Walking in the wind….

Two years ago, I was writing about how Mom’s health had taken a decline, but she was still with us. We are now in 2022, and she’s gone. She’s been gone for six months now and I miss her dearly every day. 

She used to like going for rides on the weekend. Anywhere really, it didn’t matter where, as long as she wasn’t home. When she was in the nursing home, she would often ask my sister to sneak her out when no one was looking so they could take a walk. She hated being there and I felt all the guilt of the world for putting her there. She could no longer take care of herself and needed round the clock care. I miss taking her for rides.

She used to love to cook. I definitely get my love for cooking from her. I used to make her a veggie soup she loved and unconsciously stopped making it after she died. A week or so ago, I made some. I’m sure some of my tears made it into that broth. I wish I had asked her how to make a few more things before she got too sick. When she was in hospice, she was in a lot of pain so I tried to do some guided imagery with her. Her favorite ones were when I replayed being in her kitchen and cooking with her. I miss cooking with her. 

She used to love taking day trips. Atlantic City holds a special place in my heart. We were ‘working poor’ so to speak, so going to AC was a quick and inexpensive day trip. We packed sandwiches and drinks for the three hour ride there and back in the evening. Sometimes we won a few bucks but mostly it was just us making memories. The Garlic Festival in upstate NY was another one we liked because it combined our love for day trips and food. I miss taking day trips with her. 

She loved the holidays. She lived for Christmas, making sure everyone got a little something they loved. She never really cared to get anything herself really. She just loved that one time of year when her family was all together in one place. When she couldn’t cook anymore, I took over some of the duties for her while my sisters took some of the others. This past holiday, in 2021, she was still alive but it was the first holiday without her. The silence was deafening. I don’t think the holidays will ever be the same for me. I miss the holidays with her. 

I’ve been through a few tough moments without her. It’s been super challenging because although I would shield her from the things I knew she couldn’t handle, she was there regardless. I’d just tell her I was having a hard time with something and I wanted her positive vibes. Even while in the nursing home, she always shared her positive vibes. I miss her motherly energy.

When she died, I really thought I would die with her. The pain was unbearable. The funeral was so fuckin final. Although we did it as she would have wanted it…no ‘funeraly flowers’ so we got bright beautiful ones….salsa music playing as people came to pay their respects…a collage with pictures of her from her whole life, dating back to her teens. People came to pay respects that I hadn’t seen in years. Others called with condolences, offering stories about her that I had never heard.  It was that day and the weeks following that I realized what an indelible mark she had left not only in my world, but in the world of those she touched around her. 

There isn’t anything I can do to bring her back. Nor would I want to. She was in pain and, while she didn’t want to leave us, it was hard for her to live life as it was. I’m learning to live life without her, to be in the moment, and to make more memories for myself because in the end, that’s what I will have too. I’m learning to take better care of my health and to not fear setbacks because they happen. I’m still not yet at the point where I can remember her without becoming tearful. That’s an area where I am still a work in progress. But I’m learning she’s with me. She’s with me in the way I cook, in the way I speak, and in the way I interact with others. She’s with me in the way I think, in my love for plants, and my love for day trips. Even though her death has left me with the space in my heart that can’t be filled, it’s been a reminder of how our time on this earth is finite. What I’m trying to do, now that I have had some time to process her passing, is to live all the lessons she taught me. 

This one’s a fighter….

It’s been a while since I last wrote a post. My last post was in March of 2015. Since then I began teaching, currently not teaching, bit my nails, stopped biting my nails, lost weight, gained wait, got COVID, mostly recovered from COVID, and went from working in a building to working from home. At the very end of 2015, I learned my mother needed to see a specialist…and at the beginning of 2016, I learned she had Parkinson’s Disease.

If you know anything about being a child of parents from a different culture, particularly whose first language is not English, you either have been or continue to be a language broker. That means that no matter how much English your parent understands, you will always go with them to some appointment or another to manage that bridge between the language they have some knowledge of and the language that is at the core of who they are. Attempting to translate to your parent that they have a disease that has no cure and will slowly but surely have them totally dependent on someone else was terrifying. So, I didn’t do it. She looked at me and said “No me quiero olvidar de ustedes”…”I don’t want to forget you” as she assumed she had Alzheimers, as her mother did. Her mother, slowly over time, forgot who she was. I chose to tell her what was the easiest thing to tell her. I told her the shaking in her hands could be alleviated with medication and that Parkinson’s is not the “forgetting disease” like Alzheimers. I told her that because I also wanted to believe it wasn’t that bad either.

These past few years have been rough. I’ve seen her go from a person who was totally independent and self sufficient to a person who cannot cook or shop for herself. She takes a cocktail of pills every day to slow the progression of this disease. She needs help going to the bathroom, putting on her clothes, and brushing her hair. And because this is not the forgetting disease, she is painfully aware of every single thing she can’t do anymore. Our roles have switched and it’s as if she is my child now. But unlike a parent who can kiss the boo boo and make the hurt go away, I can’t kiss this away.

What I can do is ask her what kind of soup she would like because her favorite thing to do…cooking…is now something she can only watch someone else do for her. I can polish her nails to make them look pretty even though she hates the site of them as they have been crippled by arthritis and the Parkinson’s. I can hold her hand when she has to go to the emergency room because she is in crippling pain. I can ask her what she is seeing when it’s clear she is having hallucinations.

Today I completed a health assessment for her to get more hours for her home health aid. As the nurse asked me question after question, it became painfully aware to me that my mother is a shell of her former self and I became so tearful. But then I started to reflect on our last visit to the emergency room as she told the neurologist who was completing a mental status, “I see animals, and they look like worms, but they are not REAL worms….because I know they are not real….it’s the medicine that makes me see them”. And at that very moment, I realized she is fighting for what is left of her life.

I cry about this a lot…almost every day. In my head I think about how much worse it will get and how painful it will be to miss her when she is gone. But as I sit and reflect on that afternoon in the ER, I failed to recognize how much of a fighter she is. I failed to recognize that while I worry about her being gone, I have to be grateful for the time she is still here. I forget that I am a part of her just as much and she is a part of me.

She has always refused to keep a journal because she said she didn’t want someone to find it after she is gone and feel sorry for her. But in the hospital this last weekend, she told me to write about my life and “put it on the internet”. I felt so confused because I felt like this came out of nowhere. She knows I’m notoriously private so I asked her why she wanted me do that. She looked up at me and said ‘so people will read it and they will know’. I don’t know what she wants people to know but I decided to just do as she asked, so now I am back to writing.

There is a song that has gotten me through more than one trial and tribulation by a group called Gym Class Heros. They aren’t really popular anymore but the lyrics to one of their songs, Fighter, go like this:

Give ’em hell, turn their heads
Gonna live life till we’re dead.
Give me scars, give me pain
Then just say to me, say to me, say to me
There goes a fighter, there goes a fighter
Here comes a fighter
That’s what they’ll say to me, say to me
Say to me, this one’s a fighter

To my mom, MVM, I say “Give ’em hell mom…give ’em hell”.

Tidbit Tuesday – A morning challenge

Ok people…I know I’m not crazy….but this guy…..my blogger friend Rob…reminds me of Dave Barry in the way he writes. He’s talented and funny to say the least. There are many blog posts that make me laugh out loud, but this one…..this one is IT!!!!!!!!! He has no shame in his game and tells it like he sees ’em. Read on….and enjoy 🙂

2014 in review

So it’s New Year’s Eve, which I usually don’t put too much stock in. I usually consider my birthday the day to set my intentions for my new year. But I was inspired by seeing the stats reports on other blogs and thought…hey, why not one more post for 2014.

This year was both heavy and fun.

I disconnected from a friend or two, reconnected with an old friend or two, and met some incredible new people.

I’ve started to come to terms with my folks getting ‘old’ and enjoying the fact that they are still around and relatively healthy whenever I take them to the supermarket, shopping, the doc, etc. I learned to take time for myself and not use every day off to cater to them.

I made a commitment to eating better and I’ve stuck with it for the most part….though every once in a while, I inexplicably have to have a White Castle burger. Please note, there is a White Castle around the corner from my apartment and the smell of the onions on my way home is intoxicating to me.

I went to Curvy Yoga yoga camp! That was friggin awesome!! It was also a great reminder to be present at any given time. I have a lot of weight to release (I don’t say lose bc as my friend G says: what is lost can be just as easily found.) but that does not have to stop me from being active.

I stopped biting my nails. Now I’ve done this before, so I don’t know how long this will last. But I will say, this past month has been pretty stressful and I’ve been able to keep it together for the most part. I’ve realized that the less I see of my actual bare nail, the better. Opaque nail polish has been my friend…and doing my own manicures has a meditative component to it for me. Who knew??

Work was work. I learned to take a few short cuts and realized there is no way around certain other things. Then just when I think o.k. I got this, a four year old on my caseload loses his mind over not being able to read a story, attacks the principal, his teacher, and a security guard and winds up being sent to the emergency room. Work was definitely emotionally and physically taxing this year.

My friend G has led me to a new Goonie adventure career wise. Despite every ounce of my being saying “ARE YOU CRAZY?!?!?”, I’ve been offered the opportunity to teach a multicultural counseling class in a graduate program. Courage has trumped my fear, so I’m going for it. I imagine there will be at least one post on my journey about that in the next few months.

Within the last two weeks, I found $104 in the street while I was waiting for the bus on my commute home, I won $75 on a scratch off ticket, and I won a cool tote bag and mug in a raffle.

So this year, I learned that you lose some, you win some, and other times you have to just tolerate some stupid shit. I just have to remember to make sure my nails look good no matter where the peaks and valleys of 2015 lead me 😉 Here’s to a great year people!!!!

Read on for my blog report for this year…..

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 520 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 9 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Final Sale, No Returns, No Exchanges….

I was born the youngest of three girls. I know what you’re thinking…oh man, she’s the baby and must be totally spoiled. But anyone who is the last born knows that your siblings will remind you that you areno more special than anyone else.When I was born, my oldest sister, E, was over having sisters. She wanted a brother. Upon arriving home from the hospital with me, E was given the devastating news that she had another sister. E asked Mom why…why another one?!?!? My mom, not realizing the smart aleck she had on her hands, told E she got to the hospital too late. By the time she got there, they had run out of boys and the only thing left was girls. “So bring her back and exchange her for a boy!” Once realizing that wasn’t going to happen, E took matters into her own hands. She would not have anything to do with me…no holding, no feeding, no watching for a minute while Mom went to bathroom, no anything, for three months. Talk about being creative!

The years went on and E’s creativity showed no signs of slowing down. As a toddler, I insisted on having hot chocolate milk before going to bed. Mom started making E do it. And she hated it….so E cooked up a way to make it stop. E started putting salt in my chocolate milk. Very clever if you ask me….nasty enough to make me not want it anymore but not gross enough to kill me. Another point for E.

When I was nine, I don’t recall what I did to annoy E, but she decided it had to stop. So she hatched up her newest plan. She decided she would convince me she was a vampire. And convince she did. Didn’t I ever wonder why she had pointy vampire teeth? It was so she could bite people better. Didn’t I ever wonder why the kitchen window was always open just a smidge? It was so she could get out and come back in when she turned into a bat. Oh my God!!! How did I miss all of these clues?? My sister was a friggin’ vampire!!!!

Needless to say, I started screaming and my Mom wanted to know what was going on. Picture this…I was facing my Mom and E is behind her. As I tried my best to explain that my sister is a vampire…the fangs, the bat turning, the window, Mom turned to her and yelled “DID YOU TELL YOUR SISTER ALL THOSE THINGS?!?!” She calmly replied “I don’t know what she’s talking about. Maybe she had a bad dream.” She turned back to me and started yelling something about waking her up and that E was not a vampire, and from behind E shrugged her shoulders and smiled sheepishly, her eyes slowly narrowing and filling my nine year old heart with total terror. To this day, aside from the the sparkly faced kind, I cannot watch any vampire flicks. I don’t think I was ever fully convinced she wasn’t a vampire.

Some years later, I was in middle school. E was in finishing up high school and starting college. She was a whiz in science and math, so I pretty much believed whatever she told me. But when she told me raisins are dried up cockroaches, I was old enough to doubt her. She said “So you think your teachers are honest about everything? Gimme a break. If you don’t believe me, just keep eating them and see what happens.” As an adult, I’m not fond of raisins. Gee, I wonder why?

Sometimes it sucks to be the youngest because you never know what kind of shit your siblings will pull. Sometimes, even when they protect you, it’s not meant to be immediately understood. In the winter of the 8th grade, my Dad’s company went on strike. He was in the union, so he had no choice but to go with the flow. We lived in a rent controlled apartment with a slumlord of an owner who did not repair the boiler. No heat, not hot water, and a brutal winter didn’t make for an easy season. There was one particularly harsh storm and I didn’t have boots. My mom chose not to send me to school and told my sister to write a note for me for the next day.

I read it and was mortified. It read “Ms. Sugarman, Please excuse my daughter’s absence.  Her shoes are not waterproof and we cannot afford to buy new new boots right now. Sincerely, _____”. Why did you write this??? I’m gonna get in trouble!!! In my head, this wasn’t a viable excuse at all. E looked at me with narrowed eyes…her vampire eyes…and said “Well it’s the truth. If your teacher has a problem with that, you tell her to come talk to me!” Off I went to school, completely petrified to give my teacher this note. Ms. Sugarman was this older, sour, old maid of a teacher I was convinced ate smart aleck kids for breakfast. She was just a mean old bat. But that was the only note I had so I gave it to her. I stared at her as she read it.
“Who wrote this letter?” she demanded to know.
“My sister, E”.
“How old is she?”
“She’s in high school…she wrote it but my mom signed it”
She looked at the note again and looked right at my feet. I was wearing slush drenched sneakers. She folded up the note, made a mark on my Delaney card, and said “O.k.”

Yesterday was Thanksgiving and my sister L brought over her boyfriend of the last several months. We started telling stories when E mentioned that every horrible prank and story had something to do with her starting it. And sure enough, they all did. When I mentioned the hot chocolate story she said “Well what you don’t know is that I was a 10 year old taking care of your hot chocolate while she was just sitting on the couch”. And she’s right, I don’t know the responsibility of taking care of me. But I did sense an air of emotions that she’s never expressed to Mom. I don’t think Mom understood what was in that note that day. She didn’t realize that E dared to challenge the scariest teacher in school. She didn’t realize the implications, years later, of the letter E wrote for L when L was questioned for repeatedly being on academic probation in college. It may not have been in the typical sense, but Mom taught E how not to accept no for an answer or to take crap from anyone, no matter how much power they had, even if that meant taking crap from Mom herself.

E is now very successful in her own right, personally and professionally. I don’t think Mom has ever said thank you to her for all the stuff she did as the oldest. But in all the successes that E has, I see a little bit of my Mom. And I’m sure, deep down inside, covered by salty hot chocolate, raisins, slushy sneakers, and letters of appeal for academic probation, you are a little thankful to Mom too, despite her less than June Cleaver parenting style. Some things spend so many years unsaid. So for what it’s worth, thanks E, for that and all the other stuff you did for us growing up. And if you still want to trade me for a brother, go ahead and try. But I think mom got me on a final sale, no returns, no exchanges 😉

 

 

Shaun Cassidy, Rocky Balboa, and Graham Crackos…

I’m sure your reading the title and wonder what all of those things have in common. My sister L is probably all “OMG” right now bc this post is about her….

I grew up the youngest of three sisters in the 1970s in Brooklyn, NY. Bellbottoms, roller skates, feathered hair, and classic rock defined my childhood. As a kid, you either want be like your siblings or you get tortured by them. For me it was a little of both. I wanted to be like my oldest sister E because she held the power of my chocolate milk (that is for another post…coming soon!). But my sister L was and always will be the resident bad ass.

It was from her that I learned that you can do outrageous things that will make your parents wish they couldn’t claim you with their DNA that are actually fuckin’ hilarious. L loved Shaun Cassidy and discovered through Tiger Beat, the teen Wikipedia of the 70s, that his favorite color was brown. She insisted all of the clothing Mom bought her was brown. She had a similar teen idol moment with Donny Osmond which resulted in her dressing in only purple for a year. When she didn’t do well in junior high, my mom lost her mind and took away everything she owned…and I mean everything…until she got her grades up.

As an adult, when my mom found out she had a tattoo, she gave her the lecture of her life. And you can totally tell she just wanted to laugh but she had to make believe she was somewhat remorseful. What made me laugh beyond control was hearing my mother say “But you don’t understand!!! No decent man will marry you now that you have a tattoo!!” The tattoo was a flower about the size of your thumb on her back. The way mom was yelling, you would think she got a skull and crossbones that said “Born to Ride” on her neck.

Despite all the hoopla, one of my favorite memories of growing up with L was her love for Sylvester Stallone. When L dug something, she loved it with her heart and soul. Sometime between 1976 and 1982, Rocky movies were very popular. Also popular those days was collecting proofs of purchases from cereal boxes in order to get toys and prizes. A cereal called Graham Crackos had a promotion for a Rocky Balboa poster. And guess what? L had to have it. I don’t know what  hell she did to convince my mother that if she didn’t have it she would die, but we ate a lot of Graham Crackos.

Back in the day, my parents, in an effort to stick to a budget, went food shopping once a month. Sometimes we would get two or more boxes of cereal, but when it was done, it was done and that was that. Every single box of cereal that came into the house for what seemed like 6 months was Graham Crackos. And we ate and we ate and we ate Graham Crackos. Then one day, the poster came. My mom rolled it out on her bed and held the corners down with soup cans. I remember hearing her screaming as if God himself handed the poster to her. All I could think at that moment was how much I wanted a bowl of Captain Crunch.

I spoke to my mom a few days ago and asked her about that poster. She said L just carried on until she gave in. Then she said “That was nothing. What I remember was having to get her those ugly Kiss dolls for Christmas. Do you remember that?” Oh my God….the kiss dolls!!!! Hey L, do you wanna rock and roll all night and party every day?

Keeping your balance…………

I didn’t learn how to ride a bike when I was a kid because my mother equated breaking your hymen, even through athletic activities, to no longer being a virgin. That took out stuff like gymnastics and horseback riding too….. not that I was at all interested in those things, but I did want to learn how to ride a bike. I didn’t realize this until my teen years though. Prior to that, she would just always say “I don’t want my kids hanging out in the street”. Another popular excuse was “If all three of you can’t have a bike than none of you can have a bike”. We were more than working poor, we were just poor so there was no way all three of us were going to have our own bikes. So I never learned how to ride a bike.

I had a few things I wanted to accomplish before I turned 30. On that list was riding a bike. My older sister had this grand idea of taking an adult bike riding class in Central Park. Yes those classes do exist and they probably still exist. I thought it was a stellar idea. So both my sisters and I took this class. After the first class, my sister L, decided that it wasn’t for her so she never went back. So then it was just me and my other sister E. Me and E tried our best because it was HARD. I think the issue wasn’t so much learning how to balance but the fear!!!!!!!!! I think you learn how to ride bikes and rollerskates and skateboards when you are a kid because the fear factor is less. You don’t think about breaking a bone or messing up your back or anything like that. As an adult, the slightest twist can send you into traction. So for me, the headache of spending two months in physical therapy slightly outweighed being able to ride a bike. But I was determined…..

At one point, I got the flu. It was a 4 or 5 week class. When I went back after having missed a class, the instructor, Terry, said something to the effect of “Don’t worry you’ll get it next time.” I asked him what he meant by that and he said that the probability of me learning how to ride a bike having missed a class was small. According to Terry, either you got it right away, or it would take you a while. And for those in the latter catagory, you needed to practice as much as you can so you needed all of your classes. He pointed out this dude I will call Superboy. Superboy learned how to ride a bike the very first day of his course and he was his star pupil. He was now in his advanced class where they went up and down hills and learned about gears and whatnot. Personally I couldn’t care less about Superboy. I just had a problem with the fact that Terry didn’t think I could do it just because I missed a class. All I keep hearing was ‘Don’t you worry….don’t feel bad if you don’t get it’.

Those words to me were like fuckin fire. I thought “Whatchu MEAN I can’t do somethin’?!?!?!….Just because you say I can’t? Just because most people can’t. I am not most people….I don’t know if you know that but I’m not most people. ” So it was at that moment that I decided, hell or high water, by the time this course was over, I was going to be riding a two wheeler. So I worked and worked and worked and fell a few times in that class. Then the next class was the last class…………..

I went to class thinking “Yo, I don’t know what you’re talking about but I’m gonna be riding a bike by the end of this class.” And sure enough, about halfway through the class….Terry was running beside me….just like when you teach a little kid how to ride a bike. Then I didn’t hear him…and I didn’t hear the rest of the class…so I turned my head to the side and realized that I’ve probably been riding solo for the last few blocks. And when I realized that, straight to the ground I went. But the point was, I was riding solo. So I tried again, and he ran with me two or three steps and I was off on my own. I was riding a two wheeler!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

When class was over, and Terry was talking to everyone, he looked at me and said “You know, you did a good job. I was surprised!” And I asked him why. He said that he really didn’t think I was going to get it. So I said “Well, I really felt the need to prove you wrong.” When August rolled around, Al, who I was dating at the time, got me a gift. A shiny brand new bike!!! I cried and he HATES it when I cry. His response to my crying was “If you don’t stop crying, I’m gonna bring the bike back!!” But he didn’t get it. He didn’t get that this was my first two wheeler….like ever.

So if anyone ever tells you that you can’t do something. Maybe you can’t. But maybe, just maybe, their words will be a little like fire and you can just keep it moving………..and ride your bike.

Just keep swimming….

A few weeks ago, the reality of not having passed my exam hit me hard. I was incredibly sad about it….and I cried….a lot. I don’t know if it’s because  I’ve learned how to distance myself from it or because of what I do for a living, but somehow I established a threshold for how much crying was acceptable and how much required the intervention of a professional. I decided it was time to see a professional.

I won’t go into details but the person I saw was not the shrink for me. I left feeling more defeated, judged, and disillusioned.  I sat with it, then called a friend who offered her take and then added “but take what you need and leave the rest”. Then I sat with that….and decided it was best for me to just let it all go.

I had a Weight Watchers meeting two days later and it got deep, like really deep. Our leader, Chris, does something interesting that I’ve noticed from time to time. When the official meeting time is close to being over, sometimes the discussion veers off to what I call the third layer meeting. The third layer of skin is the subcutaneous layer of the skin…and that’s where your body stores fat.  And when we go there, Chris will grab one of the chairs and sit among us. In that meeting she spoke about parallel process, being afraid of your own success, and how sometimes, despite your best efforts, you plateau. I pictured Dori in my head saying “When life gets you down, just keep swimming.” I didn’t say a word during that meeting yet I walked out feeling totally vulnerable.

This week the topic was about restarting. She asked us what brought us there in general or, if we were returning, what brought us there this go around. Mary spoke about having been a member for decades on and off and hoping to reach lifetime (goal weight where you no longer pay for meetings but have to weigh in once a month). I really like Mary. I was never close to either of my grandmothers, but if I could chose one, she would be it. She means what she says and says what she means and I love that about her. When I’m particularly quiet, she will come over at the end of a meeting and say “You look like you need a hug today” and give me one without saying another word.  Jamie spoke about having been married for a year and not being able to fit into any of her jeans. She comes with her husband and when she goes deep, her husband will reach over and put his arm around her. I wonder if she even notices he does that.  Susan said she was sick and tired of being sick and tired and described being thisclose to needing an extender on her flight during a recent business trip. Trudy spoke about having lost her husband and her sister in the same year two years ago, and while bereavement groups and therapy continue to be at the core of being able to manage, her emotional eating was out of control. Then I spoke. In a nutshell, I said every exam attempt left me 10-15 pounds heavier, which I dropped once it was done and regain on my next attempt. I figured if I got some support for my eating, I would make better choices when I felt stressed.  And that’s when the third layer meeting came early.

Sammy is from Singapore and she’s a NYC public school teacher. She spoke about failing her licensing exam to become a teacher many times, partly due to English being her second language, and she kept going until she passed. And, like my experience with the new therapist, she said sometimes people want to keep you grounded in the reality of your situation and will say things like “How many more times do you plan to take this before you decide you’re done? and “What is your plan B?”  Sammy looked right at me and said “Don’t give up! You keep going!” Mary said “Honey, everything you need to pass is above your shoulders. Look at Thomas Edison!” as she sauntered off to her yoga class. Jamie told me she could relate but she gave up after failing her teacher’s exam several times. “For me, there was a sense of relief and I knew it wasn’t for me”. She’s exploring a totally different career path now. Chris texted me the following quote after the meeting: “The longest journey for any person is the journey inward”.

As I walked through the farmer’s market hours later, I bit into a crisp apple and thought about the meeting and all the “characters” there and I smiled. I thought about that quote from The Alchemist that says something to the effect that if you really want something, the whole universe conspires to help you achieve it. The thing is, the universe is not going to hand you a silver platter with all the answers.  I truly believe that when I pass, all of these things I’ve experienced along the way will make sense. My WW meeting is full of the different colored fish in the sea saying “You can do it Nemo!” Other times, you can’t avoid the reality of having to consider a plan B.  Right now, I  think I’ll just keep swimming.

 

 

 

Voice work….

If my blog were turned into an audiobook by WordPress, there would be no question who would be the narrator… Janine Garofalo. She lives always in my mind as the forever unseen Sally to my Felicity.

      The hardest part about moving forward is not looking back.  ~~Sally

Melancholy milkshakes…..

I woke up feeling less that stellar today. As I went through my Instagram feed, I read the following…

“Sometimes you win…Other days you feel like your soul has been pureed and served to you in a melancholy milkshake.”

Although I have to say, I don’t particularly feel that the opposite of a melancholy milkshake is winning. My friend G wisely told me once that feelings are fleeting. I don’t know if that’s the opposite of a melancholy milkshake…but it seems more on par, so I’ll take it.