Category Archives: Pause Points

Ordinary legacy moments in time.

August 2025

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August is one of those months that everyone who’s not retired is running around trying to squeeze every minute of sun and fun out of the summer. Me not so much, I try and stay out of everyone’s way. To do that I find out of the way beaches, like our little county park at Darlington. Oh, there’s people there in the usual places, but I know a place that is around the back, with only beach privileges (NO SWIMING ALLOWED) and in full view of the splash zone which is hysterical to watch.


Or…photo walks at places that are normally crawling with people on the weekends but completely manageable during the week on a Tuesday or Thursday especially.


Sneaking into the city (NYC) on a Sunday the last week of August is another way to meet up with friends you only see once or twice a year! Try Lillie’s Victorian Establishment, it’s jumping but they’ve got it down to a science. The food is delicious, and the vibe is all theater goers gearing up.

My long awaited, tiny little art practice is growing and dare I say thriving with a few commissions here and there and shaking up the creativity I’ve longed for since I was a kid. I bless it daily and truly hope it never hides from me again.


And then there’s life on Stowe Lane the salve that keeps me safe, grounded, inspired and home to the lovely Miss Vecchietta… she’s no Toti Nonna but she’s a funny and grateful little imp.


Until next month you can find me on Stowe Lane or Instagram @ordinarylegacy feel free to visit either one.

Posture

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Welcome to January, happy new year?

I’ve long ago given up on making/breaking resolutions, so if you’d like to tell me about yours have at it.  Perhaps one that’s worked, or was personally kind, or didn’t cause you undue stress…I thought so.  Instead I’ve chosen a word for the upcoming year.  It’s been part of Susannah Conway’s December daily reflections recap on Instagram.  I’ve participated over the last three years and found a lovely online group of people in return. Some of the prompts repeat year after year and many of those I find my answers also repeat. Such as:

A wish:   To live my life the way I want my story told.

Thank you for:   This day and everything in it:

  • Every walk and every sit
  • Every compliment and every slight
  • Every blessing and every lesson
  • Every binge and every fast
  • Every prayer and every curse
  • Every laugh and every cry
  • Every minute of every day that is #lifeonstowelane with #lovemytotinonna

And my word for 2022:

My word, you may have figured out is posture. It’s an interesting word, in the iceberg illustration of there being so much more below the surface than you can see, not the theater critic calling an opening night performance interesting. There are three definitions that resonate with me:

Physical, the most obvious and most important for healthy aging.  Yeah yeah aging.  I’m going kickin and screaming but I’m going. I don’t want to be a lovely bent lily as Jeanette used to say.  So my yoga classes will help and bringing my awareness to pulling my damn shoulders back will too.  I might need one of those slouching alarms.  Do not send me one.

Political, what a whirl wind we remain in.  I want my mind open, my attitude open, to other people and to social conditions.  I come from fighting for women, I can’t imagine I’ll ever stop doing that but divisiveness and blame are not my thing so I’ll be using my now famous: I don’t know what I don’t know frame of mind much more in 2022. Maya said it best, when we know better we do better. We all need to expand our mindset.

Psychological, HG Wells realized, “I don’t always rise to the new posture of things.” Obviously my retirement after this first year is still a new posture of things for me. In so many ways I have risen to new rhythms (I despise the word routine) I have purged more than half of my contacts in this year’s ritual, I have said no as a full sentence and I’m sure there’s more but those are the big three.  Hopefully I’ll continue to create a new posture of things.

Have I been posturing all my life? Probably. Mostly in terms of being a woman (car hag) in an industry that isn’t especially welcoming to us, especially the old broads that still carry the 70’s slogans, maybe not quite as severe as “kill the patriarchy” but you get my point.

My posturing now will surely be softer, kinder to those who remain, the ones I poke every January to make sure all is well.  The ones I want closer to me now that there are so many less insignificant distractions. The ones who got away, I want those back. 

So let us begin, together, in our own personal ways to make 2022 different, better, safer for ourselves and our people.  Shoulders back…  

Where the hell have you been?

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Good question. Several places since April of 2018 when I discussed bread from the bakery and my thriving Red Bud. It was a moment in time for that Red Bud, about to enter its second decade on Stowe Lane; never once threatened by the roving maniacs otherwise known as landscapers.

How, was I to know there was another moment in time waiting just around the corner in July? That’s when the inimitable Rere went by Daddy.  She’d been threatening to go for several years but phoenix that she was she defied the odds until she didn’t. It was an exhausting year and no words would come. Most of that story was told through loving conversations with her beloved Toti Nonna on Instagram which allowed everyone an overwhelming level of comfort. There was so much to say about that moment and yet it’s all been said leaving everyone with no regrets and an exhale.

When I started the blog in 2009, let me say that again…2009, it was a moment in time for me. I was newly divorced and starting a fresh life on Stowe Lane.  I had much to say, mostly because previous to that year I hadn’t said much at all. And you better believe I took advantage of my voice here on the blog, from indignant rants to the little things to family to elder beauty and food and whatever stuck in my craw.

Then something shifted, I began writing more on Instagram following prompts and current trends and the ordinary.  #lifeonstowelane would later become a beloved hashtag on IG and I could write and post to my heart’s content, there was no need to blog.  Blogging had gone out of style, lost its relevance, or something like laziness set in and I had no patience to expand my thoughts.

Over the last two and a half years I’ve been busy transitioning into retirement. I’ll spare the gory details but it’s been an adventure complete with disappointments, meetings, meetings, more meetings, knock down drag outs, negotiations and a very happy ending. There was the trip of a lifetime to Italy’s Tuscan Women Cook and oh yeah a worldwide pandemic that isn’t quite through with us yet. So, again, there I was posting and writing on Instagram. But…as I read over some of it recently, it was pretty good. Sometimes thoughtful, sometimes irreverent, sometimes funny as hell #conversationswithtoti, sometimes helpful. And the food, the cooking, and all the ideas swirling around that wanted very much to become a book…

So here I am…again. With much to say in a place where it can be savored and cataloged and preserved because, yep, legacy albeit ordinary.  This time around it will probably be much ado about retirement, living blessedly alone, cooking, creating art, being Italianish and God knows what else in the hopes that the book will somehow come to fruition.  I’m thinking a monthly wrap up of IG posts and additional goodies. I’m thinking snarky rants and emotion and preventing people from eating cold cereal for dinner.  You know mindful living in the not so woo woo way we’ve all come to know…and love…yeah we still love it.

I hope you’ll stay tuned and tell your friends, see you in March. slc

Bread from The Bakery

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I’m sure there isn’t any aroma quite like this fresh baked bread straight into a brown paper bag. The the drive home surrounded by it.

But there is so much more in that bag, the nostalgia is even more overwhelming.

When we were growing up my mother made a pot of sauce every Thursday. I don’t remember how, I don’t remember the smell of it or the pot it was made in.

What I do remember is my father walking in the back door with this bag of bread. I remember putting my face in it to catch the aroma. I remember pulling the soft inside out so the meatballs fit just perfectly. I remember laying that soft inside in the pot on top of the sauce.

This bread is from a tiny little bakery in a tiny little town made by a lone baker. It was once a full service bakery in another part of town but that baker has long ago passed on.

Red Bud

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This year marks the beginning of the next decade for this about to bloom red bud tree. I bought this as a shrub when I first moved to Stowe Lane ten, yes ten, years ago and it has thrived.

Shrubs don’t normally reach for the skies and become trees unless the stars align, they are properly pruned and fertilized with all the best nutrients. There is love involved and crossed fingers and sighs of relief when one realizes that the blizzards and winds, and blights have left you, I mean it, unscathed.

Of course there is no way to know what lies ahead in the upcoming decade, no way to know where one is in the ever faster unrolling of the toilet paper metaphor. And really does one need to know or just trust?

So as we move into our next decade I will rely on this beautiful red bud to continue to stop me in my tracks alerting me to spring each year and showing me the way. The way to reach for the skies, prune what is dead or no longer needed, and adjusting and adding more and better nutrients as time goes on.

All the while leaving our beautiful story behind on Stowe Lane.