Quite a few people found new love during the pandemic, including me. No worries – my marriage is still solid. This great love of my life has four legs and a long tail. It started innocently enough. I was a television reporter back in May 2020, writing a story about new protocols animal shelters had to initiate to stay in-line with pandemic restrictions when introducing prospective pet parents to their potential new best buddies. Lonely people across the country were storming shelters to adopt pets.

When I open my personal email inbox, I am usually overwhelmed with invitations to shop from the many retailers whose offerings I browse online. The solicitations are filtered into one folder. I have been known to simply open that folder and hit “delete all” but in recent weeks, something has stopped me. I keep getting similar emails sent by everyone from small boutique owners to big-box store marketing departments, letting me know I can opt out of their Mother’s Day promotions. So far, I have deleted them all; but the sentiment gives me pause.

Since March 12, 2021 a pair of soulful, brown eyes have watched hopefully as people of all ages, races, shapes and sizes have passed by his cage. The sweet guy behind those eyes is a pit bull mix the Humane Society of Genesee County staff has named Ricco.

Of all the National (fill in the blank) Weeks we celebrate, only one runs two whole weeks. Go on, take a stab at it. What do you think it might be?

It’s official; I am a senior citizen. At least, that is my new reality according to seniorliving.org. While the site would not specify an age range for seniors, it politely points out that once you turn 55, you start to enter the senior age demographic.

In the spring of 1990, I was a college senior working at a donut shop in the small town of Laramie, WY. Moving there from Baton Rouge, LA where I grew up was a bit of a culture shock; but at Daylight Donuts, I found a family of sorts. Regular customers came in each day like clockwork. They ordered the same thing every time, and I had every donut and coffee – including their cream and sugar amounts – committed to memory.

I had big plans to kick off the holiday season of 2004. I would spend Thanksgiving alone at home, with True Crime TV reruns and a frozen turkey dinner.

As I type this, my husband and I are making big plans for the week ahead. Our dog, Bear, is turning 14. That’s 98 in human years.

Before you answer the title question with a pithy, “I am not a candy,” read on.

Thanks to Facebook, I have reconnected with friends I have known since grade school. I know what is happening in their lives, and they know the latest details about mine. I know where some of them stand on politics and current events, for better or worse. We message. We joke. We comment on each other’s posts. We just don’t see each other very often. Most of my oldest and dearest live in Louisiana, which makes getting together in person tricky … and expensive.

Just one month ago, I was suffering a bit of anxiety about my pending summer vacation. While deciding what to pack for a trip to Yellowstone National Park, I stumbled across a few suggested packing lists on the internet. Not terribly exciting as far as packing lists go, until I got to “bear spray.” That one item showed up on every list I found. I grew terrified that I needed to pack this item because it wasn’t a matter of “if” but when I would encounter a bear in the park.

I am going on my first summer vacation in years. I don’t mean since the pandemic started – I haven’t slipped sunscreen and flip-flops into my carry-on in nearly a decade.