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.

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.

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.

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.

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 blah… You 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.

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.

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

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.

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.