Iced Karma Coffee

Implied Intimacy - Reading Verses the Audiobook (subtitled: A Hayden Panettiere Experience)

2026-08-31T15:48:22.151-04:00

I love to read. I love books. I finally HAD to move to a Kindle after swearing I would never give up having a book in my hands, turning the pages, because I had run out of places to hold my books. There simply aren't establishments to sell or donate them in our electronic world. It took some adjustment, but I do love my Kindle; it goes everywhere with me, and the instant-purchase feature is a reader's heaven.

The problem with being a reader is TIME. I don't have the time to read as much as I want, which led me to do a second thing I thought I would never do - using audiobooks rather than reading exclusively. I am very picky when it comes to my audiobooks; I only listen to non-fiction and biography books. Fiction is saved for relaxed, extended reading time. I have found this to be a great solution for limited reading time - until I finished my last audiobook just a few weeks ago: This Is Me, A Reckoning, by Hayden Panettiere.

Photo from https://nordic.ign.com

The book is really personal and completely open. She speaks frankly of all her demons, mistakes, and regrets. I had planned to read this one, but when I saw the audiobook on sale AND it is read by Hayden, I downloaded the audio immediately.

I have watched this woman grow up on the screen before me. One of my favorite movies of all time is REMEMBER THE TITANS, the first movie I also saw Ms. Panettiere in. While it is widely agreed that the strongest performance in that movie was Denzel Washington as Coach Herman Boone, it could be said that Hayden's portrayal of Sheryl Youst, the spunky, football-loving, quick-tongued daughter of Coach Youst (Bill Patton), nearly eclipsed all her adult castmates. Every single line she delivered with precise emotion and flair, especially for a ten-year-old.

Immediately after reading her book, I rewatched REMEMBER THE TITANS, something we always do the week before high school/college football starts. It was fun to hear her memories and watch the scenes with fresh eyes from that perspective. After finishing that, I decided to watch Nashville, her last series she starred in. I might check out Heroes as well because she had such positive things to say about it, but I have to finish the Southern-drawl, music-heavy, somewhat campy, primetime soap that is Nashville. It has six seasons, with nearly 20 episodes each; I am still watching it, catching a few episodes a night and binge-watching on the weekend.

In Panettiere's book, she described this as one of the worst and most painful times of her life. It wasn't the show, but the fact that it was mirroring her personal life side by side. In the show, she dealt with fame, relationship disasters, pregnancy, birth, postpartum depression, substance abuse, relapse, rehab, domestic abuse, and getting sober. Watching any season from 2 on now, I realize the pain she was showing was true and personal, and must have been a nightmare to act out on screen, all the while going home to it afterward.

August 17th was a Monday, and I had come off a weekend binge of NASHVILLE. The news came across my screen at work that Hayden Panettiere had been found dead in an apartment of the brother of her ex (who she had described as abusive and had a protection order). My heart dropped. It felt crushing. I had watched an interview with her from just a few months ago, and she talked about being sober, working on her relationship with her daughter and her father, and most notably breaking free from a co-dependent, abusive relationship. She had hope, and there had been a sparkle in her eye, and then she was gone.

My heart still feels heavy. For one thing, this is a woman lost to substance abuse, a narcissistic mother, the crap that is Hollywood (especially for child stars, abusive relationships, depression, mental illness, and yes, fame. She was young, and through her book she was trying to REbuild a life; she was just trying to BUILD a life from the remains of extreme trauma and CPTSD. For me, it was an enlightening view of just how much listening to an audiobook (especially in the author's own voice) brings you a feeling of intimacy with their life.

I have felt this before in books such as EVERYTHING IS PERFECT by Kate Nason, THE HOUSE OF MY MOTHER by Shari Franke, and THE TELL by Amy Griffin, just to name a few. These books were written in their own words and then read with their own voice for the audio copy. It hits so much harder. You believe these experiences, and you can digest them in a way that you, or at least I can, relate them to your life and your feelings. While I feel these books would have touched me in print, I believe they are more powerful in the author's Audible voice.

Knowing this about the audiobooks has changed my view and consideration of them. I will continue to listen and enjoy, but I wonder if I will listen a little more deeply when I hear it read in the author's voice. It feels like they are talking directly to you when it is in that form, and that creates intimacy and connection with the listener. I felt in my heart - a painful, heavy sadness when Panettiere's death came up in my notifications. I never knew her, but since she allowed herself to be so open and vulnerable (she said she wanted to help others with her story as well as herself) with her book and voice, she has touched me - and thousands of other, I am sure.

Rest in Peace, Sweet Angel.

The Big Beautiful Belugas -Please Leave the Decisions to the Experts

2026-08-25T22:56:42.402-04:00

I have had to purposely step away from social media in the past few weeks. We all know that Facebook, Instagram, and X follow and create algorithms to keep attention pouring in. I have been intently following the rescue of the Beluga Whales from the defunct Marineland in Canada, so social media has been showing me every story about this rescue. It has been my desire for some years now to interact with them. Morgan, my daughter, did that for her 30th birthday. The joy from both her and the Beluga was clearly evident. They say Belugas are like huge water puppies - loving and playful. So, yes, I am so appreciative of The Shed in Chicago, the Georgia Aquarium, and the SeaWorld parks that are taking these babies.

The negative reactions and comments to these moves are over the top. So many keyboard warriors have quickly become marine biology experts overnight. The two biggest calls are to put them in a Beluga Sanctuary - none of which successfully exist - or to drop them out into the ocean to be free. The latter suggestion is simply a death sentence. These animals were born in captivity; they lack the skills to survive. They would die, but not before experiencing starvation, disease, or attacks from predators. That sure doesn't seem the humane thing to do.

As I read these comments, I found myself trying to explain this - over and over and over. And look, I know I am no marine biologist, but I am, at least, informed. So when I came across a comment from a woman saying she will never go to SeaWorld again because she is claiming the animals are mistreated, kept in tiny pools, and made to perform, I had to take to the keyboard. But rather than go down the rabbit hole of this entire controversy, I made one last comment to her and stepped away from social media. When I pounded out the text, I decided to drop that comment here so that when I am able to see these beautiful marine babies in the future, I will remember how uninformed and uneducated some can be.

So, you visited SeaWorld and walked around?

Did you bother to take any of the backstage educational programs? Did you question how big the pools are, or how many animals they have rescued and returned to the wild, or how many they have offered a permanent home to and cared for those that couldn't be? You saw 1/10th of the Beluga area. They have so much more space that is not seen by casual park-goers. The theme park's revenue funds much of SeaWorld's research and rescue efforts. That is thousands of marine creatures, seabirds, turtles, manatees, dolphins, and pinnipeds (seals, sea lions, and walruses) rescued and returned to the sea whenever possible.

The guidelines and self-imposed rules and restrictions that SeaWorld has put in place are far stricter than those of so many zoos and animal attractions. They no longer take Belugas, whales, or dolphins from the wild; that has been the case for DECADES. What we have learned from these animals is helping us better protect them and several endangered species in the wild. It also strikes me that no one is outraged by sharks in captivity, or even wolves, zebras, or any other animals. The outrage seems to stem from these animals having "human-like" traits, which evoke our emotions. They are social creatures and live in family pods, but because they were born in captivity, they also love human interaction. During COVID, many animals, marine and otherwise, became depressed until caretakers realized what they were missing; they were looking for the people to watch and interact with.

Whales, dolphins, sea lions, otters, and other marine animals/mamals are used in the shows, BUT they are free to do so or not. They open the gates so they can enter the stadium pools or attraction areas; if they choose not to, they are not forced. In the human-interactive dolphin experiences, they are waved over to the groups of people; if they choose not to interact, another dolphin is waved in. With their individual personalities, they interact in different ways, and some don't want to engage with the experience, so they aren't added to that program.

For SeaWorld, education and rescue are first and foremost, and raising awareness that our oceans are killing these creatures through pollution, hunting, and more. Our oceans are sick. If people are so adamant about these Belugas, why don't they care about that? There are many organizations pouring money into saving our oceans, SeaWorld included. Give them money, time, and social media awareness. OSearch - internationally known - seeks protection and education for the ocean's apex predator - the shark. They aren't cute and cuddly, but they are essential to human life.

Nature's food chain is being destroyed, and that is what we should care about most; it means our lives! Future generations must learn about these animals and care for them so they can thrive. Seeing the massive effort and care we are now putting into caring for these animals born in captivity is huge, and children are seeing that. EDUCATION is the way forward to clean the oceans, stop hunting and trapping, and bring back endangered species, even those that aren't as social or cute as dolphins and whales.

That is the end of my comment to her, but I will add just a bit more here:

All animals, even those that often make humans' skin crawl or are feared (sharks, snakes, bats, bugs, gators, etc.), not only deserve a place on this planet, but also are needed to keep it healthy. We must learn about them, study them, and when necessary, care for them. Children seeing animals up close and learning about them is a huge part of that. Accredited parks, aquariums, and research facilities all do that It may not be perfect, but for these belugas it is rescue and blessing and I love following it all.

Note: several of these photos are not mine, and I claim no credit

Morgan's Adventure I hope to have one day:

And .... Survey Says: Who Are These People?

2026-08-03T15:01:57.200-04:00

During my recent month-long break from my job, I confess I developed a bit of a new addiction. Mother Nature is determined to cook everything in sight with these record-setting temperatures. When she is not doing that, she is dumping downpours of humid, slimy rain that keeps me off the beach or out of the pool. I am left inside, trying not to scroll as my mind rots over reels and stories on social media platforms. Instead of all that mindless dribble, I thought I would go old school and turn on the idiot box, aka the TV, and see what was on when I normally would be at work. One simple click on the free streaming service Pluto, and up popped the selections, including the 24-hour FAMILY FEUD with Steve Harvey station; down the rabbit hole I went.

I loved the show from the beginning, back before COVID, before ME TOO, even before the world panic over the AIDS outbreak. I mention this because, well, I am THAT old. I remember Richard Dawson, the show's original host, kissing every single woman on the mouth who came on the show. Female contestants could not get away; it might even have been in the contract they had to sign to get on the show. The show began in 1976 with Richard Dawson, followed by Ray Combs, Louie Anderson, Richard Kern, John O'Hurley, and now, long-running Steve Harvey. Fifty years of "the survey of 100 people says"...: It is a time capsule through every incarnation of the show.

Over the years, many of the same questions have been repeated, but the answers from 100 people surveyed have changed drastically. As expected, the answers that have to do with relationships and sex have become more open and also applicable to include all gender identities. Social, religious, and political subjects have shifted too, and people feel safer expressing them. The questions haven't changed, but the answers could be the subject of a 50-years-of-shifting-views-and-values documentary for Netflix. Pop culture personified in surveys.

What hasn't changed, and probably what makes the show so appealing, is the answers people come up with. WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE and WHERE ARE THEY COMING FROM? After all, they are out there; they find them; they live among us!

One quick search on YouTube and you can find many stupid answer highlights from the show. Things like:

Question: Tell me a word that comes after PORK?
Answer: Q-pine (as in porcupine)

Question: Tell me something about Peter Pan that is different from the average boy?
Answer: They make better peanut butter

Question: Name a dirty job you wouldn't want to do, but someone has to do it?
Answer: A gynecologist

The list goes on and on. I get it, you are under pressure, your mind has to work fast, but somethings....

"Tell me something you can't do with your eyes open but only can do with your eyes closed." And with a straight face, given more than one shot, the man said: READ. This one nearly took Steve Harvey out! He was pretty much left speechless - but not without those eye-rolls of his!

I shouldn't judge, and really, I am not, but it makes me laugh every time someone gives a really stupid answer - and then doubles down on it! Can you imagine the ribbing these people take when they return home to their friends and co-workers! And Steve's expressions are just the best. The man is quick in thought too! I love how he comes up with this stuff!

The best I have to say, and with great admiration, I have seen are the questions that are asked where they have to pass or play - and neither contestant buzzes in!

This show might be junk food for the mind, but I think it might take just a little bit more brain power than simply scrolling and swiping. I wonder if we will ever see a follow-up to some of these families and marriages! There is a fun reel to watch of questions that did or could have led to divorce (not to be opened at work or with children):

All in all, it is a fun addiction to have. When I want to just let my mind go of my own problems, and realize there are stranger families in this world than mine, I tune in. I figure there have been people who have seen my own family out somewhere, looked at us, and thought, "Who are these people?" And they are probably right to be wondering... maybe I should see what it takes to get our family on The Feud!

Note: I do not own the rights to these videos or photos, sharing or the purpose of illustration only.

Tortoise And The Hare - Mind Verses Body

2026-06-15T15:31:53.808-04:00

Stats:

Beginning Week 4

Total Weight loss 5.5 pounds

Realistic pounds to goal weight 39.8

Hopeful final pounds to lose 49.8

Today begins my fourth week on the Wegovy Pill. After my introductory post on this subject, I had planned to update at least weekly, but hey, life got in the way, so here I am, recording results as time allows.

As I have settled into this routine, I have started looking at this journey as the fable of the Tortoise and the Hare. My head is the Hare for sure, and my body is taking the personification of the Tortoise. I am working hard for my slow-and-steady body to win this race.

Going on the meds, I have the understanding that the loss isn't going to be quick; with the pill, the loss is slower than with the shot. Human nature is predictable; my hare-brained knows this fact, but it is having a hard time accepting it. And, in a good way, it is a good thing. My body reminds me to do the right things despite my turtle-plodding scale.

When I decided to go on the medicine, I carefully looked into what I needed to eat, the amount of water to drink, and the worry of all the side effects that could happen. I consulted with my doctor, and besides the prescription, knowing my health as he does, he gave me some good advice. He told me to not try drastically adjusting my eating all at once. It takes a while for the medicine to build up in the system, and the food noise won't go away or even lessen right away - and aversion to some unhealthy foods might take even longer.

Of course, my hare-brain wanted to step on the scale after week one with a ten-pound loss, but my turtle-body wasn't having it. A total loss that week, two pounds. Only two pounds! But I hadn't once been nauseous, no headaches, no stomach distress, nothing, I felt the same. And I ate the same as I had been; the difference was that, despite what I ate, I had lost two pounds!

Two more weeks went by, and the loss continued, even though the diet hadn't been completely followed. As the medicine is working, I am feeling less hungry, and my portions have decreased significantly because I fill up faster. I am slowly eliminating processed, fatty, and carb-heavy food. I don't feel deprived, and food isn't my constant devil on my shoulder. Also, and this is a big one, I still haven't experienced those dreadful side effects everyone speaks of.

I did worry this morning when I stepped on the scale. I have a friend in, and we have enjoyed eating out as well as some really good food at home. It has also been in the high 90s over the past few days, and those cold beers have been really good! I had braced for the scale this morning, wondering how much the number would go up.

To my surprise, my tortoise-body has been true to itself. Slow and steady. 1.5 pounds lost since last Monday, and exactly the same as Friday before I ate and drank so badly.

My doctor told me the exact thing - lose the weight slowly as you learn to eat better, listening to what your body needs, and making the adjustments. Do not try to do it all at once; you will be discouraged. In fact, I am just the opposite now - so encouraged.

-Just like everyone, I would love to take the pill and POOF my weight is gone. I also know that shots generally show quicker results, but the pill keeps the weight loss managed better in the long run, at least for me. I know now that the key is just keep moving forward and making adjustments, and hopefully, at least my mind and body will cross that finish line at the same time!

NOTE: I own the rights to my writing. Photos and memes are NOT owned by me; I take no credit for them.

Before I Even Get Started

2026-06-01T16:08:30.970-04:00

I have thought long and hard about sharing this, let alone writing about it in a publicly accessible place. Everyone has an opinion on everything, and this can be a touchy subject. But I want to record this road I am traveling on, even if just for me. The best way I know is to write. For me, writing is best when I am doing it for an audience - therefore, the journey on my blog begins,

As of last week, I started on the Ozempic Micro-dose Pill. This choice didn't come easy, without thought, without research, and, most importantly, without the guidance and testing from my doctors and medical team. They wrote the prescription, and they are following my progress.

For a long time now, I have been struggling with the increase on the scale. I faced this challenge in my late 40s and took it head-on. In nine months, I lost six dress sizes, over-the-top inches, and nearly 60 pounds. I was in the best shape of my life, and it was hard as hell to get there. I stayed on a 1,200 to 1,500 for months. I exercised daily, and then I went to exercising twice a day, three or four times a week. I was driven, and it paid off.

I maintained for about three years, and then complications struck. My thyroid numbers went wonky, probably because of perimenopause. I was diagnosed with a rare disease that makes me clumsy as a penguin on stilts. I was falling a lot. Then, on one October morning, I took a single misstep on our stairs. I managed to fall down four stairs, shattering my tibia, knee cap, fibula, and microfracturing my femur. I didn't realize it at the time, so I thought I could stand up and take myself to the hospital, only to fall down the rest of the stairs and break my ankle. It was a long recovery time, and I couldn't put weight on my leg at all for almost nine months. Life was sitting - A LOT OF SITTING - and zero exercise, which extended well over six months until PT began.

The weight began to inch up. A pound or two with another birthday, a fluctuation in my thyroid numbers, and then finally, one horrible boat accident that re-shattered the leg broken those years before. This was a doozy in a different way. In addition to the several bones broken, I shredded my patellar tendon, and it had to be rebuilt. Not only could I not walk on it for nine or more months, but I also couldn't even bend it. It was not fun sitting anywhere but in the recliner - restaurants, cars, or flying economy on a plane - impossible. Back on my butt I went. This recoup was joined by a good deal of depression and self-medicating with food. The pounds were out doing themselves - packing on way too fast.

Well over a year ago, while still dealing with rehab, I decided it was enough. I remembered my journey all those years ago, and I tried to implement that plan again. Reduced calories in, more energy out. Clean eating, a healthy lifestyle, and exercise daily. AND.... to my dismay, not only did the scale not go down, it was going up no matter what I did. For the first time in my life, not only was I gaining weight, it was going all around my middle. No matter what I have weighed in life, I have always had a small waist. Now it was expanding.

I went to one of my doctors, and he gave me the tried and true answer whenever women "my age" are fighting weight, "hormones and menopause, you just have to live with it." I couldn't accept that. I started researching a lot of different things, and my endocrinologist was actually the one who first suggested the weight-loss shot. I was pretty resistant. I doubled down on trying to lose weight my way.

My way was working. The only thing working was my scale, and it was going to blow a fuse if it had to go much higher. I broke down and went to my primary. I told him why I was there, and he told me it was time to get my health better AND confront the weight gain head-on. We discovered some underlying conditions we didn't know about and addressed them. We leveled out my blood pressure with meds. We followed my food and weight for a couple of months. Then it was time to start the medicine. We both agreed the micro-dose pill would be the best, and despite my insurance's denial, I picked up the prescription cash in hand.

Which leads me to this turning point today. One week on the meds and I am going to begin the recording of this path I am on - it will be another post, but for today, I feel good with my explanation to myself. I gave myself permission to surrender to the fact that with my body, it isn't just about hard work and self-control; if it were, I would have been skinny a long time ago.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to these images.

Choices and the Apologetic State

2026-04-28T20:57:50.505-04:00

Choices are hard. For a trauma survivor (CPTSD especially), choices are especially difficult. Everything about your nervous system screams for "SAFETY." This is not a conscious thought; it is deeply etched into our souls, minds, and bodies.

When you have learned to defer to other people for everything in your life, from what to wear to where to eat, to permission to make plans and then what plans to make, or even something as simple as picking out an item in the grocery store, you have lost not only the ability to make a choice but also yourself in your soul.

While you are living in this state, biology takes over, and you don't even realize it. Depression, apathy, a constant need to make things better, and continual apologies, even when there is nothing to apologize for, have become your outward self. It isn't who you are, but you have been in that state so long that you don't even realize there is an authentic person inside you, longing to get out. Because self-realization is so slow to come, many find themselves joyless without it.

Only by being true to yourself and making yourself a trusted friend, rather than giving all those choices and decisions to someone else, can happiness be found.

I know, many don't believe it, but those who have lived through it stand on fragile ground when trying to put themselves first. For me, I called it my apologetic state. I felt guilty about anything and everything. I just knew that, since I didn't control the situation or even fix it before it happened, it was my fault. This even happens when something has nothing to do with me. It is the paranoia that comes with shame.

Today was therapy day. Today was a hard day, but now that I have come to realize I can find my authentic self, I have the choice to make it happen or simmer in it. I am trying for the latter. For I must choose myself as well.

Choices are hard, embracing my ability to make and value my own choices - that is even harder. Sometimes growing is really hard, and I shouldn't have to apologize for that.

Writing - The Power of a Tight Old Six Pack and a Young Muffin Top

2026-04-13T15:20:00.003-04:00

After connecting on LinkedIn, someone asked me what type of writing I do. A simple question I have been asked before. I usually give a verbal (or written) resume of my published work. It varies from technical writing, advertisements, magazine articles, academic publications, social media blurbs, professional recommendations, grants, biographies, and many educational recommendations, just to name a few. Then I always mention the 17-year+ blog that I have continuously maintained. These pieces are deeply rewarding and serve as a progressive map of my writing skills.

I came into the blogosphere early, pretty much on the cutting edge. As the last of the Boomers on the cusp of becoming a GenX'er, other than those brainy geeks who created the internet, I was rare in how passionately I embraced electronic communication and the digitization of what had previously been handwritten journals. I was already a writer, one of those frustrated ones because no one was seeing my words, so a keyboard to the world was pretty much love at first touch.

All those Boomers couldn't see my fascination for it, and the GenXers were still too young to find the interest in learning technical operating languages or even see much fun in the newest thing - AOL in DOS! Yes, DOS created Instant Messages and unbelievably slow dial-up! I am not sure exactly why or how, but I learned all of it quickly. The internet equaled readership, and blogs were the on-ramp for the audience!

I didn't go to college until my children were graduating from high school. I majored in English. This choice was thanks to a wise professor who became my counselor. She told me that instead of going the route of Creative Writing, I should major in a brand-new degree in Professional and Technical Writing. At the time, it was projected that the path would become a money-making profession with an English Degree. Unless you want to teach or go on to Law School, you are likely to end up asking, "Would you like fries with that?" as your English degree job. Publication AND making money are the goals with creative writing, and so very few attain both, at least enough to support themselves. This advice has proved correct, as I have had a job in the profession that supports me.

How new were blogs as I went to college? As part of my degree, I had to take a Blogging class. It was groundbreaking at the time. I had already been doing it for four or five years, so the class was a breeze and enlightening! I had no idea so many young people hadn't discovered it already, especially Writing Majors! By the time that class was offered, sites were set up with a user-friendly platform. No programming, no coding to insert photos, and, most of all, an easy publish process and ready-made audience.

All of this is to explain that the path of blogging hasn't always been easy and definitely hasn't been mainstream. My first blog was on the site OPEN DIARY. I believe it is defunct or pay-only now. I had hundreds of entries there, but there was an ownership upheaval, and most bloggers left there and moved to the IN THE WIRE blog site. I have blogs in both spots, but I'm not sure I can access them now. I didn't download both of them about the time I left. They are on some jumpdrive somewhere. I ended up on BLOGGER because this was the site we used for that college class, and here I stay.

All of this history came to mind when I got the question in a LinkedIn message. It struck me how long I have been blogging and yet my blog is now on pace to go viral (at least for me). For years, I have had followers and a spattering of hits when I shared it on social media, but nothing to celebrate until about three or four months ago. One single piece, originally written 15 years ago, thrust my mindful and mindless meandering into the blog spotlight.

Give Me An Old Six Pack Over A Young Muffin Top is a piece I wrote right as I hit the big 5-0. I had spent the prior 18 months working out every day and eating absolutely clean. I was in the best shape I'd ever been. I am so glad I wrote and saved this piece. I look back on it with longing as time and circumstance have taken a toll since then; however, I stand by every word of it with conviction.

Sometime around Christmas of this past year, someone must have shared it with a decent-sized audience, because the hits went over the top (again, for me). I now login everyday to check my stats, just waiting for all the magic to end, but as of now, it hasn't. What it has done is pique its readers' interest in checking out other pieces, and my readership has grown to the point that I think I would be foolish not to consider monetizing it.

So, what do I write? A little bit of everything, and I have made money from my writing. There is enough good in my blog now that I seriously want to tend to it. I have been going over it in the last few weeks. Some entries I have made private as I don't want to overshare stories of my family, friends, and colleagues that might make some of them uncomfortable. I have edited them for grammar, punctuation, and structure. And I have come to realize how my social views have evolved greatly since some of those early pieces. In doing this, I am securing that this work, MY WORK, stays connected to me as the creator. I once worked for a company for which I created content for publication. They informed me that they would own the rights to the published pieces. As a naive beginning writer, I was excited just to be published and paid. That excitement turned sour when other people were publishing my work and putting their names in the byline. I complained, and the company said, "You aren't the author now; we are because we own it. If one of our clients wants to put their name on it, we are okay with that." That was the beginning of the end of me at that job, and it was the start of never writing something and giving away my ownership.

If my blog does nothing else, if no other post catches on, I will be okay. I will admit to occasionally throwing in a hashtag that grabs attention. Breast, sexy, and bikini seem to be real attention grabbers - go figure (insert eye roll here). I am sure that is why the Six Pack and Muffin Top got so much attention, but it is still a piece I really like. My blog is pretty cheap therapy; all I have invested is time. And I thank you for investing in it as well if you are still reading this exceptionally long diatribe.

In answer to the question at the beginning, I write anything and everything. Professional, personal, or even help for a friend. I will write. AND why not get paid (if I request) when I have ownership from now on.

Note: while all these words are mine - the memes are not - they are easily found and I do not profess to have made them or even think up the catchy phrases.

It Doesn't Have to Be This Way

2026-02-25T23:33:00.003-05:00

I know so many of my friends have been following the national story of Missing Nancy Guthrie, Savannah Guthrie's mother. I have great empathy for them, and have followed too; however, right here in our own area (New Hanover/Pender Counties), a close friend has been looking for her missing brother for over two months. I know he isn't a celebrity or even someone who would run in your circle, but he is every bit as important to his family as NG is to the National News.

photo from THE TODAY SHOW

Watching the Guthrie family struggle and come to terms with some probable truths, I wonder how many families all over are missing loved ones, wondering where they are and if they will ever be found. It is hard to comprehend in this day and time, with cameras everywhere, tracking software, and advanced technology, that someone can just fall off the face of the earth. But it happens so much, far too often. And it happens all too often with our marginalized populations.

There are approximately 600,000 missing persons each year, but over 2/3 of those are runaways or temporary absences, and the current number of missing persons in the caseload is 26,000. That is a huge number of families in pain, just like the Guthrie family.

Whenever I see someone pan-handling on a corner or sleeping unsheltered over a steam grate, I usually hear the saying, "there by the grace of God goes me." All the attention to the mother of a celebrity - her family misses her - but she is able to get visibility and media coverage, so much of it. I know my friend whose brother has been missing since early December, and they are hurting as much as the Guthrie family. For them, there isn't much visibility beyond what they can share on social media and through friends. With these high numbers, it will be hard to not know a family who has a child or spouse missing.

I hope for Savannah Guthrie's family soon. But moreso, tonight my heart is heavy for my friend and her beloved brother. Life certainly isn't fair, and I know it is crushing because I am feeling just a tiny bit of their pain, and it is tremendous - just as it is for thousands of others who are looking for that lost loved one.

No, As A Matter Of Fact, I'm Not Okay, And That Is Okay

2026-02-17T21:46:00.002-05:00

This has been a rough year, not going to lie. And yes, it is only February, but it started out difficult and has gone downhill in more than one way since then. But it isn't always or everything - I feel resilient and positive for the most part. Experiences or days cloud over me, but I know the rain is never long-lived, and everything that happens can be useful, especially with time and a clear mind. But in the meantime, ...

Some days just suck. Even on those days, life goes on. I get up and go to work. I do the dishes, manage chores, check in with friends and/or family, and feed the dogs. The list goes on and on. But still, on those days, I am not okay. My body feels heavy and sometimes nauseated. My shoulders ache, and my head pounds. The physical pain is easier to describe than the emotional toll. Anyone who has experienced heartache (and who hasn't) over a child, parent, spouse, friend, lover, or any number of things understands this. Depending on your response style to difficulty or trauma, you may cry, shut down, become agitated, sleep, become hyper-vigilant, or use a number of other coping mechanisms; we all have experienced it because we all have bad days.

It is on these days, especially, that I despise the response of 'fine' or 'okay'. It is reactive, an auto-response, and most people do it without a thought. We have conditioned ourselves to ask the question (how are you/how are you doing) as a greeting, not really expecting more than the standard response, and that response is conditioned too. It is my love of the English language that led me to try to change that noncommittal, noninterested, reactive response of 'fine' or 'okay'. I started looking for new words to convey just what kind of fine or okay I was. Positive responses such as wonderful, great, awesome come to mind, but there are also things like content, blessed, in a good place, feeling hopeful, and excited, all of which give so much more information. But then there are the bad days, the days when fine and okay are said in a tone just short of negative or crossing the line into total misery.

It is easy to see why we say just say 'fine' or 'okay' on those days. No one wants to explain to the checkout clerk at Walmart that your dog is sick, your daughter is struggling, your bank account is laughing at you, your mother is over-the-top, you have a sinus infection, an impossible deadline at work, you are fighting with your spouse or significant other over the same thing for the 100th time and a million other negative things.

When asked in all sincerity, sometimes you just don't want to share. But when you come into work looking like you spent the night punching yourself with a boxing glove and couldn't locate your makeup and blow dryer in the morning, people know you are not fine. So, what to say? Being polite doesn't mean you have to share or drop your boundaries. Most people, when they see you looking like you are not okay, are asking out of concern and kindness, so you don't want to hurt or offend them either. No one gave us the response in the manners book.

As mentioned, I have had some pretty bad days already in 2026. I also have some pretty caring and amazing people in my life. Because of this, and the fact that I am a notorious oversharer, I knew, unless I wanted to break down like a blubbering walrus in tears at the first greeting (and all subsequent ones) of the day, I needed to be prepared. I need to know the polite, respectful response. So I did what I always do when I don't know: I turn to journals and research to help figure it out.

All this to say, here are some recommended responses (from simple to a bit of humor) for when you are not okay:

I am struggling today, but thanks for asking.
I am not okay, but given a little bit of time, I will be
I am not really up to talking about it, but I sure could use a hug.
I am one minor coffee spill away from a major meltdown. Could we talk later?
Today is not my day.
I am definitely riding the struggle bus on this day trip.
I appreciate your concern, but I am not ready to talk about it right now.
I don't have the words but a little bit of time, and I am sure I will clarify.
I am in dire need of some chocolate, fuzzy animals, and some quiet time.
Honestly, not great, but I will survive.
Three slow breaths and a bit of grounding away from totally losing my mind
My anxiety has anxiety.

There are many more, but the point is made. You don't owe anyone an explanation, and you shouldn't be expected to give one when you aren't ready. Simply find a response from the above or within you that acknowledges their appreciation for asking and for being concerned. Then let the silence fill the void with understanding. Let's face it, in this day and age, everyone's hearts are heavy at one time or another, and the biggest show of support you can give is understanding, space, and time.

The Problem Is...

2026-01-28T15:45:00.003-05:00

Mental and Emotional Health Healing Changes the Very Core Of Relationships.

"Healing is the process of becoming whole or well again, involving the body's natural repair of physical wounds, the mind's recovery from emotional distress, and the spirit's integration of self, often through support from others, lifestyle changes, and cultural practices, leading to restoration of function, balance, and peace. It encompasses biological repair (tissue regeneration/scarring), psychological growth (coping and perspective shifts), and spiritual wholeness (connection and meaning)."

Healing is the core of what where my life currently is, and thanks to Google, the above is one of the most complete definitions I have come across. The fact that it mentions physical body healing alongside emotional/mental (trauma) recovery is what stood out to me. Because, yes, The Body really does Keep Score. I have stomach issues, headaches, reduced flexiblity and more from the stress I have experienced. Trauma plays havoc on the physical body. Never mind the medications I have to take, just the fact that I have an autoimmune disease makes my body go into overdrive. My own cells are attacking themselves, causing exhaustion, pain, and (thyroid) storms that mimic a major flu virus, sometimes lasting weeks on end.

Relationships are connected to everything we are. Being connected to someone (relationships) who lives with past trauma can be challenging. Too often, you may have to navigate their physical and emotional symptoms along with your own feelings. It can be a balancing game. However, most people who live their lives with unresolved trauma spend their time in fight, flight, freeze, or fawn mode. These are learned survival techniques based on a primal, deep-level instinct. Oftentimes, people have no idea that they are programmed this way. And, in turn, the people they are in relationships with have only known them this way. The give and take is unbalanced because a person with trauma usually experiences boundary issues, which prevents protective, healthy boundaries for themselves.

When the person is growing and changing, and the change, in this case, is for the good, even if it might not seem so at first, you have to break the dynamics of the existing relationships. Healing yourself includes rebuilding new, healthy connections, from co-workers, friends family, and especially with our most intimate partners. This is where it can get difficult.

When you come through therapy and start to find the real you inside, it is unfamiliar to others who are experiencing you from the other side. They will have to get to know this newer version of you - give grace - but you must find your footing and stand strong. If you can help them see this is a good thing, not a problem of you being confrontational or not allowing things as in the past, but a chance to be even better, it will be helpful.

The problem is - growth brings change, and change can be hard, scary, and difficult to navigate. I think of myself, the person I have been all my life, the person I still am, but now the REAL me, just with more confidence, love, and empathy for myself. I am becoming a whole person, not avoiding, fawning, or freezing. This will allow others to see who I am, not the person who puts everyone and everything before me. Hopefully, they will like who I am now as much as the person they first met and have liked/loved over the years, maybe even more.

I Have Grown Up - But I Am Just Now A Grown-up

2026-01-13T14:09:00.002-05:00

Since I became an adult (18 or 21, take your pick), I have often asked, "When do I get to be a grown-up?" The other day, I did something that wasn't easy, something I didn't necessarily want to do, even something that was pretty hard for me. I did it because it was the right thing to do, the ADULT thing to do; no one asked me to do it, and, in fact, I am not sure anyone even noticed. That is okay because I did it for me; it was the grown-up thing to do, and I knew it.

Through a lot of work on myself, from furthering my education, to exposing myself to differing views and people, to experiencing new things, I have been growing, but I wasn't there. I was still asking myself the question, but not coming up with an answer.

Being an adult - at least to me - is having the personal autonomy to feel assured of who you are, what you want, and how you choose to react to everything - from choosing to eat that calorie-laden brownie (or not), to deciding what sort of work you want, and, most importantly, deciding who you want to be in your life.

Up until now, I have lived as someone who asks permission or defers to the other voices in the room. That is what led me to ask the question about being a grown-up. As a child and teen, the adult is the one who makes the choices and decisions for you. In healthy family dynamics, parents/adults should gradually hand over age-appropriate decisions and choices to the child. This is how we learn to be grown-ups and be autonomous. However, even the healthiest of families have a hard time with this, and in a domineering dynamic home (abusive/controlling parent, controlled religion, substance abuse, etc.*), allowing autonomy is nonexistent.

When I entered adulthood, I didn't have those skills. Therefore, my choices and decisions were all too often handed over to peers, a spouse, friends, and, certainly, family. I never felt like I could give my input once someone else had given theirs. Even in the smallest things, like what TV show to watch or where to go to eat, I always deferred.

This was me, an adult without a true voice, without an understanding of being my authentic self; I was in no way equipped to be a grown-up. It is often said that every voice matters, but what about when a person doesn't even know they have a voice? That was me - until now, with several years of therapy, learning, reading, and taking time to understand myself, only then did I finally find my voice, and more importantly, my autonomy.

It has been a complicated journey, and I feel far from being where I want to be, but I finally feel it is a road I can walk. I feel like I am taking deep breaths, not out of fear, nerves, or anxiety, just the opposite, because I am becoming authentically me!

I grew up many years ago, but for the first time in my life, I now know I am one of the grown-ups in the room!

*Note, not all these things represent my family; I was simply giving examples.

2026 Snow Sparkles and the Driver's Seat

2026-01-04T19:11:00.003-05:00

Less than a week ago, I was sitting outside the USA for the first time since I was a teen. The snow was lightly kissing the ground as it faded away beneath the tires and steps of human existence. Canada, even sitting in the very heart of the city, is so peaceful. Toronto, one of the largest cities in North America, yet as 2026 began, the snow swirled, glistening in peaceful sparks of diamonds and crystals, so quiet outside my window. I didn't want firecrackers and sweet drinks; I was content with Canadian chocolate and, as they say in the North, a can of pop.

The year 2025, a year I had high hopes for, had slunk out the door, and I was glad to see it go. Don't get me wrong, it had its moments, but it ended with a hard clunk; I would have kicked it in the behind if I thought I could get it gone any sooner.

I try to pick a word every year that serves me. Not a resolution, just a single word, and I find a way to apply it in all ways. 2025 is the first year in nearly 20 years I haven't done that. Nothing worked, nothing felt right, and maybe that is a good thing. Many of those 365 days didn't earn a good word.

There really isn't a tragic story for 2025; it has just been so many days of challenges. I am trying to let it go. I spent a lot of time searching for healing and answers, most of which I am still working on. Just because the last digit of the year rolls over doesn't mean much when you are still in the fire of life changes.

The end of 2025 hit hard when it came to trust and belief in people. I have always badly wanted to see the best in people, but some people just don't have it in them. I can accept people failing; I do it again and again, but in my own healing, I have found it is the reason for the failure that matters - the motive and intention.

Mistakes, failures, and hurts that occur without malice but are driven by a person's own demons can be dealt with. That is what growth, therapy, and personal introspection are all about. In that, there is room for forgiveness, correction, and moving on.

What is not understandable or reasonably forgivable are those things that are done with selfish intention and subtle malice. That is what I can't wrap my head around. It makes it impossible to keep believing the best in someone.

Entering 2026, the snow sparkles are gone, replaced by the soft Carolina rain. The two countries provide such a contrast. I ended 2025 tired but clear-eyed. I left Canada much different from I entered it. I came back to the States just a little more reality-based. The USA has a harder edge - not the downy softness of Canadian coats, but more like a stiff trench coat - but both can be useful and productive. I choose that viewpoint - loving and using both when and as needed.

I have decided to look for a word that encompasses compassion and support for others who deserve it, while also making sure I care for myself. Many of my choices might surprise others, but 2026 will be a year when I determine my future and who I want to take that ride with. It might be a busload of people or just a two-seater, depending. But one thing I do know is that I will be doing the driving... and I would love to sit under that Canadian sky again. Toronto brought in 2026 for me with beautiful, soft sparkles.

I do not own the rights to THIS photo - it is from The Weather Network by Michael Vaunn

I Shouldn't Have to Explain, But I Will

2025-12-11T14:12:00.000-05:00

I can't believe I'm sitting down to write this. Actually, I can—it's the nature of having a neurodegenerative disease. Still, sometimes the issues catch me off guard; today's doctor appointment was proof of that. Since my new, clunky footwear is pretty obvious, I thought I’d answer the questions before they even start.

As of today, I am in a full boot on my right leg. I've been dealing with heel and foot pain for about six months. Some days I barely notice it, and other days it causes a pretty bad limp. I've even started using my cane (ugh) sometimes because of it. Recently, the pain has become constant, and even resting doesn't help. I figured it was finally time to see the doctor.

I truly thought it was just a senior thing. Everyone knows that as the years catch up to you, the complaints about muscle aches, sore back, sciatica, and, of course, plantar fasciitis become common. I scheduled an appointment with a podiatrist instead of my orthopedist because that's exactly what I thought I was dealing with—plantar fasciitis, or maybe bone spurs.

It took me nearly a month to get in as a new patient, and by the time the appointment came yesterday, I was excited to have a doctor visit! I just wanted the pain gone. It turns out I was half right. I do have some bone spurs and some pretty nasty arthritis in both feet due to the injuries I have sustained over the years. I have broken every single toe at least once, and most of them several times; the most recent were two on my left foot just a couple of weeks ago. It goes with the neurodegenerative disease; my legs, ankles, feet, and especially my toes take a beating. I expected some molded prescription insoles and "thank you, come back and see me if you don't improve."

Simplicity isn't my strong point, and neither is an in-and-out, one-shot doctor's appointment either. So it shouldn't have come as a surprise that I left the doctor's office with two prescriptions, doctor's instructions, well-photographed (x-rays), pinched, prodded, and tested, wearing a nice orthopedic boot cast!

My decreased sensation in my legs, ankles, and feet has left me not able to feel pain until it becomes pretty significant. Pain is a sign that something is wrong, and if you don't feel it or ignore it, which I did both of, it can cause further damage. That is what I have done to my left ankle/heel/foot. I have managed a partial tear and detachment of my Achilles' tendon. To stop the damaging progress, give it time to heal and hopefully avoid surgery, my boot and I are going to have to hang out together until the 26th of January.

I am going with it, embracing it, and maybe even making a few smiles with it! I have decided to just wear leggings, grab me some fairy lights, and bedazzle the damn thing. 😂 I will get questions either way, I might as well make it fun!

Hard Choices Made Even Harder

2025-12-08T15:37:00.000-05:00

I am in the middle of a troubling time. I have been struggling for a while, hard decisions, hard choices. Yet, I am more content now than I have been in a long time. Not because I have resolved anything, but because I realized that to do this, I, and only I, must make ALL choices - without undue influence from others.

The only thing more complicated than this realization is actually doing it. I look to others for validation, honoring their wisdom over my own. To lean into others' views, advice, and suggestions isn't a bad thing, especially when they are well-versed or even experts in that field, but in this case, the only expert is me. I live in this body, heart, and soul, and I have to figure out which choices make me happy and fulfilled.

Doing this is like learning a foreign language. From the smallest choice, like what cereal I WANT to buy at the grocery store, to what to wear, to major life decisions. I am working on it; I am getting there, but when I make one of those choices, I forever feel I have to validate it.

Validation is actually a step forward for me. At the beginning of my determination to take complete charge of my life, I found myself continually apologizing. If someone asked me for my opinion or desire, I would answer and follow every single expression on their face. Even if there's no reaction, I'll take it back and apologize. Now, I allow myself to validate what I want, say, or do.

BUT then comes the part where I want to EXPLAIN my choice, making sure people understand the why. Sometimes we need to explain, but most of the hundreds of choices we make every day don't need outside validation or explanation. But this is much harder when making life decisions.

I have often referred to my father as my safety net. Whenever a decision got too big or tough, I turned to him. Even in his 90s, he was clear-headed and gave the best advice. It's been almost two years since he's been gone, and I still find myself picking up the phone to call him. How I wish he were here now for this one.

This is a reminder to myself that I will get through this, but boy, the days are hard sometimes, and the decisions are even harder.

It Isn't Just Another Day

2025-10-28T20:38:00.001-04:00

It was a year ago today that I received a phone call that I had been expecting for a while but was absolutely not prepared for. I lost my father the evening of October 29, 2024; he was just a month and a half short of his 93rd birthday.

Today, I feel I have no words, only so many tears. I have started writing this several times; the words just don't come. The emotions are jumbled, and my heart is aching.

My father was a commanding presence. Everyone who knew him always has such kind words for him. He ran oil refineries, supervised employees from just a few to over 100s, and everyone I knew said he was the best boss they ever had.

My dad was just good with people. He was so unassuming. He never thought himself better. He went to war (Korea), and when asked years later by his kids and grandkids about it, he quietly said, "I was drafted; I went; I served my country; I did my job, and I came home. That is it. What he didn't say was he made Master Sergeant in record time, saved two people (that I know of) directly, and made lifetime friends with the men he served with."

He raised three sets of kids, yes, three. My older brother and sister, who were my half-siblings, but I never thought of them as anything but my blood. In a time when biological fathers never got custody of their children in a break-up, Dad (with my mom) had full custody and raised them - ALWAYS working with their biological mother. We were ALL family, and I loved her like an aunt. He had me in his 30s. I was raised with siblings until I was a preteen, and they went on to their adult lives, leaving me the only child.

I was daddy's little girl for a very long time. He and I were so close that (not planned), my dad actually took me to the hospital in labor and was in the room when my daughter was born. It was one of only a very few times I ever saw my father cry.

A few years down the road, after my family was well-established, Dad remarried a younger woman and adopted her two children (8 and 4 at the time). My younger siblings, Bridgette and Scott, are basically the same age as my children. Dad raised them with love and care just as he did with me. I am blessed to call them my sister and brother, and so glad they are family to him and me.

Dad didn't always approve of some of my choices. He was less than thrilled that I married so young. When I finally pursued my college education in my forties, he was so proud, but also disappointed that I chose a degree in an area that would limit my earning potential (he was correct on that). I disappointed him in other ways, too, but he would still tell everyone (BUT me) how great he thought I was. It was the nature of who Dad was. No matter what, even when he let me down, I knew he had my back, 100 percent.

I have some of his saved voicemails. They are priceless to me. I have photos. I have his clock that my grandmother gave him. I have small things of his that nobody else would understand their meaning, but most of all, I have his grandson. Dallas is my father. He has his nature, his looks, his mannerisms, and his incredible love for his children. So often, I will catch a look on his face that immediately brings my father to mind. My dad could do nearly anything with his hands —working on cars, building carports, barns, and almost any building —and he did so in his 80s, building his own house with his own hands. My son can do the same.

Dad was my lifeline and safety net. He was always there for me; I never doubted that about him. As impractical and totally impossible, I really thought he would be with me forever. He tried; just days after yet another "heart event," he was out driving around, trying to find a bottle of Vermouth to make his daily martini. So, it is with that in mind, I toasted him tonight with his favorite - and wished he was still here with me.

I miss you, Dad, there will never be another like you.

The Acceptance of it All

2025-10-22T08:05:00.006-04:00

Several years ago, I wrote a piece on Acceptance. It was over a decade ago, to be exact, yet it remains highly relevant today. We need to find acceptance in our lives—acceptance of differences, acceptance of where we are in the moment, and acceptance that things won't always be as we believe they should be, and that is okay. What a boring world it would be if everyone thought, believed, and dreamed in the exact same way!

I wrote this at a time I had lost a significant amount of weight and was in the best shape of my life. Physically, I was at my prime. Life has done a bit of butt-kicking since; the number on the scale has inched back up, and let's not even discuss the no longer toned and cut body I now deal with every day. HOWEVER, my mental and emotional growth has grown by leaps and bounds as I move forward in my current life circumstances. And again, I have learned that acceptance of my personal choices is not comfortable or understood by others. I must remind myself that not everyone will be supportive of how I live my life.

So, this was worth the share again.

In our world, unless we live under a rock in the middle of the ocean, one of our fundamental emotional needs is acceptance. Sure, some people need it more, and others care less about it, but it remains an essential need nonetheless. From the first time a baby smiles, he is seeking acceptance. Studies have shown that a baby will smile in mimicry of his parents, and when he is rewarded with a return smile, he experiences acceptance. This encourages him to do it again. If a baby smiles at someone and they don't return the smile, he will try a few more times. If they continue not to respond with a smile, the child will stop; this reaction stems from the realization that acceptance is not there, which creates a negative feeling.

The drive and need for acceptance are most evident during the school-age years and adolescence. Peer pressure is a powerful force that can shape an individual's self-identity more than most other influences. The truth is, everyone needs to find a place where they belong. Once we do, whether with family, friends, or co-workers, we become more comfortable with ourselves. That’s a good place to be. Having family and friends who know, believe in, and accept who you are—that's the good stuff life is made of.

As adults, we usually become more confident in ourselves because we've found a place of acceptance with those around us, and we don't expect it to change. But, then again, that means we're expecting neither we nor our friends to change, which is difficult because life is always about changing. I have learned this in a rather painful way recently because I have changed.

For a long time, I thought the only change I was experiencing was physical. While I still honestly can't see it in the mirror, the size tags on my clothes clearly show I am getting smaller. When I run into people I haven't seen in a while, I hear the surprise in their voices when they see me; I look different. But inside, I have felt I was the same person, which might be why I can't see the "thinner" me in the mirror. The truth is, in the last few months, I have changed a lot emotionally. The most obvious change is that I have become a bit less shy than I was for the last 15 years or so. I am not afraid to approach strangers (for business and such), and I also walk around with a smile on my face and a welcoming hello to anyone I pass. I enjoy being out and doing things much more now. But the biggest "inside change" I have felt within myself is the desire to share this whole lifestyle experience with others. I want everyone to know that you can, at any age, get yourself in better shape, and more importantly, it feels great to do so. I guess I am like the reformed drinker or smoker; I want to go around and tell everyone how great it is to be this way and expect them to want it too. I should remember that not so long ago, I wasn't in the right place to take this journey, and I was really annoyed by those who tried to force it on me. I don't want to be THAT person who pushes change on others who aren't ready, so instead, I’ve tried to just share my experiences through my writing, pictures, and personal example—thinking those actions would be accepted for what they are. I was wrong.

Through various circumstances and venues, I have realized that some people not only misinterpret my actions, but also assume them in a very negative way. Hearing certain comments has been painful, and it has been even more painful to realize that some of those have come from individuals I have loved, trusted and ACCEPTED the most. I have supported and loved them, yet they don't seem willing to reciprocate that same treatment. It has been a painful experience, an eye-opener, and very disheartening. Thank goodness for those who have stood by me — they have been a lifeline.

And speaking of those who have stood by me, the very reason for the title of this entry... I have discovered something interesting: while many of the hurtful feelings and comments have come from people I never expected to let me down, the most acceptance I have received—aside from my closest family—has come from an unlikely source. I have several friends who are gay or lesbian - LBGQT -, and they have been incredibly wonderful to me; I can't even put it into words. Every single one of these friends has been in my corner, not just quietly supporting me, but actively cheering for my successes. I truly appreciate their support more than they realize. It has been a blessing to me during a difficult time.

I have spoken with a few people close to me, and we've concluded that the reason these friends accept me so easily is likely because they've probably struggled with acceptance themselves all their lives. I've experienced being an outsider, being teased, or simply not being accepted multiple times. Right now, I notice people treating me differently—or not accepting who I truly am—because of the recent changes I've undergone, and although it's painful, it's only temporary. If you are LBGTQ, this negative treatment is a constant reality, mainly because society still hasn't fully accepted all sexual identities. I can't imagine living my life through that, and honestly, it opens my eyes even further to the plight that these friends of mine experience.

Often, the opinions we form about anyone—be it a stranger, family member, or friend—stem from our personal assumptions. If we base our assumptions on open acceptance, especially of things we don't understand or haven't experienced, we will become kinder people. One day, perhaps all of us will be accepting of change—any kind of change—and we will start to assume the best within that change instead of the worst. I truly believe most people are good, but we must let our actions show that. In the meantime, I am grateful for my friends who have struggled for acceptance and have so freely given it to me. I thank my friends, who, while not on gay/trans, have offered so much support to those who are—you're a prime example of acceptance. Although I haven't named you here, if you are my friend and identify as LGBTQ, I can assure you, I am talking about you! Please know your actions are deeply valued and appreciated.

Scars Are The Tattoos Of Our Victories.

2025-10-12T11:37:00.005-04:00

I wrote the message to myself today (on social media). I am struggling with my body, not even struggling, I often feel I am drowning in the pain and the push to go on. Then I see a photo from the past year or two that reminds me how bad it was, yes, but also the powerful understanding that I am still here, still going, and I even have visible proof of the healing. The scars are fading so fast. From experience, I know the emotional ones will also become dim and distant. The image will still be there, but the details will lose their focus, and eventually, the jolting memory of pain. And I am stronger, smarter, even tougher for it all. I am the "me" of now because of it. For good or bad, I choose better, always better.

Hospital release day. One year. Year Two (current).

The struggle continues, but I fight it every day. I am healing on the inside, year by year, just as I am on the outside.

We "have" very few things in life that are our own... our thoughts, our breath, and our body. When something alters these negatively, it is up to us how to react. We can choose to be bitter OR better. As long as I have that breath, I try to choose better.

My body has become a tapestry of my life; it is tattooed with abstract pieces - many, many scars that are not just a record of injury and misfortune but also a tribute to my strength, courage, and determination. I must learn to wear them proudly.

Life is not fair for anyone; therefore, it is fair for everyone. This is just my story.

Do I Need To Get My Death Pre-Approved As Well? (just want to be prepared)

2025-09-21T13:18:00.000-04:00

I wrote this two years ago. I was about three months past my accident, surgery, and hospitalization. I was still unsure if I would be able to walk normally again (I still can't do stairs, but I can walk normally—slowly, but normally). However, the bills had started to arrive, and I was overwhelmed by the amount of "over and above" and "not pre-approved" charges I was seeing. AND I have good insurance. Whenever I hear about someone being hospitalized due to an accident or an emergency diagnosed procedure, I feel for the insurance battle they are about to face. It's sad that, in our country, hard-working people can't get hurt or sick without risking their home, savings, and retirement!

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

Spending time dealing with and filing medical bills while trying to reason (fight) with the insurance company is more brutal than PT (and believe me, PT is painful, like prescription meds painful).

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

ME: I apologize for not having my ambulance transport, ER trauma admission, CT scan, six-hour surgery, $30,000 worth of medical implants, and five-day hospital stay for my leg-crushing, life-changing boat accident preapproved. That was thoughtless of me, but I really need these bills taken care of.

AGENT: Well, that really isn't our fault, now is it? I am sure there were at least some ways you could have foreseen or reduced some of these charges.

ME: (laughing) Well, what would that be? Perhaps no pain meds? Or why waste money on putting me to sleep during surgery? Perhaps they could discount something for the time I spent in the hallway waiting for a room to open up?

AGENT: (not laughing at all) We don't have to be flippant about this - after all, as your insurance company, we're the ones who have to pay a lot of money for you. Aren't you grateful to have us?

ME: (no longer laughing) Ummm, isn't that what I have paid premiums for, well, all of my adult life?

AGENT: It is our job to take as much of your money as possible and expect you to never need to use your policy. Those Over and Above charges are simply your punishment for requesting we spend our high profits on your medical needs and comfort.

ME: 😲🤬👿

AGENT: Oh, and furthermore, did you really need that ambulance ride? I mean, it was your left leg, you could still drive - and I think you had some friends or family there, they should have driven you - Ambulance Transport: DENIED. Anything else I can help you with?

Me: (sigh) Nope, I should have just cut my leg off and tied it up myself.

AGENT: Well, perhaps if you had done that, we could have covered the saw without needing preapproval. Have a nice day.

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

It is absolutely ridiculous that most responsible people who have and pay for medical insurance need a fundraiser or Go-Fund-Me to survive financially after a critical accident. And yes, I am forever grateful that I have medical insurance. Accidents happen, and if I hadn't had private insurance, I would not have had the amazing surgeon Dr. Stevens with EmergeOrtho - Coastal Region and EmergeOrtho Physical Therapy, who not only saved my leg but are working hard to help me stand on my own two feet with no limp or impairment. I just really resent the insurance company that I (and my company) pay good money for trying to avoid paying even the most basic, needed charges.

Rant concluded I will return to scanning, sorting, and filing the ever-growing mound of insurance, hospital, and doctors forms.

I Maybe A Nerd, But I Bet Tinkerbell Knows This (and doesn't like it a bit either)

2025-09-09T18:25:00.001-04:00

I haven’t been doing enough writing lately, or really any writing at all, so I decided to take some time and review some of my past work. I am going through pieces dating back to my last couple of years at UNCW. I think I have almost 800 writings saved on one of my blog sites. I also have several journals and notebooks with stuff in them, but since this particular blog is public, it’s different in nature from those personal ones.

My writings are all over the place. There is a wealth of humorous creative non-fiction, which is the genre I originally wanted to publish in, but I (unfortunately) have moved away from it over the last several years. For a long time, it was mostly those types of pieces, mainly based on my family life, that I wrote, with a few opinionated statements or historical context writings sprinkled in. Now, the genres are reversed. Less humor and fluff, more context and explanation. With that, I can see my ideas and ideals changing over time. The political and social climate, as well as my age, have provided me with great understanding and growth, and I hope I am a better person for it. We should never stop growing.

All that said, the conclusion I reached when I looked back over this blog is that I prefer opinion or historical pieces because they require research, evidence, and investigation to make valid points. I enjoy doing that—exploring topics, digging deeper than the surface, and even discovering something new and unfamiliar to me! That is learning – and that is what I am at heart, a professional student! But, as I am also a writer, this makes me a teacher as well. Because it is through the written word that I share, and I share in a way that is backed up by facts, so others might learn and enjoy too. OR they may question it, and that is also what a teacher does, inspire someone to question and learn.

I came to this realization in a somewhat indirect way. I was reading, editing, and adding to a piece I wrote about Disney’s Tinkerbell (you can find it here). I mention Disney because, as most know, Tinkerbell was first introduced and made famous by J.M. Barrie with his tales of Peter Pan and the Lost Boys. It was that story (and many others) that Disney brought to life through animation, giving us our most famous version of Tinkerbell. What I had written on was the announcement that Disney Parks would no longer include Tinkerbell in their meet-and-greet experiences, nor would she be seen walking around the parks signing autographs and making little ones smile (and some of us grown-ups too).

Since I crave context and more information (including occasional trivia), I decided to see if there was anything new I could add. One Disney Fandom article stated that “she (also named Tink or Miss Bell) is the tritagonist of Disney’s 1953 animated feature..." Tritagonist? Really, tritagonist? I am a writer; I love words; I am familiar with literary devices; I have a solid grasp of grammar; and I possess a fairly large vocabulary; however, I have never heard of or seen the term tritagonist. Who failed me? My high school lit teacher? My college professors? The several editors I’ve worked with over the years? What is this word that Disney mentioned?

I am grateful for the internet. In the past, I would have had to dig a little deeper, actually use a dictionary, and even seek out a textbook explanation, but now life gives us Google. I was able to find my answer in just a few seconds. Tritagonist is “the person who is third in importance, after the protagonist and deuteragonist, in an ancient Greek drama.” Ding, ding, ding… I’ve learned that piece of knowledge. I also discovered even more—deuteragonist—I think I’ve heard this before, but today I finally understood what that word means. So, in Peter Pan, Peter is the protagonist, Wendy is the deuteragonist, and Tinkerbell is the tritagonist. Now I get it!

I must admit, I am a bit annoyed that Tink ranks after Wendy in importance. After all, you don’t see Wendy dolls in any Disney store, little girls aren’t lining up to wear a Wendy costume for Halloween, and she certainly doesn’t have her own entire series made about her – that would be Miss Bell! … you might imagine by now, Tink is my favorite Disney character of all time.

Trauma Recovery - If It Hurts, It Is Healing

2025-08-29T16:11:00.001-04:00

"Healing ... trauma is not neat or linear. Some days I feel like a completely different person, and other days I slip back into old fears or patterns. That’s what healing looks like: messy, layered, and often slower than we want."

I came across the quote at the top in an article (copied below) the other day. It hit home. I have spent the better part of two and a half years working on trauma healing. I have learned that trauma healing isn't for the faint of heart. It's not something a person just stumbles into or thinks they will try instead of AA, yoga, or meditation. Taking on the task of deep, intentional inward reflection to find horrible, hurtful things buried so deeply in the conscious mind that our bodies have physically been changed by the memory is indescribably painful.

I recently realized that the word healing isn't truly the right way to describe therapy and trauma recovery. I don't believe anyone ever fully heals from trauma; instead, we come to see the damage, learn to clean the wound, apply salves, and allow the scab and then scar to form. Once this happens, we can finally let new, healthy growth occur.

I believe healing and growth happen when the timing is right and in the right place. It's easy to avoid the uncomfortable and instead lean into the familiar. A thought I've heard from Buddhist teachings, which can apply to anyone facing tough choices: many choose to stay in the discomfort of what they know rather than risk stepping into the unknown out of fear. This is true, and it's a feeling trauma often ingrains in us.

Taking a risk means we might fail, get hurt, or even live with a different kind of pain. We're used to our pain, navigate it, and sometimes fool ourselves into thinking it isn't so bad. Maybe it isn’t, but if we take a chance, we could soar, succeed, or find true happiness! AND, and this is what I keep reminding myself — we don't have to change the world, a person, or even our situation to take that risk ... we just need to change ourselves. That shift fosters healing, growth, and most importantly, happiness and contentment.

I unexpectedly found some time to really work on healing deep traumas. It means I have had to experience the hard parts, face them, and not run away. I can't push it down anymore; there is too much that triggers it. I need to find healing inside myself so I can move on and become the best person I can for ME—because that is the best version I can offer others. My family, my friends, my people—they deserve that!

________________________________________________________

I don't own the rights to these images; they were taken from Karen Salmansohn

Healing betrayal trauma is not neat or linear. Some days I feel like a completely different person, and other days I slip back into old fears or patterns. That’s what healing looks like, messy, layered, and often slower than we want.

But when I zoom out, I can see the shifts. I can see proof that I’m not where betrayal left me.

Every time I stop trying to convince someone to choose me, I’m healing.

Every time I set and enforce a boundary regardless [of] fear of rejection and abandonment, I’m healing.

Every time I remind myself that my needs are valid, I’m healing.

Every time I challenge fearful thoughts, I am healing.

Every time I laugh, play, and reclaim parts of myself I lost, I’m healing.

One thing that really helps is looking back at how far I’ve come. How would I have responded 6 months ago? A year ago? 10 years ago?

If you’re wondering how to know if you’re healing, remember: it won’t look the same for everyone. But [the] smallest shifts, the ones you might overlook, are often the clearest signs that healing is happening.

instagram.com/the.betrayal.trauma.therapist

I May Not Be Dancing in the Rain, But I No Longer Hide From it.

2025-05-19T15:32:00.000-04:00

"Nothing, though, is odder about [the therapist/clients] type of relationship than its ending. No one argued. No one died. No one grew out of the other person. I can’t think of another close relationship that comes to an end because one of the people in it is [quitting, moving jobs or] retiring."

Article Here

I have no idea how to start this piece. It is personally important to me. Honestly, if no one else reads it, that is fine; it serves as a way for me to keep these events for accurate reference. I have done that with my blog when needed, and it has been helpful. I am maintaining a handwritten notebook with dates, times, patient instructions, doctors' orders, vitals, and more. That is great; it mainly contains the facts and sometimes minute-by-minute experiences as they happen for factual records.

What I want here is the emotion: my truth, my feelings, and the emotions surging through me nearly 24/7 right now. This past weekend was a time of closure for me. I had two beautiful women in my life who, for the past two-plus years, have been literal lifesavers for me. They have been my ears and eyes to my soul, helping me understand and find who I am and how to navigate the tough storms that have been raging in my life. This weekend, I said goodbye to both of them. One was my therapist, whom I have seen nearly every week since January 2023. The other was my massage therapist, who was able to help me transition those emotions I was working on out of my physical body, where we humans store so much pain and toxicity.

Both of these women have other events in their lives, and while they know me better than most—almost all, in fact—our relationship isn't personal; it’s professional. It has boundaries, and those boundaries are the reason for the goodbye. Both have suspended their local practice for different reasons, which will put me back in the market to find new professionals.

I can't explain the profound effect this has on me. I never expected it, but I learned in a work clinic last week that losing a valued, longtime therapist is labeled a trauma on the level of divorce, a broken family relationship, or the death of a friend. Had you told me that before this happened, I wouldn't have said anything, but I would have been thinking in my head, "yah, right." Now I know.

There will be a mourning period. I will find that there is a hole in my emotional and mental house I am building, but I will use all the building blocks she gave me to keep my foundation strong. I have been able to take this time to look back on where I started and where I am now. I have come so far; I have grown so much, and that is because I had this time with her. That is her constant presence in my life. What a gift she leaves me with.

I have had just a handful of truly intimate, trusted relationships in my life. Therapy brought me a significant one when I really needed it. For everything, there is a season. For me, this means opening myself up to the possibility of cultivating new relationships that can grow deeper than I have allowed them in the past. I will find these (for now) in people who won't have to leave at some point due to professional boundaries. I am not ready to start therapy again. That feels like returning to the single world after being married for a long time. I am not prepared to do all the "get-to-know-my-story" thing.

The best thing I can say is that in those two-plus years with my therapist, she did a magnificent job giving me the tools I needed to create and sustain my growth. I no longer take medication to stabilize my anxiety, and I no longer melt down at the first sign of difficulty. I have weathered a huge storm, even as the rain is still coming down. It sprinkles at times, and at other times it pours, but I have learned that I can withstand the rain, and even sometimes dance in it. I hope my therapist knows she was the one to see me through; I will miss her, but she is always with me.

Do You Remember Your TRUE First Love?

2025-05-13T21:42:00.002-04:00

Do you remember your first love, that love that was separate from the family you were born into; that love that you picked, nurtured, and lived for; the one that hopefully still gives you warm thoughts deep in your heart all these years later? I do. I remember HER well.

In my teens, I fell deeply in love with her. She was and still is part of my identity all these years later. And before you make assumptions about gender or sexual choice, this isn't about that. This is about the time my heart and soul connected with a best friend, that true BFF who shares the joys and struggles as you grow towards adulthood. I believe that most women's first best friend is their true first love.

The friendship love develops much like romantic love, just (hopefully) much earlier in life. The attraction is almost immediate; meeting at school, a social event, or even through family friends, we click and the relationship begins. Discovering things about each other, conversing in person and over the phone (yes, I am that old), the friendship then blossoms into a public connection, marked by sleepovers, movies, school activities, and summers filled with continual contact. Our hearts are full, and we are happy as we share the deepest secrets of who we are and what we aspire to become.

As an adult, I now remember this friendship as I watched my daughter find her special person as they stumbled from childhood to awkward teenagers and finally into adulthood. They are one of those lucky few friendships that endure from precocious second-graders to well-rounded adults and now mothers of little girls who are just entering the first-love friendship stage.

I am now watching my granddaughter experience this as well. Until recently, when I visited, there was no one else to take her time from me. We would snuggle, sharing silly secrets and stories, and I had her undivided attention. Now, my visits are still just as special, but they are often interrupted by a call, text, or even a shared in-person visit with her BFF. They are a matched pair, and watching them makes me happy.

This first love of girl bonding is a beautiful thing. Being together builds self-esteem; it provides a place for growth and discovering personal individuality, and it shows us how big our hearts can be. It is a big deal.

Considering all this, I realized the other day how often we lose deep friendships and connections in adulthood. Instead of building each other up, too much judging, backbiting, and gossip rears its ugly head. Not always, but I often find myself missing that special friendship, that deeper connection, and it doesn't have to be lost. As I come to know myself better through therapy and hard work, I will embrace the openness of that young friendship love, making myself available to finding new friends who can enhance my quality of life, just as I strive to do the same for them. Whether we're thirteen, thirty-six, or sixty-three, we still need that connection; otherwise, we miss out.

Mother's Day - Appreciate the Beauty in Being Forgotten

2025-05-11T11:56:00.003-04:00

Today feels a little different—honestly, a lot different—and I am so happy and at peace about it. It is a quiet, rainy morning. I have no plans, probably won't even leave the house, and I haven't heard from my kids. They may call; my daughter will probably text or make a social media post, but even now, that is more than I expect.

And I am 100% at peace with it, even somewhat happy about it.

I grew up without holidays, and upon entering adulthood, I developed a strong need for them to be perfect, even extravagant. I felt compelled to make them special, often pushing myself to exceed expectations. Some years were wonderful, while others were filled with stress, anxiety, pain, and disappointment.

Expectations. Reality. A difficult mix.

Two and a half years ago, during a challenging period in my life, I began therapy. More importantly, I started to truly take ownership of my mental health and personal growth. It has been a difficult yet wonderful journey so far, and it has changed how I feel about many things.

Growing up, all I wanted to be was a mom. At the age of 22, that dream became a reality. For the next 20+ years, I poured myself into being a mother. It went by so fast; one day I was changing diapers, and the next I was looking for a mother-of-the-bride dress. It wasn't always easy, but it certainly was the happiest and most fulfilling feeling I have experienced. It was a gift to me to be a mother to Morgan and Dallas.

Money was tight when my kids were young, and their dad was often working or in school most of the time, even on Mother's Day (or Father's Day or Valentine's Day), and the priority wasn't doing for me. However, God forbid we forget a card or visit to my mother-in-law's, no matter what. If we forgot, we knew there would be consequences.

As my kids left home for their own busy lives, I found myself growing bitter over the years that, while I continued to fulfill my duty to my MIL, my kids often didn't go out of their way for me as they were wrapped up in their own families. I wasn't upset with them, but I sure was upset with my MIL - I had to give up MY days for her and no one seemed to notice.

By the time she passed away, Mother's Day was no longer significant in our home. I appreciated that we didn't have to devote the entire day to her, but not much was done for me either. Some years it bothered me more than others, but I suddenly realized that I often got my father his Father's Day card and/or gift late, and sometimes didn't make a call until well into the evening. I was expecting from my kids what I failed to do for my father. That shifted my perspective.

As I move forward with my growth and therapy from the past, I arrive at today. I really hadn't thought about Mother's Day at all until Friday when it was mentioned. I am feeling the greatest gift of all: peace and satisfaction. Peace comes from not brooding or feeling sorry for myself because no big to-do has been made over me; that is okay. Satisfaction arises from knowing in my heart that my kids love me not just today, but all year long. Even more so, they don't feel guilty about not being the daughter or son who sacrifices their family time just to make me happy. They understand that whether it’s a card, a call, or even possibly forgetting, I still feel their love and don't believe they HAVE to do something for me to feel the same love for them. True love comes without ties or expectations, and that is the best kind I can hope for.

When someone feels they HAVE TO DO SOMETHING because of a date on a calendar or a societal expectation, that isn't giving out of love, it is giving out pressure or guilt. That isn't a gift. The gift is having great children who I love deeply and I feel love me deeply, 365 days a year.

Oh, and Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers out there! I hope you feel the love of your children today and throughout the year.

The Pope? My Father? Yes, Great Men Bless Us

2025-04-21T10:46:00.007-04:00

Preface: I am not Catholic, I am not associated with a specific religion, and this isn't about my private relationship with God....

There comes a time, I believe that we KNOW it is our time. How we pass can be a reflection of how we lived and who we are/were.

I feel heavy-hearted today. It is a bittersweet feeling. After just commenting yesterday on how good it was to see the Pope out following his near-death experience just weeks before, I woke up to the news of his passing.

Watching the news, I noted he looked so peaceful, so serene, and so happy to be briefly addressing the crowd at the Vatican and then riding in the Pope-Mobile. Looking at him was seeing a man who was content in the life he lived, accepting that the sun was setting and his time was very near. He appeared to be in the moment of his wonderful last good. He was letting go in peace.

That was how I felt during my visit with my father in mid-October. I knew that when I said goodbye to my dad after a week filled with nothing but long talks (in and out of the hot tub), visiting his favorite place, and sharing so many memories (along with his plans for this coming summer), it would be the last time I would see him alive. As difficult as it was to give him that final kiss, he was comforting me.

Dad seemed to have such peace inside him at that point. He talked about the future, but more importantly, he simply rested in the time we had together. Anyone who knew my father will understand when I say he rarely sat idle. Happiness and peace for my dad meant doing for others, especially his family. He was always fixing and arranging. During that last week, life was slow and quiet, and he seemed uncharacteristically content. I felt he knew we, his loved ones, needed him, his time, his company. He consistently assured me that I would be okay. He also spoke about what would happen when he was gone; he had thought about and planned for how to "take care" of me, just as he would for my siblings and especially his wife, Jean.

These recent private conversations with him reminded me of how the Pope was checking in on his people, reassuring them that they would be okay, even as he knew he would be leaving them soon. Dad, despite his incredible will, determination, and strength, knew that he was fading fast. His body was simply wearing out at nearly 93, and he couldn't do anything more to change that. In those moments with me, I think he was accepting it, and by the time I left, followed by my sister Bridgette, he was ALMOST ready.

Like the Pope, Dad had one last thing to let go of - he had to make it easiest on "his people." Dad wanted to take care of us; he never wanted us to be burdened with taking care of him. So, after spending time with those he loved, he took the two-hour drive down to the house he cherished just outside of Lake Havasu and let go. He allowed his body to finish its time, even as he thought about those he loved and making it easy on them.

It seems like the Pope blessed his people, reassuring them as his last act. He KNEW it was his time, and he finished in his way. My father loved his family in every way he knew how, and his final moments were spent in the knowledge that he was going, letting go in the easiest way he could imagine for his family.

I hope when my time comes, that I will know this is it, and that I can bring those last special times of love and reassurance to those who mean the most to me. Great men and women come in many forms, but it is the legacy of love they gave that will never be forgotten.

My Favorite? Are You or Aren't You?

2025-04-15T00:01:00.001-04:00

Writing is a habit; if you don't do it consistently, you can lose your flow, the ability to generate ideas, and perhaps, most damaging of all, your skill level starts to decline. To maintain the habit, there needs to be a continuous flow of ideas and thoughts. The problem is, no one has that extensive stream of thoughts - thus, WRITER'S BLOCK. Yes, it is a real phenomenon: nothing but blank, white space and the clock ticking away.

When I hit that wall, I usually do some free writing and come up with good ideas. Too often, however, the thoughts simply don't flow into anything worth keeping or sharing. In extreme cases, I find myself Googling writing prompts, as I just did. At first, it didn't yield a single decent thought, but then I came across your favorite prompts.

Your Favorites equal those Ice Breakers at a company meeting no one really wants to be at; Your:

Book
Color
Age
Number
Movie
Food

The list goes on and on. What I realized is that these prompts don't help me. When someone asks me one of those questions, I usually don't have an answer. It's simple: I like things- feelings, places, and people - lots of them.

My favorite book? There's no way I can narrow that down! Is it a fiction book, non-fiction, biography, personal growth, or even a children's book that I read to my children and grandchildren? Who can choose? I am not sure I could come up with a favorite genre. I have a few authors I really enjoy across all those categories, but I couldn't even tell you my favorite one among them.

How about my favorite color? I love wearing sapphire blue, white, and black, and in the summer, I enjoy wearing bright colors. However, when I look at a painting or a landscape view, I love blues and greens. Seeing pink makes me feel warm and happy, but I wouldn't say it's my favorite over all those other colors I just mentioned. I can't pick a favorite.

Age? Would that be for me or for the people I am around? I loved different decades for different reasons. In fact, I can't think of a single number where I didn't realize there was something valuable in being that age. All have had their ups and downs, but I hope my favorite age is coming with each turn of my birthday going forward.

Closely related to a favorite age is a favorite number. How do people even begin to have a favorite number? I mean, I guess if they won a lottery with a certain set of digits, I could see it, but just a number? I prefer even-numbered digits; it's simple, and I find it easier to do math with even numbers. My birthday is the 13th, though, so that eliminates it from being a favorite. Not only is it an odd number, but every couple of months it falls on a Friday and freaks everyone out. Those born on the 7th are lucky for their heavenly number entrance into this world. So, no favorite number for me (and I despise math, so why would I even like numbers anyway?).

Movie? NOPE, no way, much like books there are simply too many choices, genres, actors, plots, and times created and released to even wade in that deep pool. Let me just say, I love movies - save for old black and white westerns and raunchy frat boy comedies, I will watch and enjoy nearly any and everything.

Food is something I can possibly zoom in on just a bit more. My favorite food is something sweet - wait... well, I really love a grilled ribeye steak, medium rare and Pittsburgh style. On another night, I enjoy salmon on a Caesar salad; heaven... And then there is sushi, oh, and acai bowls... See, food can't be easy either.

Favorites aren't just one thing to me; there is too much in life to enjoy. Happiness can be found in selection, and that is the way I choose to approach it. At least the favorite writing prompt has worked for me this time; I wrote an entry on favorites without having one!

At least I am writing again!