Bittersweet Memories in a Surprise Cupcake

This time each year always brings reflection.

It was my birthday, and the pandemic had been gripping us for more than 18 months. I parked the car and was walking to my building after visiting mom at the hospital. Because of the strict COVID protocols, visiting hours were brutally restricted from 12 noon to 2 p.m. and from 4 p.m. to 6 p.m.

Two hours were not enough for a visit though it was my second one of the afternoon. I carried the heavy, silent pain that I might not see her the next day. She didn’t know I was there holding her hand, crying and praying with every ounce of energy that she wouldn’t slip away.

As I neared the outer back door I heard laughter and looked up. Kids were in the playground next door wearing party hats, and a “Happy Birthday” banner was affixed to the fence. The table was laden with desserts; they were having fun. I felt like I was behind a glass wall.

I waved to one of the moms and said, “Happy Birthday,” and that it was my birthday, too. I needed to tell someone.

She smiled and offered me a cupcake — chocolate piled with pale yellow, green and purple frosting and topped with a little plastic jack-o’-lantern. I thanked her and brought it carefully home, then snapped this picture and ate it the next day.

While her kind, unexpected gesture didn’t change the harsh reality of how I felt inside, it made me feel less alone. She had no idea how much it meant at that moment.

I don’t remember what happened the next day except I nervously called to check mom’s room. She was there. My birthday prayers had been answered!

Two days later she was transferred to another facility, whose staff brought her back from that dark place and gave our family precious additional months. Seeing mom laugh and smile again was a grace I never expected and a miracle for which I’m deeply grateful.

The spooky cupcake smiles at me when I open the pictures on my laptop. I think of that day, and later, someone’s mom handing me the treat across the fence. Here’s to another trip around the huge plasma ball on this third rock from the sun.

Copyright © Janie Rosman and Kaleidoscope Eyes 2026

A Common Denominator of Rubber Soles

Taking a photo of my shadow on the bridge path and wearing Merrells

It always happens. I find a style that fits well or that says “me,” and then the manufacturer changes it for the worse. I don’t know which audiences were surveyed when my favorite shoes, then bras, then tee shirts, then jeans went the way of “this will be better.”

My Easy Spirit® mesh mules succumbed that year. I loved wearing them and bought them online; they fit perfectly sight unseen.

So when I got a summer job during this shoe crisis I noticed my manager’s yellow mules. They looked cute and comfortable; she said they were Merrell® Breeze.

My new favorites.

A ‘Dr. Google’ search revealed the Original Encore Breeze was released in 2002-2003. The second iteration was released around 2006-2007 and may have been the shoes worn by my manager.

Breeze 3 released in 2012-2013 was identical and fit equally well. I bought two additional pairs in different colors. My feet stayed dry even when I wore them in the rain (though I saved one pair for heavy rain).

Then came Breeze 4, which looked and felt completely different. Breeze 5 was like a stretchy sock and swapped the classic structure for a flimsier foam layout. I tried on a few pairs and really wanted to like them. Nope. The sides of my feet (medium width) spilled over the footbed, and my toes squished through the fabric.

They were nothing like the earlier models and were neither supportive nor stylish. One would think it they were competing with Skechers®, which also felt like oversized socks.

The company messed with a good thing.

When my left hip joint was replaced in March 2018, the podiatrist said buy sturdy shoes. He rolled his eyes at my Clarks® Breeze Sea Cloudsteppers — and again when I mentioned Dr. Scholl’s® Exercise Sandals — so I wore Merrell shoes to the next appointment. To me they were sturdy. He stopped mentioning shoes.

Dr. Scholl’s were made from a piece of leather attached to a piece of wood that left one’s feet at the mercy of the elements. Their wood bottoms featured toe grips and arch supports and heel cups/grips. I loved wearing them years ago.

My surgeon wears Crocs® clogs and says nothing about my footwear. Who best to listen to?

The podiatrist was wrong. Six and one-half weeks after surgery my Merrells and I were walking two miles every other day in one-mile stints, preparing for when the Cuomo Bridge’s shared use path opened (it would open June 2020).

They were on my feet for two 3.6-mile treks (not the same day) from the South Nyack landing to the Tarrytown landing. I had no blisters or sores.

Then came the day my shoemaker destroyed them. He worked magic on handbags and belts and shoe heels and soles so I asked him to repair the slightly-worn rounded heels.

He put hard rubber on them, which removed the rolling motion. I asked for a refund and got one after he angrily, sloppily cut off the new heels. I threw them out at home.

Now and then I look for new Breeze 3 shoes. The company clearly ruined a wonderful model. Wolverine World Wide, are you listening?

I’d like to know what you think.

Copyright © Janie Rosman and Kaleidoscope Eyes 2026

A Taped Battery Door and Incorrect Glasses

That mid-August day in 2009 was bleak for The Journal News’ advertising and news departments. We were called into a meeting and fired from our jobs, then told we had to reapply — except we weren’t told the shift, location or specific job.

My heart fell to my stomach. I began working at the city desk — back then it was The Reporter Dispatch — while in college and carry journalistic wisdom learned from my first editor. After freelancing there on and off during the years, I was hired part-time two summers before the restructuring.

The risks of applying to unknowns were too great so I opted for a buyout; many of my colleagues were rehired. Soon after I followed several editors and reporters from the newsroom to Patch, a then-new hyperlocal news model, and began writing for its community platforms.

As I had no camera — the photo department loaned me one for assignments — my former editor, now at Patch, told me about the Nikon Coolpix L22. That powerhouse had 12.0 megapixels, a 3.6 zoom lens and a 3-inch LCD screen and could compete with the best of cameras.

Through the years I’ve replaced my original red L22 with the same preowned model and color and sometimes taped the easily-breakable battery door. It’s proven itself time and again on every assignment and road trip.

And as I’m inept with more complex cameras, this point-and-shoot was perfect for me. Extra batteries always came along for the ride.

Eight Augusts later I was covering the ceremonial opening of the new Gov. Mario M. Cuomo Bridge’s westbound span. Except I couldn’t see.

The previous day I’d picked up my bifocal prescription glasses from a local optical shop and realized too late it only filled one of the two prescriptions, leaving me with midrange lenses and no reading glasses.

I was scheduled for the first of two cataract removal surgeries – left eye first – the following month yet until then I needed bifocals.

So I did the best I could as I was unable to see/change the setting on my camera. It would have to stay on Easy Auto Mode.

Media walked around the span we’d written about for several years prior to that day. I was fascinated to see the structures up close and kept pointing, waiting and pressing the shutter-release button.

Prior to the ceremony we were told we’d get the best photos of then-Gov. Andrew Cuomo’s inaugural drive across the span with the late Armando “Chick” Galella, a WWII veteran and a Pearl Harbor survivor, if we stood on the back of the nearby rack truck that would move ahead of them.

I climbed up and surveyed the scene. Photographers near me carried huge cameras that cost more than my first car.

Because of my location I had an unobstructed view of the ceremony and speakers despite the glasses error. I remember holding up the camera and letting Easy Auto Mode do the work, same as I’d done earlier.

The L22 chose the right scene mode, adjusted the exposure and activated the Electronic Vibration Reduction (EVR) to help steady my distance shots.

When the speeches were completed, and the ribbon was cut, the truck began to move slowly. As Cuomo and Galella waved to us from the front seat of the 1955 Chevrolet Corvette, I realized if you can’t change the settings, then you have to trust the view.

I’d like to know what you think.

Copyright © Janie Rosman and Kaleidoscope Eyes 2026