Lobster On My Shoulder …

July 15, 2018 – Sunday

Easy!

Summer – FINALLY – arrived here in the NW, a few days ago … on Wednesday, the 11th of July. Yeah, a bit late by anyone’s account. But it has arrived! Woo hoo!

You might wonder … how do I know this exact time? I have my ways.

Last Wednesday I took my neighbor to the mainland for some scans (thankfully bypassing a 2 hour long ferry wait – each way – because we had a medical pass).  The long waits for the ferry are indicative that it is Summer – whether or not the weather is cooperating seasonally. I figure I won’t be going off island again unless it’s late in the day or later at night … or until it’s late September … cuz I’ve waited in those lines and I’m not doing it again! But long lines are a good indication that the seasons have changed … more traffic.

While over “on the other side” I thought I’d forego the PTSD that always ensues when I am in a hospital (bad memories from when Tim was sick) and decided I’d go walk around the university campus that was just beyond the med center’s front doors. A much better way to spend a splendid summer day – being outside rather than inside a fluorescent bulb-lit hospital waiting room – and I’d go back and pick up my friend later.

And not only did I have to get out of the hospital … I just NEEDED to get out into that warmth and sunshine. I’ve been practically writing letters to Mother Nature asking for her arrival … and I needed to get out, see if the forecast was right, see if she indeed had arrived and shed my winter skin!

The University of Washington is a nice campus … not as pretty as others I’ve been on but nice enough. I walked past a few ornate, gothic buildings and well-kept rose gardens and a big fountain that looked like it should have been in some Italian movie (something like Gidget Goes to Rome) and soaked up the sun and warmth … and soon realized that it was actually HOT out! When one is used to 58-68 degree temps as “Summer” temps and then it spikes to the 80s – one is not used to that. And in that “one” … I mean ME! Why on earth did I choose spandex as my fabric of choice for the day? I felt like I was wearing a rubber wet suit! I couldn’t find shade fast enough! The person who was practically praying to the universe for hot days and endless sunshine was feeling like the Wicked Witch of the West after water was thrown on her!

I was melting!

I skip-jumped from one patch of shade to another and completely cut across some construction (NO ADMITTANCE) zone just to get to the shaded sidewalk on the other side! After just a few minutes of said sun and warmth, I had become a slobberpuss of sweat! I looked like I had jumped into that fountain! Even my earlobes were dripping sweat and by the amount of rivulets running down my front and back, I figured my boobs had already drowned and my butt was next. I was very glad I didn’t have a mirror as I’m sure I looked just lovely … in a drowned rat sort of way. But, strike up the band … Summer had arrived!

Now you have to understand that up on this island and in the NW, Summer is fleeting … like a day or week or two. No, seriously … we don’t have “SUMMER” like everyone else has Summer. While other people (in other non-NW areas) are bbq’ing and wearing shorts, we are under a burn ban so no grills are fired up (and everyone is basically vegetarian here and tofu doesn’t exactly do well on a grill anyway) so no fragrant sizzling steak aromas. The grass is dead so no yummy fresh mown lawn smells. No kids playing cuz everyone here is at least 10 years my senior. At least. And no one is outside cuz either everyone thinks it’s too hot (due to their still wearing a jacket or lightweight polar fleece) or once the sun goes down … too cold. Ridiculous.

And, crazy to me because I want warmth and sunshine and all things Summer! I want fireflies and humidity and thunderstorms … fresh mown lawns, croquet and chicken on the grill … hot, sticky days and balmy nights, and lemonade on the porch! You know … SUMMER!

I know I’m not going to get those Summer things here but I’ll settle for warmth and sunshine. And if I have to go about the first few days of our NW Summer looking like I got hosed down – so be it! I’ll survive the humiliation of over-active sweat glands … but I’ll enjoy the hell out of the warmth and sun.

And so, here it is Sunday night … the last few days have been over 80 degrees on the island. At 10pm we are a wonderfully luscious 68 degrees (which is warmer than our highs for the past month or two). I can take this! I can forego all the other Summer things I miss (for a while) but to have a few fabulous over 80 degree days is really wonderful and it reignites the fire in my cold and soddened soul. I’ve had the windows open for 3 days and nights (omg – unheard of!) and am loving all the little breezes that come in any of the wide open windows – carrying the music of the wind chimes with them.

I’m off to sit under the stars for a bit and enjoy this yummy air.

After all, it’s Summertime and the living is … easy.

June 16, 2018 – Saturday

Summer of 1967 … no, Summer of ’68 … no, I can’t decide … it’s too hard.

I was a decade old when the Summer of ’67 rolled around. It probably couldn’t have come any faster, as any 10 year old will tell you. Endless summer days … of … what the heck did we do? We were out of the house in the early morning and home for lunch and then back out … and then back home for dinner at 5. We got to go back out to play until the street lights came on – then it was back home, a bath and bed.

I filled my days with friends and my brother. Reading up in the maple, making jig saw puzzles in the basement (when it was just too hot to go out), endless hours in the local pool, playing Barbie, riding bikes, playing Red Rover and freeze tag, catching fireflies at twilight and making buttered popcorn for my dad at night.

The days were carefree and endless and we did those same things day after day, week after week, month after month – until school rolled around again in September.

Except for 2 glorious weeks when we went on a family vacation. Now, it could be we only did this three or four times … but in my cobwebbed memory, it seemed like we went somewhere every year. And maybe we did.

But the 2 trips that stand out the most were the ones in the Summers of 1967 and 1968. Maybe because my brain cells had gelled enough to remember stuff … and had not yet morphed into all things teen, but those summers stand out. In any case – those trips were epic.

Now, I have to thank my mom … who, undoubtedly, was a saint … remember, these were back in the days of EVERYTHING cotton – which meant, everything (as in EVERY LITTLE THING) needed ironing unless you wanted to look like a vacationing family of raisins.

So, thanks, Mom … for washing and ironing and packing for 5 people (and sometimes we had the dogs, too – but on these trips we didn’t) and putting up with 3 wild children and CAMPING – as was almost always the case. Which also meant packing up a kitchen and towels, etc etc …

And, that leaves me to the navigator/driver/instigator/coordinator/planner (down to the nanometer of distance) … my Dad. He was the one who packed the tents (as in 2 tents … one was a kitchen tent – we “glamped” when glamping wasn’t even a thing yet!), and cots (yes, we had cots and one was a bunk bed!), and rugs and lanterns and sleeping bags and tent poles (that didn’t fold up) and a huge water bottle and a cooler and omg … you name it … whatever was needed for a family of 5 to survive in the wilderness of the US of A during the ’60s, that could fit into a station wagon (without leaving a kid behind), was packed in. I’m pretty sure he was the inventor of Tetris but didn’t cash in on it.

Thanks, Dad.

I look back with absolute AWE over those travels.  A family of 5 in a station wagon for 2 weeks … eating sandwiches off the back fold down door … no A/C … warm pop to drink. The early morning smells of coffee and donuts. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one with heat stroke and car sickness! It was fabulous for us kids (at least for ME) … but I’m sure it was long, hot days for my folks. So, thanks, again!

We criss crossed the US those summers … I’ve only 4 more states to hit before I make it to all 50 … and in the Summer of 1967 we left Chicago for all parts EAST … Niagara Falls, Expo ’67 (which was up in Montreal, Canada  and my first international trip – no passports required!), then to Killbear Park in Ontario (where we ate 19,000 lbs of blueberries off the land), down to Lake George and Ticonderoga, NY … and any and all places in between before going back home again. A zillion miles! It was fantastic!

Thanks, Dad.

In 1968 my Dad secured a “destination car” … someone needed their car delivered to California. So, we packed that puppy up and with a dent in the rear fender we pointed the car WESTWARD and high-tailed it to sunny CA. I can’t even begin to tell you everything we saw on that trip. If it was a sight to be seen – we saw it  … and then some!

Somewhere along the way we stopped at a gas station (“filling station” back then) and looking at the dent in the fender, some old farmer local-yokel with a nasal twang said, “Looks like you’re missin’ a corner.” We thought that was a hoot and a half … and must have been road worn cuz to this day we all get a good chuckle out of it whenever someone says that!

And somewhere along the way, Arizona or somewhere desolate and hot, I was the one to flag down a passing motorist when we ran out of gas on a lonely stretch of heat-wavy highway. Thank you good samaritan for getting my dad (and the can of gas) back to us safely before my mom had a panic attack or the coyotes got us – either one. My mom must have been a wreck!

Anyway, on that trip we were in LA and got to see the ocean for the first time! We spent a day (or two) in Disneyland, visited with old neighbors (I remember the walnuts from their tree hitting the roof of the house – such a heavy, pleasant sound!), camped amongst the ancient redwoods and for the first time for us kids – we boarded an airplane and flew home! Very exciting.

I look back and I wonder, how the hell did my folks afford these trips?  My dad worked a normal job. We were a one income family. How did they do it?

My Dad was 30 when I came on the scene … with 2 other kids already and a house mortgage, and one car (for a long time) and dogs and other critters and bills (and I contributed to them greatly with glasses and always being sick!) … a lot to shoulder at that age.

He worked at the same company for a million years. Up at 7 and home by 5 (ish) every Monday thru Friday … day in/day out for 41 years. Yikes! He’ll be 90 this September and has better memory retention and recall than I do. Up until a few years ago, Dad was quite athletic … he was always involved with handball or softball … and he rode his bike … as in A LOT. For years he’d ride that bike of his 1500 miles in the summer months … and walk another 1000! Crazy! He still goes to the Fitness Center and works out. He’s amazing.

I even have a video, on my phone, of him doing a plank … he’s a bad ass at 89!

I got my poor eyesight from my dad … (thanks tons) … but also my deep appreciation for nature, tomatoes, dogs and the love of the land. I got my gypsy blood from him, too. When the winds warm and the sun has that certain shimmer – there’s nothing I’d rather do than pack up the car and head out – anywhere! It doesn’t matter … that road trip fever hits me and I am once again 10 … going off to sights and places unknown … without a care in the world.

So, thanks Dad … for showing me so much of our country from the back of a Ford Falcon. For taking us on all those fabulous summer trips … for instilling in me appreciation for a job well done, for a trip well planned, for money well-earned and saved and spent … for animals and nature and home-grown tomatoes … for simple things … and that there is fun to be had in a car full of family. All those things and a million, billion more.

And, oh yeah, for the love of buttered popcorn.

Thanks Dad. Happy Father’s Day!

June 10, 2018 – Sunday

I woke up today and it was October. No, I am not waking up from a coma  and as far as I know, all of my marbles are intact … but it’s still October. Except it’s not. It’s June. Almost MID-June.

And yet – I am experiencing autumn. Again. Always.

The NW is a bit uncanny this way. I love autumn with all its colors and changing, falling leaves, pumpkins (but not pumpkin spiced latte everything or anything – ew!) …  jewel-toned colors and cozy sweaters … and all things hygge (hoo-guh: the Danish word (and apparently US obsession) for being cozy) … start in October. And all through October and November … I LOVE it. I can’t get enough of sweaters and that crisp edge and dead-leaf smell in the air (when it’s not raining!) and pumpkins marching down front porch steps.

But, waking up to that October chill in the air day after day, week after week, month after month, has me feeling a bit Bill Murray-esque (though I’m not learning French or the piano) and I am stuck in my own sort of Groundhog Day … but with old dogs instead of a fat woodchuck. And Ned Ryerson is no where to be found.

This morning was no different. I lay in bed, snuggled under my comforters and before I opened my eyes I visualized my room in my last home in Illinois … I loved that bedroom. It was so sweet and romantic. The old windows, at the head of my bed, rattled in the wind and I could see out to my little yard and the oak forest that my home was nestled within. With eyes closed I could see the lonely maple across the street with its rust and golden and crimson leaves … the singular dash of autumn in a sea of brown oaks.

Still, with eyes closed, I can smell it … IT … that autumn crispness that is ONLY autumn. (Well, usually only autumn.) And, if I strain my ears a bit more … I can hear the high school band finishing up their practice notes, readying for the day’s football game.

I get this all in a nanosecond of consciousness somewhere between slumber and wakefulness. And I open my eyes and I’m not in that cozy room with its sage-colored walls, dove white built-ins and the plush taupe carpet. I’m here … in this NW bedroom with the painted blackboard wall reminding me of passion and purpose, the shabby chic closet doors (that I made myself because nothing is square in this house and no store-bought doors would fit!), and the fluffy sugar-plum pink area rug that my toes touch first thing out of bed.

And it’s JUNE.

The blueberries should be ripening soon. The sign up off the highway should be up any day, hawking the farm’s quarter-sized blues … but I still feel like they should have their sign up for pumpkins, instead!

My calendar business winds down in October. I take the final orders and count my fortune or losses (usually losses) and I keep having to remind myself that it is JUNE and I need to build a fire under my butt to get myself into any semblance of work-mode because my brain is stuck in all things FALL.

My heat is on. I’m wearing black leggings and a soft rust-colored tunic (very autumnal). I guess if I dressed for summer, it might feel more like summer. Or it might feel like the dead of winter cuz I’d be freezing my buns off!

Today it’s 56 sizzling degrees. We have what the northwesterners call “sun breaks” (as in it’s partly cloudy, people) … some clouds, some sun … it changes every 10 minutes or so. Big puffy clouds and low lying, scuttling gray ones share the skies above the navy blue of the passage. It’s breezy so there are a few white-caps today. Maybe we’ll get rain.

From inside it looks like it could be 80 degrees outside! My tree is in full green leaf … my magenta and orange geraniums are in wild bloom in my flower boxes off the living room windows … the rose bushes on my deck and the south side of the house are displaying pink with magenta stripes (so sweet smelling!)  and long-stemmed coral and bright orange blooms the size of my palm. The multi-colored snaps dragons are happy in my deck containers – ready to sing at my command – and are so bright this year they look like they are lit from within.

And yet … I go outside and it feels like October. I close my eyes and instead of the containers of flowers on my deck, I imagine a hay bundle and pumpkin display. Gourds and squashes and a fat, Cinderella pumpkin taking center stage amongst the small groupings of purple asters and burgundy mums.

I just have to tell you – it is the weirdest thing!

I’m in this seasonal time-warp and unless the weather warms up – here I’ll stay … as I have been since … October! The endless autumn! 8 months of autumn! Even for me, that’s a bit much!

But, there is hope and seasonal change in sight. I looked at our forecast last night and I only have to wait ONE MORE WEEK and it looks like we’ll be warming up to the (omg) 70s … and (OMG!!!!) even a few days of (dare I even type this?) … 80s! My neighbors will all be sweltering (anything over 68 degrees and they start complaining about the HEAT! I just say, “Take off your coat!!!!”). SUMMER is coming! It is in the wings. She is waiting for her grand entrance.

And, as much as I truly love all things autumnal … I can’t wait for outdoor dinners, tank tops, and the sweet warmth of summer’s sun on my skin.

It’s about time. After all, it’s JUNE!

May 11, 2018 – Friday

Mom’s Day is coming up and I’m feeling detached from the one whom I call mom and from the two that use that term for me! I’m 2079 miles away from my mom – and 1345 miles in one direction and 842 miles in another from my kids. The dogs on this day don’t count.

Too far away from everyone. I don’t like it.

My mom’s mom (my Grandma) was sick a lot and I think that’s when the “nursing bug” bit my mom. She never went to college but she would have made a good medical person. I think she got enough practice just with me (when I was a kid) to become a doctor without med school.

I was a sickly thing … always some odd, textbook ailment for me! So, with a family of 5 and no dishwasher and everything made out of 100% cotton so that even underwear (or so it seemed) needed ironing (I remember her ironing a LOT!!!!) – she found time to tend to me.  I have no idea how she found the time (or the patience) … but she did.

Thanks, mom. Chicken in the Biskit crackers, ginger ale or rye toast always make me feel better. Crayons, too. Those were always “at the ready” for me! I was probably a big worry! Sorry about that!

We grew up in your typical suburban 1200 square foot ranch w/carport … 3 bedrooms, 1 bath, eat-in kitchen, full (finished) basement, great yard. Think Father Knows Best meets Leave it to Beaver – but better!  It was a really nice house to grow up in in the late 50’s/60’s. My dad went off to work every day (for a zillion years) and my mom stayed home to tend to the house (and whatever child was not of school age or sick … which was, in both instances … me!).

She was a savvy decorator (unique/personal touches everywhere) and she kept a tidy home … even though we had a veritable zoo of animals living with us! Not sure how she did it! We had dogs and litters of dogs, hamsters and guinea pigs and my brother’s room was filled with tanks of tadpoles and toads, lizards and caterpillars, emerging butterflies and moths and if that wasn’t enough – five box turtles and one crooked-tailed iguana had the run of the house! My mom was a saint!

And as a stay-at-home mom … it meant that she just didn’t STAY AT HOME … she was a super woman! In order to keep house for 5 people, without modern day conveniences – everything (but the yard) was on her shoulders.  She was a maid and a cook and a nursemaid … and a seamstress, teacher, gardener, Girl Scout leader, church volunteer, nanny, gopher, laundress, entertainer, pet keeper, household manager … you get the picture. In other words … she was a MOM! Our hero!

Thanks, mom. I know some times really couldn’t have been very easy.

There are 3 kids in our family … I am the youngest (and best – and most humble! Ha ha!) and I’m sure it wasn’t easy juggling everything she did (or needed to do) with us rugrats running amok all the time – smuggling turtles and puppies into beds, reading late into the evening under our covers with flashlights, getting virtually little or no help from us – seriously, what kind of “help” can a 4 yr old give?

As kids – and kids with friends – we did a ton of crafts at the basement counter (a fabulous thing!) … most of which included glue and glitter. No problem. Or paint. Not an issue. My brother would bring home an armload of frogs and she’d never even blink an eye! The only time I remember her screeching was when she picked up (what she thought was a piece of paper) – a squishy piece of turtle poop! If you’ve never smelled turtle poop – count yourself amongst the lucky ones. They eat worms … enough said. Anyway – of course we laughed our heads off … and it was even funnier cuz we were messing around with the reel-to-reel tape recorder in the basement and caught her reaction on tape! Sorry mom – still funny.

I can’t think of anything special my mom would make for dinners … except for chipped beef on toast. Still, to this day, one of my all time favorite comfort foods! I jazz it up a bit with wine and mushrooms now, but if I’m needing food solace that is my #1 go-to meal! And though she didn’t have a signature dish – everything she made was yummy. Well, except for the beef kidney pie she’d make for my dad! Walking home from school I could smell it from the mailbox, seven houses away! Those were the days I just kept walking to my best friend’s house and stayed there for dinner! (Sorry again, mom … but that BKP was disgusting!)

My mom always set a pretty table (even still) – even on normal, everyday week nights. Sometimes she would put half a pear on a piece of lettuce (on a separate salad plate – so it was “fancy”) and drizzle over it a bit of thinned mayo and top it with a few chopped walnuts or pecans. I hated that salad! (The visual of the pear syrup mixing with the mayo sauce makes my stomach flip to this day!) But it was so pretty!

Thanks, mom! I learned a lot from you!

We were the party house for friends and relatives and holidays and the many, many, many sleepovers as well as all those birthday parties … so many fun times! And she endured them all with homemade treats and handmade Halloween costumes! She was a trooper and always, ALWAYS out-did herself with dinners and decorations.

So, thanks mom for all the ironed clothes and yummy dinners and parties of my youth … the crackers and ginger ale and pizza rolls … the love and support along the way … pretty houses to live in and for all that you infused in me as I was growing up that I didn’t realize until I was a mom myself.  And, thanks for your patience and ease for all things kids and animals (including grandkids and grand-animals)!

You are a special lady. We all love you. I hope this will be a really nice day for you – your 66th special day of celebrating you as a mom!

Happy Mom’s Day!

April 18, 2018 – Wednesday

I know it’s Wednesday because Property Brothers was on when I turned the TV on this morning. Their shows run all day, on Wednesdays, on HGTV. Not a good sign that I recognize days by what programs are on Tv … and yet I do.

The other night I had a guest in my bnb space … he left a day early commenting that the house was TOO NOISY. It bothered me that he said that … yet at the time I didn’t have my Tv on but had 3 snoozing dogs and me laid out on the couch reading. If he could hear the soft whimper of a dog in sleep and the turning of pages (from my basement) – I have to hand it to him for his supersonic hearing. However, after thinking about it – I do think it was the occasional “thunk” of Clara’s head on the floor that this guest was referring to; Clara has no (working) neck muscles and when she lays down the top half of her body hits the floor with enough force that I’m always surprised she hasn’t knocked herself out! Thunk = noise. I guess. (But in the 14 months I’ve had her and hundreds of guests that have graced my space – he’s the first to mention it!) Odd.

Which leads me to dogs (and oddballs) … dogs first. I come from a long line of dog lovers. I’ve had a few myself over the years and Clara is my most recent rescue. She was found by a rancher in his field – caked in cow manure and mud, freezing, starving, painfully thin … and wounded. Basically, she was a mess. I had signed up on the local lab rescue site on a Weds (I guess I wasn’t watching Property Bros that day!) and got a call the very next day. Did I want her? I didn’t know.

So, Gert and I drove the 2 hours south and met up with this sweet, skinny, old lady. Her leg looked charred – was she burned? Road rash? Mange? It didn’t matter – her eyes told her story and it was one full of pain and sorrow and longing and we could do nothing less than bring her home.

And, here she’s been for the past 14 months. I didn’t think she’d last this long – her being what the vets guess around 14. She’s not demonstrative with her affection (no kisses – ever) but at times she’ll give me a tail wag (which is a big deal!). But she is here and ours and she is comfy and loved and well taken care of. However long I was/am to have her I am the one who is blessed by this creature. She has drained my pocketbook and filled my heart. What more could I ask?

But, her little earthly doggie days are numbered … she has cancer, Cushings, and her back end is atrophying. She eats … sometimes … and twice a day I am wrist deep in warmed up kibble, meat and gravy – because she’ll only eat from my hand.

And then in the blink of an eye things change.

Yesterday something happened and she ended up in the bathtub – a wild feat in itself as she doesn’t really bend her legs much! Was it an anxiety attack? A stroke? Some odd internal happening? Earthquake? (Come to think of it two of my wall pictures were crooked this morning!) … whatever and however, she got in there. When  I found her she was panicked and panting and I was so worried she’d have a heart attack. Since then (due to a stroke or injury or ???) her back legs are folding up like some giant origami creation whenever she tries to stand.

Numbered days. Sigh.

We are trying Prednisone but if she continues not to eat and fold up like a paper swan, I will have to take decisive action. Never what I want to do. It’s always an odd feeling having to make that decision for an animal … too godly for my comfort.

And speaking of odd and godly … I’ve run across my fair share (or inordinate share) of oddballs lately. I’m not one to judge (well, actually, I am) but, I’m feeling a bit oddball magnet-y lately and feel I need to burn some sage or clean my aura or some such thing!

This past week I read an article about a woman who recycled and repurposed for a year and her total garbage (actual stuff she didn’t upcycle or recycle) fit inside a mason jar. Good God! I remember thinking that was ODD. Yeah, kudos to her for being so “green” but come on! Did she live in a cave for a year? Did she purchase anything?

The day I was mulling this over was the day the plumbing crew (I use that term loosely as it was 2 guys and a back hoe) were chomping their way through my backyard, laying 100 feet of new water main. I was thinking not only how earth friendly I would be but how nice it would be to reuse and recycle as much as I could in the next few months … to cut back, absorb the cost of this expensive dig, etc.

As I was thinking this over I was unpacking a bag (paper/reusable) of goods I had picked up that morning. As I looked at the 6 items on my counter, I realized that not only was nearly everything wrapped in a plastic film but with just these few things, I had already more garbage waste than that woman had for an ENTIRE YEAR!

The new toothbrush was encased in plastic inside a cardboard box. But my old toothbrush was plastic and not recyclable (around here) and I already had saved others for cleaning purposes, so that was garbage – along with the plastic wrapping on the new brush. The flea treatment for the dogs was hermetically sealed (more plastic) as was the microwave popcorn pouches I had purchased for my guests. I was beginning to think that the guy in The Graduate was right when he gave the advice to “Ben” about PLASTICS!

Anyway, the salmon was in a foil pouch (not recyclable) and in a matter of minutes I had accumulated “a year’s worth of garbage”. So, as much as I admire someone for doing that – I had to think that she must be some sort of oddball living off of nuts and berries and brushing her teeth with a twig. Who lives like that? Certainly not me. Which isn’t to say she’s wrong and I’m right – or vice versa … I just found it odd … as in confirmed cave dweller!

The dogs have all been fed, even Clara ate (yay!) and nighttime meds have been given. They are all sleeping, no thunking going on – just soft doggie snores and whimpers. And, it’s still Wednesday. Before I go to bed, maybe I can take the plastic off the lemon pound cake I got today and have some dessert while I tune in and catch one more episode of Property Brothers.

March 7th, 2018 – Wednesday

It’s March. We are sliding into the second week and I’m feeling like I watched the NYE ball drop not too long ago … and wasn’t I just cheering on Punxsutawney Phil last week? Time flies whether or not you’re having fun.

And it’s March … 9 weeks into this New Year … already! I know – if I keep saying it, maybe it’ll sink in! But how can that be? Where did those weeks go?

It’s a gray and chilly day here – par usual; the soft, white-gray cloud blanket is overhead and rain is likely. Again. I know it’s only early March but I feel like the days should be noticeably longer and warmer … and they will be but not yet. It’s still gray, wet and cold – and will be for quite a while. Daylight Savings is this weekend so we will be “springing ahead” which means more daylight hours in our evenings … and while that is all well and good … our daylight is more akin to twilight – at any time of day. Sunshine is rare. And I am feeling a very strong need for it. I NEED Spring. REAL Spring. Warmer weather … sunshine … birds … spring smells.

The Spring of my childhood … or movies or fairy tales. This soul of mine needs sunshine and flowers and that yummy warm, damp earth smell. I need robin’s eggs in nests and flowers swaying in a soft breeze and the pitter patter of raindrops on the awakening earth and that smell … that fresh, rain smell that permeates everything and exclaims … “It’s SPRING!”

But that Spring isn’t here. Nor will it be. We are always wet – a high saturation point doesn’t allow for those springtime smells. The robins have been peeping around for months but they and their nests are in pines – hidden away from sight.  Bambi and friends are sheltered in the woods … they don’t wander into the yards now. It’s still too early, too wet.

But, I want it. I need it. It gets to be this time of year and I don’t care how harsh or mild the winter has been, I need Spring. But since it hasn’t sprung up here in the NW … and truly won’t for a while – I’ll be pushing it a bit.

I can’t do anything about the weather or lack of sun or trees in bud but I can change my wardrobe to more springy attire. So, as of last week – I kicked off my socks. Literally. I’ve been going bare ankled  as soon as I turned that calendar page … going sans socks whether warranted or not!

And in this instance … not! Yeah – when it’s 39 degrees out and I’ve got naked ankles, I’d say I’m pushing the season a bit! I’m freezing my butt off (ankles, too). But, I’m antsy.

While the eastern seaboard is bracing for a third nor’easter this month and the Sierra mountain range just got feet of snow in the past week, I’m being selfish and channeling Mom Nature and begging her for Spring!

And perhaps she’s listening! I was out on a dog walk today … we saw the white deer (yes, white with brown spots! Although I think he might be mixed with llama!) … and noticed buds on the trees. Yes!

I wanted to shout out … but I whispered to the dog at the end of the leash … “It’s coming!”

I am thinking of moving – always thinking of moving – and with our one week of “winter” a few weeks ago (seven full days of gloom and snow accumulations of 7″ – a rarity for us), I have begun to question if I really … as in REALLY … want winter again in my life? As the week wore on I realized why I was so grumpy. It wasn’t just that I had so much “fun” when I had to shovel my deck and sidewalk off with a hoe (I no longer own a snow shovel)  … but I was COLD and wet and the dogs were cold and wet and muddy … and stinky. And everything just seemed to be cold and wet (and muddy and stinky) because of the snow and cold and wet! I’ve lived here for four winters now and have become a winter-wimp. I kind of like the green grasses and flowers poking their heads up mid February! Winter? I don’t think I want it again. Which alters my research for a new hometown. Again!

I certainly am not fond of the gray and mizzly days that will certainly stay around here until well after the 4th of July. I like seasons – maybe not so much winter – but distinct seasons. Seasons are odd here. I always feel like I’m in a perpetual autumn – without the colors. Fall morphs into Winter here with a decrease of a few degrees on the thermometer and an increase in rain … which then morphs into Spring with an increase of a few degrees on the thermometer and an increase in rain … until after the 4th of July when all of  a sudden the rains stop and everything dies off and goes dormant and the thermometer spikes to the 60s until the rain and gray skies return and the temps go down again sometime in September. I do not miss the cold and snow and ice and slippery streets that “normal” winter brings but 9 months of drizzle/mist and gloom? No, thanks. I need more than that.

And, I am needing it NOW. I think everyone else is just as ready (or those with harsh winters more than ready) for Spring’s arrival. And as much as I am dismayed by the heavy skies, wetness and gloom … I have enjoyed purple crocus blooming for weeks … primroses bloomed all winter – even peeking out from under their blanket of unexpected snow. And my spring green grass has been lush, mossy and tender (just ask all the bunnies out there nibbling!) since October.

I look at my garden beds and the daffodils are showing yellow buds and the tulips are 5 inch shoots and my perennials are peeking up and showing their small mounds of leaves. Yes – early! I shouldn’t complain … as my winter has been a non-winter – for the most part. But I still need Spring!

And even if the weather continues on (as it will) for 4 more months … I’ll be pushing the season every day. No socks this month. Maybe I’ll be brazen enough to wear 3/4 sleeved tees by April … and capris by May! I’ll still be freezing – but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

February 9, 2018 – Friday

I am usually a fairly even-tempered person. I try to live my life following the Golden Rule – treating others how I’d like to be treated. Few things get me angry: injustice or unfairness, ignorance, blatant disregard or disrespect or abuse of any form.

I wrote this blog post in the shower this morning … problem is I’m no longer IN the shower! My words were better under that hot stream of water! I do my best thinking there (always have) and by now all my Pulitzer and wise words have swirled the drain and have bubbled up at the other end of my leach field as nourishment for my clover and small prairie daisies. Not a bad exchange but some days I’d like a bouquet of words at my table instead of flowers!

Today is one such day.

Our country is in trouble. We have real problems. I’m feeling we are a bit lost … our core values have been pushed aside and the Golden Rule is just a “way of the past”. Yes, that’s my opinion and perhaps not yours. If you don’t like what I’m saying – stop reading. Your choice. We have a man at the helm, in the highest office of our country, and he is a bully. He has displayed this time and time and time again by his actions and his words. And still there are people supporting him. I do not understand this! I know I’m not the only one here who finds him and everything he is repulsive, offensive, dangerous and disgusting.

I don’t think I’ve ever said that about another human being. I take no delight in saying this and it makes me sad that I think this way about someone else – regardless of our differences. This world, our country, humanity, is built and based on differences. We can’t and shouldn’t all think and look alike. We’d never learn anything new. Never discover  another thing. But that’s not the path I’m taking today.

Today I’m upset about bullying. Plainly and simply. And why do any of us tolerate it when one (or more) person targets another using strength or influence to intimidate or harm (usually for their own personal gain whether real or imagined).

Years ago when I substitute taught in Colorado, we had anti-bullying segments of our day … teaching kids empathy and compassion while sharing values and ideals and connecting. I’ve seen how destructive bullying can be. I’ve read horror stories of children being taunted and teased resulting in suicides. We’ve all experienced it at one point in our lives – somehow – and we know it feels awful to be at the receiving end of pithy nastiness. So why does it continue?

This week my daughter wrote an anti-bullying blurb and posted it to her instagram account. I’m not much for social media so I didn’t see it until she sent it to me. She’s a good writer. She’s a wonderful woman … grounded, educated, giving, talented, responsible … an intelligent, beautiful, and decent human being. And she was being bullied by others about her day and how she chooses to live her life. And how is that? She went skiing. On a Tuesday.

Horrors!

She has her own business. She works a second job. She has bills and responsibilities just like other adults and she chooses to work hard and play hard and to live life in the moment and put everything she’s got into everything she does. And if she can manage to sneak in a day of playing in the snow under bluebird skies up in the high country, on a Tuesday, because it brings her joy … all I can say is, “Congrats, honey. Hope you had a great day! You go, girl.”

Yeah – I know. That saying is from 1995 or something, but I still say it cuz it still is relevant. You go girl! You do your thing! You enjoy the hell out of life – even on a Tuesday!

And so, being rather disgusted by some comments made to her – she posted her anti-bully blog and lo and behold – someone (she knows well) wrote in “dissing” her post. REALLY? You are being a bully on an anti-bully post? Wow. Amazingly ironic. Validation that idiots are among us.

But maybe this person is not an idiot … maybe he is just jealous? Envy is an ugly emotion.

I tend to wonder why anyone is reading someone’s posts if they disagree with them so much or are so upset by or envious of them. As an adult with real life responsibilities, wouldn’t you think that they’d have much more important things to do with their time than troll the internet? Obsess over someone else’s life? Why aren’t they taking that time and investing in themselves – in their education, their home, their talents, their family? Or sharing time with their family or friends or children? Or taking their dog for a walk? Or helping someone else? And if they are online, instead of being nasty, why not support that person’s lifestyle and say, “Congrats! Hope you had a great day! You go, girl!” We all have the same 24 hours a day. Maybe they need to look at their life and make some adjustments and spend their hours more wisely, productively, joyfully.

My daughter is making her life work – on her terms, in her way. After all, it’s her life. We all learned 11 some years ago that life is short sometimes. Losing Tim changed our family. Obviously. Now, I think we each look for more depth and light. We are less cautious, more accepting – of everything. But it also changed us on imperceptible cellular levels. For years my body knew when I was taking the same path to the hospital – and I’d feel nauseous until I passed it. For years it knew, before I realized, when it was the 26th of the month as my heart was heavy. And for each of us, small petty grievances became enormously annoying and intolerable. One day after Tim died I passed by a couple arguing, in the dairy section, about which flavor coffee creamer to purchase. I wanted to scream at them that people were dying and children were starving and they were arguing about coffee creamer! Do something better with your time! Be nice to each other! Enhance your life.

Enhance. Your. Life.

How does bullying enhance anyone’s life? I know people do it because it’s easy. The internet makes cyber-bullying easier still because there is NO face-to-face contact needed. Say something pithy and hit ENTER. Lovely. I know bullies pummel others with fists or words to feel better about themselves and to make themselves seem and feel more important … like they’ve conquered something.

This is totally beyond my comprehension. I simply don’t get it. How can making someone else hurt and/or cry and/or want to disappear or feel inferior or like they do not matter make someone else feel BETTER about themselves? Surely this is not how they’d like others to treat them! Why treat others this way? Why be so ugly? So negative? So toxic?

So, I say to my fabulous daughter to live her life on her terms … as she wants with whom she wants, how and where she wants. Leave the toxicity behind. Those people do not deserve your warmth and humor and light and love. You go work and play your life how you want and where you want and when you want … and to hell with all the nay-sayers and bullies and those that tread and prey on others for pleasure – in any form. I want to say to them, “Be better! Be nice! Live your own life!”

But there will always be bullies. We just have to call them out whenever and wherever we see them. It might not help – a ton – but it might help a little. Maybe they’ll think twice the next time. Maybe.

In the meantime, I will shout it from coast to coast and mountain top to deepest valley that my daughter is one tremendously fine person. She lives life. And isn’t that what we all should do? LIVE?!

You go, girl!

January 25, 2018 – Thursday

“Language is wine upon the lips.” wise words from Virginia Woolf.

Whether written or spoken, I am all about language. It rolls off my tongue and out of my finger tips and I am never not enamored by the sound or rhythm of the spoken or written word … regardless of whether it’s Italian or French, Swahili or English. Language is not only wine, but life for me. Words are everything.

Today is Thursday… which means it’s WRITING DAY! This is a new “make time for” happening for me—a New Year’s resolution of sorts. And though my day is nearly done, I’m going to find/make the time to do what my soul craves… write.

I don’t know what about… I never know what I’m going to write about when I sit down to post a blog. It is one of those mystical things that I continually find remarkable. I can sit down with whatever thoughts are floating around in this head and an hour or so later I have created something. I’m not out to win any Pulitzers or get my name on a Wikipedia page… and even if what I write is not a post but an email to a friend, I find it totally amazing that there is nothing on my screen (or paper) and then there is. The brain’s power to transform my invisible, wildly scattered thoughts through the workings of my hands and fingers to actual readable words on paper or screen makes me giddy. It’s like participating in a magic show—every time!

Abracadabra! Words, thoughts, ideas, stories… whatever and wherever my mind wanders can be caught, for the moment, and recorded.

Virginia Woolf once said, “Nothing has really happened until it has been recorded.”

I tend to agree. If you look at our lives what do we record? Births, deaths, weddings, sales, accomplishments… recorded on film or tape, on plaques or trophies or written down in baby books, scrapbooks and ledgers as the years go along. Or, they are preserved in our journals or memories. Lost to all others but ourselves at some point in time. Only I recall the lazy pinecone walks with toddlers (collecting cones to be adorned with glitter and beads or peanut butter and birdseed once home), lilac and peach sunsets over the mountains, watching the rolling clouds of rainstorms from the front porch, the advancing of the height markers on the kitchen door jamb, the smell of snow before the first flake. These things and all that we remember had to have some significance, some reason for recording them (if only in our minds) or surely we’d forget them. Those moments that are etched were important for us to remember them… to record their happening.

Coincidentally, today marks the 136th anniversary date of the birth of English born Virginia Woolf… renowned modernist writer of the 20th century and pioneer in essays on women and power. And though she’s been gone 77 years (longer than she was alive)—her works all seem terribly relevant these days.

And yet, I’ve never read anything she’s written. The only thing that comes to mind when someone says, “Virginia Woolf.” is my wondering whether or not I should be afraid of her! And from the photos I’ve googled, maybe I should be a little bit… (she was a rather scary looking woman in some of her later photos)… reminding me of who we were to see in mirrors at pre-teen sleepovers! Mary Worth or Virginia Woolf … maybe one in the same!

And with that said, I looked in the mirror this morning and wondered aloud, “Who are you?” My hair is at last growing in (or out) and it’s now at the “in-between” stage of too long to be short and too short to be long… in other words, it’s now at the Royal Pain in the Ass stage!

And not only is it doing stupid things, but it has faded from its nearly aubergine to a mousy brown. (Note to self: time for a dye job!) But, I have hair! And that is so exciting! And even though it’s a pain in the ass (and yes it is!)… it’s wonderful! I now understand Samson!

From Hair to There… when I shaved my head nearly 13 months ago I was on a quest of knowledge, compassion, understanding and empathy. I’d talked to enough women who’d lost their hair to cancer’s ravages that when they told me they had a harder time losing their hair than losing a boob, I was astounded. I said that their hair would grow back, and since they weren’t a starfish, their breast would not! And yet – they would rather lose a part of their body than their hair—even if the loss of hair was temporary. And, after talking with these women and having them all tell me I didn’t understand, I came to the recollection that, NO! I really didn’t! Hence, the razor and Brylcreem!

I’m pretty sure everyone I knew thought the NW dreariness had done its job on me and that I was one marble away from losing it. And that’s not to say that the NW dreariness didn’t have some “push” about my decision to actually go through with it… but I have and always have had plenty of marbles.

In any case, here I am now… past all the undeserving “Pity Eyeballs” and nods of understanding, the extra scarves I learned how to tie onto my head and all the little caps that kept me warm (it was a chilly experience!), and months and months of looking like Curly from the Three Stooges (never a good thing—even for Curly) and with PITA hair.

But I’ll take it. It’s growing and it’s a journey and I didn’t have to go through cancer and all that to gain what I did… as I now have complete and total understanding about the power of hair (especially for a woman). I’ll write more about it some other time… but today, my time’s up as the skies have turned from gray to midnight blue and it’s time to feed the dogs. I’ve been lost in the lusciousness of words and writing and all that that entails while enjoying the bubbly joy of words magically appearing on my screen.

So, happy birthday, Virginia—thanks for the inspiration. I’ll try to keep the magic going.

Abracadabra!

January 12, 2018 – Friday

If you know me, you know I am a talker. If you read my blogs, you know I can get a bit wordy. I am a Scrabble game lover, a letter writer, and word puzzle aficionado. Don’t let me get near your Jumble… I’ll have it done before you get your pencil sharpened!

Words for me are as food is to others. Except, if I were on a deserted island and only given words to eat, I’d starve. Well, I’m good with words… not so much with analogies!

The other night, my dear friend/neighbor and I were out for dinner. She told me that her daughter has this tradition of choosing one word at the beginning of each year and practicing that word for the next 360 some days. I now don’t remember her daughter’s word, but my friend also chose one and her word for the year is PAUSE.

Pause… to listen, to take in the moment or day, to catch your breath, to watch, to slow down.

I loved the idea and loved her word. What a delicious way to be conscious about your life… take one word and let it weave its way through your days. What changes in life await!

So, thank you friend for this idea as I will adopt it into my life starting … now. I’ve been mulling this around for a few days now… trying to come up with THE ONE WORD for the year. My partner for the next 11 some months … my mantra.

And the only thing that has really come to mind is that I am not a one-word person. As infants, even then, we start dabbling in our native language with a variety of one and two syllable words – usually those of familiarity … mama, dada, ball, etc. I’m sure I did that, as well, but one of my early words still strikes a chord with me…goggigle (as in gaw-gee-gull) … it meant oatmeal cookie. (Always the foodie!) I don’t know – still sounds to me like a descriptor for a yummy cookie with oats and raisins!

In any case, I’ve been mulling over a plethora of words. I’ve been giving my Merriam-Webster a run for its money! But nothing has popped out at me … zip, zero, zilch, nada, niente, niets. So, I thought I’d ruminate for a while. If I were a cow, I’d be off in my meadow chewing my cud for a few days, pondering what (flowers to eat and) words I should choose. Or better yet, which one word to begin with!

Of all the 171,476 (currently used) words in the English language – I only needed ONE!

And it couldn’t be a word that I have a handle on already … I’m GRATEFUL, so that wouldn’t do the trick. COMPASSION, REGARD, INTEGRITY … all threads woven into my life already. And sure, they might come up again during the year for a refresher, but I needed something new!

So, yesterday, after much consternation and brain drain, I decided to throw the idea out to the universe and see what I NEEDED in my life – because it can’t be just ANY word or one that won’t help me grow, gain enlightenment and flourish. I needed to be patient. And PATIENT might be a word I use later on … but I needed something better. I needed to just think and sit here.

And there is was … HERE.

Now an odd choice, you may say… but let me explain.

Here, is a multi-function word – it can be an adverb, a pronoun, a noun, an adjective or an interjection. By definition, it means: in, at, or to this place of position or process … as in, “Come here.”

Or as in:  in this instance, “Here we agree.”

Or it can be used to make a statement more forceful: “Hey, there are a lot of iguanas here!”

Or it could also mean: appearing or happening now … as in, “Spring is here at last!”

And it also means: at this point in the process… as in, “I paused here for a moment before continuing on.”

And to delve deeper to that point… because aren’t we all in the process of doing something? I want to be HERE … present, aware, awake, centered, focused … here!

I broke a glass this morning. I turned around and in one swift movement I swept it off the counter and it shattered into a zillion pieces on the kitchen floor. Thankfully the dogs were not nearby. I was multi-tasking and not fully present in any one thing of which I was doing. I was here, but not HERE.

The other day, while at a client’s home for a dog walk, I stepped down one step into their garage to hang up the leash and my mind was elsewhere and I missed the second step! One minute I was on the stairs, the next I was on the cold, cement floor of their garage with the contents of their recycle bin on top of me! Yeah, took that down with me! My foot’s puffy and my pride was a bit bruised  and I had a tuna can stuck in my hair but both events have made me painfully aware that I need to be HERE maybe more than I am.

Be present. WAKE UP! Be HERE!

And, taking that even a bit further… I’m HERE as … here on this island. I have been here now for 3.5 years. And I knew, shortly after moving here (oh, I used it as a point of reference, location and for emphasis – a triple whammy!) I knew I was not where I should be. Wrong island. Wrong coast. Wrong weather. Just a LOT wrong. But, I thought I’d try the old adage of “fake it ’til you make it” … nah, it hasn’t really worked any magic! But, I’m HERE for a reason (or two or a hundred) and I’m figuring that out.

And, as much as I ponder my next location and where that might be and when I might leave, I’m still HERE. So, I need to be here … focus on my life now – being in the moment … being HERE. Present, awake, aware, focused, centered. What brings me joy? What can I change? What do I need to do to just be here and live my life and enjoy and really be in the moment of being HERE? Every day?

So, that is my word. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do. Oh yes, I’ll adopt another word soon enough because I am not a one-word gal but I think I’ll play with this one for a while and see what I can do with it.

I’ll get back to you … but if you need me, I’m here.

January 2, 2018 – Tuesday

Happy New Year… 2018!

It is once again a new year … time to get out our erasers and wipe our slates clean … turn the proverbial page … make a fresh start.

Or as Dr. Seuss said, ‘You’re off to great places, Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting, So… get on your way!’

365 days of newness … well, because I’m writing this on the 2nd, 363 days of newness! How exciting is that?! Oh, the possibilities! The adventures! The enlightenment, knowledge and wonder that await us!

I’ve never been good at resolutions. They seem too confining. I like the broad general ones… like, GET HEALTHIER instead of the ones that demand I lose 40 lbs in X amount of time – cuz unless I’m amputating something, that ain’t happening! I’m a short term wonder. I can do anything for a small amount of time. So, my thoughts lean towards increasing activity and veggie consumption for the next month. It won’t make me drop those 40# I’d like to instantly… but it’ll get me on the path to getting healthier. And then the next month, I can change things up a bit and continue down that path. So, that is Plan A.

Plan B is to sit on my chaise and eat bonbons until Valentine’s Day.

Let’s just hope I stick with the first one!

I spent a much-too-quiet NYE by myself this year. I’m not much on celebratory gatherings on that night anyway… too many drunken lunatics out and about and why tempt fate? So, I made myself a nice appetizer plate and watched some of New Year’s Rockin’ Eve (as much as I could get being on the west coast) and was glad I was warm and snug surrounded by peacefully snoring dogs and not wearing a diaper in the record-breaking cold of NY’s Times Square. I saw the ball drop just fine, thank you… and I didn’t have to get frost bite and wet my pants to do so.

I sat and looked at the critters around me and thanked each one, as they slept, for the joy they have and do bring to my life. Somewhere in my heart I knew they wouldn’t be around for whatever next year’s celebration may be. They are getting old and their bodies, large and small, are giving out.

What now seems like a zillion years ago, Tim and I got this idea that we’d spend NYE at some posh party at a local hotel and spend the night. The kids were little so it was a good 20 some years ago. It was the fanciest New Year’s Eve we ever had and probably the fanciest party we’d ever been to. I wore a dreamy vintage strapless, raspberry colored, taffeta ball gown. It was my mom’s dress. I have one photo of her in it when she was apparently the size of a fetus. Perhaps her first Christmas with my dad… 1950? I somehow fit into it (apparently also being the size of a fetus at that time) and there is nothing more delicious than swirling around a grand ballroom in such a gown… especially when my normal day-to-day attire consisted of stretch pants (probably with stirrups!), a stretched out sweater (with a baby formula or some sort of stain on it) and gym shoes that probably had a bit of dog poop wedged in the tread from being out in the yard. (Hence, the no shoe policy in my house!) In any case, that was a lovely and most memorable evening.

I was the youngest of three kids in our house and my folks had a very large group of friends. So, on those New Year’s Eves of yore, my siblings were off with friends and I was flying solo while my folks held NYE parties in the basement. I loved those nights! I would help my mom cart plate after plate of food down to the serving counter and I’d get to say hi to everyone and I loved the chatter and laughter that would waft up the stairs. Oh, early 1960’s were so fun! I’d be watching TV in the living room, stuffing my past-bedtime face with pizza rolls and french onion dip. If I wanted to get an extra earful, I’d open the hall closet and while lying on my stomach I’d wedge my head into the laundry chute. The hole in the basement ceiling was right where all the “action” was and sometimes I’d hear (a bit clearer) something that should have been off-limits to my innocent little ears! Thrilling!

Those were GOOD New Years.

The year following Tim’s passing, New Year’s 2007, was the roughest one I’ve had.  I am a numbers person… always counting… and the stroke of midnight not only brought a new year but profound sadness. Tim had been gone since late July the previous summer (158 days to be exact… 10 more days than from his diagnosis to passing) but knowing that the new year brought a year without him in it – at all – was devastating. My heart shattered all over again and the thought of facing a new year without him was practically unbearable. Thinking that you’d feel better if a steam roller had run you over is never a good thing. With the last stroke of midnight a year without my love began and the 27 years (nearly 10,000 days with him in my life) faded into the past. I’d no longer have a new year’s kiss from him. I’d no longer have a year in which he’d be a part. It was all no longer.

That was the BAD New Years.

Last year, I was shaking my can of Barbasol as the clock hands crept towards midnight and as the clock struck twelve ringing in 2017, I was looking more like Mr. Clean than Mr. Clean himself. Bald as a cue ball. My babies had more hair than I did… and that’s not saying much cuz they were bald until they were two! I shaved my head in a quest for understanding… to gain empathy and compassion. And yes, it did the trick. Hair is a funny thing. I always thought it was just an “accessory” but until you don’t have it, you really don’t realize that it is so much more. After a year of letting my hair grow out (and I say “grow out” lightly because it’s still not to the nape of my neck!) I look back and realize what a number (not having hair) did on my psyche! Talk about feeling badly about oneself! Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, yeah… but even with a well-tied scarf around my head that actually enhanced my appearance better than any mouse-brown hair would, I still felt god awful, frumpy, fat, blah and just badly.

That was the UGLY New Years.

And so, here we are… 2018. I look forward, as I hope you are doing as well, and think anything is possible. There is so much to grasp, to see, to do! Life is short… we all need to go after it. So, here’s to the next 363 days… make them wonderful. Make the most of them. Enjoy the hell out of them.

‘You are off to great places, Today is your day. Your mountain is waiting, So… get on your way!’

Happy New Year!