But as the 18th Century Scottish poet Robert Burns famously wrote: “The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”

Well, that’s not exactly how he said it. In the words of his place and time, it was: “The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men, Gang aft agley, An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, For promis’d joy!”

I know myself to be an introvert, but I’m always a little bit shocked, on these rare occasions when I’m left alone, at how much of an introvert I am. 

Quirky? Twisted? Wonky?

Nope. Let’s go with askew. I can live with askew.

We knew they were coming, but it didn’t make it any less jarring to see the tiny holes in the soil where they had suddenly emerged after their 17-year-long buffet of tender tree roots. They’re not a welcome sight for many, and cautious homeowners along neighborhood streets have carefully wrapped young saplings in white nets as a way of protecting trees in their infancy from the attack of cicadas.

For the past 25 years I have driven through this beautiful community while admiring the hundreds of trees planted along each side of the street. For the first time last week, I admired the gorgeous arches formed as a result of parkway trees, planted on opposites sides of the street, now being tall and wide enough to touch each other. This glorious sight coupled with the wonderful feeling of driving under blocks of majestic trees now mature enough to form a dense canopy was tremendously rewarding. As Del Webb’s Sun City Huntley celebrates its 25th year, the trees planted so many years ago are a testament to the residents who have nurtured them for the past two and a half decades.

We wanted to shake up our restaurant reviews and not go to the same old places that have liver and onions as one of their daily specials. Boy did we find it!!! This very eclectic venue is in the downtown Crystal Lake area with a menu that would stump Rod Serling. We are referring to Cantina 52.

That’s because their favorite resting spot, the old purple cherry plum tree in my yard, is gone. It blew down on one of those blustery days in late April, just before the hummers got back in town.

My daughter, tall and slender, stands at the apex of most of the group pictures. She is taller than the other girls, so she tips her head slightly, not out of shyness, but in deference to the height difference. She is as elegant as I’ve ever seen her. The dress she is wearing, she told me, makes her feel beautiful. I can see it, too; the way her shoulders are back, the way her eyes sparkle, the way she delicately lifts her skirt to navigate stairs, revealing her strappy black shoes.

It is wild to me that over a week ago, we picked up two strangers from the airport. Ten days later, tears rolled down my cheeks as I said goodbye as they left for their flights home. I will miss them, my new Italian daughters. My own daughter, with three older brothers, now has sisters she can call her own.

For the record, the show today is way better than it was at the beginning, 22 years ago. Back then, the main focus was on delusional dreamers who had no idea how bad they were, and the only reason to watch the early episodes was to find someone to laugh about at the water cooler the next day. It was a guilty pleasure back then, too, I guess, especially if you found pleasure in cruel ridicule.

It’s been particularly challenging to see my mother-in-law’s independence slowly slip away. Simple tasks that were once second nature to her now require assistance, and it’s becoming increasingly clear that she needs more support than I alone can provide.