My cousins, Geri and Cheryl, sisters and friends sent me a fun birthday gift!
I just turned 72 and Geri turns 72 in a few weeks, so we are especially close.
Here we are, sitting on our grandfather's knees when we were around a year old. Our moms are sisters! Aunt Geri, Geri Lynn, Grandpa Rivers, me and my mom, Ruth
I posted a photo of myself in my "birthday suit" as a baby in a life preserver. We were traveling to Greece for my dad's assignment at the US Embassy. It was labeled that we were on a holiday to Greece, but in fact we lived there for two years.
Of course as you can see in that picture, I was a baby so don't remember a whole lot about Greece. I was three years old when we returned to the States.
Now I am going to post a passport picture that was taken for that trip. In 1955, children were on their mother's passport, so Carol, Dale and baby me were all in the photo with our mother.
Here's a picture of me now, at age 72!
Journaling by hand while watching TV
Jessica sewing on my mom's- her great grandmother's sewing machine!
I wonder how. They are not the exact same flowers as last year. I saw them bloom, dry up and fade away. And yet here they are again.
I have been thinking about how you can never really go back.
I spend a lot of time reminiscing and remembering the places we have lived. The houses, our home for a period of time but eternal in my memory.
I look at old photos and recognize the blue flowered upholstery and drapes in our [second] house in Chiang Mai. Christmases we celebrated there and friends we had visiting. Small details like the rock garden beneath the stairs and the fence we had built to keep a crawling baby from eating the rocks. Morgan was the baby.
Lots of places. I have decided not to try listing them all here. I think a while ago I wrote about the various kitchens we have had. The rooms and feelings and memories.
Going back. I dreamed about the house we lived in when we lived in Tromsø. When we (Carol and the girls and I) in 2015-eleven years ago, it was almost exactly as I remembered it, The changes that the current owners made did not render it unrecognizable, just different. Familiar. And somehow I realized that that house, in my dreams, was totally different than the reality of it.
I look online at the places we have lived and imagine going back. Just to visit, not to stay.
I ask myself, why? Why do I want to go back? Is it to re-live what was? Is it to affirm that I didn't just imagine or dream it all. Is it to affirm my past?
The two places I reminisce abut are Tromsø, Norway and Perth, Western Australia. I know that the houses we lived in are still there.
But even eleven years ago Tromsø, though very recognizable, is not the same. There are traffic lights and fast food places. I say "those weren't here when we lived here" somehow making it feel like it was better back then.
And Perth. The city has changed. There are more freeways. There's a whole different look to the Foreshore than I remember it. Oh what a great place it was to be and to live. But I am not who I was. The city is not the same. I just want to capture the good parts of my past.
And, as just about everyone who is aging, I want "me" back. I want to be in my 20s again and even my 40s. Have that energy and mobility. Feeling beautiful again.
Am I in my final chapter? I am not currently dying as far as I know. But I am never going to be any younger.
My babies are all grown. Adults. A memory of their babyhood fills me with joy and dreams. And regrest of all of the things I wish I could undo and do over better.
And that's what I mean when I say life is like a river. It flows but the same water goes past and doesn't return. It just keeps flowing.
My UU church held a poetry slam on Saturday. I had no idea what it was, but I decided to go anyway and find out. I took several poems with me that I had written over the years.
Apparently, when I signed up I clicked the button designating myself as a poet. Good thing I had some poems with me.
There were actually only 10 people signed up as poets- me being one of them.
I was not at all nervous when I stood in front of the crowd and read. At the end, all of the poets were invited up on the stage and learned what the judges thought.
Guess what?! I won a $25.00 gift card. A total surprise!
That's me in the purple shirt.
Here's what I read:
My Grandfather’s Grave
In the fifties, my father took my mother to the family farm in Kjorefjord and showed her where his father is buried. He said “there, that’s the hole my father is in” and he walked away. Almost a lifetime later I stood at the foot of that same grave and felt so alive and connected. Here lies a piece of me, or I a piece it, the earth, of him, my father’s father. That same day, I stood in the room my grandfather was born in. I closed my eyes and in my imagination, I heard his first cries. I cried. I was born in that room that day. And at that grave on that farm in that village. I was whole and complete and I drank wine and ate cheese and strawberries under the midnight sun. Home.
This morning I put on Nick's jacket when I took Buddy out. Unless it is raining or snowing or all together too miserable, I feed Buddy outdoors- on the deck while I sit and listen to the birds.
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As I was saying, I had Nick's jacket on and I put my hands in the pockets- as I usually do. And I found a couple of slips of paper ( as I usually do). I took the paper out of the pocket and of course, it was just what I thought it would be. A couple of grocery lists- in my handwriting. No surprise to me, there were notes in Nick's handwriting listing ideas of what to have for dinner and what needs to be bought to make that dinner "tacos", "Mac & Cheese". etc.
I guess we are becoming- or have become- an old stereotyped couple. Sleeping in the same bed every night. Reaching out in the night to feel the other just as a comfort to see that we are each still there.
Most days I watch TV while I knit or fold laundry. Nick sits in his study and plays "Civ" (I think that's what it is) on his computer. Or reads and researches whatever has his interest that day.
In the evening we watch the evening news and Jeopardy. Then we decide what we will watch that evening. Often what Nick refers to as "police procedurals" Mainly British or something foreign. We do have a few American shows that we like as well.
We go to our various appointments. As we have grown older we have taken on more specialists. Orthopedist (me), cardiologist (both of us). Depending on what sort of appointment it is we might go alone or together. It's all good!
We don't like leaving Buddy home alone if we can help it. He is like our baby now. He has accidents on the floor if nobody is here . He doesn't get in trouble- he cannot help it.
And so goes what must look like an extremely boring life. But I am not bored. At least not very often. We have done So so so much in our lives together. Raised a bunch of kids. Buried out parents and friends and my brother.
We share stories. Lots of stories. We laugh. We grieve . We remember and we plan too.
Now for the "vintage" part of this blog entry. I was reading on Facebook where someone said that she made a great find of vintage clothes. From 1975!!! That made me laugh. Vintage? VINTAGE??? Wow. Make a girl feel old. I guess. I don't know that it really made me feel old. It just made me think of how silly we all are in our thoughts and ideas of what's old and what's not old. What's valuable because it's old and what's not.
Having gotten married in 1972 must make us really vintage. or are we just old? Or what? Crazy!
We remember the chaos of having a house full of kids. The energy. The noise. The mess. The joys and frustrations and worries. All of it. It is impossible to think of our kids and not remember cuddling up to nurse, or read a bedtime story. Of comfort a crying child. At any age.
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Good Old Buddy!
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Obituary
Shannon Elizabeth Heindel, 48, born in Kansas City, Kansas, and spent her later years in Fredericksburg, Virginia, entered God’s eternal care on Thursday, February 12, 2026, at home surrounded by her loving family.
She shared fifteen wonderful years of marriage with her devoted husband Jan Heindel. Shannon is survived by Jan; her children Dorian Rittenhouse, Dalton Rittenhouse, Georgia Heindel, and Cora Sue Heindel; her brother Sean Green; and her mother Sarah Green. She was preceded in death by her father Phillip Green and step‑father Robert Denes.
A licensed lactation consultant and small‑business owner, Shannon dedicated her professional life to supporting new mothers and their infants. Her Catholic faith guided her compassion and generosity. For more than two decades she volunteered with La Leche League, providing hands‑on assistance to breastfeeding mothers, and extended her reach through the online community with Bay Area Breast Feeding.
In her spare time, she enjoyed crocheting, creating beautiful pieces that reflected her patience and care.
“Those we love never truly leave us. They live on in the kindness we share, the lessons we teach, and the love we give.” Shannon embodied this truth through every mother she comforted, every child she helped nourish, and every stitch she lovingly crafted. Her legacy endures in the families she supported, the friendships she nurtured, and the lasting impact of her generous spirit.
Viewing and time to share memories with the family will be 6-8 PM, Thursday, February 19, 2026 at Feiser Funeral & Cremation Care, Inc., 302 Lincoln Way West, New Oxford, PA 17350. A Mass of Christian Burial will be held at 11 AM, Friday, February 20, 2026 at Immaculate Heart of Mary Catholic Church, 6084 W Canal Rd, Abbottstown, PA 17301, with Father Sam Miller as Celebrant. Burial will follow in the parish cemetery.
Feiser Funeral & Cremation Care, Inc. has been entrusted with the arrangements. Memories and condolences may be shared online at www.feiserfuneralhome.com.
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