Category: Reflections

I can’t remember every detail, but a few years ago, I got a phone call from one of my daughters. 

We talked often—she lives about 2,500 miles away—and she’s one of those people I just get. You know how sometimes there’s a click between souls? That’s her. Sweet. Smart. A big part of my life. 

This call started like a lot of our chats—casual, familiar—but took an unexpected turn. 

“Dad,” she said, “I’m not sure exactly how to say this…but after a lot of self-discovery, I’ve realized I’m non-binary. My pronouns are they and them now. And…I have a new name.” 

That’s not the exact script, but it’s the condensed version burned into my memory. It caught me completely off guard. 

And I don’t shock easily. I came out as gay in my early 60s, so I figured I’d seen—and felt—it all. But this? This was new terrain. 

When Logic Meets Love 

At first, I went into my old familiar mode: logic. 

I tried to make sense of it, to analyze it, to be sure everything had been thought through. But after many conversations—and a lot of inner work—I realized none of that mattered. What mattered most was simple: 

Was my child safe? 

Were they happy? 

That’s the deal when you have adult kids. 

You love them for who they are, not for the boxes they check, the labels they claim, or the pronouns they use. 

Old Habits, New Language 

I’ll be honest—it didn’t come naturally at first. 

My mouth kept tripping over the new pronouns. Not because I didn’t accept them, but because my brain kept reaching for the old language I’d used for decades.

Three years later, I still have to catch myself sometimes. 

It’s not about resistance—it’s about rewiring. 

But honestly? That’s small potatoes. 

What matters is we have each other, just as we are. 

Love Without Fine Print 

Sometimes, life invites you to let go of the script you thought you were following. You can’t control everything—or everyone. 

And even if you don’t understand, it doesn’t change the fact that love has no conditions. Three years have passed. 

They are now a successful tattoo artist with a circle of friends and a life that’s meaningful, creative, and—most importantly—happy. 

Our relationship is solid, full of love, respect, and humor. 

I still wish I had a switch in my brain that made the pronouns automatic. 

But what I’ve learned is: Love doesn’t need a perfect script. It needs an open heart.

The Call You Might Get 

Here’s the thing: You can’t cross someone’s free will. 

Loving someone doesn’t mean only if they stay inside your comfort zone—or your politics. Love that has conditions isn’t really love. It’s a transaction. 

So, maybe someday you’ll get a call. 

Maybe it’ll be, “Mom, I’m gay,” or “Dad, I’m a Libertarian,” or “I’m moving to an ashram in Nepal.” 

If you truly love them, you’ll let them live their lives—and find the spaces where you can still connect, still laugh, still love. 

Life’s too short for anything less.

About 15 years ago, I always felt bloated. At the time, I was jogging three to four times a week and average weight for my height and build, so I knew it wasn’t from overeating. Many friends and relatives were saying it’s probably gluten or dairy. So, I did an experiment and stopped eating both for 6 weeks. The bloating disappeared rather quickly, and I started to feel better; but being dairy free and gluten free can be a major inconvenience. Sure, there are alternatives. There’s frozen gluten-free bread that often tastes like cardboard, although there were a few that were tolerable. Being dairy free wasn’t too bad because there are so many alternatives, like almond creamer for coffee, and dairy free cream cheese, etc.

I kept up with these new eating choices for years. Within the past three years, I learned some things that surprised me regarding my situation. I had a sensitivity, but no allergy, like celiacs disease. There are two important finds that I’d like to share with you:

Sourdough Bread Revelation

I was visiting my brother and sister-in-law in South Carolina and learned that my brother, also retired, had taken up the practice of making his own sourdough bread. He also had a book called The Plant Paradox, by Stephen R. Gundry, MD, which I began reading. I learned that sourdough bread has far less gluten in comparison to Whole Wheat or White Wheat bread. So I did a litttle research:

Type of Bread            | Average Gluten Content (per 100g)
-------------------------|----------------------------------
White Wheat Bread        | 10–12 grams
Whole Wheat Bread        | 11–14 grams
Traditional Sourdough*   | 2–4 grams or less

*Long-fermented sourdough

I introduced sourdough bread to my diet and no bloating. It was a miracle for a person who loves bread and has been eating cardboard-type substances for more than a decade. It isn’t difficult making sourdough bread. Some folks prefer using a scale. I found that method to be laborious. Once you get the hang of it, it seems fairly straightforward. There are a ton of books on sourdough or just check out the web.

This change opened up so many possibilities. Soon I was making sourdough pizza and a few sourdough desserts. This was a game changer. But wait it gets better:

What no Lactose?

I was taking a hike with a good friend who happens to be a general practitioner and he also has issues with dairy. He casually mentioned to me that the only type of dairy that he can eat safely was aged cheeses. He explained that aged cheeses are typically lactose free. Lactose is often the culprit when one has dairy sensitivities. I had a hard time digesting that information, pardon the pun, but having family members and friends and doctor visits, no one ever told me that I could eat aged cheeses without the deleterious effects that dairy typically had. I had tried taking lactose tablets, but found them unpredictable.

I was blown away because being able to safely eat aged cheeses opened up a whole new world for me. I could now have REAL cheese on my pizza and make glorious omelets, cheese and all. I stay away from sour cream, ricotta, ice cream, milk, whey. And I found perfectly satisfying alternatives for each.

Breakfast

Breakfast is my favorite meal. And for the past few years, I’ve been enjoying incorporating aged cheeses and sourdough bread into wonderful breakfasts. Eggs, considered a perfect protein, containing all 22 amino acids, are my number one favorite food. I make something different every morning. There are so many ways to cook eggs. Plus, I add an extra egg to my meal and give it to my dog. It’s great for dogs as well.

I wanted to share these findings with you just in case you “didn’t get the memo!” Sourdough bread has many health benefits aside from less than 20% of the gluten. Cooking with aged cheeses, and there are many, can open up many new recipes that you may never had thought of trying. 

These two revelations changed my life, and my diet. Give it a try. 

The “Jackpot” Method That Changed Everything

Every single day—rain, snow, or wind—my six-year-old pup, Poppy, and I hit the trail. We even squeezed in a short hike when I had COVID (yes, I know… probably not my best idea). But for us, hiking isn’t just a habit—it’s a way of life.

One of the most rewarding things I ever did for both of us was train Poppy to hike off leash. It’s made our outings more peaceful, more enjoyable, and surprisingly, has turned into a conversation starter with fellow hikers. People are often amazed: “She just sticks with you?” “She always comes when called?” Yes. Always. Here’s exactly how we got there—and how you can, too.

It All Started With a Class

When Poppy was six months old, I enrolled her in a basic obedience class for new dog owners. She graduated with flying colors—complete with a little certificate! She learned the basics: sit, stay, come. I was thrilled.

After the class, I asked the trainer how I could take it a step further: How do I train my dog to hike off leash? It had always been a dream of mine to have a dog that would reliably stay with me and return the moment I called.

Of course, I had my doubts. I’d seen panicked hikers frantically calling for their dogs—dogs who had chased something, wandered too far, or simply stopped listening. I didn’t want to be one of them.

The trainer introduced me to a technique called “Jackpotting.” Once I started using it, everything changed.

What is Jackpotting?

Jackpotting is a high-reward training technique that uses multiple treats and enthusiastic praise to reinforce a specific behavior. In this case, we’re reinforcing your dog’s response to the recall command (“come”).

Step-by-Step: Teaching Off-Leash Recall with Jackpotting

1. Pack High-Value Treats — Bring something amazing—cheese cubes, bits of hot dog, real chicken—whatever your dog goes nuts for.

2. Start With a Mini Celebration — Before taking the leash off, give your dog 8–10 treats in rapid succession while praising them like crazy. “Good girl, good girl!” Make it a party!

3. Short Leash-Free Test Run — Unclip the leash and walk just a few feet. Then call your dog—even if they’re right next to you. When they respond, boom: 8–10 more treats and lots of praise.

4. Repeat and Reinforce — Keep hiking, and repeat this process multiple times. You’re teaching a clear pattern: Come = jackpot. Gradually reduce the number of treats.

5. Practice, Practice, Practice — Hike frequently—3–5 times a week, if you can. The more consistent you are, the faster it becomes second nature.

6. Train Safely — Nervous? Start in a fenced area like a dog park. Build trust before heading out to open trails.

The Long-Term Payoff

With consistent practice, Poppy made the connection fast. Now, six years later, she still stays close on the trail and comes immediately when I call—no treats needed. These days, I carry a few nutritious snacks more for fun than function. (I’m a fan of brands like Full Moon, Newman’s Own, and Trader Joe’s treats—always check for quality ingredients.)

One important note: don’t overthink your commands. Dogs don’t understand long sentences. Keep it simple and consistent. Use the same word or phrase every time.

Final Thoughts

Jackpotting changed my life. Hiking with Poppy off-leash is peaceful, empowering, and bonding. She’s predictable, safe, and responsive—and if we pass another hiker or animal, I simply clip the leash back on. No drama.

And the best part? Sometimes when I call her, I don’t give her a treat at all—just a hug and a kiss. She still comes running.

If you’re dreaming of an off-leash trail companion, give Jackpotting a try. With a little time and consistency, you’ll build trust, confidence, and freedom—for both of you.

I remember it clearly—November 6, 2024, 2 a.m. I got up to pee and, like I often did, checked the news on my phone. It wasn’t looking good for Kamala Harris. A sinking feeling washed over me. It hadn’t been officially called yet, but I knew in my gut: she was going to lose. Trump would be back in the White House.

By morning, the devastating news was confirmed. He had won.

To say I was a news junkie would be an understatement. I had MSNBC on multiple times a day. I knew the lineup by heart. I could identify most of the regular guests by voice alone—even from the kitchen. But that morning, I refused to turn it on. I couldn’t bear it. Instead, I drank my coffee, ate breakfast, played the piano, and then—almost instinctively—I took my dog for a walk.

That walk changed everything.

I went to the ocean and walked along the beach with my dog, trying to make sense of it all. The raw beauty of the ocean was grounding, but my heart was heavy. And then, somewhere between the crashing waves and wet sand, I made a decision: I would stop watching the news. Cold turkey.

It felt drastic. But it also felt like the healthiest thing I could do. I realized that my constant exposure to the political noise wasn’t helping—it was hurting. It was feeding my anger, my sadness, my sense of hopelessness. I needed to take back control of my mind, body, and spirit.

While walking, I met a young mother on the beach. She was carrying her baby in a front harness and looked equally distraught. When I asked if she was okay, she confided in me that she, too, was devastated by the election results. Her husband had left for work early, before the final call, and she had no adult to talk to—just her baby and a silent, grief-filled home.

She spoke through tears about how deeply she feared the impact of Trump’s presidency on her children. Her five-year-old son would be nine by the time this term ended. She couldn’t bear the idea of him growing up under a president who represented everything she stood against: lies, hatred, white supremacy, fraud, and division.

That brief, honest conversation with a stranger confirmed what I already felt: we weren’t alone in our heartbreak—but we also didn’t have to stay there.

When I got home, I canceled my cable subscription. It was a bold move, but I didn’t look back. I also stepped away from social media, engaging just once—to defend my sister when a Trump supporter posted an ugly comment. Otherwise, I disconnected.

And something unexpected happened.

And in the quiet that followed, something surprising began to stir.

I created a new routine. I read every morning. I kept writing my book. I began doing yoga. I hiked more, listened to more music, went to concerts, visited friends, and even tackled a few long-neglected home projects. I felt lighter, clearer, more at peace.

It turns out, unplugging from the chaos gave me space to reconnect with myself.

I’ve attended one political march since then, and occasionally I’ll read a few news articles or watch a short clip online—but I don’t let it consume me. Like many of my friends, I’m learning to find a balance: staying informed without being overwhelmed.

Someone once said to me, “Getting older is so hard.” A woman nearby responded, “Not everyone gets the chance.” That truth hit me hard. It reminded me to be grateful—to keep evolving, keep creating, and keep showing up for life, no matter what’s happening in Washington.

Reinvention wasn’t just a choice. It was a survival skill. And I’m better for it.

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After the 2024 election, I stepped away from the news. Not out of apathy, but self-preservation. The endless cycle of outrage had become a weight I could no longer carry. I needed to clear space in my head, and more importantly, in my heart.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was starting over—again. Reinvention wasn’t a choice. It was a survival skill.

As a retiree, I thought I had already made the big leap: from career to whatever comes next. But here’s the truth no one tells you—reinvention doesn’t happen once. It happens over and over, especially if you choose curiosity over comfort.

In the quiet, I began to write again. I started hiking more with my dog. I returned to a life drawing group I’d once loved. I found joy not by reaching for something new, but by reclaiming things I’d set down.

This blog is part of that process. It’s a place to tell the stories that come from letting go, from paying attention, and from learning who you are when no one is watching.

For some of us, reinvention is a grand adventure. For others, it’s what we do when the map we were following suddenly disappears.

Either way, I’m here for it.