And so, I am sharing it with you.

Happy summer, everyone.

Memories of Mom

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Marian and Judy

It has been three years today that Mom died. It’s still hard for me to realize I am an orphan, even though at my age it is not uncommon to have lost both parents. My Mom was complicated, I loved her very much but sometimes she made me really mad. She got kind of difficult in her last few years, and there are some hurts that linger from that time. But as the years go by those hurts are fading and I find myself missing my “old Mom”, the one who was funny and kind and always had time to listen. The Mom who loved camping and hot pink lipstick. The Mom who loved all animals big and small.  The 120 lb. 5′ 4″ Mom who ruled the family and liked to jitterbug.

I told a story to friends last night about the time my sister and I took our Mom to see the Rolling Stones live, for her 60th birthday. This was after she had announced, completely out of the blue at dinner one night, that she thought Mick Jagger was sexy. Obviously, this revelation floored all of us, as Mom had never really had much to say about either Mick or the Rolling Stones prior to that. When her birthday rolled around a few months later and the Stones were coming to Philly, we elected to take Mom to the show rather than buy her the new bathrobe she had requested for her birthday gift. We had a blast!

Anyway, I wrote a list of the things I learned from my Mom, to read at her funeral. Here it is:

Things I Learned from My Mom:

Always bring your own tissues.
Play your favorite music.
Get your hair done.
Come home when the streetlights come on.
Be silly.
Get things done.
Put the cat down if it starts to hiss.
Go out and play in the rain, as long as there’s no lightning.
Stop to smell the flowers.
Have adventures.
Don’t wear a white bra if there’s a black light at the dance.
Home is important.
Always keep up a good appearance.
Laugh uncontrollably.
It’s OK to roller skate in the house.
Go play outside.
Always dance at least one dance with anyone who asks you.
Don’t hit your brother.
Have parties.
How to make iced tea.
Always put on lipstick.
My Mom taught me all these things. She taught me how to be a woman.

Smelling the Roses

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“They are not long, the days of wine and roses. Out of a misty dream, our path emerges for a while, then closes, within a dream.” 
Ernest Dowson

 

YellowRoseOne of my goals has been to take time each day to smell the roses. What I mean by that is to notice the small things, the everyday joys that are too often overlooked in our busy lives. However, last week I had the opportunity to literally smell the roses, hundreds of them, during a visit to the Rose Garden in San Diego’s Balboa Park.

Some of the most beautiful roses had little or no fragrance, and some of the plainer varieties were resplendent with old rose perfume. I was fortunate to have a friend with me who was happy to wander slowly through the garden, stopping to sniff at nearly every new rose that presented itself. The yellow rose in the photo above had a fabulous, heady scent, spicy and sweet. I do not remember the name of this variety…shame on me! But I am pleased to have a photo to remember it by.

Two joys in one day! The company of a dear friend, and the opportunity to smell roses to my heart’s content.

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Reminders of Dad

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In August 2012 my Dad died. He had a lifelong love of cars and all things car-related, and now, whenever I see an old or unusual car I think immediately to myself “Dad would have loved this”.  This past weekend I spotted an old Volvo station wagon parked on the street and immediately took a photo with my phone and texted it to my sister, with the words “Dad would have loved this!”. She immediately agreed, yes, indeed he would have.

I thought about the old Volvo a lot over the past few days, as Dad had a particular love of Volvo cars. I can usually identify the make and model of an old car pretty quickly. This is something my Dad taught me, and I carry it with me still. When I see an old car I immediately am reminded of my Dad, and imagining what he might say about it makes me smile. Since Dad’s death I have started to snap photos of the old cars I encounter. Discovering an old car still running, parked on the street, out “in the wild” gives me an unexpected joy. Somebody still loves this old car, like my Dad would have. Obviously they do, because it’s out on the street. Not in a museum or a car show, but still being driven around. These cars are worth the extra aggravation and expense to maintain to the people who own them. I always wonder what memories are attached to these cars, memories of drive-in movies, waitresses on roller skates delivering a root beer float, bringing a new baby home from the hospital, or taking a young couple to the prom.

I picture my Dad as a younger man, with his head under the hood, grease on his hands, asking me to hand him some tool, working to keep his old car in good condition, so he could take us on a camping adventure, to visit our cousins, out for ice cream, or just for a drive. When I spot an old car now, it brings me joy. Old cars remind me of my Dad and all he taught me and all we did together.

Thanks, Dad.

The Greatest Joy

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“What greater aspiration and challenge are there for a mother than the hope of raising a great son or daughter?”
Rose Kennedy

Me and my BoyToday is the anniversary of the day I was given the greatest gift of all. Twenty-nine years ago today, my son was born. I will never forget the fierce “mother lion” instinct that overwhelmed me as I held him in my arms for the very first time.

He was the most amazing child. We had such fun together. He always entertained me with stories and jokes. I will from time to time see a little boy who reminds me of my son in some way, with a sprinkle of freckles across his nose, or a devilish look in his eye, and the tears just leap into my eyes because I miss that little boy so much. How I would love to turn back the calendar and re-live those days!

Of course, I now have the joy of having a grownup son. My son is an amazing man. He is funny, smart, charming, brave, sweet, polite, and a little geeky. Well, maybe more than a little! He is honest and fair, happy and down to earth. He is often the one I turn to when I have a problem to discuss, and he often confides in me. I am so blessed that we have a close relationship despite having a continent between us now. Just the thought of him brings me joy.

Happy Birthday, son! I love you so.

Friends

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“Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down.”
Oprah Winfrey

Trailer

My husband started a small business nearly 22 years ago. Well, to be more accurate, he took over a business where he had been an employee. 13 years ago I went to work in the business with him. Fast forward to now, and times have changed, we reached a point where it was no longer economically feasible to operate the business, but that’s not what this post is about.

We decided that the least painful thing was to quickly shut down, and we did so. And now we are emptying out our last store (we had more than one). It was the original location, and it has the most stuff in it. Twenty-two years of accumulated stuff. Files, desks, chairs, tools, calculators and adding machines, computers, printers, outdated merchandise, repaired items never picked up by customers (what is UP with that?), cleaning supplies, retail supplies and fixtures, sign holders, phone system, network, servers, break room supplies, etc. Piles and mountains of stuff. The landlord gave us extra time to clear out this last location. But with only one employee remaining part time, and two other locations that had to be cleared out first it is a lot of work for the two of us. Continue reading →

Diehard Daisy

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LastDaisy

I was walking around the yard feeling more than a bit overwhelmed by the amount of fall cleanup still left to do. Leaves to be raked, perennials to be cut back, etc. But there is always something beautiful to be found in the garden, even in the off season. Today I found, growing out from the side of a large clump of Shasta Daisy “Becky”, low to the ground, one lone flower. It is not scraggly, or undersized, but a full sized, perfect daisy. The contrast of the pure white flower with it’s glowing gold center against the still-green grass and fallen leaves was sublime.

It reminded me to remember to look for the small things. It reminded me to look not only up to the sky but down at the earth, which provides us with so many good things. It reminded me to be thankful.

If that’s not a joy then I don’t know what is.

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Rays

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“See those rays shining
down upon the darkened page”
Michael Nesmith

Rays

Last night we went to a concert. It was Michael Nesmith. Yes, “Mike” from The Monkees. For those of you who don’t know, Mike has had a long and varied post-Monkees career. He is an inspired songwriter and is touring right now, at the age of 71, with an incredible band.

To me, a lot of the fun of a concert (or any event, really) is the anticipation. I prepare for a concert by listening to lots of the artist’s music, often repeating it over and over so I know it fairly well. This enhances my enjoyment of the actual performance, because I know a bit about the music ahead of time. In this particular case, preparing for Michael’s concert, I was reminded of the power of words. Michael uses words with amazing dexterity, pulling rich meaning from even the simplest scenarios. The example I have quoted above is from his song Rays, from the album of the same name. You can hear the joy in this song!

Another of my favorites is Joanne, Michael’s first hit single after leaving The Monkees. I do still have the 45 record! Again, the lyrics are the star. My favorite phrase from the song:

But staying with her and my little bit of wisdom
Broke down her desires
Like a light through a prism, into yellows and blues
And the tune that I could not have sung

Just wow. Gives me goosebumps.

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A little bit of love

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Moto

This is my little cat Moto. She is 17.5 years old, weighs about 5 lbs., give or take a couple of ounces, and she has breast cancer. She was diagnosed on July 8, although I had my suspicions about a lump on her belly for a month or so before that date. She was given 3-6 months to live, and she is at 4 months today, and going strong, thanks to an every-other-day steroid pill. Our home is now a “kitty hospice”. Moto gets whatever she wants to eat, as often as she wants. Her new diet includes boiled shrimp, planked salmon (I am not kidding!) and any flavor of gourmet cat food that she likes. She craves variety, her current favorite is Rabbit Stew. Yes, I do call it “Wabbit Stew”. Her brother Guzzi died 3 years ago, he was gigantic, and he died of a heart attack. I still miss him every day.

Every day I still have Moto in my life is a joy. Right now I am enjoying one day at a time with her, and hoping that maybe she might live until my son comes home for Christmas.