Month: August 2026

George Washington is literally in the “pages of history.” A book on the coffee table has money hanging out of it—not play money, real money as in a one dollar bill.

I know in an instant the book belongs to a 12-year-old granddaughter.

The girl is an avid reader. She won the “Reader Award” in her class three times last year which translated into three free pizzas.

The grand with the book oozing money was helping us rake leaves last fall when she suddenly disappeared. I looked all around and couldn’t find her. One of her sisters deadpanned, “Check the big pile of leaves in the front yard.”

She had hollowed out a big pile of leaves and was nestled inside, reading a book. She marked that page with a red maple leaf.

My choice in bookmarks largely depends on what is nearby: paper clips, sticky notes, rubber bands and junk mail. A grocery receipt can do double duty, as it not only holds my place, but reminds me what I bought for dinner.

I understand why the girl doesn’t always use real bookmarks. I often receive handmade bookmarks as gifts and they’re simply too pretty and special to lose between the cushions on the couch.

On rare occasions, I rationalize paying full price for a new release hardcover because I can use the flap on the book jacket to hold my place. So, it’s really like a money saving two-for-one.

But at this moment, my most pressing question is this: Does the girl with the George Washington bookmark mark all the books she reads with real money? She has started babysitting so it’s possible there could be 5s, 10s, maybe even 20s marking pages. Shouldn’t someone go through the bookcases in her bedroom and check?

I’ve volunteered for the job but haven’t heard back yet. Rumor is they don’t think I have shelf control.

Reading is in the girls’ genes—and her jackets, her purses and her backpack. She’s like her mother, who never left home without a book in her purse or backpack.

These days, her mom is in a book club, a book-to-movie book club and hosts readathons for kids.

Of all the qualities and quirks we pass on to our children, a love of reading may be among the best.

 

Years ago, when women only a few years older than I am now announced they quit cooking, I silently judged them. I would think to myself, “How in the world do you just stop cooking?”

I get it now. They were tired—tired of chicken, tired of ground beef, tired of pork and tired of salad after salad after salad.

If a judge were to sentence me for my previous lack of culinary compassion, I would beg the court for mercy. I’d tell the judge I’m willing to eat humble pie, but that sounds like it would involve cooking.

For me, the meal planning part of cooking is far more exhausting than the meal prep, which is why I now ask others what they are making for dinner and follow suit. It’s far more fun than flipping through recipe books and has a certain game-show quality about it.

On Wednesday, I asked our youngest what she was making for dinner.

She texted: “Switching things up. Taco Wednesday, homemade salsa and queso. We usually have Taco Tuesday, but this week it’s Taco Wednesday.”

I replied that you can buy salsa at the grocery.

She responded that she makes her own queso as well.

And to think we’re related.

The next day, I texted our daughter-in-law asking what was for dinner.

Her reply said their oldest son was making butter chicken thighs. It sounded good, but because of our age and cholesterol concerns, we’d probably have to forgo the butter part.

When a longtime friend and neighbor, who is an excellent cook and gardener, dropped by with a bag of freshly picked green beans, I asked what she was making for dinner.

She’d planned on warming up homemade zucchini quiche from the day before, but it was too hot to turn on the oven, so they were going to McDonald’s.

You never really know a person until you know their Plan B for dinner.

Perhaps I’d be more inspired to cook if we freshened up the kitchen a bit. The kitchen of my dreams is from an early Martha Stewart cooking show. She was making a fall dish and a hand came up from below the counter and began removing dirty utensils.

On Friday, I asked our oldest daughter what she was making for dinner. She said she was getting ready for a dinner party for nine.

I hung up on her.