Back in the day, we had two toasters, one for Peter and one kept gluten-free for me.  I recycled  his and use my toaster oven if I have visiting toast-eaters.

But toasters do die, and the other day, mine gave up with a good-by shower of sparks.

And why is this interesting?  Because Amazon promised a new one by the end of the day.

And kept that promise!

Decades ago, I chose to go away to college.  Most of my high school classmates stayed in state, either attending the University of Pittsburgh (where I lived) or Penn State.  But I chose to go away, and it was the right decision for me.

At college, I never ever feared for my life. My biggest worry was whether or not I would be caught coming back to my dorm after curfew.  (I wasn’t.)

Never would it occur to me to fear my life because of a random gunshot.

How do we stop this?

Since once again, I have not achieved perfection in 2025, I will continue my quest in ‘26. It’s never too late to improve, and although I’ve been at it for a very long time, I keep hope alive.

I’m not sorry to bid farewell to 2025.  It was a disruptive year for me—moving twice (not by choice) and the second move, a huge change in lifestyle, from totally independent living in the bustle of Cambridge’s Harvard Square to not-so-totally independent living, five miles away surrounded by woods. 

On the other hand, Seth’s wedding in Brazil was a complete joy, one long-awaited.  And his brother’s family continue to make me proud as can be. All good.

Here’s hoping for a peaceful and prosperous 2026.

And thanks for reading 80-something!

Who knows where the Xmas phone calls will come from?  I expected calls from my children and grandchildren who were with me at Thanksgiving, but spend Xmas with the in-laws. And, of course, I wasn’t surprised to hear from close friends.

The surprise calls came from former residents of our doomed apartment building, a little over a year since our forced departure.  Some are happier than others about where they have landed, but all of us miss our regular encounters in the lobby or the garden. Perhaps most missed of all, our picture-perfect view of the sunrise rowers on the Charles River.

I am ever-so-grateful for my time there and the lasting friendships that made that life so special.

I am ever-so-resentful of the people who used inferior materials 80 years ago to construct the home I badly miss.

80-something is about to turn eighteen.  No matter how long you have been on this journey with me, I am grateful to have you along.

Wishing you (and our world) all the best for 2026!

On his “never-often-enough visits home, our son Seth often leaves with a “treasure” we no longer need.  On my last visit to his apartment, I realized that he had amassed quite a collection of our former possessions.eighHJJJJ

Most prominent and still beautiful, a white round Saarinen pedestal table that was purchased for our long-gone Cape Cod house. That table now sells for around $2500!

The Oriental rug in his bedroom formerly lived in our dining room and became his when we sold our last home.  We bought it in Filene’s Basement (which no longer exists) forty-some years ago.

Then there is the rather odd table lamp that is quite charming.  The bright yellow base is shaped like a big vertical brick. with a huge ball-shaped bulb on top.  According to Seth, I had taped the source of its odd bulb to the bottom of the lamp, and therefore, he was able to replace it.

The attractive walnut coffee table that resides in front of Seth’s living room sofa was a product of his father’s one summer of table-building, and his kitchen cupboards hold random bowls and plates, from the kitchen of his childhood.

His mother loves visiting all of the above—and him.

I used to see smallish white buses dropping off elderly folks at a concert or museum both here and abroad and think, “that will never be me”. 

But now it is me. 

On Sunday, I and a dozen other residents of my independent living facility rode in a small white bus to hear a lovely Christmas concert by the Boston Civic Symphony. It was held in a private school and students from that school performed in the choral works.

It was a snowy, slippery driving day and I was grateful to get a ride

On a smallish white bus.

I just threw out my crumbled-up piece of paper that has my gluten-intolerance status written in Arabic. My kids insisted that the bread was nothing to miss, but oh, the pastries…

On a few relatively long car trips, the conversations were delightfully different than those in my community of senior citizens. And we played word games, all new to me—managed by college senior Leo.

At my advanced age, I managed to resist buying all the wonderful, colorful items—after all I just got rid of things.  On the other hand, the newly-weds bought enough to make up for my lack of spending.

And finally, a couple of challenges:  The person in the Information Booth in the Casablanca airport could not direct us to the train to the center of the city!  (We found it.)  We then left the center city by train for Fez with reserved seats, but people were sitting in them. Therefore, three of the four of us had to sit in seats that others had tickets for, but we held our ground, indicating that someone was in our seats. Not such a great start.

All in all, a journey worth taking. 

When my son Seth and his wife Dani who live in Brazil invited me to travel with them after they came to the U.S. for Thanksgiving AND said I could choose the place to go, I was thrilled. 

As I catch my breath after two weeks away, I can’t believe all we packed into that time.  Here’s how it went: 

–Train from Boston to NYC for two days to attend a party so that Seth’s friends who couldn’t make it to São Paulo for their wedding could meet his wife Dani. 

–Train to DC with Seth and Dani, and then a drive to Deep Creek Lake in western Maryland for Thanksgiving with son Jeremy’s family. 

–Drive to Baltimore airport. 

–Fly to Morocco and visit Fez and Marrakech and more, including a road trip down the coast stopping at El Jadida and Essaouira.

 –Fly to Paris. Seth and Dani off to Brazil and I head home. (Oh, I forgot to mention that Jeremy’s senior in college son Leo tagged along. but saved his 3-day camel trip until the rest of us had departed.)

I write these words, still jet-lagged, but grateful.  A memorable adventure for this 80-something.

P.S. In my last post about three airports, I left out one, so the total was actually four. (A jet-lagged error!)

This is an explanation, not a blog.

Today was a full day of airports, Casablanca, Paris, and Boston.

It is a day of jet lag.

80-something will be back on Thursday.

’til then…

Three Airports