Tag Archives: writing

December 19, 2025 · 7:19 am

Opulent Outlook

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Jackie Wells-Fauth

I read a long list of hints or household tips for making my house look richer than it is. This was kind of a shock, since I don’t plan to have Elon Musk or anyone of the kind over for a visit and if I did, they could put up with the squalor that is my comfortable house.

The tips were, to say the least, rather amusing. I didn’t go through all of them because there were forty-five (it takes a lot to make your house look rich, apparently), but a few of them did catch my eye and some of them made me howl with laughter, the laughter of the poor, obviously.

The first tip I would like to address has to do with my cushions. The tip is to add matching cushion covers to all of my soft furniture. If I could find cushion covers that would match, I can’t imagine why I would want my house to look like the impersonal waiting room at a large business firm. My mix of blues and yellows, grays and oranges catches the eye as you walk into my house. If I want to feel rich about this conglomeration, I would tell you that my style is “eclectic.” That sounds very snobby and upper crust, right?

It suggested that to look wealthy, I should use trays to group décor. What décor? On the same note, it said to declutter open areas. So, I ask, what open areas?

“Hang curtains higher to elongate a room.” Does this really make me look richer or just too stupid to correctly hang curtains?

Then they got nasty. “Make your bed every day.” Let’s not get crazy here! And “Use two pillows each side for hotel vibes.” Am I really going for hotel vibes? And finally, “Tuck your throw at the foot of the bed.” This is not where I usually need a throw!

“Decant pantry items into matching jars.” Decant…what a nice, snobby word. And the bag the noodles come in will work just fine, thank you! “Use glass containers or baskets in the fridge.” Answer me one question: If I’m so rich, why am I giving tours of my refrigerator? “Wipe down cupboard fronts regularly.” I want to look rich, not obsessive!

“Keep cleaning products out of sight.” Because…rich people don’t have cleaning products? “Keep one candle, reed diffuser or eucalyptus in the shower.” There are several problems here, beginning with why would rich people invite others into the shower, how would you keep a candle lit in the shower and what the heck is a reed diffuser???

“Add a small hand towel on the basin, folded neatly.” I can’t tell you how this would make me look richer. Also, I can’t tell you how fast it would no longer be “folded neatly” at the side of the basin. I’m trying to imagine explaining to Roy, “Yes, this is a towel and no, you are not to use it; I want other people to see it, and think we are rich.”

“Move furniture slightly away from walls.” So…in the middle of the room? I like furniture placed as the good lord intended—plastered against the wall, scraping the paint.

“Keep entryways clear and welcoming.” If I do that, how will people know where to leave their shoes and coats without mine thrown right there in front of them, to give them the hint?

“Declutter one thing from every room.” This is the first really good idea I have read. And the first thing I’m going to declutter from the living room is the magazine containing the article about tips for looking richer!

I’ve given it a lot of consideration, and I’ve decided to stay with my lower middle-class house-with-a-lived-in-look-to-it status. I’m sorry if this means Elon Musk won’t consider my home grand enough to visit. I confess, however, that I would like to visit his house (or one of them). I want to look in his shower to find out what a reed diffuser is!

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December 14, 2025 · 10:07 am

An ill wind

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Jackie Wells-Fauth

Imagine me writing about wind! Wonder what gave me the idea. Maybe it was the random bit of cardboard box that slapped me in the teeth as I stepped out into the “gentle breezes” this week!

There’s an old saying that goes something like: It’s an ill wind that blows no good. Well, ladies and gentlemen, I’m here to tell you that this is, indeed, an ill wind!

I’m used to the struggles we all have with the “light zephyr” type winds that spread their teasing fingertips across our land. Okay, it’s more like a sonic boom that has the power to knock you flat! Knowing all this, however, doesn’t make me any fonder of the blast and if my wording above misleads you, I can assure you that I am taking refuge in sarcasm!

It’s not that I don’t hope. I was checking my phone for the weather (and that’s a new one for me) and all of the sudden, it flipped to a new screen which said, “sunny skies, 69 degrees.” How wonderful! I knew I was on the wrong forecast, however, when it continued, “calm winds, quiet night.” Okay, so with my great technological skills, I had found the forecast for San Diego, California. Disappointing for here, but from the sounds of it, maybe I should go there!

But back to South Dakota and the less than calm winds we are getting. I went out to get the mail the other day and this was not on the worst day. I get my mail from a community mailbox stand and when I got it out, I laid the letters on top so I could turn back and lock my box.

Immediately, the wind picked up the top letter and flipped it to the ground. I debated: did I really want to get down between those two boxes to try to retrieve it? It could just be a bill, but then again, maybe it was a Christmas card—it is the season.

Getting down on my knees in the snow is probably pretty amazing for me, but getting back up is a Christmas miracle. I had retrieved the letter, however, and it was definitely a Christmas card. Standing there, so proud of my achievement, I reached up to get the rest of the letters from where I had placed them on top of the boxes. Just as I did, the wind flipped them onto the ground beyond the mailboxes and in the neighbor’s back yard.

They were scattered around and again, I considered how bad did I want to retrieve them. With my brand new coat’s long skirts (the reason I bought it) twisting around my legs and my not waterproof shoes wading through snow, I chased down all of those letters. Every one was an advertisement!

Oh well, at least I had the Christmas card. I put my hand down to be certain I had placed it in my pocket. In so doing, I knocked it out and the wind took it for another playful little run, with me running behind!

By the time I got it, the paper was somewhat saturated and the Christmas letter inside a little hard to read. But never fear, every one of those ads was warm, dry and undamaged. They also quickly hit the garbage!

The only other thing I had gotten in that ill wind was a couple of large rolls of Christmas paper, which I stacked on the landing to my front door, just a little above my head when I’m on the ground. I was going to fetch something else (I’m not remembering what), so I turned away just in time for the wind to blow both of those rolls of paper off, hitting me neatly in the back of the head.

By the time I got in with soggy mail and damp but dangerous Christmas paper, I was a trifle grumpy. I scraped the hair out of my face with my very best Taylor Swift gesture and said to the dog staring innocently up at me: “What are you looking at? I’ve been out on this lovely day and it just blew my mind!”

It’s an ill wind, folks! How far is it to San Diego, anyway?

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December 5, 2025 · 10:51 am

Letting it Hang

Jackie Wells-Fauth

Right now, as I’m writing, I’m looking at the wall behind my computer and I am rather proud of it. There are two framed photos, a calendar (on the wrong month) two cardboard pieces with chalk drawings and the painting I made at a painting party many years ago.

I love looking at these things, but Roy avoids looking at this wall because it offends all of his sensibilities. It’s not that he minds the things I have on the wall (well, maybe he wishes the calendar was right), it’s the way I have hung them up. I like to say that my ability to decorate a wall with artwork or pictures is somewhat random, if you know what I mean.

Where Roy will measure and estimate and carefully string up a hanger on the back of the item, I prefer the thumbtack and sticky tape method. As for placement, well, I’m a little random there as well. It’s hurtful to the eye of a man who prefers precision in the hangings on his walls.

He came out of the bathroom after his morning shower one day rubbing his shoulder and holding a framed picture that I had just hung up the day before.

“Why did you take that picture down? I want it to hang over the shower,” I whined.

“Explain why we need a picture over the shower in the bathroom, where no one is likely to notice it?”

“It’s a beautiful picture of rain on flowers; perfect for the shower,” I said. “Now why did you take it down?”

“I didn’t take it down. Your perfect rainfall picture fell on me when I got out of the shower,” he explained, handing me the picture. “What did you hang it up with?”

“That little needle, right there,” I said, pointing to a tiny shard of metal on the wall above the shower.

He shook his head, walking away. “It’s too small to hold that picture and besides, it’s way off center.”

“Well, I’m hanging it back up, so just watch yourself when you come out of the shower,” I said, defiantly.

“Just the words a fella wants to hear concerning his own bathroom,” he was getting sarcastic. “Maybe none of my relatives will have to use the toilet when they are here.”

It’s always the same. What should we hang up and where should we hang it? It’s a question that can at least cause ripples in a marriage. While I am holding the picture up approximately where it should go on the wall, he is dragging out the tape measure and sorting through his supplies of nails to figure out which one goes.

After hanging a picture recently that required him to get up and down on a ladder, he said to me, “Is this hanging evenly?”

“Yes, it looks just fine,” I answered. “Don’t worry about it.”

It seems those are exactly the wrong words to say to him about pictures. He climbed down off the ladder, stepped back to look at the picture, got back on the ladder, adjusted it (he didn’t ask my opinion that time), got down, looked again and went up for one final tweak. I’m convinced the last one wasn’t necessary; he was just showing off.

I have several more things that I would like to hang up, but I am going to wait until this latest round of marital picture hanging has faded into memory. In other words, I’m just going to let it hang!

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November 23, 2025 · 10:42 am

Day of Grace

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Jackie Wells Fauth

As a child, I really wanted to grow up to be a ballerina. Then I discovered you had to be in top athletic shape, practice continuously and most of all possess great balance and grace and I soon got over that notion.

Although I will never dance the lead in Swan Lake, I do try to be as coordinated and careful as I can, but the older I get, the harder this becomes. And this week, I abandoned all notion that I might be considered graceful and poised.

It’s the carpets that get me. I have discovered the joys and comforts of sneakers, but the one thing they don’t like is carpet…especially short nap carpet. I tend to drag my feet a little (okay, probably a lot) and I discovered this week that the combination of sneakers, short carpet, dragging feet and lack of grace can be pretty lethal.

While walking across a short carpet, I pulled a pretty complicated dance move. My shoes stopped short, but the rest of me kept on going. This meant that I took a headlong plunge across the front of the theater at the school. Not one of my finer moments and a bit startling for the student I was coaching in oral interp.

By the time he got over to where I was sprawled, full length, I was dazed but already trying to get up. I had a bloody nose and my glasses flew off and bent, but I was able to scramble to my feet. Perhaps the worst part was that the coffee mug I had been drinking from fell from my hands and landed just perfectly to cushion the fall for my face. This sounds like it might be fortunate, but it’s not!

A coffee mug to the face at full speed tends to “knock you for a loop” as they say, so it took me a few seconds to realize I was bleeding profusely from the nose. I charged headlong into the bathroom, frightening two girls so much, I think they may have kept running until they were several blocks from the school.

Everyone was sweet and helpful, and I got ice packs and cloths and whatever I needed. I was really panic stricken because my vision was completely blurred, but this fear was allayed when they handed me my glasses. Oh, yeah, those help! My vision was still a little fuzzy, but if I set the glasses on my face at just the right angle, they still work! Hopefully I can get them straightened soon!

My most painful injury was along my side where I hit the ground, but because of public decency laws, I can’t show those bruises to anyone. The least painful, but possibly the prettiest is my eye. It developed a shiner like no other and it has been all the colors of the rainbow for the past few days.

Now, I want to just ignore the fact that I have a black eye, but when half your face is swollen and purple, people tend to notice. I tried all the regular jokes, “You should see the other guy,” or “It was a heck of a bar fight, but I won.” It still ends with me having to admit that my lack of grace and addiction to coffee collided in a bad way.

I am already starting to lose the worst of the color from the eye and even my side isn’t as painful as it was, but the fact remains that this accident happened due to my careless way of walking; time to learn how to do that all over, I guess.

The doctor may have had the best suggestion moving forward. “Go home and rest,” she advised. “Relax, read (if you can) and have some coffee…but maybe we should try a sipper cup.” Sound advice to wrap up my day of no grace!

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November 23, 2025 · 10:36 am

The art of not being nervous

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Jackie Wells-Fauth

I bet you think I’m going to give you tips on how not to be nervous in nerve-wracking situations, right? Well, you would be 100 percent wrong!

The only “art” I have when it comes to nervousness is how to make it so much worse! It doesn’t matter what I am nervous about, good or bad; I can always add to the drama.

If I’m going to the doctor, it’s a mad rush. I am always there early, bringing an entire backpack of self-care. Reading materials that I don’t read or maybe snacks—too much sugar might affect my blood pressure, so I’ll have chips with the satisfying crunch and lots of salt—which will affect my blood pressure. We can’t have that when my blood pressure is already going to be high.

So no self-care packet. I must do something to ease the tension, but what? I know, I’ll tell a few amusing jokes:

“These gowns are so chic; who is your designer?”  Or perhaps:

“I prefer cold instruments because then I know I’m alive.” No? Maybe:

“Awww…only two shots; how disappointing. I have four limbs to stab, you know.”

Yeah, maybe no jokes.

Waiting for planes, trains, buses or taxis is also very nerve-wracking for me. Again, I arrive very early, so while anyone else at the station is trying to uncomfortably nap, I am busy rearranging all the luggage, adjusting everything and taking inventory. That way, I know right away all the things I remembered and I have more time to stress over the things I forgot. And there’s always that nervous uncertainty:

“Is that our plane? I don’t think that’s it; it should be bigger.”

Or, standing in the cold morning air on a street corner:

“They are not here yet and it’s only ten minutes to the set arrival time. Did I give them the right address? What if I said it wrong?”

And if all else fails, I can make a joke:

“Well, if they don’t get here, we can always walk; it’s only five miles to the airport.” (Upon reflection, this is not a very funny joke.)

If you’re wondering where this rumination on nervous anticipations is coming from, it’s because I am at a drama competition where all I can do is wait for the students to compete. That might be the worst nervousness of all. Nervous anticipation on behalf of others.

So, I do the other thing I do when I’m waiting and nervous: I write. It doesn’t always make sense, but I write. My other choices here are to go around and listen to the competition:

“Did I tell the students to do that move when they are presenting? Oh, I couldn’t have! Oh, now I can’t look!”

Or, I can spend the time waiting with the kids about to compete, sharing my nervousness all around:

“Straighten your tie, and make sure your shoes are knotted. You look nervous; you’re not nervous are you? I’m sure not nervous.”

I have had students specifically request that I go sit in a quiet corner somewhere and breathe deeply.

“Okay, I’ll do that. Or, better still, I could tell a joke. I’ve got a million of them!”

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October 31, 2025 · 2:28 am

Josie’s Dreams

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Jackie Wells-Fauth

I read an interesting article the other day. According to some study out there, dogs dream all the time. And more than that, their dreams are about us, their owners. I’m not sure who interviewed the canines for this or how it was accomplished, but how interesting.

I looked at my dog, Josie, lying on the floor, just waking up from her tenth nap of the day. She blinked up at me and I said, “You must have a lot of nightmares.”

She simply yawned and went back to sleep. She has nothing to worry about as long as she has Roy.

I generally refer to Josie as “stupid,” but in reality, she is pretty smart for a four-legged mammal who drinks out of the toilet and chews on a rubber pig for fun.

When we plan any trip or activity, I plan what to pack and who to visit and Roy plans for the dog. I love to stop and eat at a nice restaurant along the way on our frequent trips to see the kids. But we can’t do that with the dog along—unless we can find a spot that’s shady enough or warm enough, or just plain fine enough for the dog.

We once parked three blocks out of the way of a restaurant, so the dog was in a shady spot. That, while we strolled through the hot sun to get to the restaurant. But normally, she’s much nearer to us than that. Roy has been known to go out during a meal and move the car, so he has a better view of her circumstances. Now, I don’t want the dog to fry in the car, but I also dread the day when we invite her inside to enjoy a steak and fries and maybe some ketchup to dip them in!

It isn’t only when we travel that the dog lives well. She has chewed up countless dog beds, I presume in protest to the indignity of lying on the floor. She leaves them in absolute shreds while she commandeers the couch I had planned as a bunk for grandsons when they visit. Not that they would mind sharing with her one bit—she has them wrapped around her paw as well.

Josie is beginning to show her age—and aren’t we all? She’s getting gray around the muzzle, and she takes a little more effort to jump in the pickup for a hunting excursion. And after an hour or two of tramping through the tall grass and chasing pheasants, she’s pretty tired, but she and Roy still enjoy the outing!

But even this doggy-master romance has its rough patches. The dog came home with a limp and a sheepish air about her from their latest outing. I noticed with surprise that her best buddy had a bandage on his hand and an air of regret.

Turns out loading an aging dog is not so handily done as before and as Roy was helping her in, she caught her leg. Roy, not realizing this, continued to push and in her distress, Josie drove home her point by driving her teeth into his hand. She obviously felt bad about what was, for an animal, a purely instinctive survival action, but I couldn’t resist a little “jab” of my own.

“So, biting the hand that fees you, are you, dog? That is not very smart.”

She turned and gave me that grave, considering look she has, as though she’s mentally measuring me for a pine box and a hole in the ground.

Yeah, I don’t think I’d care to analyze any dreams that dog has about me!

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October 26, 2025 · 4:39 am

Gremlin Gripes

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Jackie Wells-Fauth

At this rather spooky time of year, I must tell you that I believe a gremlin has attached itself to me. And the grabby little bugger is causing no end of trouble.

On our recent vacation, we spent two nights in Dover, England, where they tell me the spirits of sailors lost in the English Channel wander the streets. I assumed these were just tales designed to enhance the city’s mystique, but now I wonder.

We spent the nights there in a charming old building along the harbor. In the middle of the first night, I awoke because the bathroom light went on. I assumed Roy was in there until I put out a hand and he was in bed.

When you’re half asleep, you really don’t reason things. I got up, went to the bathroom and turned off the light. When I mentioned it to Roy the following morning, he said, “Faulty wiring.”

So, when it happened again the second night, I said, “Roy the faulty wiring is acting up. Go shut it off.” And then it went off by itself. It continued this most of the night until finally I sat up in bed and said, “Casper, knock it off.” That was it. No more “faulty wiring.”

Since then, I seem to have acquired a gremlin, who doesn’t steal my things so much as borrow them. Every time I lose something, Grady (he doesn’t seem to like the name Casper) watches while I frantically look for it, and then, casually returns it to some obvious place where I’ve already looked.

I lost my phone while we were still in Europe, a financial disaster in any case, but also, a loss of our means of communication if we were separated. I looked frantically through every pocket, counter, crevice and my purse, a dozen times. Exhausted, I decided to search the room one last time. There, lying peacefully, in the middle of the mattress, was my phone. I could almost hear Grady the Gremlin laughing.

I said, “Go back to Dover and leave me alone.”

Grady apparently decided he would like to try out the New World, so he followed me home. In the days since I have been home, I have lost and “reacquired” about a dozen items. I could not find the best soup ladle I have ever had and tore the kitchen apart, only to discover that it was sitting ever so sweetly on top of the microwave. I didn’t have soup in the microwave, so it must have been Grady.

My best pair of sewing scissors disappeared out of my sewing bag. I searched and searched, cursing Grady as I went, and eventually ended up using the kitchen shears, which are great for cutting meat, but not so fine for snipping threads. On the second night, I put my hand in the sewing bag, and my good scissors scratched my fingers. They were perched on the top of some balls of yarn. Score another one for Grady.

The latest “Grady grab” was my calendar. I use a paper calendar, in a big purple book that can’t be missed and if I can’t find it, it’s like having amnesia. I don’t know anything that’s going on. I missed it while at the school, so I thought I had simply left it at home. I went home and looked everywhere without any success. I’d already looked at the school, so I was stymied.

Finally, given no other options, I returned to the school and started asking people if they had seen it. (Unfortunately, I don’t write my name in it.) No luck. I was frantic. What would I do without my practice schedules?

Completely frustrated, I said to Grady, “Okay, enough is enough. I need that book, or they are going to put me in the home for having lost my mind.” I walked into the theater and there was the calendar, lying right out in the open where I had frantically searched an hour before.

I have my calendar again, but I am still a little worried: Might they put me in the home anyway for talking to an invisible gremlin? I know you’re laughing, Grady, and you can just stop!

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October 12, 2025 · 12:41 am

Insecure in the Security Line

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Jackie Wells-Fauth

Before I say too much here, allow me to state that I understand the very serious purpose of security checks at the airport. I am grateful for the caution that is used to keep me safe.

Having said that, I must tell you that security lines at the airport make me frozen with fear. I don’t know why. I’m not trying to smuggle in a weapon; I don’t plan to hijack the plane or blow it up (I’m not keen on killing myself). But suddenly, when I look into the eyes of a security officer at the airport, I remember that I still have that breath mint, wrapped in crinkly paper, stuck in the pocket of my jeans. It came from Amsterdam, and here I am, trying to get into Paris. What if it shows up in X-ray and they detain me for unlawful transport of oral deodorants???????!!!!!!

I think it’s safe to say that authority of any kind turns me into a dithering idiot and on most good days, I don’t have all that far to go to get there. I don’t need a lady eying me up and down as she puts on her plastic gloves and asks me if I want to step into a private room. No I do not! Whatever we’re going to do, we’re going to do in front of everyone! Or upon reflection, maybe not!

Generally, I am not thinking about these security lines when I get ready to go on a trip. And it seems like every time I go through one, either I wore the shirt with the studs decorating the shoulders, or I brought home a bag of trinkets in a souvenir bag that has what they described as a “suspicious odor.” I don’t tell them that the studs are really cheap plastic and the souvenir bag smells funny because it spent the night before sitting on my smelly sneakers. It’s better not to argue; just let them pat down those plastic studs or run a security wand through the souvenirs and discover there is really nothing lethal on the Paddington Bear I was bringing my grandson!

The X-ray machines are always a treat. I once heard a lady tell a TSA officer at the Denver airport as she stepped into the security X-ray, “Oh good, I’m overdue for my mammogram!” The officer was clearly not amused and so I swallowed my laugh before it could get out and meekly entered the machine without any smart comments about needing copies for my Christmas cards! The first thing you are told is not to make jokes. Unfortunately, when I am nervous, jokes just fall out of my mouth and they are wasted on people who aren’t allowed to have a sense of humor on the job.

I once set off the security alarms with a briefcase in the JFK in New York. With four security officers standing and staring at me, I went completely blank. I couldn’t remember the combination to the briefcase. I tried three times to get it right and by the time I finally got it open, even I wondered if I was smuggling in something lethal! It turned out that the marble statuette I had gotten my mother-in-law looked suspicious to the machine, but when they discovered I couldn’t shoot bullets out of it, they gave it back and left me alone to try and re-lock my briefcase with my trembling fingers!

I also get rattled when I am trying to put all my belongings into the little bins. At the Dublin airport, I needed to take off my jacket and give them the bag I had around my neck. Unfortunately, the bag was over the jacket, so when I tried to take the jacket off first, I nearly hung myself. The security fellow said with a heavy Irish accent, “Off in reverse of how they went on, Love!” I was so rattled by the accent that I asked, “Do you want anything else off?” It’s the first time I ever accidentally propositioned a security officer, but he was very nice and just shook his head.

I have been traveling with a cane for the past couple of years because I need it for stairs. It’s a pain in a security line, though, because everyone has a different procedure for how to handle it. In the Paris security line, they took it away from me completely and ran it through a special x-ray machine. I got through everything and had the rest of my hand luggage, but the cane never appeared. I asked a couple of the officers, but they didn’t know what happened to it. Finally, I saw it sitting, leaned up against a wall. Were they done with it? I don’t know. I simply grabbed it and, resisting the impulse to run like I’d just robbed the bank, I walked on down the hallway to my gate. My face hasn’t appeared on any international terrorist wanted posters for illegal pilfering of a cane, so I think I’m fine!

Okay, now I’ve had my fun and the security officers have had theirs, so I can end this little saga. And the next time I travel…I’m taking a bike!

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September 25, 2025 · 6:57 am

A great lady passes

Jackie Wells-Fauth

When I got married, I supposed that I would find my mother-in-law, Millie, to be irritating or at best, tolerable. We aren’t supposed to be all that crazy about our mothers-in-law, are we? That is a normal attitude towards mothers-in-law.

Except my mother-in-law was not at all what I expected. She was, at first, quiet and demure and she did not interfere at all with my marriage. I appreciated her hands off attitude, but it soon became apparent that this was not at all what she was really like. She was not necessarily quiet and demure; she was so sweet and a whole lot of fun to be around.

Her support for me in my marriage and her unwavering friendship have been of great value to me. She loved my children as well with that quiet, always supportive attitude and they grew up appreciating her kindnesses as well. Stefanie wanted her name to be Crystal–she complained to Grandma and the next thing you knew, Stefanie had a T-shirt from Grandma that had Crystal, written in sparkly crystals, across the front. Stefanie was delighted and wore it out. Tracie didn’t care so much for rhubarb kuchen and told her grandma she thought chocolate chips would be better. Grandma quietly made chocolate chip kuchen just for her (nobody else wanted it) and Tracie was charmed.

Nothing she did was splashy. She would come to my house and stand doing the dishes after a meal. That made me nervous, because she was a much neater housekeeper than I. She never said a word about my housekeeping, although I was amused to see her surreptitiously wiping the tops of the cupboards or swiping quickly behind the faucet, places I never got to—but she did it quietly and automatically and without critical remarks and attitudes.

She was a beautiful seamstress, making clothes for the girls, including when she and my mother collaborated in the construction of Renaissance dresses for my daughters.  She also altered just about anything. When Roy had a project, he would say with confidence, “Mom can do this.” She always did. When I could not figure out how we were even going to begin on the wedding dress Stefanie had chosen, I took her with me to Stef’s for a weekend and by the end of that time, just like that, a wedding dress was underway.

She was also a dynamite cook, with a real talent for kuchen. She once made enough for an entire wedding reception, no mean feat, I can tell you! Watching her prepare meals in her spotless kitchen was always an experience. I told her once that I had used her work–fixing and presenting a meal–to my classes as an example of visual artistry. She laughed so hard at that, as she continued to so gracefully stir and bake and boil and peel in her seamless, graceful way of presenting a meal. She once told me that she was not a very good cook, and it was my turn to laugh uproariously. She never thought of herself as talented or skilled, but she was in so many ways.

She was a wonderful painter. On one of our last conversations together, I told her my girls—who both have paintings and many pieces of artistry from her themselves, were having a lively discussion over who would get the paintings she has given to Roy and I.  She responded,  “Oh, well, that’s nothing to bother about. Once you don’t want them anymore, they may not have space for them anyway!” It was amazing that she really didn’t realize that I would lock my children out of my house before I would willingly give up her art works while I’m alive and my daughters will clear anything they have on their walls to hang her creations.

She loved to travel and was still agile at the age of 84, when she determined to climb to the top of the Statue of Liberty for the second time in her life. She made it, too, while I gave up about three quarters of the way and then cursed her for making me look bad. She just laughed and kept on going.

Millie passed away this week, and did so right where she wanted to be, in her own home. Roy and I had just landed in Amsterdam at the start of our long-planned trip to Europe. So, we began our trip by sitting in a Dutch airport, crying copiously in front of strangers. We continued the trip because so much had gone into it and I think Millie would have been sorry to be the reason we ditched and went home, but she was with us the whole way.

 I will miss Millie so much not because she was my mother-in-law, but because she was my friend, my confidante and the most human person I have ever had the privilege to know.

The world is a little poorer now, because a great lady has passed.

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September 19, 2025 · 9:27 am

Talk of the Town

Photo by Darya Sannikova on Pexels.com

Jackie Wells-Fauth

“I need to get the clothes started in the wash early, because there are a lot of them. I wonder where the dog is. She was just here. I need a new pair of shoes; these are so worn out.”

This was the conversation I was having this morning and it’s pretty normal; just what anyone would talk about…except that I was alone and talking to myself. Go ahead, try and convince me that you’ve never done that! I talk to myself all the time.

“Mrs. Fauth, who are you talking to?” a student would come into my classroom and ask. “There’s no one else in here.”

“I’m talking to myself,” I would answer defensively.

“Don’t do that; it makes you look crazy,” they would chide.

“I love talking to myself,” I told them proudly. “I am the most sympathetic listener I have.”

I’ve always mumbled to myself, so it isn’t a symptom of old age, but my students and my grandchildren definitely think it could be otherwise. I was mentally arranging the things I had to do for the day in my head as I moved around the kitchen during a recent grandchild visit.

“Grandma are you talking to me?” asked my loving grandchild.

“Oh, no, I’m just answering the voices in my head,” I said, trying to make a joke. I’m not sure he got it and I’m also not sure he didn’t contact his parents that afternoon, asking them to come rescue him from the crazy lady!

The fact remains, however, that I have whole conversations with myself and they are usually the most satisfying! I can solve all of my problems and some of those in the world, just with a quiet conversation with myself over a cup of coffee in the morning. “If they would just put a stoplight on that corner, we would have no problems, you mark my word,” I observed one morning.

The dog, who was lying on the deck beside me, picked up her head and looked around for other people. None were there, however, and she is too used to my mutterings to be too worried about it. She went back to sleep while I continued, “I don’t know what to do about that bush. Should I trim it back, do you think? No, that would ruin the looks of it.”

Someone told me once that talking to yourself is not a sign of being crazy. However, if you answer yourself, then you have a problem. So, I have a problem. Because I answer myself all the time. Even worse, I get into arguments with myself…and occasionally, I lose them!

“You need to get that window cleaned, it’s filthy,” I will tell myself.

“I’ll clean that window when I’m darned good and ready and don’t tell me what to do!” I count that as an argument that I won.

Talking to myself in the confines of my own home is one thing, but I have been known to carry on conversations with myself in public places. If you see me out for a walk, I’ll usually be having a lively conversation, complete with hand gestures.

I don’t always know that I’m doing this, but occasionally, I will look up in some public place and see someone giving me a very odd stare and I’ll know that they were in on the conversation I was having about the best pain reliever to buy. Me, myself and I haven’t come to an agreement on that, so we argue it in public a lot.

The other day, I was driving the car down the street (I frequently compliment myself on my driving). On this day, however, I was having a heated argument with myself, and I don’t even remember the subject or which of me was winning. However, I was chattering away and as I raised one hand for emphasis, I noticed the person waiting on the corner for me to pass so they could walk. I quickly paused and indicated that they should go ahead. For a moment they looked at me and then turned around and walked the other way.

“Well, that was odd,” I told myself.

“Oh, I agree. What was their problem?” I answered.

Life is fun when you are the talk of the town!

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