Month: November 2026

On a morning walk to catch the last colors of fall, we saw what appeared to be a large pile of vanilla wafers in the easement up ahead. Whoever trashed an entire box of vanilla wafers clearly has no appreciation for banana pudding.

A few steps closer, we saw the mound was not vanilla wafers but an enormous puffball of small mushrooms. They blended seamlessly with the leaves nestled around them, each and every one a perfectly toasted golden brown.

The husband took pictures and I identified the UGO (unidentified grounded object) with an app on my phone as ringless honey mushrooms. Desarmillaria tabescens is their proper name, which is why we continue to call them vanilla wafers.

We crouched down on the sidewalk for a closer look and at the same time provided entertainment for middle school kids at the bus stop across the street. More old people doing weird things.

The mushrooms were a work of art and marvel of creation. As we continued on, leaving the puffball behind, it struck me how close I came to missing it. What with multitasking, speed walking, always thinking three days ahead, I could have shot right past them.

I am my own worst distraction, often doing two things, thinking about a half dozen other things and then befuddled that I can’t remember where I parked my glasses.

All through the long, dry month of September, I pined for the beauty of fall with rustling leaves, changing colors, funky pumpkins with warts, open windows and an extra blanket at night.

Fall entered stage left. It was beautiful, but my mind was weeks ahead planning Thanksgiving. One 6-foot folding table, a card table in the dining room and a crockpot warming potatoes in the garage could alleviate overcrowding in the oven.

I am susceptible to every rushing wind that blows in the next event, the next season, the next celebration, and the next storm.

Christmas has been known to be so overwhelming that it often swallows New Year’s whole. Winter’s bleak skies and bitter cold drag on, tulips and daffodils bloom and disappear in a flash and it is time to plant the vegetable garden. Picking peas in 98 degree heat, I wonder when fall will arrive.

How often I think ahead and miss the now. If only I could be in the present—which reminds me, Christmas is coming.

“Sit down and take a deep breath,” the husband says, as he brings in the mail. “You’re going to love this.”

“We won the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes!” I yell.

“No,” he says.

“It’s a check from the government saying they’re sorry they overcharged us on taxes for the past 45 years.”

“Wrong again,” he says. He dangles a small 4-by-6-inch white envelope in front of my nose.

“It can’t be,” I whisper. “Something from a real person?”

Day after day, week after week, our mailbox is stuffed with junk mail, circulars, flyers, unwanted promotional catalogs and advertisements, but real mail? We get real mail about as often as we get invited to Buckingham Palace.

He slowly turns the envelope around so I can see the address on the front written in purple ink. I recognize the handwriting.

“Be still my heart—a thank-you note!” I shriek.

Some say thank-you notes are no longer necessary, that they are as out of date as rotary-dial phones and Farrah Fawcett’s big hair.

I didn’t know saying thank you had term limits. Saying thank you is always in style—even in the digital age. These days, receiving a handwritten thank-you note is like a gift in return for a gift. Saying thank you keeps us human, kind and courteous.

A well-written thank you quite simply does three things: It lets the one who gave the gift know that the gift was received, that the gift is appreciated and that the gift will be enjoyed.

The first sentence of our thank you, from an 11-year-old who recently had a birthday, said, “Thanks so much for my foot bath-spa.”

The second sentence expressed how she feels about the gift. “I LOVE it!” (Big exclamation point and LOVE is underlined.)

The final sentence detailed how she planned on using the foot bath-spa, which in this case is often. “I have used it about 100 times already.”

The writer then concludes with her name and a tender embellishment – a drawing of her foot.

I am firmly in the pro thank-you camp. A handwritten thank-you note is a work of art, which is why ours is now hanging on the fridge.