Learn French, they said. It will be fun, they said.

I may have mentioned that, along with my scholarly studies, reality TV binge-watching, and procrastination disguised as mindful meditation, I have diligently and competitively taken up French.

The language, not the lifestyle, sadly.

The French language is so beautiful, but it is difficult. So far, I have learned over 1500 words, and yet when I try to put together a simple sentence to show off to friends, I can only think of one word: Mange. Mange means to eat. Eating is a favorite activity of mine, and of course, it makes perfect sense that I would remember it in French. I also know french fries, french toast, and French-pressed coffee. Oh yeah, and croissant. That one really is French. Delectably French. I could totally mange on a yummy croissant right now, in fact!

Mais je digress…

So, you are probably wondering (if you are still awake) why I would tackle this new and (I will say it again, in case you missed it) DIFFICULT language. I am still pondering that myself. Most of the time, I make a Pros and Cons list before beginning a journey that might take me through the gates of hell. This time, however, I covered both eyes and jumped into the deep end of the Duolingo language app. You can do that because the cool little app will even read to you.

Gawd, I love technology.

My learning process includes speaking, reading, spelling, making sentences that look way longer than the English equivalents, and cursing. I can’t curse in French yet, but that day is coming. Meanwhile, my tried, true, and practiced expletives fly every time I try to figure out which verb goes where. I am consistently inconsistent and frequently choose a different verb tense for the same damned sentence because my French retention sucks.

And furthermore….

The art of speaking French eludes me. I can read a lot of it now, but when I try to speak, I sound like a donkey with a sore throat or a very confused parrot. The verb tenses torture my delicate sensibilities; I kid you not! Each verb tense sounds exactly the same. For example, let’s go back to my favorite French word, mange. See below. Caution! It’s deceptive!

I (Je) mange

You (tu) manges

They (Ils) mangent

We (nous) mangeons

You notice how each tense has a different ending, right? WELLLLL, it is all a ruse, people. When I listen to the little cartoon dude in Duolingo, he says mange for every single tense of the verb! It is driving me bananas! And to bruise my ego even further, Duolingo wants me to type back what the little dude says. I get it correct about 25% of the time. I came up with that number because there are four choices and that’s as close as I want to get to math.

Is it time to throw my hands up in the air and say Fuck IT, Duolingo? Should I just go to Spain instead of Paris when I go to Europe? Yeah, that’s what I should do. I can speak a little Spanish, and when verbs are pronounced, you can actually hear the difference…..well, if you slow the sound down and maybe play it over and over. But I am nothing if not a patient pontificator!

Whew, that felt good. But I love French! I cannot quit. I think I love the little Duolingo dude, too. Love is love, people.

Viva le France!

Thank you for visiting my little creative space. I get a little crazy sometimes, but it’s all in fun. I love it when you visit. Please come back if you enjoyed my ramblings. Have a wonderful week, be kind, and find your joy!

Study Like a Boss

Have you (or do you) experienced bad study habits?

J’ai de mauvaises habitudes d’etude! That’s French, for I have bad study habits. The thing is, my mind wanders, and I can become distracted at the drop of a donut. I wonder if we have any donuts left? One minute I am typing away on my assignment for the week; the next minute, I am surfing the net for mosquito repellent. I’m not absent-minded! I just have an acute interest in all things. Yeah, that’s it.

I have lived with inadequate study habits my entire life. It’s a struggle, people. It is a good thing I am so damned smart. Some would argue against that declaration. because sometimes I put my keys in the fridge and my popsicles in the car. You probably think that is old age, but you would only be partially correct. Just ask my best friend Mary about the time I left my young son with her to babysit and promptly got into my car….on the passenger side. No one was with me. Mary stood at the door, laughing her ass off. She even had my son giggling.

Where was I going with that? I digress sounds a bit more scholarly. Ahem.

All of the above demonstrates a few reasons for my lack of exemplary study habits. Even writing this blog is a pleasant diversion from producing doctoral-level essays week after week after week. I do not hate my studies; in fact, quite the opposite. I love pursuing my doctorate. That said, sometimes I miss just being foolish, silly, and goofing off. That is why I began studying French two months ago via the fabulous app called Duolingo. Doing so is my way of disguising fun and goofing off for a learning opportunity.

I’m kinda sneaky that way.

I have been spotted at Starbucks with my laptop, iPhone, and reading glasses more than once, looking all studious and serious. It is all a ruse, my friends. If you look closely, you will see I often glance at all those around me while listening to their conversations intensely. The whole adventure is tres amusant! A girl needs a little social time; since I am not very social, Starbucks helps me out.

On a more sedate note, doctoral school does command dedication, time, and sound study habits, so I commit myself to those endeavors consistently. It’s definitely more effort than I have ever put into any other study challenge, including my Masters. If you are currently involved in a situation involving self-discipline and cognitive overload, try taking a bit of a respite and enjoy yourself, if only for a few moments. It truly helps me power on!

Thank you so much for visiting my little creative space. I love it when you visit! Please leave a comment if you are so inclined. I’m going to find that donut now. Passez une journee fabuleuse!

Aloneness versus Loneliness

Aloneness. It is vastly different from loneliness, but to understand that concept, one must experience both. The idea for this blog post occurred to me this morning after reading a beautifully expressed rendering from a dear friend on Facebook. She wrote her feelings for the world to see. She has experienced loneliness to the depths only she can know. I know this woman and respect her as a dear friend who embraces life and loves with her whole heart. She lost her husband many years ago but feels lonely often. I am pleased to see her expressing her pain and learning to not only cope but thrive in the wake of loss. I wish this for anyone who has lost a loved one and is trying to move on and find a way to live and not merely exist.

Loneliness is an emotion and a very real pain that sometimes lasts a lifetime. I lost my wife over four years ago and still experience the depths and pain of loneliness, but not constantly nor consistently. The bouts of loneliness appear when triggered by a memory, a song, a photo, a holiday, or any number of cognitive references to our time together. That is why I know the difference between loneliness and aloneness.

My life now welcomes aloneness. It actually staves off some of the painful bouts of loneliness because I have found purpose and joy, and I am comfortable with myself. Aloneness is a state of being, and it is up to me to glean all the meaning and goodness out of my aloneness that is possible. Aloneness does not mean that I do not want to be around people. When I feel that I need social interaction, I seek it out and thoroughly enjoy the experience. I can find happiness during a simple trip running errands.

Different members of my family have expressed concern about me being alone so much, and that is because they love me. It is difficult to convey to them that I am happy. Oh, I would rather live out west, and I would like more money to spend. That said, I live well and have my own little apartment in which I can create, learn, relax, and renew. That says a lot, wouldn’t you agree? I lost my father a few months ago, and his amazing wife is going through the grief stages at this point. It is important that she maneuvers her path in her time, not ours. We must be her shoulder while also giving her the room to rediscover herself and make decisions about life going forward. She is one of the strongest women I have ever met, and I am excited to see what her future encompasses.

There are no shortcuts to experiencing loss, grief, and healing. There are, however, people who want to help. If you have lost a loved one, it is your journey now, and you decide your path. Take your time, reflect on your amazing life, and answers will come. You are the boss of your future. Just knowing that you have time to experience life will eventually motivate your efforts to move forward and find your joy. You may indeed be alone, but aloneness brings great discoveries, finding purpose, and joy. Don’t forget the joy!

Old Dog. New Tricks?

One word haunted my thoughts, dreams, and bathroom visits this week.

INFOGRAPHIC

Just looking at the word gives me the chills. Brings back childhood memories of teacher making me write dictionary on the blackboard fifty times because I failed to research the spelling of machine. I will never forget that day.

Well. This week has been one of those days.

This week’s assignment in beloved doctoral school was to create an infographic depicting the importance of core values in leaders in the education field. I had seven days to find an infographic from which to glean brilliance. I like creating brilliant things. Unfortunately, infographic brilliance eludes me. The ability to infograph (is that a word? Never mind, I don’t care at this point) does not exist in my skillset or mindset or the fact that I am set in my ways, so it is hard to learn new things.

So, are you all caught up on my life now? Don’t bother answering. It’s not a question. It is just me being a smartass because INFOGRAPHIC has been my life for an entire week. Others in my age demographic will attest that a week is a crucial length of time. I can get a lot of shit done in a week, even moving as slowly as my bones allow. But not this week. I was an INFOGRAPHER (not sure if that’s a word either, but I’m a rebel, so leave it to the chronic grammar police).

Normally, I welcome a challenge. In fact, I gave infographing an honest effort. The results looked pretty good to me. I would show you, but I just submitted it to my professor and probably should not brag too much yet.

Especially since I found a misspelled word and a bullet point with the wrong font size AFTER I submitted my work. Um hummmm. The injustice of the fucking SUBMIT BUTTON! I should protest the platform. Too much? Deep breaths, Terri.

I’m nothing if not surreptitiously suspicious.

And a poor sport when I don’t receive a perfect score.

Thank you for visiting my blog. It is Monday and I am not the little ray of sunshine today. I do love visitors who leave nice comments, though. Leave me a comment and I promise I will smile the rest of the day. Or just wave if you are so inclined. And don’t feel badly that I won’t be able to see your warmth. I can deal. But seriously, leave a comment so I can join in with all the global happiness and meditate while eating the awful veggie smoothie I just made. (Am I rambling again?)

J’ai besoin de chocolat

Banks, Weather, and Politics…oh my!

Whew! I am exhausted. How are you all doing? I am surprised more of us are not hospitalized at this point. I am so over this whole deal with the crazy weather everywhere, the banks failing, and the pitiful previous commander in chief wannabee next president calling the other wannabee next president “sanctimonious” and other colorful adjectives. It is a bit much.

But I digress.

I was working on an assignment for school the other day, and I had my favorite YouTube channels playing on my big monitor, one after the other…for background noise, and a little company. Don’t judge. Even grumpy old doctoral students need some form of social interaction. I do not apologize for my choices; I just suffer along and pretend they were all intentional.

Anyway, where was I?

I was plugging along with my academic brilliance and trying really hard to stay “in the moment,” if you will. Somehow, my attention was diverted to Andrea from MSNBC on a YouTube video. She was hosting three talking heads, none of whom I recognized or cared to hear. I tolerate Andrea, but my favorites are Rachel, Nicole, Alex, and Lawrence, and quite frankly, I do not pay a whole lot of attention to the rest of the bunch.

Toutes mes excuses. Let’s move on.

The talking heads, repeatedly interrupted by Andrea, were all complaining about something, but none of them were complaining about the same thing. That stuck out with me because those people are normally invited on news shows for a particular purpose. I think Andrea was a little confused, as well, and although my patience was waning, I bordered on actually feeling sorry for her and her dilemma. Then I remembered that she makes millions of dollars and my feelings of empathy flew right out the door.

Meanwhile…

I never did figure out what they were discussing because my attention was once again diverted to something completely unrelated to news or doctoral pursuits. Again, don’t judge me. I do not live in a vacuum. Actually, I noticed a little pile of dirt and some kind of strange debris in a corner of my living room, so I vacuumed it up right away.

Don’t hate me because I am scatterbrained and procrastinate.

Love me because I am tidy.

Thank you for visiting my blog. I really appreciate your stopping by to read my creative efforts. Please come by anytime, and feel free to leave a comment, if you are so inclined. I love hearing from you! Je vous souhaite une belle journee!

Happy Half-Birthday To Me

Do you celebrate your half-birthday? I’m pretty sure lots of kids do, but how many of us adults celebrate?

I do. And I have for my entire life.

Today I am 69 and a half years old. Pretty cool, huh?

To celebrate, I’m making lasagna for dinner. No cake.

But if anyone has an extra “gummy bear,” I could celebrate in grand style. Just sayin..

What else should I do today?

Practice my French lessons. Yep.

Take the trash out. Nope

Do a little homework. Yep, but very little. I’m celebrating, not synthesizing. Other doctoral students will totally get this one.

Wait patiently for all my birthday presents to arrive. You did remember to send me a birthday present, right?

Fun Facts from Wikipedia:

The IRS stuck their noses right smack in the middle of Half Birthdays! Check this out:

In the U.S., some tax-related penalties are related to half-years, such as a 10% penalty for making an early withdrawal from an IRA before age 59½. The federal government defines the half-year as being “six calendar months” after the anniversary of birth, regardless of what day of the month this produces.” **

Turns out, IDAHO is pretty cool after all. They let kids behind the wheel on their 14 and a Half Birthday! What??

In many states in the U.S., the minimum age to obtain a learner permit occurs on a half-birthday, such as 14½ in Idaho, 14 years and eight months in Michigan, 15½ in California, and 15 years and nine months in Maryland. The same is true for receiving a restricted license when a minor in many states.” **

Well, that’s my blog for today. Compelling? Riveting? Maybe not, but I bet I made you smile. After all, the vast majority of my readers are younger than me. I’m okay with that because I love you all. Come back soon, and we will discuss something profound that requires critical thinking skills and a bottle of red wine. Beaucoup de vin s’il vous plait.

** Information in quotes found on the Wikipedia.com website.

Calling All Young Whippersnappers

As a society, we make fun of people and situations to

  • Make ourselves feel better
  • Release anxiety
  • Curb Depression
  • Explain our delicate sensibilities/sensitivity/sexual frustrations. Pick one.
  • Pair with our favorite stimulant. My personal favorite. I get high on Peppermint Patties.
  • Show you are jealous that older people coined the phrase, “Get off my lawn!”

Young people (for me, anyone under 60) are taking said making fun to a whole other level. I turn on the TV or go on social media and cannot avoid the insults thrown at us old geezers. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Do you kiss your grandma with that mouth? Is your grandma single? Asking for a friend…

Friends, I enjoy a little fun and teasing as much as you do, but I do have something to say, and hopefully you will read on.

Let’s try to be kind and more empathetic, shall we? You don’t know what that old couple is going through. He might be fighting cancer, and she has aches and pains, but she takes care of his every need. And still, they smile and do for others. They don’t sit and feel sorry for themselves like so many people who have so much more do. They are stronger than anyone knows or will ever know.

And then there is the woman who figured out she had a brain, but later in life, and now studies hard every day to make up for that time and hopefully get her Doctorate to leave a legacy to her kids and grandkids. A legacy that says Mom finally did it; she lived her life’s dream. Many of us are late bloomers and don’t realize our worth or our real dreams until our golden years. Some of us realize it but don’t take steps to bring it to fruition. Some of us do. It is an individual decision, not one our relatives or friends should make.

We are the only ones who can live our life dream. If you know a senior striving to live their dream, encourage them. If you cannot encourage them because you don’t believe in their actions, do not insult them or tell them they are incapable. Just leave them to their dreams. You are not their higher power. They love you, and they have proven it for a lifetime. Love them back. Don’t criticize their every move. I have often seen and heard this happening to others, making me cry. I am very fortunate to have encouragement and love from my family, even though we are far apart. I feel the love, and it fuels my fire.

And for the love of your higher power, please stop complaining about benefits seniors receive. You also have yet to learn why they have the benefits or what they went through to get them. You will be there someday. Godspeed, you will know then if you don’t try to understand now. Educate yourself. It’s as simple as typing Google. If you don’t have time to find out the “why, “ you lack the knowledge or foundation from which you speak. So shut up about it. Please.

Thank you for taking the time out of your day to read my blog. Lately I have been reflective and introspective and a little grumpy, admittedly. Writing my feelings is part of my self-care, and your stopping by motivates me and makes my heart happy. Have a blessed day and be well. Much love…

February. Bah Humbug.

I’m right there with ya, JD Robb. Praise be.

February is halfway finished. I am halfway happy about it. I realize that I say this every year, but I am not a fan of February. Most people probably feel like January is less popular, but January is the new year, and on the very first day, they have a big party worldwide just to welcome January in. Personally, I celebrate January because the freaking exhaustive holiday season is finally over.

But What happens in February? Uh. Valentine’s Day. Big whoop. Frivolous and expensive if you have a significant other; pitiful and perusing-online-dating-sites if you don’t. I am in the latter group. My sister did buy me a nice box of Valentine’s chocolates, so there’s that. Still, I hate February, so I will provide a list of reasons to prove it. So here goes…

  • My sister felt so sorry for me, she bought me a box of chocolates.
  • I was in the hospital on two separate Fridays, and yes, on the 13th. Both times. I hate hospitals.
  • I married both of my ex-husbands in February. Not at the same time. Still, that’s some sucky luck.
  • Stupid February, and its 28 days. Every 4 years, they add one day just to confuse everyone and make it 29 days. Or is it the other way around? How the hell am I supposed to remember that? Sheesh.
  • It is cold as fuck in February, even in Georgia. Two stages of hell right there. I should start a list of why I don’t like Georgia. The first item would be Marjorie Taylor Greene. That’s enough. I wouldn’t need to write another item on that list. It would be enough to send anyone running for the border.
  • Everyone seems to be in a bad mood in February. Or is it just me?
  • February sucks.

Don’t hate me because I am grumpy. Love me because I am forthright.

After all, it IS Valentine’s Day.

Sweetie. Dearie. Honey. My name is Terri.

I swear to all the goddesses, cute kittens, and kind gentlemen who open doors for me, I will scream the next time someone calls me Sweetie. I’m not your sweetie. I’m no one’s sweetie. My delicate sensibilities don’t even bend in that direction. What am I, then?

My name is Terri, for cryin’ out loud.

I am also no authority on names that complete strangers call senior citizens but trust me when I say you are doing no one a favor by putting us in a cute little feebly-named box. Am I pissed? No.

I am being not sweet, not dear, and definitely not honey.

We all have the right to free speech, but have we forgotten our manners while standing on our soap boxes and preaching about all our rights and wrongs? I suppose I am doing that by sounding off about the condescending and dismissing of us people of a certain age. So sue me.

But while you’re suing me, please call me by my name, and I will afford you the same common courtesy.

I included this image just for fun. I’m really not that scary.

Ya’ll hurry back now, ya hear? But please bring your manners.

I will even make us some coffee.

My Hero is in the Hospital

Most of us have had someone special in our lives whom we admired, emulated, and respected. Add love, and for me, that person is my Dad. Sadly, he is very ill at this time. He has been suffering from dementia for several years, and we recently discovered that he also has cancer. His health worsened a couple weeks ago and kept declining until he ended up in the ICU. Many are praying and providing healing thoughts for his recovery, and the family is very appreciative.

That said, this post is not about his condition. This story is about my hero and his beautiful contribution to the world. I do not know one single person who has not referred to my Dad as kind, selfless, strong, or charitable….or all of those things. When my sister and I were young, life was not always easy, as my mom had a severe drinking problem. My Dad kept us all together despite the challenges. He was always kind and fair to us. He was strict and stern when he needed to be, and with me, he needed to be, trust me. I was not the golden child, and that is for sure.

Once I was grown and entered the Air Force, my Dad was so proud of me, and I could see it on his face every time I went back home to Georgia on leave to see him. When I earned my bachelor’s degree, I was told that he took my picture and bragged about me to every one of his buddies and his boss at General Motors, where he worked. I have lived away from Georgia since I was 18, and on every birthday, he would call me and sing “Happy Birthday” to me, no matter how old I was. What can I say? He was and still is the best Dad ever.

When I came out at 35 and told him, I fully expected him not to understand. I was so wrong! Not only did he tell me he loved me no matter what, but he also attended a PFLAG meeting to try and understand more about the gay community. PFLAG means Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays. I was so touched by his doing that; I remember crying with my then-partner.

He totally got me. He gets me. He always has. He is my hero, and although he forgets things every few minutes, I still hang on to his every word. He always gave good advice, and a better shoulder on which to cry was not to be found anywhere else.

I often look at him now and wonder what is going on inside his head and what he thinks about forgetting things and all that is happening around him. I will never know, of course.

I love my Dad, my hero. The man every man should aspire to be. The person every person should aspire to be.

I love you, Dad, and I hope you are with us for as long as you can be without suffering or pain.

**I am very sad to report that my Dad passed away this evening (1/20). My heart is broken, but I know he is no longer in pain. I love you, Dad. Rest in peace.

Morning With Abe, a video podcast…

My son Abe has created a daily podcast/video message that is truly inspiring, and I wanted to share the link with you. His video on YouTube is called Morning with Abe, and his podcast on Spotify is under The Recovering Escapist. The five-minute morning messages started on January 1st, 2023. I have included both of the YouTube videos below for your convenience. Abe focuses on mental and spiritual health, and I think you will find his insights informative and motivational. Check them out when you have a minute. And leave a Comment if you are so inclined. Thank you, and Happy New Year!

Storytelling Wednesday…..Postponed for a Few Weeks

*Image created by Tina Anton. See all her beautiful art on Instagram @Ti_Does_Art

I regret that I must postpone Storytelling Wednesdays for a few weeks. I recently had a few setbacks, and because of those, I am behind in my school work and work. Thank you for your patience with me. Things will get back to normal soon, whatever normal is.

It’s happening, friends! I’m bringing back Soap Opera Wednesday after ten years! Now called Storytelling Wednesday, the new and improved weekly offering will commence next Wednesday, December 14th! I am so excited I could vacuum (and we all know how much I hate doing that!)

Why am I resurrecting my old soap opera storytelling addiction and welcoming it back into the blogging universe? I’m so glad you asked!

I’m bored. JUST KIDDING! I don’t have time to be bored, but a Writer.Gotta.Write.

I’m nothing if not a voracious overachiever. Sans success, fame, and money. I swear I’m doing it for personal gratification! And the attention I get from my lovely readers.

IF…

…you were with me ten years ago when I was suffering through my Master’s work and writing a soap opera called “Sara’s Sleep,” you will understand why I might want to do it again. Because of that successful attempt way back then, my soap was picked up by an independent publisher and morphed into a cute novella for which I am moderately proud. Of course, the company went under, but I SWEAR it wasn’t my fault! I was a mere unsuspecting author wannabee, so excited to be published.

Amazon sales started out nicely but slowed quickly and averaged around five books per month. Still, that was something. My second book, as you know, was published by me, and the sales were much better than the first.

But I digress. While I cry. I need a moment…

But anyhow…..I’m doing this, and I hope you will visit at least every Wednesday, and see if my new soap opera moves you, makes you laugh, makes you think, or makes you want to find another blog. Give it a chance, if only because my fingers will probably be bleeding from the sheer work I will do for my readers. Passionate, mind-numbing, soul-searching, coffee-gulping work. You gotta know how inspiring that can be. Am I right?

I sincerely thank you for taking time out of your day to read my renderings. I do hope to see you on Storytelling Wednesday, and any other day you care to grace my bloggy doorsteps. Happy Christmas. Stay safe. Sending much love and joy your way.

Never Give Up

Did you ever give up on something especially important to you? If so, do you remember how you felt just afterward? A year after that? Now?

It is quite sobering, isn’t it? I’m not asking because I want to put a damper on your holiday frolicking. I have regrets. I have doubts. I have given up on something important in my life, as well. This time of year brings all those sad and bittersweet feelings to the surface for me.

Conversely, it helps me realize I am human and have had an amazing life thus far, even without being famous or beautiful. You see, the extraordinary thing about our lives is that we have the opportunity to choose which way to turn next. Oh, some of life’s turns are made for us without our permission or liking; but it’s how we move on that reveals our strength of character and bravery to approach the unknown.

I’m quite certain my stubborn resolve steers my boat and keeps me off the dangerous rocks. Oh, I have been frightfully close to crashing a few times, but each time, I learn so much about this world and myself, even at the ripe old age of 69. For a while, I was diffident about stating my age, although my face reveals a telltale roadmap. By adjusting my mindset just a tad, I meet my senior citizen days head-on, with an inner strength I hadn’t possessed up until now.

Today, I will not give up on my dream, which is to earn that doctorate and make some kind of mark that I was here and participated in a way that fulfills me while helping someone else. We all strive to do the same in our own unique ways.

So, yes, I gave up on something important long ago, and I felt tremendous anguish at the time. A year after that, my stomach still ached with the thought of my decision. Now, however, I draw strength from the realization that I still have choices to make. Never give up on you.

“Never give up on something that you can’t go a day without thinking about.”

~ Winston Churchill

Thank you so much for stopping by to read my thoughts and ramblings. Wishing you all a safe, jubilant holiday full of love. I hope you return to my creative space again and again. Be well. Be kind. Find your joy.

I am Not Stubborn!

Back in the dark ages, when I was a little girl, I remember my Mom asking me why I was so stubborn. I could actually picture her face when she asked me. It was kinda scrunched up in a frowny crumple. My mom was a beautiful woman, but not when her face frowny crumpled. And just to set the record straight, my Mom was prodigiously stubborn. She could hold a grudge for years, and she did, but I cannot go into details else a very nice family member will cease to have anything to do with me. That person is also stubborn.

This post may take a while. I’m trying to figure out background colors and such on my blog, failing miserably. However, I will not quit until I have mastered the art of beautifying the blog. Just because I have two articles due today for my writing job and another torturous PowerPoint presentation to prepare for school does not mean I will give up on this crucial background color business. No, I’m not stubborn at all! I wonder if there is a YouTube video on WordPress blog background bullshit? Or even more importantly, I wonder why I care? It is actually making me anxious. I may need an escape, and right now being “in the moment” with mindfulness meditation sounds pretty freaking good. Does anyone have a yoga mat, sleeping mask, and glass of merlot? Those should help. And if you don’t have the mask or mat, just bring the merlot. A whole bottle if you have it. Why the hell I picked today to make a pink background with wine-colored lettering boggles my mind. And I wanted to add some pretty flowers because I’m feeling a little hippie today, but that’s just not happening. I could be up all night, and it’s not even noon yet.

What the hell did I do? I didn’t touch anything, I swear! OMGosh, I am not having a scholarly moment. Okay folks, I am vacating the premises while I still have a modicum of patience and a pulse. Check back in a day or two, if you are so inclined. I promise to have this wretched impasse solved. And I may even comb my hair. Find your joy.

Home -> https://whatsinterrishead.com/

Is There an Upside to Being Broke?

Why, yes! Yes, there is. You cannot shop until you drop!

You’re welcome for that little Black Friday Pick-Me-Up.

I’m nothing if not emphatically empathetic. It’s a gift…

Okay, I’m not exactly broke; just nurturing my frugal sensibilities ever since COVID sucked the social aspects of life right out of me. I am pricing things now instead of “shopping my feelings.” Heck, I even compared the prices of broccoli and asparagus before buying tofu instead. Don’t judge. I’m craving my ex-husband’s pork tofu.

No, that is not a sexual innuendo. Although I can see how your mind might go there.

The dude makes some stellar pork tofu! I had my son call him for the recipe. I don’t want to call him and upset his wife. I know she is jealous of me. Okay, maybe she is not jealous but rather annoyed with me for calling him on his birthday, Christmas, Easter, the 4th of July, and National Margarita Day. I’m friendly, and he is the father of my 40-year-old baby boy. Just sayin..

Now, where was I?

I am actually writing this on Thanksgiving at almost midnight. The Baileys and Coffee finally wore off, but I am wide awake, people. Let’s party! So, who is shopping on Black Friday? I will be kind not to berate you for spending your kids’ college money on those Jimmy Choo’s you must have for New Year’s Eve. After all, you probably saved a whole $100, and they only set you back $2000. NICE!

No, I won’t tease. Instead, I will revel in the little chuckle I will get when you tell me about that new 55-inch TV you fought over at Walmart. Seriously, how many 55-inch TVs does one household need? I ask you. I have one in my living room, and I have a giant monitor on my desk next to a giant screen on my laptop. But how do I watch a favorite TV show?

I take my phone to bed and stare at the itty bitty screen.

Now my eyes are worse from my bad habits, and I may need to sell my 55-inch TV to afford the eye doctor. Thank you, “Grey’s Anatomy.” I cannot believe I am still hooked on that show anymore since McDreamy was killed off!

Life. Is. A. Party. Am I right? This is what I shopped for online today! Check it out. It is an ORB FLYING BALL. It hovers. You can play catch with it, all by yourself or with a two-year-old. I must have this.

Thank you for actually reading this post. When my silliness is on overload, I shamelessly overshare. I love my readers, and my readership count is growing. I may actually hit double-digits within the next…couple of years. I’m psyched.

Be kind to yourself.

Help someone in need.

Dance like Jennifer Lopez. I dare ya.

You cannot possibly be broke with all your blessings. Count them.

Find your joy.

Home -> https://whatsinterrishead.com/

Sometimes a Girl just has to Blog

Hi everyone! I am alive and well in the great state of lunacy. How are you all doing? I really have no complaints, but you know I will concoct a few for your reading pleasure. It is my favorite time of the year, and my favorite holiday, Thanksgiving, is upon us. Where did the time go? Oh right, it resides somewhere on my desk crowded with a laptop, printer, 20 or so pens (5 that still have ink), four unread peer-reviewed articles (stained with coffee), three dirty coffee mugs, two pairs of readers, and a partridge in a pear tree.

In this time of giving thanks, I am eternally grateful for my family, my friends and loved ones, and my life. Although my family is divided on their beliefs and politics, and my friends and loved ones are all over the world and not here, my life has morphed into one of enlightenment, empathy, insight, and peace. One of my most beloved professors recently called my journey “transformative” and she was spot on. Because of the decision I made one year ago this month to work toward my doctorate, my sense of purpose is ever present in my daily existence. And for that, I remain grateful and dedicated to my propitious quest.

This time last year I did not even have a home. My dear sister let me stay with her for a couple months while I was waiting on my apartment to come available. My sister had a tiny two-bedroom apartment but made me feel welcome and loved. She even converted her small dining room into a makeshift office for me to study. I am so grateful for her big heart and compassion. She does not have a lot of worldly possessions, but she is wealthy in charity and wise from her life experiences.

This Thanksgiving, I will be having my pumpkin pie, accompanied by my favorite, a Baileys and Coffee, and toasting my good fortune. I don’t have a lot of time to blog because I have so much writing to do, but I will drop in and “pen” my hellos when I can. I hope you will continue to visit, and please check out the rest of my blog, and feel free to leave a message if you are so inclined.

Peace, love, and joy to all.

Home -> https://whatsinterrishead.com/

They Say the Third Time is the Charm

And we all need a little Charm in our lives, am I right? Happy Monday!

Me, reflecting on my activities for the past week:

  • Finished a writing assignment on giving presentations.

Check.

  • Started the Podcast, “Terri goes to Doctoral School”.

Riveting, I promise.

  • Began to write my third novel (for the third time).

WTF?  No really.

Yes, it has been a busy week for most people, but just another dizzy day in paradise for me.

Better in Time (the working title) is in progress. I am a firm believer in outlines, for books, articles, letters, email, text messages, and Tik Tok. Type-A personality meets excessive compulsive disorder meets senior citizen angst. That’s some scary shit when you think about it. I thought about writing about cats, as I love them so much, but I get so attached to my characters.

Don’t judge. And stay clear of my yard. I throw things at people…cantaloupes and such. My therapist is in hiding. I wonder if I finally broke her.

So, you are asking (if you’re still awake), what is this new novel about? I’m so glad you asked! Better in Time is of the Historical Fiction genre, and is set in the province of Quebec, Canada at the turn of the century. Most of Canada’s French-speaking citizens live in Quebec, and studying its history and culture has been a hobby of mine for some time.

In case you are unfamiliar with the historical fiction genre, writing such a novel can be quite challenging. I became obsessed with historical fiction after becoming obsessed with a modern American author named Kristin Hannah, and her amazing ability to transform the reader to war-torn Europe during World War II. If you have not experienced one of Kristin Hannah’s novels, please give her a read. You will not regret it. I recommend beginning with The Nightingale. After that, please try my favorite of all her novels, The Four Winds. I have read it three times. Make sure you have a box of tissues for each book, however. You are going to need them.

Well, what do you know? I went off-topic yet again!

I’m nothing if not unapologetically chaotic.

Thank you for visiting my bloggy space/dining room/office/writer’s retreat and confessional. Sorry for the mess. It was such a monumental step moving from the outline to the first chapter of my new novel, I’m going to need a moment to collect my thoughts and find my joy. Peace. Love. Joy to you all!

Home -> https://whatsinterrishead.com/

All Online Universities are Not the Same

Deciding to go back to college (or attending for the first time) is exciting. There are many important decisions to make. The first and the best advice I would give is not to sign up for the first online college you come across. They are vastly different, and I am well-equipped to say so, as I have first-hand experience with jumping into things without thinking. I’m a jumper. In schools. In relationships. In life.

It’s a struggle, people.

So, I recently transferred from Grand Canyon University to Northcentral University.

Why, for crying out loud? That danged little voice in my head is taking over. My apologies. She’s clingy.

Truthfully, I enjoyed my half year at GCU, but there were a few things that just were not a good fit for me. Grand Canyon is a faith-based school, and I confess I did know that going in. However, I was so compelled by their approach to the dissertation, I jumped in with both feet. I was assured there would be no obligation to the religious aspects, and there were not many. However, there were a few.

I am a very private person when it comes to my faith, as I have elaborated enough in my blog. I am not a proponent of religion in higher learning unless, of course, that is one’s concentration of study. Long story, even longer…..I was doing fine until my third class. The instructor was extremely “faithful” and let us all know it every day. I dealt with it, and it didn’t really bother me because she didn’t force anything on me. Things changed when there was a required religion question on a major assignment which would have forced me toward a full answer on my religious beliefs. This was unacceptable to me. I ended up answering something like, “I am more spiritual than would fit in normal religion categories, so I feel I am not equipped to answer this question”. The instructor was lenient and did not mark my grade lower because of my answer, and I did appreciate that.  

It made me think that I should look elsewhere for a school that could provide a better fit. Working toward a doctorate is a grueling, arduous, all-consuming journey that could last several years, and anyone signing up for it needs to find a doctoral program that is welcoming and provides an environment (even when online) conducive to their core beliefs and comfort level.

Bottom line. Don’t settle. In higher education. In relationships. In life. You matter, as do I.

And yes, I am happy at my new school. They are all-inclusive and welcoming. I feel it already. I’m going to do okay at Northcentral University.

See y’all at graduation!

Okay, that’s a tad premature. Don’t judge. I’m nothing if not embarrassingly optimistic. And scholarly. Don’t forget scholarly…

Thank you for visiting my blog. Everyone is welcome, no matter your beliefs. As long as you are peace-loving. Be kind and find your joy!

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Mature Women and Hot Weather

Upon further reflection of this post’s title, I fear readership may decline for lack of interest. Maybe I should have titled it, “Hot, Mature Women,” or “Mature Women get Hot.” One wonders how far one might go for readership. All that being said, the title remains as is, and this hot, mature woman shall press on. And what the hell, you have gotten this far; you may as well accompany me.

Pretty please.

Hell is alive and well in Georgia. Temps are in the high 90s and humidity is hovering around two or three hundred percent, give or take.

It sure as hell feels like hell.

We women of a certain age are not only mature, but we are also wise. We will not be doing any porch sitting in this heat unless, of course, the power bill was not paid. I certainly hope we are way too wise for that, ladies! Of course, if you still have a husband, he obviously forgot to pay the bill. He owes you! May I offer you some advice? Make his cheap ass take you to a hotel during this Georgia Hell and turn the air-conditioning to the ‘polar bear’ setting. He does not have to stay if he misses that porch…make sure he knows that. When he leaves, rejoice and order room service.

You are welcome.

I think it is highly unfair that men can go shirtless, but women must cover-up. It really should be the other way around. After all, we women have a lot more to show off. Just imagine going out to mow the lawn, wearing a t-shirt and a freaking bra (because god-forbid your boobs might jiggle), instantly dripping in sweat, and cursing at global warming. Taking one’s shirt off would not only cool one down but would beautify the neighborhood. Remember, beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. Fuck your neighbors if they don’t see the beauty. Their boobs probably sag, too, and I’m not just talking about the female neighbors. Have you seen saggy men-boobs? On the upside, the entertainment value of your property would probably rise exponentially. But may I offer you some advice? Maybe just chuck the whole lawn-mowing plan and have ice cream instead. If that drips on your boobs, instant coolness!  Win-win situation.

Once again, you are welcome. I am nothing if not a woman with a plethora of unsolicited ideas.

In my never-ending quest to find the good in growing older, it only occurred to me the other day that we mature women have the ability to turn uncomfortable situations in our favor. Next time you are sitting on that porch (and this only works when you are not alone), start fanning yourself, up and down, all over. Complain in no uncertain terms that, “It is hotter than deep-fried hell.” Repeat as necessary, until you have gained sympathy from anyone within earshot. Then, revel in your success as someone offers you a cold beverage. Ladies, we no longer have to be the ones who serve. Make sure to order exactly what pleases you. You want to make good on this getting older crap.

After all, Matriarchs Matter. Am I right??

Thank you for visiting my special bloggy place. I may get a little cranky when those damned kids are on my lawn, but I am delighted to see you here! Please comment below if you are so inclined. Have a fabulous day, be kind, and find your joy. And kiss your favorite matriarch. I heard that doing so brings good luck.

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TIK TOK. There is no stop.

I have a new addiction. Sans the intellect and any delicate sensibilities I may have nurtured over the years, I managed to have fallen under the spell of tiny fast-talking dogs, fluffy felines with attitude, teaching teachers, dancing dancers, singing singers, ranting republicans, and a partridge in a pear tree.

TIC TOK. For crying out loud, I have landed right smack in the middle of Crazytown. Stop the train, I want off!

If only.

If you have not heretofore, experienced the magical ridiculousness of the Tik Tok, you need to run the other way, fast as you can. However, if you choose to continue toward the light, be afraid. Be very afraid. There are sights you have never witnessed. Sights you never wanted to witness. Sights that make you wish you didn’t have sight.

But you can’t stop watching, can you?

Let’s assume you completely disregarded the above advice, and ventured into the TIK TOK app, promising yourself you would just take a little peek. The first thing you see is a grown man in a tutu, wielding a wand (which you assume is for granting wishes?). You feel somewhat excited and are quite convinced that there are good people floating around somewhere in the universe. TIK TOK must be a good thing! A place you want to be…

UmmmHmmm…

Let’s talk about earworms. The next TIK TOK pops up, and a little chihuahua is trying to convince his human that they must go to MacDonald’s. He is successful in his quest and off they go. Suddenly “Macarena” is blasting on their car radio and the tiny dog is bobbing his head to the music. It’s riveting, I tell you. This is good stuff.

Except that it will be days before that song leaves your brain.

Next appears a lovely lesbian couple getting married. Ah, so beautiful! At this point, you are convinced that you are in the right place and TIK TOK was meant just for you.

Ummm…not exactly. I hate to burst your “love is love” bubble, but the TIK TOK app works like the others. By using algorithms, rendering words into figures, exploiting mathematical similarities, using meditation and reflection, waving the talking stick, ignoring all reasoning, chanting and performing tribal dances, and the regular infusion of medicinal gummi bears, TIK TOK is able to entertain everyone from toddlers to the most highly educated and enlightened without hesitation or remorse. It’s really quite fascinating. I am hopelessly hooked.

Once you have been using TIK TOK for a certain length of time, you are put into a category, whether you like it or not. This is not specified, so you will not realize it right away, but for example, at least every other TIK TOK I watch has something to do with lesbians. I am not complaining, mind you. That’s totally my jam. That being said, they took away some of my little talking dogs and cute kitty cats. I miss them. They are my emotional-support animals, and now I am at risk of a nervous breakdown. I am also missing the TIK TOKs of all the different groups dancing to the exact same tune. If you don’t understand from whence I speak, think back to the old days and those Halloween dances, and everyone getting out on the floor to offer their own renditions of the “Thriller” dance. Remember that? Do you also remember that not everyone had mastered the dance? Some were not, shall we say, dancing machines, but rather just drunk. Well, TIK TOK has lots of dancing videos, and some are quite addictive. Some, however, awaken your scrolling finger, as you try to find something better with which to waste your time.

Ah, but it is entirely too late for you. Just scroll on to the next TIK TOK. Lean into your obsessions. Feed your hunger for third-grade humor, giggling babies, and that dude who twirls a towel while dancing with a line of other men to “Here Comes the Hotstepper.”

You cannot move mountains. TIK TOK will now be part of your daily existence. For how long, you ask? Well, my guess is until someone comes up with a 12-step program. ‘Accept the things you cannot change’ and all that sort of thing. Good luck. You might need to rearrange your schedule and maybe even delete some activities to make room for your TIK TOK time.

I may have to drop out of Doctoral School…

Thank you for visiting my little bloggy universe. So happy to see you all. I think my membership may have grown to five by now. Progress! Please Comment below if you are so inclined. And check out the rest of my blog, where you will witness my mission to change the world, one mind-numbing post at a time. Have a beautiful day, people, be kind, and find your joy.

Home -> https://whatsinterrishead.com/

I Lied to the Preacher

Reverend Mike came to my door today. I do not remember Mike’s last name; in fact, Mike may not even be his first name, but for purposes of my confession, we will go with Mike. Also, for purposes of my confession, here is a little back-story on Mike. I was engulfed in my school work, minding my own damned business, writing one of my endless doctoral masterpieces, when a knock at the door brought me back to reality. I was mildly annoyed at this intrusion of my time, but being the kind and patient person I am, I meandered to the door and swung it open. Before me stood a big dude, and he looked a bit like a cop, but not a sexy cop. An overweight, balding, sweating, impatient cop. I did not recognize the uniform, but to be perfectly honest, I am new here. My idea of a Georgia police officer is pretty much the image I witnessed on my porch, so I assumed he was a cop. Immediate thoughts ran through my head:

What did I do? Who is dead? Do I have any illegal substances in my house? If I slam the door in his face, will he go away? Should I call 9-1-1 because the dude is really sweating? And, will I get one phone call if he takes me to jail, because I really need two phone calls, one to call my sister who lives nearby, and the other to call her daughter because my sister won’t answer her phone during nap time.

He stood there staring at me while I was doing all that thinking, which made me wonder if I had been saying all my thoughts out loud.

So I smiled until I was done thinking. Mike waited patiently, but he was still sweating.

Turns out, Mike was not a cop, and was indeed, a preacher. After further reflection for an awkward length of time, I found my voice, and said, “Hello, may I help you?”

Reverend Mike was here to invite me to the yearly Memorial Day Weekend Tent Revival at the local baptist church. It is happening tonight through Thursday, June 2nd. For those of you who have been shopping for a tent revival, now is your chance to get on over there and get your share of salvation. It is free, but they pass the plate, so don’t even think about showing up without money.

Where was I? Oh yeah, the good Reverend…

After extending said invitation, Reverend Mike offered a big smile, and handed me a brochure and a flyer, complete with schedule, driving directions, phone numbers, and a popup “A” to pin to my chest while attending the revival. Okay, that last item was made up, but my imagination was going wild, thinking what the crowd would do if they knew I was a bonified, card-carrying lesbian…..not a concealed weapon carrier like they were used to.

Spine shuddering stuff to ponder, indeed.

So, I smiled back to Reverend Mike, accepted the brochure and flyer, and said, “That sounds lovely. I will try to make it if I can find the time”.

I LIED TO A PREACHER!!!

I haven’t a clue as to why I would lie, because I have no intention of attending such a gathering of which I have no business, interest, or inclination.

But he was smiling. And sweating.

My apologies, Reverend Mike. I confessed to my readers, all two of them. Sometimes I only open my mouth long enough to change feet.

It’s a struggle, people. Try to stay true to yourself, be kind, find your joy.

And confess when you lie to a preacher. That’s just wrong…

Thank you for visiting my blog. I love it when you stop by! If you see Reverend Mike, please don’t tell him you know me. He might not be happy with your being associated with a liar. (Sorry Reverend Mike).

Hola Friends!

Doctoral Dreaming. It’s a thing…

I thought it was about time I made a blog entry! I have been knee-deep into this doctoral school stuff, and on most of my days, my brain is pretty fried. I had not realized it would be similar to a full-time job, with overtime. Non-paid overtime. In fact, non-paid anything. Oh, wait! They get paid, not me. I just get the loss of sleep (from assignment deadlines), droopy eyeballs (from all the reading! So much reading), arthritis (in my fingers from all the writing. So much writing!) But someday, I will get that Doctorate Degree, and it will have been worth all the effort, to be quite honest. I love it, even if I do tend to whine, drool, curse, pull my hair, gripe, flip other drivers off, talk to myself, scare kids off my lawn, and eat my feelings. Worth it all!!

But I digress…

So, what have you been doing? I miss the blog. I really need to visit more often. I began writing my third book, also, but that ended badly. I had a nice outline, but trying to switch between creative writing on the book, and academic writing for school was near impossible. The two styles are so unique to their respective genres and require completely different structures, I just could not manage the time or patience it would require juggling both consecutively.

But the book will get written. The storyline is compelling. The characters are fun. It will happen when I am once again, fun, and compelling. Well, fun. I do not know about the compelling part. Tired is probably a better adjective for me at this time. I need to color my hair. I need to buy some clothes other than sweatpants, pajamas, and T-shirts. I need to leave my house occasionally. I need to get some sun. In fact, my Vitamin D is low, and the doctor put me on supplements. I think she wonders if I live in a gopher hole. Back to the things I need. I need a lady friend. Not a lady who is a friend, but a lady friend. If that does not make sense to you, then you probably do not want to know. Trust me.

Wow, 373 words ago I started this post, and I have virtually said nothing. My apologies. Next time, I promise to deliver something that will either make you laugh, make you think, or make you move on to the next blog. It is all good…

Have a great Mother’s Day, all you moms. If either of my sons read this, I love you. And I need a coffee maker (preferably a Keurig), a vacuum, and/or gas money, chocolate, or a good historical fiction novel. Or a lady friend, if you happen to see one. Just ship her on over.

Thank you for visiting my blog. I hope you return again and again, as I need the company and I love attention. Please feel free to leave a comment if you are so inclined. Kindness, please. We do not do hate on this blog. We are lovers. Of kindness.

February. Not my best look.

February. I am not a fan. February has it out for me. Every year, I wait to see the hammer drop, or however that old saying goes, and something always happens. This year, I want a boring, uneventful February, please and thank you! Less is more. We need to focus on less and sleep more. Or at least climb into our beds and hide from the mean, cruel, unforgiving universe. Who’s with me?

Damn, I sound like I am on some serious downers.

But I do not partake in downers; I am not even sure what they are. I just wanted to sound cool. Failed again. Eating one’s feelings can have that effect. I had pork chops tonight for dinner, with a hamburger chaser. I just couldn’t decide. I seriously only wanted something on which to apply a splat of ketchup. I had a craving. Don’t judge. You could be a dork, too, and just have not realized it yet.

I married both my husbands in the month of February. Not at the same time; however, that might have been more interesting, and maybe more fun. Middle age was banging on my door by the time I fully realized I belonged with women. I did procure two fabulous sons from the marriages, though. And thank god, neither were in February.

I was in a bad rollover when I was 38, on February 13th. Yes it was a Friday. I was in a van with seven other workmates, headed to Vegas for the long weekend. We were about four hours away and the woman driving at the time overcorrected on some black ice. It was an ugly day, and nothing to joke about. I did lose a shoe in the wreckage, though. I went into shock after we crashed, and was told later that I wandered around the crash site, hobbling on one shoe, until the ambulance arrived. The paramedics cut my favorite jean jacket off me. I would have taken it off for them. I guess they assumed I couldn’t move, but I was just tired from all that shoe searching. And my foot was frozen. And I was in mourning for not being able to go to Vegas. I had a coffee can full of quarters with me, just waiting to be fed into those glorious video poker machines! I felt robbed. Now I would have to roll those damned quarters and take them to the bank.

I had two takeaways from that accident: 1) I saved money, because I was a gambling addict and would have hit the ATM 30 minutes after arriving, and, 2) My paramedic was a hottie.

Turned out I had three compression fractures from the ordeal and ended up in the hospital, and then home from work for months. There was nothing funny about that either, but our two dogs loved having me as their couch mate. After a few weeks, however, they just considered me their snack bitch, and ignored me the rest of the time.

The struggle is real, people.

A few years later, I was in intensive care with a blood pressure spike. Also February 13th. Also a Friday. I had only been seeing my new partner for a few weeks when it happened, and I was told she was really frightened for me. I didn’t notice because I was serving up my guts to the gods, via the floor, the bed, the bathroom, and my partner. She must have really felt sorry for me because she stuck around for 21 years. Happy Valentine’s Day in heaven, Joan. This crazy post is for you. I’m being careful, so don’t worry. After all, it is February and, even though shit happens in February, I know you’re looking out for me.

Oh yeah, one more thing. I just started my second doctoral class, and they gave me a different professor. It just about broke my heart. But that was actually in January, so I guess it doesn’t count. But I miss him. He had more patience with me than anyone should have with an old lady. I already feel sorry for my new professor.

Three Things I Stole

Today’s post is brought to you by the Number Three.

Three is a significant number for me, obviously, in that three, or a sum thereof, was the number of things I stole from relatives while they were providing me with a much needed place to stay until I got my shit together. It’s time to come clean. I am nothing if not blatantly late at confession.

To those family members involved, I have no remorse, but I do have three fabulous items in my home that now belong to me. Don’t judge me. I had an excuse. I always do. And you love me anyway. Don’t forget that.

Three Things I Stole from my Relatives over the Past Six Months:

I never knew this about myself, but I attach inanimate objects with people I love. It’s a thing. Last June, as I was packing up and preparing to leave Boise and my son and his family behind, I stole a Tablespoon of theirs right out of the drawer. I stole it like a boss. I didn’t feel sleazy. I didn’t feel guilty. I just felt for the spoon, grabbed it, and hid it in my Broncos bag in my room. That spoon is now in my drawer, in my little apartment, and every morning, I eat my oatmeal using my spoon. I would apologize to my son and his family, but I am not sorry. That spoon represents them. I hold that spoon and feel closer to them. It probably makes zero sense to anyone but me, but so be it.

My spoon now!

The second thing I stole was in September at my Dad and his wife Donna’s house in Georgia. I am sure you know the story if you are a regular reader of my blog, and if you’re not, you should be. It’s the third most popular blog around. Okay, I made that up because I am stuck on threes. I can’t help it, just like I couldn’t help stealing an old towel from Dad’s house. I had been using it to dry my hair, and got really attached to it. I stole it like a boss, throwing it in my dirty clothes basket, and stashing it in my van while Dad and Donna went to town. That old towel is now in my linen closet, holding a very special place in my heart….displayed in the center of the shelf, and perfectly folded in (wait for it) thirds. I love that towel. I love Dad and Donna. They won’t mind. I swear I didn’t steal anything else.

My towel now!

That brings us to my sister. My sweet, short, sassy and fabulous little sister. She has more patience with me than should be allowed, and does not deserve a thief in her home. I lived there for two months while waiting for my apartment to come available. She made me coffee at least ten days in a row until I finally learned how to work the coffee pot. She gave me countless directions on how to get to town, and I am still not sure how to get there. She took instant naps right in the middle of my stories about the old days. It was during one of those naps, I stole a cereal bowl right out of the dish drainer. I stole it like a boss, walked right past her while she was snoozing in her chair, and hid it in an old bag I used for my toiletries. I love that bowl. I am not sure if it is a cereal bowl because it might be a small mixing bowl. It is one of a kind, and so is my sister. That bowl now resides in MY dish drainer, and hasn’t been used since I moved in to my little place. Sorry not sorry, LIL Sis. You snooze, you lose.

My bowl now!

Thanks for visiting my blog. I hope you return again and again. I promise more craziness, but I can’t promise I won’t steal your heart. GOSH, that was sappy. Forgive me. Everyone knows I will do anything for more readers.

Worldviews

With the holiday break almost over, I resume my doctoral studies later this week. I am actually pretty excited to get back to it, as I have thus far thoroughly enjoyed my return to academia. That being said, there is an upcoming assignment that has me thinking.

And I still have four days left before I am required to do this thinking stuff. But here goes…

The subject of a person’s worldview has me intrigued, and I am indeed….thinking. My original idea about worldviews only encompassed the raw definition residing in my head, which was, “how one sees the world through one’s own eyes.” Okay, I also realized that a person’s upbringing, beliefs (religion, spirituality, or lack thereof), geographical location, philosophy of life, family, and academic knowledge also aid in shaping their worldview. After doing quite a bit of reading and research, I realized I did not know there are a vast amount of defined and an endless amount of undefined worldviews in our, um, world.

News Flash and chronic understatement follows:

We are not all the same!

I know, Lucy! It boggles the mind!

If only that were the end of my thinking on this. I told myself, “Self, just accept it and move on.” And I did, for the most part. And then that little irritating part of my brain that won’t let me “move on,” so to speak, just kept slapping me with questions and emotions and heartburn (that last thing was actually from the BBQ I ate for supper).

But the questions and emotions kept coming….

So, since we are not all alike, why are there so many freaking people in this country opposed to others not exactly like them? If it is a well-known fact (and it is) that we are not the same, that means we are not supposed to be the same, doesn’t it? And, if your religious beliefs are that we are made in God’s image, then that makes ALL of us the same, even though we are not the same. Seems clear enough.

Ah, but if only that really explained everything.

What about all those people who are not religious? Are they all going to hell? Do you have any idea how many people in this world are not religious? I don’t know exactly, but there is a shitload. And what about those people who are spiritual but not in the Christianity way, such as Buddhism, and Native American tribal beliefs. Are those people all going to hell?

Hard to send them to hell when they don’t believe in it in the first place. And the fact that sending people to hell is totally out of our paygrade. It is just too ridiculous to fathom.

All the research I’ve done so far has been fascinating. I am a person with an open mind, and I accept that our world is not mine alone, and I am but one very lucky human to still remain above ground, enjoying this wondrous miracle called life. My religious beliefs are private, and you will not hear or read me shouting them to the world. However, I firmly believe in the shouters, the worshipers, and yes, the non-worshipers, as well as those enlightened by science and our ecosystem.

We are the same, in that we are all not the same. It’s quite beautiful, when you think about it. Can’t we celebrate that, instead of…..well, you know as well as I do that we need to do some work in this area. I just ask that we all do some thinking. Couldn’t hurt. Oh! And did you know you can actually have more than one worldview? In fact, you can have lots! Boggles my brain, I tell ya. I love this stuff.

Thank you for visiting my blog. Sometimes I am funny. Sometimes I’m informative. Sometimes I’m just reflective, as we all are. I hope you will return again and again, as you are ALL welcome here, whatever your worldview! (Unless, of course, you choose to spread hate. If that’s the case, please move on.)

Jingle Balls

Have you ever been to Walmart two days before Christmas? If your answer is no, then honey, you ain’t lived a full life!! Oh!…The people, the cheer, the smells, the music, the lights!

But not quite as you might envision…

Let’s begin with the lights, shall we? Oh, there are lights, but the only ones left are either on the trees nobody wants, or in a package of 25 teeny tiny lights. Just one package. That’s all that is left. So good luck stretching that around your 9 foot tree for which you spent all day yesterday searching in the woods.

As for the music, everyone is aware of the piped in elevator-type Christmasy stuff they provide. But sometimes, if you’re very lucky, you’ll be in there to do some lengthy grocery shopping, and the music will be caught in a loop, and “Grandma Got Ran Over by a Reindeer” will become your earworm for life. Such fun!

Let’s talk about the SMELLS! Oh Mylanta! When you first walk in, you might be lucky enough to catch the aroma of MacDonald’s fries. But, let’s face it, you’re no luckier than I am, so you will probably smell some serious body odor as half the population of anywhere USA tries to cram through the door to get that last coveted pair of reindeer boxers. As you proceed through the store, you are infused with people from all walks of life. There are soiled baby diaper smells. There are bad breath and farts aplenty. There are soiled grandparent diaper smells. And let’s not forget Junior’s stinky feet! By the time you get through all of that, everyone is staring at you, wondering why you stink!

It’s a journey, people.

Ah, but there must be good cheer, right? After all, it is almost Christmas! Not to worry, because Uncle Max will be stumbling through the aisles, wreaking of beer, and other good cheer, and mumbling something inaudible, but strangely familiar. You forgive him because you’ve probably done something similar, or your best friend has. He knows not what he smokes. Somebody call him a cab, please.

Last but not least. The people. Because that’s what it’s all about, anyway. We are social creatures. We gather. We gather for holidays. We gather for celebration. We gather outside the smelly restrooms, waiting for Aunt Agnes to pee. We are hoping she made it to a stall, but we don’t dare to enter the restroom for fear of the dreaded poop smells.

I can’t seem to get away from those smells.

Ah, but the pièce de résistance is what actually made Walmart famous! You will witness men’s butt cracks shining out from those britches, and women’s bosoms loaded into undersized t-shirts. Kinda makes my eyes bleed. I’m pretty sure it is a Walmart thing. It’s part of the customer’s uniform. If you don’t show what you got, you’re just un-American!

So if you’re out and about today, this Christmas Eve Eve, and you’re looking for a little entertainment, head on over to Wally World and get yourself some holiday spirit. But, might I suggest popping a quick gummi bear edible about 30 minutes prior to your arrival. Just call it your contribution to the culture.

So, Here is my Why

Several of my friends and a couple of my relatives have asked me why I have decided to pursue a Doctor of Education Degree, which is quite an undertaking and will require three or four years of my time. Below is a personal, somewhat lengthy, and at times, confusing explanation as to my “Why.” I hope it clears some things up and gives a bit of insight into the enigma that is me.

The last fourteen months have been a wild ride for me. And by “wild” I mean akin to one of a giant rollercoaster. As you may or may not know, my life-partner of 21 years passed away in 2019, and the following year (October 2020, 14 months ago) I had to move from the condo I had been renting from my son because they wanted to sell it. I have always been on my own, never dependent on anyone else. When I was married or with a partner, we cohabitated, but I very well could have handled things on my own if needed. However, there were no available apartments in Boise at that time, so I agreed to move in with my son temporarily.

I was not happy about it, as I knew from listening to others and being observant, that families moving extra family into their homes could cause a multitude of annoyances and issues. Turned out, I was correct with my assumptions. Without going into private details, things were not working out. I am independent and I’m not accustomed to being under anyone’s thumb. I need to govern my own life and do so under my own roof. After nine months, it was a mutual agreement that I would move on.

But where was I to go?

In previous weeks before leaving Boise, I had been watching YouTube videos about nomads, and people living in their vans and RVs on purpose. Nomads are a whole sub-culture in and of themselves, and, quite frankly, the lifestyle appealed to the romanticist and dreamer in me. I thought it would be the perfect solution. I could travel like a snowbird, south in winter and north in summer. I could write to my heart’s content and visit places still on my bucket list.

I made lists of everything I would need by watching the videos, and began my search for a late model used van. The idea morphed into a dream that further fueled my vision of being on my own without a care in the world.

Two obstacles stood in my way:

  1. I have a disability in that I cannot walk very fast due to a spinal injury. I currently use a cane, but was using a walker for a long time. That did not deter me, as I’d heard that a lot of disabled people live as nomads.
  2. I was completely unprepared. I had saved money, but used it to buy the van outright so I wouldn’t owe anything on it. That left me with very little expendable cash. The list of items I would need and the alterations I would need for my van in order to make it livable for me, especially with my mobility issues, were expensive. However, that did not stop me from leaving Boise on July 2nd, headed for points east, specifically Yellowstone National Park. I was excited…

Although my excursion through Yellowstone was breathtaking, my new life soon brought me to my knees. My first night upon exiting Yellowstone was spent in a KOA Campground, one that was over-crowded and definitely not as advertised. I tried to climb in the back of my van when it was time to sleep, but I was so exhausted, I could not climb in. Due to my spinal injury, I was also unable to climb from the driver’s seat to the back of the van. As a result, I spent the entire night sitting up in the driver’s seat of the van. It was cold and I was pretty miserable, to put it mildly. Two more nights went by during my travels, and although I was able to climb in the back and get in my bed, everything else I did became increasingly difficult.

I was quickly becoming disheartened about my choice to live in a van. I called my stepmom in Georgia, who I was supposed to be visiting the next month, and asked if I could come early, and she said of course. On the way to Georgia, I contracted a fungus on my feet (no idea why or how) and also became depressed and lethargic. By the time I arrived, I was getting sick. I ended up a few days later in the ER, had a toenail removed, and antibiotics for an infection. I was sick for awhile. I threw up a lot, and even wondered if I had COVID, even though I had been vaccinated.

I did improve, however, and spent three months with my Dad (who is suffering from dementia) and his wife Donna. They were wonderful to me, and it was three of the most peaceful months of my life. Spending that quality time with my Dad was priceless, and I will always hold those moments in my heart. But, it was again time to move on. I had been trying to procure an apartment in the area, having given up on my nomad dreams. I was unsuccessful in finding anything.

In the middle of September, my sister in northwest Georgia invited me to come and look at apartments in her town. I was excited to think I might finally have a place to call home again. I went to see her and we went to several places and collected applications. That week, I put in a very involved application for an apartment in her town, but the apartments were based on income, and the waiting list was long.

During the wait, I have been staying at my sister’s apartment. She gave up her bedroom for me, and she has been staying in the guest bedroom. Due to my spinal injury, I would not have been able to get up from the low bed in the guest bedroom, so she selflessly gave up her comfort for me. I moved in with her in October, and she has been absolutely lovely and welcoming, and made me feel like I’m not alone in this world, and there are people out there who really want me around. My Dad and Donna treated me the same way. Yes, I want to live on my own, but knowing these people love me for who I am has meant the world to me. They do not judge me. They do not decide how I should live my life. They just love me and have helped me out of a tremendously difficult situation. I am a very prideful individual, and I am humbled in their presence. My apartment will be available around Christmas, and I have put my deposit down and now busily trying to collect furnishings and dishes, etc., to make it my own. Again excited!!!

So, back to the reason for this post. Why have I committed to an arduous (my son described it with this word, and he was correct!) journey of working toward my Doctorate?

  1. I earned my Master’s Degree nine years ago, and have since felt the desire to continue the journey, culminating in my completing something I never could have dreamed of when I was younger. At 68, I finally know myself, and I know my worth. I am intelligent, brave, a bit too bold at times, and ever curious about this wonderful thing called life.
  2. I am doing this to show myself that I can, not to show anyone else. I do brag a lot, but quite frankly, I have a lot for which to brag!
  3. Bottom line. My “Why” is purely Because I can.

I sincerely hope you will wish me well in my endeavors, and maybe take away something from my sharing this long explanation with you. Everyone has their dreams, and none are more or less significant than any others. I’m so happy to wake up each day and have the blessed opportunity to follow my dreams…

Write Like a Scholar? What?

My recent nose-dive into the depths of scholarly learning has given me anxiety. Turns out, the doctoral journey begins with learning how to write. What? One would think one would have learned to write in first grade, and sure enough, some of us did! Heck, I even have a couple of books out there in the Amazon universe.

Ah, but that’s not writing. That’s “creative writing.” To write like a scholar, one has to first enter the gates of hell. In this scholarly “hell” one also has to read countless articles in which one has to look up every other word. After reading each article several times, then a few more times, one then has to compare and contrast said articles with one another. It is called synthesis. And yes, I also had to look that up.

And, as if the devil himself was looking over one’s shoulder and just waiting to pass judgment, one has to accept critical feedback without crying, begging, bribing, or eating one’s feelings. One must take it like a woman. One must persevere. One must never let them see one flipping the finger. One must overcome, smile, and write the whole damned thing over. Again. And again.

One is sure you are out there in the bloggy universe, laughing while holding back the urge to remind one that one signed up for this. One remembers. One is not quite sure, however, whether that makes one a sadist or a masochist?

Oh crap. One needs to look that up, too. One will get back to you on that.

One needs more coffee now.

Thanks for visiting my bloggy place. I hope to see you often as I attempt to navigate my life choices and manage my insecurities and unruly hair days. And I’m not sure what’s going on with all the “one’s.”

Please feel free to leave a comment and peruse the rest of whatsinterrishead.com.

Kindness Misunderstood

I am writing this because of a situation I encountered last evening when I was leaving the laundromat here in town. Most of you know I have mobility issues, and I use a cane. Last night, I had finished my laundry and was wheeling it out to the car with one of those rolling baskets provided at the laundromat. I was using my cane with the right hand and trying to maneuver the basket with the left hand. A gentlemen saw my struggle and walked up to me and asked if he could help.

Many of you may not know how stubborn I am, and I try to do everything I can on my own. That being said, I surveyed the situation, and noticed a truck parked very close to my van on the driver’s side. So, I asked the man who had walked up to me if he knew who owned the truck, as I would appreciate him moving it so I would be able to enter my vehicle.

He said, “No, but he’s sitting in the truck.” At that time, the man in the truck got out and approached us. The man who had been talking with me turned and addressed the man who owned the truck. He said, very gruffly and unpleasantly, almost sounding like he was demanding, “You will need to move your truck so this lady can enter her van.”

The man from the truck took the first man’s demand offensively and began yelling back, using loud profanity and, quite frankly, scaring tears out of me. The guy who had originally approached me got really mad at the other guy and screamed profanity back at him. They both began yelling they would kick one another’s ass. I was getting nervous, as I was standing on a curb, holding a cane and balancing on a rolling basket.

I was only a car length away from my own vehicle, but I could not get past either man. I was pleading with them not to fight, but my pleas were falling on deaf ears. Both men were so angry, their only focus was with each other.

Finally, the man from the truck started to get into his truck to move it, but the other guy screamed more profanity at him, calling him names that would make anyone mad. At that time, the man from the truck again exited his vehicle and said, “Fuck it. I’m not moving my truck.” Then he walked around the truck and started toward the laundromat entrance. The guy helping me moved toward him and began yelling even louder. I mentioned earlier in this blog post that I was getting nervous, but scratch that. I was scared shitless. It passed through my mind at that moment, “This is how people get killed. This is how shootings happen.” I was mortified.

Yelling continued, and I was was crying, but managed to maneuver myself, my cane, and the basket to the passenger side of my van. Shortly thereafter, the man who had originally tried to help me appeared suddenly at my side and said he would load the laundry in my van and help me enter from the passenger side. I let him load my van, but informed him, “Unfortunately, with my back issue, I cannot easily enter from the passenger side, and I definitely can’t climb over to the driver’s side.”

About that time, the guy from the truck came back out the laundromat door and the shouting match resumed. That pissed off the guy helping me, and he said he would call the police. Screaming continued. During this part of the altercation, I managed to go around the back of the van and reach the driver’s side door. There was not much room for me to enter, but enough to get the door opened part way. The method I use to climb into my van is a bit involved and takes a little time, and while I was trying very hard to climb in, the guy who had been helping me said, “Wait, I’m calling the cops.”

I informed him at that time that I believed I could make it into my van, and needed to go because I did not like to drive after dark. While I was saying that, he got the cops on the phone. He actually calmed down long enough to speak respectfully to the police dispatcher and describe the situation in terms that didn’t make him sound like an idiot. While he was speaking to them, I made it into the van. I told him that I was fine but I really had to get home. (Seriously, I just wanted to vacate the situation.)

He informed the dispatch that I was able to enter my vehicle, but the man who had not moved his truck was still being threatening. I remember how strange that was to me that he would say that when he was actually the first one who did the threatening, and continued to do so throughout the whole fiasco.

I’m not sure what happened to those two men because I got the hell out of there.

My point in writing about this was to say that the first man’s whole approach to the situation was wrong. While initially intending to do an act of kindness for me, he rudely approached an individual who might have otherwise, been amenable to helping by moving his truck. There could have been multiple acts of kindness happening, but if one component of that kindness is missing, no one gets help. The other man was also completely wrong by losing his temper immediately and fueling the fire with yelling, profanity and threats.

Seriously, that’s how people get hurt and even killed. It happens somewhere every day. There were numerous people at that laundromat, to include little children.

Kindness. Do it. But remember to respect one another. A short explanation from the first man to the man in the truck, along with a “Please” and “Thank you” may have gone a long way.

Have a great weekend. Be careful out there.

Down the rabbit hole

Today, I started looking through professional articles in my school’s library (online). My original search was the word “mindset.” I was searching for articles explaining a researching mindset and how it correlates with critical thinking. And blah blah blahYou get the gist.

Well, I came up with 3,245 articles and immediately realized I needed to refine my search.

Uh, big mistake. If you don’t know where you are, you shouldn’t necessarily start out for new horizons.

I typed in, “researching mindset”.  I got 2,344 articles. The first one was titled “If You Have Your Mind Set on College, Do Your Research First.” 

Things went downhill from there. Why? Because I’m new to Doctoral school. I get confused on an hourly basis. Don’t give me words out of order. My head will explode. Better yet, don’t give me words. Just take my little hand and lead me to the damned article I need.

It’s like surfing the net. But on steroids.

I’m sure you’ve typed in a topic of interest in Google, and planned on perusing them all, until you realized there were pages upon pages of information/pictures/video on your topic.

What the hell?

Don’t they know we have all evolved into internet surfers with the attention span of a gnat? Okay, go ahead and look up “gnat”. I would wait, but you won’t be back for hours. There’s “How to Get Rid of Gnats,” “Gnats vs Fruit Flies,” “What are Gnats Attracted To?” I cannot compete with that level of entertainment. Even when I post pictures of my pen collection.

So I will press on.

There is really no central message to glean from the above mumbles and grumbles. I write my feelings. I eat my feelings. I just try really hard not to feel my feelings.

Now I’m hungry. I definitely feel that.

Thanks for visiting and reading my craziness. Comment below if you are so inclined. I could use the company while trying to navigate this freaking rabbit hole. Have a fabulous day, and I hope you find everything for which you are searching.

Warning! Credit Card Usage Probable!

So, you’ve decided to take the plunge and do all your Christmas shopping online this year? I’ve been shopping online since way before the COVID made its debut, so I feel I am amply qualified to deliver a few pros and cons to you before you embark on this new and nerve-wracking journey.

1) First of all, let’s talk about your alcohol consumption.

Pros: You can drink wine and you won’t get carded, stared at, asked to leave, or arrested for public intoxication and/or indecency.

Cons: Your purchasing decisions may be altered somewhat. (See picture above).

Life is a balance, am I right?

2) Let’s talk about People.

Pros: When you shop online, you don’t have to worry about running into your judgy Mother-in-Law, your ex-lover, a friend to whom you still owe money, or your smelly neighbor.

Cons: In my opinion, there are no cons here. Avoiding people is an art. Be proud.

Sometimes life gives you lemons. Throw them at your neighbor. Aim with a purpose.

3) Let’s talk about spending money.

Pros: If no one sees you shopping online at 2 AM, are you really spending too much money on a new iPhone, ear pods, a lightning charger, 4 pairs of shoes, a case of fresh pineapples from Hawaii, and a book on how to get rich data-mining? I think not.

Cons: Sure, I understand your purchasing a must-have item for a $1000, but you should shut that shit down when you have to pay a $7.99 Shipping Charge! Freaking highway robbery! Just sayin…

Online shopping is better than traditional shopping because it gives you

a reason to live for the next 7-10 business days. 

I think I need more pens and another coffee mug.

***************

Judgy Fudgy

Judge much? I try not to, but of course I judge. I judge people who judge. I judge narrow-minded people. I judge people with zero social skills. I judge my invisible friend when she does stupid stuff. Yes, I judge.

However.

It’s the time of year when we are supposed to be good to one another. We should be experiencing frolicking, merriment, eggnog, and mistletoe kisses. We are supposed to be kind to our fellow man, etc. We are supposed to be patient with those who are less fortunate and/or disabled. We are supposed to be happy for our friends and loved ones who embark on a new challenge.

We are NOT supposed to judge.

This Thanksgiving, I judged, and I feel badly, so I am coming clean right here on my blog that has at least two readers. I judged one very over-bearing, hard to get along with person…for being just that. It almost ruined my Thanksgiving, until I took a deep breath and checked myself.

You see, it wasn’t just MY Thanksgiving. It wasn’t all about me. Yes, I do like things to be all about me, but don’t we all? However, when one finds oneself in a small space with a dozen or more people, and loses one’s shit because of a loud, rude person monopolizing every conversation, one needs to examine one’s options. One could try one or more of the following:

  1. Vacate said premises immediately, quietly and politely, of course.
  2. Get another plate of food and eat until one falls asleep in the corner with the dog.
  3. Find the key to the liquor cabinet…open it and climb in. (Make sure to close the door)
  4. When said person goes outside for a cigarette, lock the door.
  5. Smile and try not to look at the clock so often. The clock still works.
  6. Talk to a kid. Any kid in the room. Kids don’t care who is rude, drunk, loud, etc. Kids just want someone to turn the TV to cartoons. Watch cartoons with the kid.
  7. Play on your phone. So many people do it now, it’s not considered rude. Play a game. Text anyone/everyone, “HELP ME.” Write your feelings. You can do that on a phone. There’s a ‘Notes’ app. Use it. F-words are completely acceptable.
  8. Lastly, if the first seven options are unacceptable to you, take the most painful option and just wait. Said person has to go home sometime. One can only hope.

I’m not quite sure how I managed to include the word ‘one’ at least 9 times in this post. I digress and even imagine I’m a writer from the olden days. You know, those days when there were a lot fewer people and using the word ‘one’ instead of ‘I’, ‘we’, or ‘they’ seemed appropriate.

One wonders if there were annoying people at those Thanksgivings?

Wishing you all a Happy Holiday Season. Be kind. Be patient. Be Fabulous. You know you are!!

Doctors and Scholars and School Bells, Oh My!

Go on. Go ahead and ask me. I can wait. Okay, I can’t wait, so here goes. I’m back in college! But this time, I’m going for the BIG FISH. Yeppers, I will be studying for my Doctorate of Education in Organizational Leadership at Grand Canyon University in Phoenix. Most of my studies will be online, but I will also attend a week-long residency once a year on campus.

Am I excited? Oh yes. Enough to pee.

Am I mortified? Hell yes. Enough to pee.

Am I smart enough to earn a Doctorate? Oh gosh, I sure hope so, as I’m still in shock over the cost of the Student Loan for which I’m responsible. And I’m quite sure “Buyer’s Remorse” is not an option for withdrawal.

There are 21 of us hopeful scholars at this time, and we have to interact online by posting discussion questions, etc, and giving feedback (and accepting feedback…UGH). So far I’ve posted 8 times, and my grade is currently an A. No big whoop, as it’s just the first week and I probably won’t be flunking out until at least next week. Introductions are easy. After introductions week comes the SEVEN LAYERS OF HELL. Or so I’m told.

The diversity of my classmates blows me away. There are athletes, teachers, stay-at-home Moms, a stay-at-home Dad, a firefighter, several school administrators, and a partridge in a pear tree.

Sorry, dang Christmas songs are everywhere…already.

Well, folks, now that I have something ongoing about which I can passionately write, I’m looking forward to venting here. Join me. We will put our heads together and come up with something clever. We are, after all, scholarly and doctoral-minded.

Well, one of us is. The other one is probably just here for the pizza and beer. Or cannibus.

That’s college-worthy, right? My overly-exercised brain thinks so, anyway.

Cannibus. Definitely the cannibus.

Depression. Grief. Anxiety. All Dangerously Real.

I probably should have started my recently rejuvenated blog in a lighter manner, but I wanted to write about issues that were on my mind right away, so my thoughts were fresh and true. That being said, I’m going to jump right in.

About two years ago, my world began crumbling and the downward spiral was practically debilitating. My partner of 21 years fell ill and, for seven months before she passed, she was shuffled back and forth between hospitals and nursing homes. I followed the ambulances, and did my best to be by her side as much as possible. Without going into a lot of detail about her illness, it was a heartbreaking period of time for all concerned.

Days and nights blended into one another, as I tried to deal with my own health issues and finances while advocating for her rights and fighting for her to get decent care. I am not detailing Joan’s (my partner) illness in this post because she was an extremely private person and would not have wanted her suffering shared on the internet. My message here is to relay the toll depression, grief, and anxiety play on an already taxed individual.

At the ripe old age of 67, I grew up “old school” where you didn’t run to the therapist or pop a Xanax when you had a loved one get sick, or experienced other difficult issues in your life. So, when Joan fell ill, I ignored some dangerous warning signs of my own as time went by.

My depression either had me forgetting to eat at all or binging. When I was at home, I sat in front of the TV and stared at it, hardly moving, and frequently sleeping the night through while sitting straight up in the chair in my living room. Anxiety seemed to come in the middle of the night, and sleep became nearly impossible. I walked around in a zombie-like state for months.

Joan’s illness progressed quickly, and even though I knew things were most likely not going to improve, I kept praying and kept my vigil by her side as long as I could. She passed away in March of 2019, and to this day, grief and sadness take up a part of my daily life. The grief is ever-changing and becoming more manageable, but what I really want to convey is that it’s not something that can be completely controlled. It may look like everything’s fine on the outside, but the inside is where the truth lies.

I should have reached out for help. I am a strong woman, but it just about broke me. I didn’t listen to anyone who suggested for me to seek a specialist or therapist. People I loved the most, and those who loved me, gave me sound advice, and I didn’t listen. I was stubborn and determined to handle everything, including my mental and physical health issues, myself.

Of course, my plan of action, which was no plan and no action, especially after Joan died, was a fail. I ended up with a serious issue of edema with my legs, which impeded any mobility progress I had previously made. I also had kidney failure and was admitted to the hospital last New Years’ Eve.

That’s when I realized, after the doctor came in and told me I’d better start taking care of my self, that my old-school ways were hurting me. Joan wouldn’t have wanted to see me like that. All who knew her would agree that she would have read me the “riot act.” Indeed!

Shortly thereafter, I began doing good, positive things for my health and reaching out for help from people who have experience with depression, anxiety, and grief. I’m still not seeing a therapist, but my health issues other than that have improved greatly, and I’m finally getting up the courage to seek professional help with my mental health issues as well.

To anyone going through pain from loss, please know that this is not something you can do alone. You need help. We are social beings. We are not meant to solve everything ourselves. It’s too much for the 10% of our brains we actually use. I say this with the utmost sincerity and reverance for your life and well-being.

Thank you for visiting. Please feel free to leave your comments below. I am not a professional of any type. I’m just writing my feelings. And I really appreciate your stopping by to read them.

Old Broad’s Perspective

Hello internet! First day back on What’s in Terri’s Head in a very long time! I’m in the mood to share and it’s time to start writing again. That being said, I have been wrestling with the whole theme, idea, or writing purpose, if you will, that I wish to convey. Sure, I want you to read my blog, but I want to enjoy writing it. That’s why I’m back. I’m hoping this is the beginning of much writing (and reading, on your part) enjoyment!

Since I left you, my partner of 21 years, Joan, passed away (last year) and it’s been a long, painful road through grief and toward recovery. I’m not there yet, and I expect I will be working through my issues for some time to come. However, my outlook toward life has greatly improved and I’m doing okay now, for an old broad.

I will catch you up on the two year lapse in future posts, but for now I want to say hello and welcome back! I even hope to get some new readers, so if you like my ramblings, please recommend me to a friend or two.

What will you have to gain by reading my blog? Well, I sincerely hope you will see an honest, sometimes blunt approach to life at my age. There’s a lot of misconception, misinformation, and down-right misguided assumptions about people of a certain age out there. I’m not just stating opinion; I have real-life experiences and facts with which to share my perspective.

An old broad’s perspective. I like it! I think I’ve found my niche, or at least a place to start! Please check back often, as I’m hoping to share every day I’m able.

Embrace your Lazy

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Do you ever wake up and not want to make your bed? Or brush your teeth?

Or remain upright? Yea, me too.

I am lazy.

There are different types of laziness. Some people are just lazy in their dreams, meaning they think about not doing stuff, but they eventually muster up enough chutzpah to get stuff done anyway. Those people are Lazy Wannabees. They work hard for an hour or two all their lives while dreaming of retirement, a beach chair, a good book, and a pina colada containing lots of rum and one of those tiny umbrellas. Whatever gets you through the day, I suppose. My dream would include a mug of hot Bailey’s and Coffee, hold the umbrella, and park my ass in a rocking chair on the porch of a cabin in the mountains.

However, I’m probably lazier than that, so let’s press on.

Other folks might be Selectively Lazy. This type of person has no problem leaving her bed unmade, but will painstakingly brew the perfect cup of coffee, if it takes her all morning. She might leave a sink full of dirty dishes, but vacuum twice a day because it feels good to have control over a naughty, ferocious, roaring beast loud piece of heavy equipment. Actually, she might have some other issues, but we won’t go there in this post. A selectively lazy person might sit in an easy chair for hours, and not get up for food, beverage, or to use the facilities. She has either found the perfect book, is binging the latest Netflix original, or lost in thought, contemplating world domination peace. Selective laziness. It’s a thing.

I’m pretty close to being that lazy.

The next level of laziness moves beyond selective and lands right smack in the “you should be ashamed of yourself” category. This person is lazy beyond reasonable comprehension, yet still manages to somewhat contribute to society. I call this type of lazy Downhill Slide Lazy. If you fall in this category, you never make your bed. Hell, sometimes, you can’t even find your bed for all the clothes, beer bottles and pizza boxes lying around. You manage to show up for work, but you don’t smell very fresh. You wonder about that look everyone is giving you, but soon your thoughts move on to a lunch menu and how many bath room breaks you can get away with before being fired. Your love life is lacking, as well, unless you are so attractive your partner(s) can forgive the smell or your inability to provide them any stimulation other than an occasional grunt of approval.

I’m pretty sure I’m not that lazy. I have a sensitive nose. I think I’d know.

My kind of lazy can’t really be pigeonholed. Some days, I don’t make the bed. Some days, I don’t do dishes or vacuum. That vacuum cleaner holds no power over me or my dominatrix tendencies.

What?

Most of the time, I use the fact that I am retired to excuse my lack of productivity, whether it be housework or reaching my projected writing word-count goal for the day. Also, my mind wanders. I don’t like multitasking, but my brain is still recovering from a life-time of meetings, deadlines, annoying coworkers, and office potlucks. Anyone who has not yet retired will find out about this soon enough. It’s like a train going full-speed for forty years and then trying to come to a complete stop immediately. Your scrambled brain spawns laziness at this point to protect you from possible impact resulting in internal combustion and/or the zombie apocalypse, whichever concept appeals to you. This might be Preventive Laziness. No judgement. No apologies. No regrets. It’s okay.

You do you. I’ll do me.

**DISCLOSURE:  The above is only conjecture. My personal coping mechanism, if you will. Kind of like a child sucking her thumb or grasping her blankie. I need to rationalize my behavior, and then soothe my tendency to over-compensate by eating my feelings. It’s not my fault if I don’t possess the rational facts to back it all up. Not to worry, though. No animals, doctors, or therapists were harmed by this post.

But, let me make one thing perfectly clear. I am still not making my bed today.

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Clap. Laugh. Repeat.

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Recently, on a mission to stave off boredom while calming my anxiety issues, I turned to YouTube for enlightenment. And when I say enlightenment, I mean anything that keeps my brain from atrophy. Turned out, I uncovered a gold mine of frolicking good fun and a level of weirdness I had never quite experienced before.

In video number one, an attempt to answer an age-old question, “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” had me falling out of my chair in convulsions of laughter. I’m not so sure I reached enlightenment, but my stomach is still sore from the belly-laughs.  Check it out. I will wait…

YouTube video number one

The apparent Zen boss guy attempted to approach the one-hand clapping question as a kaon, which is a story or question used in Zen practice to test a student’s progress. It is expected to lead to higher enlightenment. I understand the concept, but my brain works in strange and mysterious ways, attempting to find the humor in everything, especially things I don’t understand.  This has landed me in hot water more times than I can convey.

After my chuckle-fest, I collected myself and moved on to other thoughts, but my mind kept reverting to that video. The Zen boss guy slapped the student guy, which I assumed was either the example of a sound of one hand clapping, or a punishment for a non-compliance issue of some sort. I really didn’t care, because in my mind’s eye, I saw air-clapping…someone trying to clap at air with one hand. I even tried it myself. Epic fail. But funny nonetheless.

Not to be dissuaded by Zen boss guy, I perused some other You Tube videos on said subject, and I discovered some people really can make a sound of one hand clapping. It was underwhelming, but for the lack of anything else with which to entertain you, please enjoy this next video. I will wait…

You Tube Video number two

The guy in video number two is kind of creepy, am I right?  I fancy myself as a forward-thinking, liberal, change-accepting, Zen kind of girl, but that guy is the stuff of which nightmares are made. Stephen King could write a horrifying story around this video. I would watch it. But still CREEPY.

And yet, I laugh. Again and again. For some reason, this is funny to me. My partner just stares at me every time a commercial comes on TV mentioning one hand clapping (for which I could not find a video. Sorry). I immediately start chuckling and trying to clap with one hand. It never gets old. It is equally funny. Every. Single. Time.

There must be something wrong with me. A chemical imbalance, perhaps. Hormonal issues. Fucked up chakra. I am not worthy!

But I am not sorry, either! No apologies. No regrets. That shit was funny! Oh my gosh, I’m laughing now. There goes the hand!  I tried to make my own one hand slapping video, but my nails are a mess. And I’m camera shy. And I have an arthritic witch’s bump on my knuckle. Too much sharing? Another thing I do uncontrollably.

One-hand slapping has given me hours of happiness and laughter. It’s a thing. Like an ear worm, only without the ear. Or the worm. Just that one hand, and that lonely, fucking hilarious clapping.

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Oh gosh, there I go again. 

Thanks for stopping by.  I think I will research meditating. It’s so peaceful in my head right now. Perhaps I can expound on that and reach new heights of self-awareness. Oh wait, never mind. It’s just nap time.

 

 

Pat Winchester Booth

Today, I am tickled pink. Why? Because I am hosting my very first guest blogger on What’s in Terri’s Head?!!

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Pat Winchester Booth has been an online friend of mine for years, and I have been a fan of her unique blog, Mining towns in Canada, Reminiscing about growing up for just as many years. Pat is brilliant, outspoken, articulate, and witty. She has led an amazing life, with all its ups and downs, and relentlessly pursues and cultivates happiness and knowledge on a daily basis. I am quite in awe of this lovely, talented woman, and am very proud she has graced me with her virtual presence and words.

 

Without further ado, I present Pat Winchester Booth!

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My name is Pat.
I started blogging in 2007.
My site is Mining towns in Canada. Reminiscing about growing up. I wrote about all the towns I lived in. They were company towns, many in isolation and it’s a time gone by. I wanted to leave a record of that unique life style.
It was a voyage of discovery. I understood myself better and what makes me tick. It was cathartic and a nostalgic visit to my family and childhood.
I’ve had over 45,000 readers and have reunited many childhood friends who were able to contact each other through the blog. Central Patricia gold mines and snow lake were popular.
In between, I posted other thoughts and irrelevant musings.

What I am, what I think, what I write is all the “product” of  living in mining towns in Canada.

pagesep2(from September 25, 2014 issue of Mining towns in Canada. Reminiscing about growing up)

When I was much younger I saw a movie called “Auntie Mame”(1955), A character named “Gooch” got pregnant and did all the “pregnant lady” moves: The walk, the duck feet position, hand on hip & bend, moan and groan etc. I promised myself that I would NEVER do that, and when I was pregnant, both times, it came to mind and I was careful of my comportment, shall we say?

Fast forward to old age…I watched elderly people walk across parking lots and in stores and promised myself that I would never walk that way: waddle, duck feet pointing outward, stiff, agonizing movement.

PAT! GET OVER YOURSELF! I know there are many reasons for people of our age to struggle to walk. I always sympathized with all of them, I just didn’t want to BE one of them.

I don’t mind being old. There are lots of perks and the most important one is that I am still alive and well.

I do have my moments of Gooch-likeness”, especially when sitting for more than 15 minutes, then trying to make it across the room elegantly. (Doesn’t work).

This week, we tackled some physical work (up & down 13 steps with lots of bending) The Aleve didn’t relieve it much, and I had a couple of days of waddling, swaying etc. and I thought “this is it now, old age has set in”.

I’m happy to report that I’m back to normal today, and I concede that my normal could be pretty ancient looking to a 19 year old. I really don’t care, and this is one of the perks I referred to above: thinking about such nonsense, and the audacity to say it!

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(From  About “Mining Towns in Canada” Site)

An Experienced Pet Lover

My husband says “If it weren’t for…

  • The chewing
  • The piddling
  • The walking
  • The scooping
  • The barking
  • The snarling
  • The training
  • The feeding
  • The Vet bills
  • The grooming
  • The brushing
  • The shedding
  • The drooling
  • The dog sitting
  • The chasing
  • The fleas
  • …he would get another dog”.

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Thank you, Pat! I appreciate you so very much!

Everyone, please visit Pat’s blog when you have some reading time. You won’t be disappointed! Also, please leave your thoughts and comments below, as I’m sure Pat will enjoy hearing from you!