Play by Play Day by Day with Amy Lawrence

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.” 🧡🧡

I sang that tune to Penny so many times over the last 12 years…not only because she was my sunshine, but because she always responded to my voice. Truthfully, I talked to her more than any human except for Mom. Twelve years ago this week, I adopted Penny from a rescue shelter in Maryland. I actually took another Aussie mix home with me first; but within 24 hours, I knew she couldn’t co-exist with my cats. Penny (who they were calling ‘Angelica’) had only been at the shelter for a month; she had heartworm and was still going through treatment. But she was sweet and happy and enthusiastic and ready to go!

We were inseparable from the beginning. Everywhere I went, other than work or Sunday church, Penny went with me. When I adopted her, I lived in a townhouse in the Connecticut woods. We walked and climbed and explored and hiked all over the area. She had a TON of energy, so she kept me moving. From long trail runs to woodsy hikes to wide-open parks to road trips and even the weekly grocery shopping, she couldn’t wait for our next adventure. She loved being in the car and didn’t mind waiting for me to finish the errands. She always knew I would find a place for her to jump out and zoom around.

Boy, could she run! Penny would stretch out full speed to chase a ball or neighborhood squirrels or ME! When she wasn’t looking, I would sneak behind a soccer goal or softball dugout or the car, and we raced around and around until she caught me. She was always barking, and I was always laughing out loud. No doubt people thought we were crazy, ha.

Penny ADORED the sand and the snow! The happiest moments in her life came during beach getaways and snowstorms. Her favorite activity was to stop, drop and ROLL over and back multiple times. When she scrambled upright, she would promptly plunge her face into the sand or snow. When she raised her head, it was piled up on her nose and stuck to her face. After every beach trip, it took me weeks to get all the sand out of her coat, but it was worth the effort for her joy.🤩

It didn’t matter how brutal the cold or bitter the winds; Pen still wanted her walks. Our second winter in New Jersey, we had several feet of snow dumped on us in February. It didn’t melt for weeks because of the cold. I will never forget our chilliest dog walk of all time: in -27 degree wind chills! Of course, Pen was trotting around like it was the middle of spring. The neighbors called me “last man standing” since nobody else would brave those temps. The colder and snowier, the better for my crazy canine. I hadn’t seen Pen drop and roll in the snow or the grass (another favorite pastime) in more than a year…until last month. She did both, and she was in her element. I couldn’t help but giggle at her, like always.

Since Pen was always game for adventure, we traversed the country and traveled up and down the eastern seaboard for 12 years. Vacations, long weekends, work trips and holidays–she always had the whole back seat along with her blankets and supplies. Four round trips to Houston (3400 miles); countless jaunts to the DC area; Richmond; Baltimore; Atlanta more than once; Boston, New Hampshire, Rhode Island and the rest of New England; northeast Ohio; western New York; a pair of vacations in North Carolina and three to South Carolina. I loved going places with my girl! About four years ago, I bought a ramp to help her in and out of the car. After a few days of refusing to go anywhere near it, she decided to be brave and follow where her mom led her.

I am SO thankful I didn’t know my life and career would take a drastic turn at the end of 2012. Just nine months after I adopted Penny, we left Connecticut and moved to the New York City metro when I accepted the CBS Sports Radio gig. If I had any clue about the upheaval and change and chaos awaiting us, I would have delayed adding a dog to the family. But God knew I needed her, so His timing was perfect.❤️

That was far from His only gift through my incredible dog. Penny walked with me through the toughest 10 years of my life: new job, new city, new church, four different moves, upside down schedule, Mom’s relocation to Texas, holidays away from family, solo vacations, solo pandemic, the loss of Grammy Helen, the death of several close friends and an 18-year-old cat (Penny’s BFF), and the kind of loneliness that felt like a heavy weight. She made it a little easier.

Calm, sweet, sensitive, funny, loyal and happy–every time I opened the door to our house or apartment, her enthusiastic greetings and the hugs (she tolerated them) gave me perspective and joy. The load was always lighter with Penny. Taking care of her and the rest of the zoo gave me purpose and prevented me from focusing too much on myself. She rarely left me alone. She was almost always hot on my heels, watching and paying attention, especially after she lost her hearing. Instead of listening, that smarty-pants learned my hand signals.

With her “dogged” commitment and determination, she would have followed me anywhere. But the last six months, it became tougher and more challenging for my sweet girl. Because she would NEVER give up or stop trying, I had to make the painful decision to say good-bye. As much as I cried, I will always cherish the final week with her. Knowing what was coming, I showered her with extra love and affection and care and prayed earnestly she could hear me talking to her until the last seconds.

Penny ran my life and my schedule for 12 years. Since I found her right before I moved to New Jersey, I don’t know a routine here without her. I am so thankful she is no longer struggling, but this hole in my heart may never be filled. Honestly, I’m not sure I want to fill it. Pen was special and unique, the perfect puppy for me. God hand-picked her for me because He knew exactly what I needed. There will never be another Penny.💔

As I’ve shared with family and friends, I am amazed by how many people loved her. That includes my husband. He and Penny bonded from their first meeting. She gave me her approval right away. In fact, she may have enjoyed his company more than mine over her final six months.❤️ Last week came the revelation that losing her would have been infinitely more difficult without him (and his puppy) in the house now. Pen kept going and took care of me until she knew I wasn’t alone anymore.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.” (Bible verse from James 1:17)

Happy Thanksgiving! I hope your week is full of family and friends (or friends who are like family), food, fun, football and faith.🧡🦃

For me, the official start to the holiday season feels enormously different this fall. It gives me pause to contemplate what I was battling and how I was feeling a year ago–the prayers I lifted up and the hopes and dreams I refused to let go. Life has changed dramatically, and there are more changes on the horizon. However, the changes aren’t the ones some of you are expecting.

I will readily admit that I never anticipated so many QUESTIONS when I shared the news of my engagement in August. I knew I would receive kind words and well-wishes on my show and social media, but I wasn’t prepared for the burning curiosity, ha. You know it killed the cat, right?!😜

Of allllll the questions I’ve fielded, a few of them pop up repeatedly. Oddly enough, people persist in asking if I will keep my name or take the last name of my future husband. (This is absolutely the most popular question from male colleagues.) The most common inquiries revolve around my future: will I be moving, and will I leave radio? The latter blows me away. As I think about the men at my company who’ve gotten married recently, I am confident NONE of them was asked about giving up their radio shows after their weddings.

My family and friends who truly know me don’t have to think twice. I’ve waited a LONG time to get married. After decades of chasing my career all over the country solo, I am so grateful I no longer have to travel this road alone. But it IS a road I will continue to travel!

Will my priorities shift after wedding day? Of course. Will I include my husband in the decisions I make about my career? Absolutely. In fact, he’s already part of the process. Will I pursue, accept or even reject opportunities for the sake of my marriage? Maybe. But will I give up radio for my husband? No. And because he loves me and understands me, he would never make that request.

Over 25+ years in radio, I’ve run into so many guys who couldn’t deal with my career. Whether their perceptions or insecurities or incorrect assumptions or desire to compete with me or their inability to see past my radio show, I encountered it all in the dating pool. I can’t tell you the number of men who disappeared when they found out what I do for a living. Another familiar problem? “Fanboys” who only wanted to communicate with or meet Amy Lawrence. More than once, a guy paid attention to me because he bet his buddies he could get my phone number. Super cool.🙄

I started telling Mom and various friends that the first guy to see beyond my career, to see AMY instead of Amy Lawrence, would be the one I married. And he will be.❤️ For the first time in my life, there’s a man who’s not intimidated, deterred, flummoxed, jealous, dismissive, competitive or anxious about my career. He doesn’t feel threatened by the strong, intelligent, opinionated, capable, independent woman he’s found. He’s PROUD of me!

My future husband knows how hard I work and how much time and effort I pour into my craft. He recognizes that radio isn’t simply a job for me. More than a career, it’s my calling. What a revelation to walk through life with a man who supports and encourages my professional endeavors. He wants to understand my approach and hear about the creative process. He asks about what he hears and can’t wait to see how it comes together behind the scenes. He recognizes that I’m good at what I do after all these years of practice, and he compliments me. Trust me, it’s a whole new world for this girl!

On this Thanksgiving, I am incredibly grateful for a man who loves me for ME and doesn’t expect me to change for him. I am so thankful that he recognizes radio as part of who I am. He would never want me to give it up–any more than I want him to forego his teaching ministry or ignore his calling in this life. He sees the fulfillment and satisfaction that come from a job well done. To know my future husband respects and admires my dedication and commitment is a huge blessing. It lifts me up and gives me confidence, and I could not ask for more.

So to answer your questions, no, I will not be giving up my radio show or retiring from the business or curtailing pursuit of my professional goals and dreams. I would never marry a man who asked me to do that. A part of me would be missing. It’s awesome to finally have a partner who gets that and gets me. He was absolutely worth the wait!💜

I am overwhelmed by how much you want to share my joy and excitement, thank you! Though I wasn’t expecting such a flood of curiosity, I appreciate how much you care. (We also made a couple YouTube videos to respond.) In this post, you get a sneak peek at the flowers: my bouquet and one of the bridesmaids’ bouquets. Since we chose a rich purple as our primary color, I see it everywhere!

Just a few weeks now…can’t wait! Happy Thanksgiving indeed!

I can hardly believe it’s been over a year since I heard your voice. Oh, what I would give for another conversation on the phone or one more chance to make you laugh. Because you didn’t have any use for caller ID, you never knew it was me calling until after you heard my greeting. Then you would exclaim, “Amy!!” and laugh like we shared the perfect joke. That exchange always gave me a jolt of joy.

You loved writing letters and kind notes, especially Christmas cards.🎄 I’m saving everything you sent to me and even rifling through old boxes from when I was a kid to make sure I don’t throw anything away. Since we enjoyed our mail, I choose to write to you now, one year after we said good-bye. I miss talking about family and flowers and food and our plans for the next time we would be together. We never ran out of things to say, so how do I decide what to share with you…12 long months later?

It feels strange to NOT be looking forward to our annual summer visit. By now, we’re usually counting down the days. I wish we could sit and tell stories, plan a cookout with Uncle Tom, gab about your neighbors and the community garden outside your bay window or peruse the dining hall menu. I wish I could hear you get mad at me for taking too many selfies of us, and I wish we could giggle at my attempt to paint your nails fire-engine red without making a mess. When I got a manicure recently, I just wanted to tell the guy about how much you loved bright nails! My August won’t be complete without a few days in your living room, talking about absolutely everything and nothing at all.

You always loved my adventures, especially when I traveled to new places and could show you the photos. The Grand Canyon was GLORIOUS, Grammy!! It left me speechless over and over. As the sun traveled across the sky, the changing colors in the Canyon were mesmerizing. As proud as I am for conquering such an epic hike, it was more significant to spend time with Uncle Kenny and Jayne and Auntie Karen. Just over a year after we celebrated your 100th birthday, we were together which meant the world to me. But oh how we miss you.❤

My favorite picture of you at 19 is on my TV stand. I still can’t believe I never saw this black-and-white portrait until a few months before you died. You kept it from me, ha. When we passed it around at your big celebration, you recalled what color dress you were wearing 81 years before! Lots of people tell me we look alike when they see the photo. I was so grateful when Uncle Tom let me bring it home. He also let me pick through all your jewelry, Gram. Several times a week, I wear your silver ring etched with leaves and your shiny silver hoops to match. I retrieved the turquoise pendant I gave you ten years ago. You kept telling me how much you LOVED it until I finally offered it to you. I know you did it on purpose!😁 And I have no idea when I’ll wear them, but I couldn’t let Tom get rid of your bright yellow and pink chunky pearls with matching earrings. Maybe for a costume party?!

I rescued the delicate sapphire necklace Mattie’s family gave you for your 100th birthday. You were wearing it the last time I saw you, along with the earrings. I went through your piles of jewelry three times before I found the necklace, and I yelled out loud. I couldn’t find the earrings, so you must have tucked them into one of your little boxes where only you would remember. Mattie told me to keep the necklace. I wear it on special occasions; it makes me smile and cry at the same time.

Guess what else I brought home? The comforter with the pink and green flowers. It was on my bed all winter, and I will pull it out of the closet when the weather turns again. From the time Mom and I gave it to you as a Christmas present more than a decade ago, you never took it off your bed. I’m so glad to have it back because I know it was special to you.

You probably won’t believe this, but I didn’t touch a jigsaw puzzle the entire year. I started one before we lost you; but instead of finishing it, I left it under placemats on my kitchen table. As we marked one year, I suddenly felt inspired to uncover it. For several hours, as I put pieces in place, I missed you terribly and wished we could talk about our latest puzzle projects. I also felt peace, though. Getting back to your favorite hobby brought you close again.🎁 (I don’t miss our games of Upwords nearly as much!)

In the days after you died, I didn’t know what to do with myself, Grammy. I took a few nights off from work and decided I would go sit on the beach. Mostly, I was numb as I spent hours staring out at the water. My heart was broken, and yet I knew I wasn’t alone. A few weeks later, I went back to the same spot with my friend Jasimine. She convinced me to go swimming and play in the waves with her. I hadn’t done that in years! And I laughed. For the first time since you went to heaven, I laughed and felt true joy in my heart. There was healing at the beach and healing in that laughter.

On July 8th this year, I visited my friend Lynn on Long Island. We spent several hours kayaking, and I told her about you. Being on the water gave me peace, despite the date. Later in the evening, we drove to the shore in her town to check out the sunset. I actually thought it would be too cloudy, but I was wrong. The orange, pink, purple and blue in the sky made for captivating photos. We spent an hour standing in the surf, getting splashed by the waves. Only as we walked back to the car did it dawn on me: it was the perfect way to wrap up the day with all of its memories and emotions.

There is so much more I could say, a zillion more things to share with you. I taught my first class at Syracuse University in April right after our birthdays. Grammy, the students called me “Professor Lawrence”!! My spring flowers were beautiful, especially the daffodils and peonies, but for some reason, my hydrangea bushes aren’t blooming this summer. The family is doing well. Mattie and the girls took another trip to Hawaii. Penny and Sugar are still running my life. They miss our video calls. And after waiting for what felt like forever, I finally have a special man in my life. He’s the one, Grammy. I would give anything for you to meet him. You would be thick as thieves! He would adore your stories and your sense of humor. I’m so sorry he won’t know you like I do, but I’m keeping my promise. I’m telling him all about you.💔

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you and wish I could hear your voice again. Our memories make me smile. I know you would want me to be happy and keep chasing adventure, so I will. You always encouraged me to be bold and brave and forge ahead.

I’ll end this letter the way we ended every phone call: I miss you. I love you. Bye, Grammy.

I’ve always been a girl who LOVES crossing items off a list. Whether it’s my weekly to-do list, a grocery list, a packing list, a vacation planning list or a long-term list of goals, I enjoy making them and using them to gauge progress. Yes, I am a TOTAL nerd, ha.

I also love a good challenge; thus my decision to run half-marathons. When a list requires extra time and energy with greater physical and emotional investment, the payoff is sweeter and the achievement more satisfying. Isn’t that the point?? It’s not supposed to be EASY to check items off the Bucket List. In my mind, it’s reserved for grandiose dreams and indelible moments, the kind that require heart and soul and a leap of faith.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to see the Grand Canyon (of course). I don’t remember when it became a Bucket List item to ride a horse or mule into the Canyon, but I recall exactly when I decided I would “settle” for hiking the Canyon. My brother and sister-in-law and nieces turned me on to serious hiking about three years ago. Then they traveled to Arizona and came back with tales of hiking the Grand Canyon in December 2021. All of a sudden, a new idea replaced the old one!🤩

Thankfully, my amazing friend Casey agreed to come with me, even though she’d never attempted a hike of this magnitude. I am SO PROUD of you, sister!! You crushed it and I couldn’t have asked for a better partner. In fact, navigating this challenge with you made it so much cooler and more meaningful. Love you!

Our first view of the Grand Canyon at the South Rim caught me off guard. After we parked the car and pulled on our boots and layers and checked our packs one more time, we started walking toward the trailhead, chattering excitedly. At some point, I looked up and saw it! Not only did it take my breath away, but I was completely speechless. It was absolutely worth the wait.🧡

Temperatures at the Bright Angel Trailhead at 8:30am local time on April 14th, 2023, were in the upper 40s. I wore four layers on top and two layers on the bottom plus a winter hat and gloves as we started our descent. And a huge thank you to my niece Deanna who gave me crampons for Christmas! The first mile and a half of the trail featured snow and ice; the spikes on the bottom of my boots were invaluable.

As we descended farther into the Canyon, the temperatures warmed up. We were able to pull off layers and stuff them into our packs. We stopped periodically to take photos, and we also had to share the trail. Even at that hour, we passed hikers on their way back up to the South Rim! Some had started super early; others were returning from an excursion to the Colorado River bed which required at least one overnight stay. On the 4.8-mile trek down to our campground destination, we were cheerful, greeting everyone and asking where they started. Most of them were laboring to get back to the top and didn’t have much energy to communicate. I remarked to Casey, “That will be us in a few hours, ha!”

The initial rest stop was the busiest with a couple dozen people taking breaks and snacking. The majority of hikers only go this far before turning around. The numbers thinned out significantly as we worked our way deeper into the canyon.

Farther down the trail, the sunnier and warmer it got, and the greener the Canyon became. What a joy to see spring decorating the terrain in vibrant patches of emerald green and splashes of purple, with plants blooming and thriving. Set against the bright blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds, we couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day to make this dream come true!

We stopped for a half hour at Havasupai Gardens after traversing our way nearly 5 miles down. This is where the mules are kept, and we could smell them (plus we saw evidence of them on the trail, ha). I was really proud of us for packing exactly what we needed to make this trek–from the multiple layers to the water bottles I refilled in the campground to enough snacks to share and refuel. As we rested, we knew the toughest challenge was still ahead, but we were psyched! I’ll never forget that pit stop for all its anticipation as well as the peaceful atmosphere, sitting on a picnic table in the shadow of the Canyon.🧡

As we began the challenging ascent back to the South Rim, the walls of the Canyon towered above us and left me in awe. As I go over the photos from the bottom, I am still incredulous and so PROUD of this achievement. We weren’t simply AT the Grand Canyon; we were IN the Grand Canyon!

I was right–we didn’t have the same energy to interact with other hikers on the way back up. But the climb was my way of marking a milestone birthday in style! Breathtaking in more ways than one and requiring all the energy we could muster, plus the hip and leg muscles that would scream at us the next three days. We tried to keep a steady pace when we were moving, but periodic water and photo breaks were necessary! I was in AWE every time I gazed up and realized where we started and where we were headed.💙

One of my favorite parts of the adventure was watching the colors in the Canyon change over the course of six plus hours as the sun moved across the sky. The weather was absolutely BEAUTIFUL the entire time we were there. And since clouds are my favorite photo muses, I was thrilled to see them dot the blue expanse above us in various formations throughout our hike.

The final mile-and-a-half back to the South Rim was arduous not only because of the steep inclines, but also because it featured snow and ice and plenty of other humans, some in large groups. Dozens of hikers in all shapes and sizes and ages and footwear (including boat shoes and Uggs!) crowded the trail and made it more challenging to navigate. I stopped to pull the spikes onto my boots again so I could climb over the icy patches to pass the slower hikers and tourists who blocked portions of the path. The last mile was the toughest AND the most rewarding.

I let out more than one exhausted “Wooooo!” as I reached the gate at the trailhead and patio where we began our trek that morning. The area was jammed with people, so I found a quiet spot away from the masses. Only problem was that we had to go down five steps and then back up five to reach it. Believe me when I tell you even that made us groan, ha. We snapped a few more photos and recorded a triumphant video. As we looked out into the Canyon, a ribbon of deep green way down in the valley drew our attention. The cottonwood trees of the Havasupai Gardens–we were there!! (You can see them in the below photo.)

We hiked more than 9.5 miles round trip, winding 3200′ feet down the Bright Angel Trail and climbing back up in six hours, including breaks. What an adrenaline rush!! To celebrate, we ate pasta, rotisserie chicken and eggs and washed all our laundry, ha. And to cap our incredible day, we discovered a Dairy Queen in Williams near our Airbnb and snagged blizzards for our just rewards.

After months of planning and coordinating, not to mention years of dreaming, I couldn’t have designed a more perfect experience. The glory of God’s creation in the Grand Canyon is truly unforgettable. The best Bucket List items always exceed expectations.❤️

I didn’t write very much in 2022. It’s not that I didn’t have ideas or anything to share. I WANTED to write; but for some reason, the thought of opening my laptop and getting started seemed too daunting. It was a year full of landmarks and memorable moments, but it was also one that took an emotional toll.

I will forever remember the loss, grief and disappointment of last year. For months after Grammy Helen died, it felt like I was just going through the motions. My heart was strangely detached. Maybe that’s ultimately why I couldn’t write. Putting words to paper is always a labor of love for me. It requires head AND heart, and I didn’t have much heart left to offer my blog after everything else.

Of course, writing is therapeutic, and I need it! Those finishing touches and final edits always give me great joy and satisfaction. I missed out on a bunch of writing opportunities last fall. And while it’s probably too late to resuscitate my previous cache of ideas, my hope is to tap into the creativity and passion again.

This post is a reset: to acknowledge the highs and lows and use them as a springboard for a fresh approach and new inspiration in 2023!

I passed two major mile markers last year: twenty years in full-time sports radio and ten years with CBS Sports Radio Network. Wow. Not sure I ever thought far enough down the road to believe either was possible. Who has time to contemplate longevity or legacy?? But I am proud of my investment and staying power in an ever-changing industry, not to mention a medium that is supposedly on life support. (I’ve been hearing about the untimely demise of radio forever.)

Twenty years ago, I had no idea what lay ahead of me. Twenty years ago, I had no idea what I was doing. Twenty years ago, I was flying blind. Twenty years ago, I definitely wasn’t ready, ha.

Twenty years ago, I am SO grateful I didn’t know about the challenges, the frustrations, the failures, the brick walls, the bad bosses, the long hours, the personal sacrifices, all the MOVING, the tears. When I hear friends wish they could go back to their 20s, I always think “NO WAY!” I have zero desire to climb the proverbial ladder all over again.

At the same time, the bleakest moments, those days when I wondered if it would ever get better or I would ever break through–those stretches were the ones that reinforced my drive, commitment and determination. Since the age of 16, all I ever wanted to do was talk about sports on the radio. And every night when I turn on the microphone, that desire drives away the doubt, fatigue and negativity.

Twenty years ago, I didn’t know how far my passion could carry me. Now I know it can propel me anywhere I want to go.❤️

Part of the fun is never knowing what’s around the bend. (The younger me would NOT have labeled the uncertainty any kind of fun.) No two years along this journey have been the same. I sincerely hope I am always full of this same anticipation. What doors will God open? Where will He send me next? I know at least part of the answer: back to Syracuse University!!🧡🍊

Beginning this spring, I will teach a course called “The Art of Radio.” My objective is to teach aspiring broadcasters how to create and cultivate unique sports talk radio that will stand out in a crowded marketplace. I will serve as an adjunct professor and share as much wisdom and experience as I can cram into my time with them. Of course, the students will also need to practice the craft, so I will coach them as they hone their own styles.

After years of speaking at college classes and seminars, participating in mentorship programs, training producers and working one-on-one with young professionals, a crazy thought popped into my head. I should pitch a class to a few local colleges and universities in the New York City area. Trust me when I say Syracuse NEVER crossed my mind! But one of the young women who I currently mentor graduated from ‘Cuse, and she connected me with the director of the Sports Media Center. She loved my ideas! What a blessing to have people in my life who believe in me. Thank you, Casey and Olivia!

I can’t wait to meet my first group of students. My nieces told me they wish they could take my class; the younger one even said I will be ready good at this since I can explain things really well. Those compliments nearly melted my heart. They also listed the memorable qualities of their favorite professors and classes to give me a few tips. I am nervous about taking this step. I haven’t been on campus in more than 10 years. To that end, I offered to make a separate trip to “The Hill” to get reacclimated. Olivia’s response? “Let’s bring you back as a guest speaker.” WHOA! Whaaaaaat?! Talk about a full-circle moment.

Syracuse is one of the most prolific broadcasting schools in the country. The industry is full of alumni like me who got their start at the Newhouse School. When I was a grad student, US News & World Report named the master’s program the best in the nation. To be invited to speak to current students about my career and participate in a Q&A is truly an honor.

While I was earning my TV & Radio degree, Bob Costas and Mike Tirico were among the esteemed guests. We learned from some of the most renown educators in our field, including active sports broadcasters in both media. I am PROUD of my acceptance into Newhouse and the diploma that I earned. But what I didn’t have at Syracuse was a female professor to share her expertise and experience in TV and radio. I am grateful to the university for giving me the opportunity to fill a void that still exists.

I have so much to learn, like how to build a syllabus and how to award grades for the course. If you asked me twenty years ago if I thought I would return to Syracuse as an instructor, I would have laughed out loud. Even though Mom and several great friends are teachers, I had ZERO desire to teach until five or six years ago. That’s when I began teaching elementary school kiddos at my church and realized how much I enjoy it. A few fellow volunteers told me I had a knack for it, and one little 1st grade boy nearly made me cry when he exclaimed that I was the “best teacher.” Between Sundays and mentoring whenever I can, I’ve spent the last five years practicing. I guess you can label me a late bloomer.🙃

As I launch forward into my second decade with CBS Sports Radio, I am in uncharted waters. This is by far my longest stint in one place with one company on one show in one time slot. In fact, only a handful of people in the industry can claim 10 years hosting the same show. I’ve had multiple opportunities to move to different dayparts, but I’ve chosen to stay where I am. With two years left on my current contract, I feel like change is coming. Honestly, I have no idea what that means or what happens next. But I need to be ready.

As I pray about the future and consider all the options, I am open to almost anything, including a new side gig as a professor. One thing I know for sure, I will write my way through it! I’m back.💜

Time is both a blessing and a curse. It marches on, hour by hour, day by day, month by month, year by year, never wavering. As time passes this July, I desperately want it to slow down or stop. Time feels exceptionally cruel as it carries me further and further away from our last conversation; our final skype call; our last visit full of hugs, laughter, photos and cherished memories. Time is forcing me back into my routine, a return to work and responsibilities. But it all feels wrong, and I’m not sure I know how to do it anyway. Right now, time is a curse.

Somewhere down the road, time will become a blessing. As it moves me forward, the pain won’t be as acute. I won’t experience the same anguish or ache or emptiness. I know someday, the joy of our relationship and all the time we had together will matter more than anything else. I will remember the zillion reasons my life is better because of her and tell my favorite stories with smiles and pride. But in this moment, it’s nearly impossible to imagine healing in place of my broken heart.

We lost sweet Grammy Helen. Three months after celebrating her 100th birthday, she is now in heaven. Her death was relatively sudden with no real chance to say good-bye. I’m grateful she didn’t suffer; the majority of her last few days were spent sleeping. My uncle was with her as she rested, and she had the care and compassion of nurses to make her comfortable. I was hours away from boarding a plane to Wisconsin. All I wanted was one more chance to see her and hold her hand, even if she wasn’t awake and I only got a few minutes. I prayed and believed I would get that opportunity, but God had a different plan. A moment when I have to choose to trust Him and His timing, though I don’t understand why.

Our last conversation was exactly one week before she died. She wasn’t her typical cheerful, funny, talkative self. She was weak and tired and struggling to eat. I tried to encourage her and coax her into walking down the hallway to the library. I suggested sitting on the front porch the way we did every day during my visit in June of 2021. I told her she was strong and pleaded with her to try. I reminded her that she was my favorite superhero. Before we hung up, we said “I love you” more than once. We ended every phone call with “I miss you” and “I love you.” I planned to check on her Sunday after church, but she told my uncle she didn’t feel like talking. I wish I had called anyway, just so he could put the phone to her ear to hear my voice.

Grammy knew I was on my way to see her; she didn’t want me to spend the money on a plane ticket. In true Grammy fashion, she told me to save my money. She never wanted me to buy her gifts for birthdays or Christmas. She once yelled at me when I sent her a new pair of sneakers to replace worn out 20-year-old shoes. The replacements were exactly the same color and style!! She was VERY angry until she tried them on; then she couldn’t stop gushing about how comfortable they were and how thankful she was, ha. That was her last pair of shoes.

Right now, it seems like the days and nights will stretch on forever; sympathetic friends and co-workers will return to their normal lives; I will go through the motions, but I will never feel better. I will never experience true joy again, only this sadness. Rationally, that can’t be true, not as time keeps moving. But that’s how my heart feels today.

A well-known Bible verse is printed on a decorative sign that hangs in my living room. “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable–if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think about such things.” These words from Philippians 4:8 come from a section about trading anxiety for peace and how to do that. Even as the waves of emotion threaten to knock me flat and I miss my Grammy more than I can express, I am determined to remember what was true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent and praiseworthy about her.

Helen was kind and sweet and generous and funny and conscientious. She was a GREAT friend who cultivated relationships over decades. She would sit and talk with them for hours. She attended grade school with her oldest friend Angie (who passed away at 99), and they could gab on the phone forever. She adored flowers and kept potted plants in her beloved bay window until the end. We talked about flowers in every phone call; when we skyped, I would show her my flowers indoors and out. One of my favorite memories will always be walking with her through her small town in central Wisconsin as she carried scissors and “pruned” the lilacs along the way by cutting off blooms and taking them home.

So much of me is just like her. We shared a love of bright colors, although I never shared her affinity for fire engine red or neon pink lipstick. She was STUBBORN and fiercely independent, only giving up her car keys and apartment at 95. My grandfather died when I was little, and she lived the next 40+ years on her own. She once told me she never went on a date after his death, that she wasn’t interested in getting married again. I’m sure she was lonely at times, but she never acknowledged it. She did tell me more than once that I better “hurry up” and find a husband so she could meet him. I’m so sorry he won’t get to know you this side of heaven, Grammy, but I promise I will tell him everything about you.💔

Grammy loved music, especially the polka. She traveled all over the upper Midwest with her polka choir for years. Those trips and the music gave her significant joy. She and my grandfather loved to dance the polka, too! Grammy Helen laughed all the time, yet another quality we had in common. I’m convinced her constant laughter is one reason she reached her centennial birthday. She loved to tell funny stories and hear my goofy tales, and she always had a ready quip. She never took herself too seriously, and her self-deprecating humor underscored her humility. I will miss her smile and enthusiastic greetings whenever she realized it was me on the phone. “Hi, AMY!!”

She loved jigsaw puzzles and grand adventures. She never shied away from new experiences, even those outside her comfort zone. In the final two years of her life, Grammy learned how to Skype. (I was SO proud of her and thankful to see her beautiful face!!) She attended her first yoga classes and her first painting class. She rode in a rickshaw with her 100-year-old neighbor…twice! She was unbelievably brave. When my uncle and aunt decided it was safer for her to move into assisted living, she left the town where she lived for 70 years and the county where she spent her whole life. At 95, she started over in an unfamiliar place, making new friends and adjusting to a new routine. Grammy rarely complained, a quality of hers I need to work harder to model.

I never took her for granted, and I always knew our good-bye hugs could be the last ones. She teared up every time I left, so I believe our relationship meant the world to her, too. I am so incredibly grateful for the last 20 years of visits and the opportunity to truly get to know her. She was worth all the effort. I had more time with her than I ever expected. Ultimately, time was a gigantic blessing. Grammy Helen made my world a brighter place, but it’s hard to fathom my world without her.

The day before she died, I was at a loss, unable to focus or concentrate on anything. I turned on the radio and the first song I heard was unfamiliar to me. Over the next 48 hours, with tears streaming down my face, I listened to the same song dozens of times. “Glory to our God who gave us life beyond the grave.”

I love you with my whole heart, Grammy. We will laugh together again. Until then, I hope you’re dancing the polka in heaven.

Truly a week I will never forget to mark an occasion that may only happen once in my life.

Grammy Helen is 100 years old. It’s still so hard to believe! As a family, we anticipated this milestone for months, and we’ve talked of almost nothing else for weeks. But now, I’m not sure how to wrap my brain around a blessing this big! Thankfully, she felt strong and energetic enough to enjoy April 6, 2022, with all of its pomp and circumstance.

One of my favorite moments early in the day was unplanned. I walked her down to the dining hall for lunch at her assisted living facility; and as soon as we entered the room, the bustling swirled around her. A special “Happy Birthday” placemat was set at her usual spot, and a volunteer brought over a huge cupcake with gaudy pink icing. As people greeted her and wished her well, a staffer grabbed a microphone and announced her 100th birthday and asked everyone to sing. I was NOT expecting Gram’s reaction: she covered her face with her hands and started crying. At first, I worried that she was upset. But then I realized she was simply overwhelmed by the magnitude and the attention. I held her hand and told her I loved her and found her a tissue. I am so grateful I was there to share that moment with her.

I am also thankful for countless people who prayed for Grammy over the last month: that she would be full of energy and joy for her birthday. The prayers were definitely answered! Decked out in bright purple and pearls, she was ready to go after a nap. What a privilege to escort the guest of honor to a fete at my uncle’s house. It was a modest gathering and yet multiple generations were represented: three of her children as well as an aunt, a nephew, a niece and two grandchildren. And when her youngest son arrived just before dinner, her delight was priceless!

Dinner was fun and easy–pulled pork sandwiches, chips, coleslaw, fresh fruit and homemade lemon pound cake. Of course, THE cake was served later. Grammy laughed and told stories and savored a big meal. She even posed for photos surrounded by balloons, gifts, cards and flowers. (This after yelling at me earlier in the day for taking too many pictures.) Her sweet cake was strawberry cream, decorated with pink flowers and “Happy 100th Birthday.”

The surprise of the night unfolded when my uncle opened a box of old photos and memorabilia. What a treat! A black and white picture of my Grammy as a teenager in Chicago in the 1930s; her wedding photos from 1946; snapshots of her parents and siblings; a formal portrait of her and my grandfather dressed up for a family wedding–all incredible and most of which I had never seen. I wanted to remember them, so I took pictures of them with my phone.

Even after the sun set on her centennial celebration, the phone calls and cards and visits kept coming. Not to mention the special requests. Her community commemorates 100th birthdays with official photos, but Grammy wouldn’t sit for one until she got her hair done, ha! She woke up early the next morning for an “emergency” appointment and then they whisked her away to the brightest spot in the facility where a professional photographer was all set up. (I reminded her about her favorite bright lipstick.) My father, uncle and I were invited to join her for a few photos which was amazing. I enjoyed trying to make her laugh while the camera was pointed at her. Please note the pink socks!!

In the midst of all the chaos and hullabaloo, I made a few promises that I needed to keep. I washed all her laundry, including the comforter on her bed. I painted her nails since she would not let me forget. We took her out to eat shrimp (her favorite) at Culver’s, a Wisconsin institution. We also managed a family field trip to a local cheese store, ha. And I connected her on a video call with my Auntie in Arizona who couldn’t be in town. What a blessing to see Grammy’s reaction when she appeared on the screen and then to hear the interaction with each of the brothers crammed into the apartment. A true highlight!

Another memory I will cherish from the visit to Wisconsin: her sweet reunion with my brother after years of being apart. I will never forget how her face and eyes lit up when he walked through the door. I nearly lost it watching them together and hearing her say, “It’s so good to see you, Matthew.” The three of us hadn’t been in the same room in decades.

Due to some complicated family dynamics when I was younger, I didn’t see Grammy Helen for 15 years. We wrote letters and exchanged cards on birthdays and holidays, and we spoke on the phone. But as a young adult, I didn’t consider the cost or the precious time I was missing. When I finally made it a priority to schedule annual visits, I never thought about how long I would have with her. Now that she’s reached 100, my words aren’t enough to adequately describe my gratefulness for this extra season with Grammy. These years have offered me the chance to make up for lost time. Our relationship is such a gift and blessing in my life, and I wouldn’t trade our closeness for anything. God has answered so many prayers in extending her life and allowing her to remain physically healthy and mentally sharp. How do I ever sufficiently thank Him for this?

Grammy Helen, age 100, is now and forever my superhero.

I will readily admit that patience is NOT my virtue. It’s more of a lifelong pursuit that manifests itself in daily challenges. While I’ve come a looong way in my desire to be more patient in both heart and behavior, it will never be my strong suit, blah. To help me overcome what I consider my greatest flaw, I believe God repeatedly allows circumstances and situations that test my patience and require me to WAIT when I’d rather do the opposite. This last year offered several distinct opportunities to grow in patience, like it or not.

My Penny is the first dog I’ve ever cared for on my own. When I adopted her in March 2012, she had all the energy for which Australian Shepherds are known. She could GO forever and would tag along behind me when I ran. She hiked; climbed mountains; jumped over everything (!!); tracked down balls I threw for her; tore around in circles; even chased me around vehicles, bleachers and soccer goals at the local park. She always kept me moving, but in the last 12 months, Penny has slowed drastically.

She’s still happy and sweet and friendly; she still pesters me when it’s time to go out. But our walks are shorter and our pace is roughly the same as my 99-year-old Grammy. They can no longer be described as exercise, ha. When I leave for work at night, I have to wake her up and coax her outside. Since last summer, I keep a ramp in my car so Pen can get in and out without hurting herself. (A friend reminds me it could be worse: the ramp could be for me.) Stairs are a challenge; she stops to rest and catch her breath every two or three steps. However, she is determined and will NOT stay downstairs when I’m on the second floor, one of the many reasons I love her so much!

There are times when her plodding pace causes impatience to boil up inside me. I am tempted to maintain my long strides, even though I’d outdistance her. When I’m running behind and stressing, I want to pull her along. Instead, I remind myself how thankful I am for her companionship, loyalty and devotion. She will still follow me anywhere; it just takes her longer to get there. This year, I’ve learned to use our walks to breathe, enjoy the fresh air, think clearly, snap pictures of nature and find reasons to smile. Penny is teaching me patience, and I am grateful for every second with her, especially now that she’s twelve.

My first homeowner EMERGENCY also consumed a major chunk of 2021. When a back window sprung a leak during an early July storm, walls and a ceiling were ripped out. Two rooms in my house were rendered nearly unusable and stayed that way for three months, aaargh. The process of vetting contractors, securing estimates and waiting, waiting, waiting for the work to begin–it required every ounce of patience I could muster. Even after the contractor started, he was completely unreliable. He gave me a two-day schedule to complete the entire project, including paint. But he would cancel at the last second, disappear in the middle of a day’s work or make excuses about why he couldn’t be at my house. Seriously. The two days stretched into a month, and one room had to be repainted altogether.

It was a complicated summer with multiple tropical storms that dumped more than 25 inches of rain in my neighborhood. Even as I stewed over the contractor, I reminded myself the inside of the house was dry. The gutters and windows were fixed within a few weeks, so not even Ida caused more water damage. Looking at the positives and remembering all those days when I desperately wanted to be a homeowner–that got me through. I learned that changing my perspective is a key to being more patient, even when I’d rather scream and yell in frustration, ha.

Honestly, waiting for word from my employer about a new deal seemed a lot easier than waiting on Penny and my contractor. After two decades in broadcasting, I know business is conducted at a glacial pace. But the job still tried my patience in 2021. From preparing for a producer change to training a new partner (in the midst of football) to knowing I can’t pile on all at once to adjusting to a new boss, the challenges kept coming. So often, I was forced to dial back expectations and settle for less than my highest standards because of the limited support and resources available.

When I felt my blood pressure rise over work, especially those circumstances I couldn’t orchestrate or control, I would repeat to myself: “One day at a time, one show at a time.” Every 24 hours features its own unique hurdles. Why add more by worrying about a day I haven’t reached yet?? I’m still learning that steady patience with myself and other people results in lower stress levels and higher productivity, not to mention more peace and contentment.

Waiting on prayers to be answered and dreams to come true…that’s no different. Patience is paramount for the big picture and the long game. It’s not just 2021, but my whole life, offering these vital lessons.

When my brother and I were kids, we listened to a song about PATIENCE over and over. Some of the words (sung slowly by Herbert the Snail and his dad) are forever stuck in my head: “Have patience. Have patience. Don’t be in such a hurry. When you get impatient, you only start to worry. Remember, remember that God is patient, too. And think of all the times when others have to wait for you.”

It’s a relatively new hobby of mine–hiking in the mountains–but I’ve definitely caught the bug! After scattered adventures in Virginia, New Jersey, upstate New York and Pennsylvania along the Appalachian Trail, it was time for my greatest challenge yet. I asked a friend from church who’s an avid hiker if I could tag along on one of his forays into the Catskills, and he came up with a DOOZY of a plan.

Wittenberg, Cornell and Slide Mountains are often combined into one long hike, stretching nearly ten miles from point to point. Three mountains, all over 3500′ with a variety of terrain and topography, culminating with the tallest peak in the range. I was nervous for weeks leading up to this trip, mostly because of the unknown. Would I be strong enough? Would I make it the whole way? What should I pack with me? Would my new hiking boots do the trick? I’m a planner. That’s how I navigate uncertainty, so I did a ton of research and asked other hikers for their advice. Ultimately, the day far surpassed any expectations, and it’s a good thing I didn’t know what lie ahead.

After parking our cars at either end of the route, Jeff and I set out from the Woodland Valley campground near Phoenicia, New York, a little town nestled in the mountains where cell service is rare. The first four miles were a long, sloping climb, ascending roughly 2500′ to the summit of Wittenberg. The trail wasn’t extreme, but it stretched on and on. We encountered our first rock formations where arms, legs, hands and footholds were necessary! On this initial stretch, limbs and branches and jutting rocks were all great leverage. We needed three hours to reach the top (3780′) but the views were worth all the effort. Not only was the fall foliage glorious, but the blue sky was marked with white puffy clouds which made for incredible photos. The Ashokan Reservoir sparkled far below our perch atop Wittenberg, and I could have soaked in the scenery all afternoon.

With so many miles and two peaks ahead of us, we only rested for ten minutes to eat lunch before facing the next phase of the hike. After a relatively quick jog down, we started up to Cornell Mountain. This is where the climbing turned serious with sheer rock faces and cliffs to scale. The most famous of them is the “Cornell Crack” which you can easily find online. The pictures don’t do it justice; we stood at the bottom and gazed upward, taking stock of our options. As I found out, the best plan was to go slow and be sure of my footholds, tackling one level at a time. It helps to have long legs and upper body strength!

To the victor go the spoils! I was as proud of myself for reaching the top of the “Crack” as I’ve ever been crossing the finish line of a half-marathon. Once we made it, we only had another 400′ to reach the summit of Cornell (3680′). The final ascent to this second mountain was steep; however the actual distance from peak to peak was under a mile. We stopped to snap a few photos, though we wanted to keep moving with the tallest mountain still ahead of us and only a few hours of daylight remaining.

The trail leading off Cornell and toward Slide Mountain was a nice change of pace. We made good time and gobbled up snacks along the way, crossing through camping areas and enjoying the brilliant colors in the woods. I wondered more than once if the toughest climbing was behind us, and then we came to a point where the trail marker was above our heads. I looked skyward and saw a mountain looming overhead and I said out loud, “As long as we aren’t going up there.” Except that’s exactly where we were going…straight UP!! Gulp. The next half mile was the most grueling part of the day as we navigated boulders, rock formations, trails built into the side of the mountain, even ladders made of logs worn smooth by years of the elements. It seemed like we would climb up, up, up to heaven. We ascended roughly 1000′ over that half mile, and I pushed my lungs and legs to the limit. The air was definitely thinner up there, haha! I also turned my breathing breaks into cool photo ops.

After we survived that excruciating climb and reached the very top of Slide Mountain (just shy of 4200′), we allowed ourselves another quick break to drink in the breathtaking views of the Catskills from its highest point. It was thrilling to summit our third and final peak, but it was colder up there. As soon as we stopped moving, we could feel the chill of temperatures in the mid 30s. I lost track of the number of times I pulled on and then stripped off layers of clothing during the day.

Now we were in the homestretch. Three miles to go from the top of Slide to the parking lot, and we quickened our pace over the first mile when the ground was soft and the trail forgiving. Then everything drastically changed. The last two miles down the mountain were the only ones I wouldn’t do again, at least not without poles. The track widened into what appeared to be an old logging road; it was covered in rocks which were blanketed by fallen leaves. Not only could we not see the small rocks and stones, but they moved or rolled or shifted whenever we stepped on them. For the final two miles, we could only step gingerly and pick our way carefully among the rocks; even then, I rolled my ankles multiple times, lost my balance over and over and stumbled through the steep descent. To avoid getting supremely frustrated, I looked around for splashes of color in the woods.

When we finally made it back to the car nearly eight hours after we set out, my legs were wobbly and I was parched. I saved my last splash of water for the end, but I will definitely pack more water and less food on my next major climb. In addition, I learned two other valuable lessons. ALWAYS find the next trail marker, no matter how “obvious” the path may seem. After scaling one rock face, we set off to the left around the front of a cliff, confident we were following the clear trail. After walking 500′ and not seeing a red marker, Jeff tried a short climb up to another level while I retraced our steps back to the last marker we saw. We had gone the complete opposite direction!! I felt a chill as I realized how easily we could get lost in this vast wilderness. Multiple times throughout our trek, we returned to the most recent marker because we weren’t positive we were heading the right way.

The other lesson? Be careful how and where you try to stand when mountain climbing. After pulling myself up to the first level of a challenging rock face, I attempted to stand…only to bang my head into a rock overhang just above where I was crouched. It hurt! Jeff wanted me to come down so he could make sure I wasn’t bleeding; but after climbing up there, I definitely wasn’t going back down only to do it over again, ha. I still have a slight bump on my head as a souvenir from our adventure.

It was AMAZING to see this sign at the end of our trek…proof of the miles and a validation of our efforts.

An unforgettable experience in so many ways. I am so ridiculously proud of myself but also humbled by the majesty of God’s creation and the glory of the mountain tops. Thank you, Jeff, for letting this novice climber take part in your grand adventure, and thank you for taking so many photos that perfectly captured the moment and the memories.

Mission accomplished.

“Where’s home for you?”

It doesn’t seem like a tough question, does it? Most people can offer an answer without hesitating. I don’t fall into that category. In fact, I’ve wrestled with the question more and more over the last 15 years. Sure, I grew up in New Hampshire and consider myself a Granite Stater; but I haven’t lived there since I graduated from from college and our family home was sold years ago. We’re all spread out now–New Jersey, Houston, northern Virginia. My winding career path includes stints in Vermont, upstate NH, western Oklahoma and Oklahoma City, northeast Ohio, Rhode Island and Connecticut. Each of those places (and the people) will always own a piece of my heart; but none of them is home.

In 2020, the word “home” took on a whole new meaning, a completely different connotation. As we were forced to stay home for weeks, even months at a time, for work and school and leisure, it was easy to feel cooped up and stir crazy. Home didn’t feel as much like a haven; it seemed more like a prison for millions of Americans.

As we gradually emerge on the other side of the pandemic and return to the familiar rhythms of our daily lives, I will be content to keep most of 2020 (and the start of ’21) in the rearview mirror. But there is one milestone from the last year that I will always cherish. I bought my first little house on a small plot of land. After years of saving and praying and planning and saving some more, after all the bids and paperwork and timelines, I found a place to call my own.

Valentine’s Day was exactly eight months since the first morning I woke up in my little slice of heaven. That’s fitting since it’s been a labor of love from the beginning. As we turn the calendar to March and mark one year since our lives changed so drastically, I can’t help but recall how my offer was accepted on March 6th. Or that I was going through my home inspection a week later when March Madness was officially canceled. Sometimes I feel like the days have passed in a flash; at other times, I feel like I’ve lived in this house forever.

Moving in the middle of a pandemic is as much fun as it sounds, blah. My family opted to wait until AFTER I moved to arrive like the cavalry, so I was on my own for most of the purging and packing, not to mention the transfer. From the time I signed the mortgage and got the keys, it was literally one carload at a time for three weeks. I couldn’t go anywhere without cable and internet because I was still hosting my radio show from the super-secret home base. Install appointments were hard to come by, so I had to wait. As painstakingly slow as the process seemed, I know now the time was a blessing. The strain was spread out over more than a month, ha. And the yardwork. Not sure when I decided I was superwoman who could lift a lawnmower in and out of my car (not kidding), but caring for two yards over six weeks convinced me my higher calling in life is not landscaping!

The friends who showed up (don’t we all need those??) decided to help by hiring a crew to shuttle the furniture to the new house. It was quick and easy, done in under three hours since I’d already moved the boxes, clothes, closets and kitchen myself. But that Saturday morning and those few hours were a great reminder of the person I want to be: the kind who shows up even when it’s inconvenient and “risky.” They say the best friends in life are the ones who help you move. I say the best friends in life are the ones who help you move in a pandemic while the New York City metro is considered ground zero in the US. An unforgettable lesson that was hammered into my soul last spring: prayers are powerful and they move mountains; sometimes prayer is the only help we can offer. But when it’s not, showing up can make a world of difference. For that and everything else the last eight years, THANK YOU, Gretchen and Scott!

I’ll be honest. Multiple times during my first week in the house, I cried my eyes out and wondered if I made a huge mistake. The place was filthy. I should’ve paid more attention during the final inspection, but I didn’t. So I spent the first week scrubbing, screaming and stressing. I was disgusted, exhausted and overwhelmed. Mom kept telling me the family would be there soon. She was right–they pitched in with the cleaning immediately–but those first seven days turned into a bonding experience for me and my new abode. That first week riding an emotional roller coaster transformed my little house into a home (and gave me hysterical stories to share on the radio). All the effort–the blood, sweat and tears–changed the way I look at this house, with all its flaws and quirks and challenges. Just like a cherished relationship, the effort is an investment and worth all the trouble.

There are so many sweet and precious moments I’ll remember: making up the bed for the first time; watching my family pull weeds, clean out the shed and trim bushes on a blazing hot Sunday; following Penny on a walk three days in when she already knew which yard was ours; the neighbors introducing themselves; seeing all the flowers bloom–peonies, roses, hydrangeas, orange lilies and some crazy butterfly bush; tearing up when my Grammy Helen’s face appeared on Skype; playing my piano the first time; putting up the Christmas tree!! One of my ultimate memories from the first nine months will always be gazing out the window during a blizzard that dropped 20 inches of beautiful snow and listening to the quiet all around me. Blissful.

You can find plenty of greeting card cliches to define “home.” It’s where the heart is, where the pets (and dog hair) are, where we hang our hats and dreams. All of these can be true. Home can also be where we grew up or simply where we reside. I’ve come to understand that my journey was always meant to be more complicated.

Of course, I will ALWAYS be at home wherever I’m with family, even if it’s not my primary address. But over the last year, HOME means so much more. My new home is how I survived the pandemic. Pouring my time and energy into this project reminded me that 2020 wasn’t a total loss. I am blessed beyond measure. My new home keeps me thankful and offers perspective from a God who’s always in control.

For me, home is a sigh of a relief. Home is comfort. Home is letting my guard down. Home is safety and solace. Home is where the people I love are always welcome, day or night. Home isn’t always calm; but my home is peace, the kind that’s priceless.