These are a few of my favorite things, for pets...


Publix Cat Collar - This is one of the best break away collars I have found. The design is better than ones I have tried from Walmart and Target.

Link to the website here:

http://www.publix.com/pd/publix-cat-collar-small/RIO-PCI-168418/pd/publix-cat-collar-small/RIO-PCI-168418





Arm & Hammer Naturals Clumping Litter - Regular clay litter is hard and dusty. This clumping litter is made from corn so it's softer. We had an issue with a declawed cat who was peeing outside of the box so I tried various litters. He likes this one and so do I. Another thing that helped him was using a mud tray instead of litter box. 


Freshpet Home Cooked Chicken Recipe - Over the past year or so my senior beagle started getting really picky about food--which is funny because she used to be a little trash compactor! I have tried almost everything with very little success. Finally I tried Freshpet chicken. It has to be refrigerated but she really likes this.

Creative Writing (Non-fiction) - The Lost Watch

The following is a piece I wrote for a creative writing class I am taking. If you're an aspiring writer, I highly recommend this class. 

https://www.writingclasses.com/classes/description/creative-writing-101

The Lost Watch

Back in 1990 I had a very nice black and gold Armitron watch that I bought from Sears. It featured a twisted bracelet-style band that I could just slip on. The watch was inexpensive but fancy enough for me to wear to work. As a bank teller, I was required to wear dresses and pantyhose every day. Yes, pantyhose. Casual Fridays weren’t a thing yet. As a matter of fact, a lot of things weren’t a thing yet.

For those of you who don’t know or can’t recall, let me set the scene. There was no Netflix. We watched regular network TV shows like “Cheers” and “Roseanne.” Cable television and VCR’s (old fashioned DVD players) were available to people who could afford them. But most of us had to watch shows as they aired.

There was no Pandora. We listened to a rotation of songs on the radio by artists like Milli Vanilli and MC Hammer. Sure, we could listen to CD’s that we bought from the store, but there was no music that was streaming or that could be downloaded. Those words weren’t in our vocabulary yet because there was no internet. I’ll just pause here for a moment while you absorb that...

Let me continue. There were no cell phones. No. Cell. Phones. Cordless phones for landlines had just recently become popular. I was thrilled to be able to walk around my apartment and talk without a cord pulling me back, but I couldn’t go much farther than my front porch. And I couldn’t use the phone in my car or take pictures with it.

Now that you know we were living in the Dark Ages, let me get back to the story of my watch. As I previously mentioned, the watch was easy to slip on, therefore it was easy to slip off. It must have done just that, because one day it went missing. I searched everywhere–no luck. I was so disappointed. Not only was I on a very tight budget, the unique design of the watch would make it difficult to replace.

One day I saw the landscaping guy outside mowing the lawn for the apartment complex, and I asked him if he’d seen my watch. He was this surfer dude with Wayfarers, a dark tan, and blond hair. “No, I haven’t seen it. But I’ll keep my eye out for it,” he promised.

A few days later he showed me a watch he had found. Turns out it wasn’t mine. However, I was impressed by the landscaping guy’s determination. (And green eyes. And cute butt.)

A week later I saw him in the parking lot. His blond hair was covered with a baseball cap this time. When I saw that it said U2 “Rattle and Hum” my heart did a little flutter. I loved U2. I was obsessed with Bono and Ireland and the music. And now here was this guy who was clearly a fan. Maybe it was fate.

We chatted for a while. His name was Matt and he was a very nice guy, but he was just too young for any type of romantic connection, I decided. What would he have in common with me, a 24-year-old divorced single mom?

The next time we bumped into each other was at the grocery store. I was strolling down the aisle with my little daughter in the cart (and an embarrassing bag of generic Oreos) and here comes Matt carrying a 6-pack of beer.

“Oh, hi!” We greeted each other with big smiles. “Aren’t you too young to be buying beer?” I quizzed. The legal age was 21 and he looked about 18. “No, I’m 24,” he laughed. My heart fluttered again. He was exactly my age.

After “accidentally” running into each other a few more times, Matt and I began dating. Two years later we got married. In between that time we saw a U2 concert together—from the fourth row!

Over the span of 27 years, we’ve lived a life of adventure, creating a home and raising a family, experiencing all the sunrises and sunsets that life has to offer. One constant among the chaos has been the love that we share.

These days Matt is more golfer than surfer, and I wear cozy yoga pants more often than I wear dresses. But we’re still the same two people who found each other because of a lost watch.

Creative Writing - Two Weeks in Iowa

The following is a piece I wrote for a creative writing class I am taking. If you're an aspiring writer, I highly recommend this class. 

https://www.writingclasses.com/classes/description/creative-writing-101

Two Weeks in Iowa

Chris began to question the wisdom of this trip when she looked at her phone and saw no bars. “I feel like I’m in one of those ‘Twilight Zone’ episodes Mom likes to binge watch,” she thought as her uncle’s Ford pickup bumped along the gravel road.

Spending part of the summer in Iowa sounded like an adventure when her parents first made the suggestion. She longed to get away from the city and oppressive Florida heat. She had pictured herself strolling along cobblestone streets, exploring unique shops, and dining at a cozy café’.

Now here she was in the heart of the heartland, and all she saw was endless rows of corn and soybeans. The few towns they passed through seemed empty and uninviting. A post office. A bank. A convenience store. Nothing looked quaint or interesting.

The ride from the airport was long and Uncle Steve wasn’t much of a talker. All the windows were rolled down, allowing dust and farm smells to blow in. Although Chris had her hair up, wisps of golden brown were defiantly tickling her face. The seat beneath her was cracked and patched with duct tape. Song after twangy song played on the radio, summarizing country life with words like mud, fishing, beer, and John Deere.

Chris tapped anxiously on her phone, hoping the text she wrote would go through but cell service had been intermittent for miles.

       

       Chris to Mom: Do I have to stay the full two weeks? L

       System response: Message failed/resend

Even though she was 15 and not a little kid, she was feeling so homesick that her stomach squeezed. Pulling up her photo gallery, she browsed through pictures taken last weekend at her going-away barbecue. Her mom, Lisa, had curly hair two shades lighter than her own. Her dad, Ed, had hair two shades darker. She smiled a little realizing how much her dad and his brother (Uncle Steve) looked alike—minus her uncle’s overalls and trucker hat.

The pickup started to slow as it bounced down a long driveway toward a weather-worn 2-story house. Behind the house was a faded red barn and a tiny shed. To the left and to the right were fields. No other house was in sight. Chris felt the panic of isolation rise up. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Woof-woof!” A grayish dog ran up, announcing their arrival with a friendly bark. They stopped at the back of the house. Chris noticed red gingham curtains hanging cheerfully in the kitchen windows, and she could smell the fragrance of Lily of the Valley growing beneath. A pretty blue bicycle was leaning against the shed.

When Uncle Steve opened his door, the dog greeted him eagerly. “This is Jessie, our beagle,” he said with pride. Chris looked at the dog quizzically. Beagle? Then she noticed the faint outline of brown and black hidden beneath a layer of white. Jessie was clearly a very senior beagle. “She’s sweet,” Chris smiled.

As they walked up to the house, the screen door swung open and Aunt Doris welcomed them. “Christiania! You’ve grown up!” She stretched her arms wide and Chris responded with a hug. Her aunt was soft and round and smelled like Jergens lotion. “Come in, come in. I’m sure you’re starving. Do you like chicken noodle soup? Salad?”

Half-expecting Campbell’s and bagged lettuce (which she made for herself after school sometimes), Chris was pleasantly surprised to see colorful veggies on the table-- cucumbers, tomatoes, radishes, carrots--all fresh from the garden. At the stove, Aunt Doris was stirring a pot of homemade soup. The delightful smell made Chris feel dizzy with anticipation.

“After lunch we’ll drive into town and get you a pass to the local swimming pool. All the kids your age go there,” Aunt Doris promised.

“Okay!” Chris replied happily.

Beep beep. The familiar sound of an incoming text. She glanced down to see 5 full bars!

“Do you need the Wi Fi password?” asked Uncle Steve. “It’s posted on the fridge.”

Chris excitedly tapped in the code and responded to her message.

       Mom to Chris: How’s it going, sweetie?

       Chris to Mom: Great! It’s gonna be a fun two weeks. Love you! Tell Dad I said hi! J

Creative Writing - Loretta and Mick

The following is a piece I wrote for a creative writing class I am taking. If you're an aspiring writer, I highly recommend this class. 

https://www.writingclasses.com/classes/description/creative-writing-101

Loretta and Mick

Dun.

Dun Na Na.

Dun Na Na.

The staccato beginning of “Back in Black” burst out of faded green speakers as the Camaro sped along Highway 17 in a race against no one. At 3:30 am, this particular stretch of the road was open and empty.

Loretta glanced over at the driver who was too busy playing drums on the steering wheel to notice ashes falling from his cigarette onto his denim jacket. She wondered how much Jack Daniels he’d had tonight. Even after four years of practice, Loretta still couldn’t get a good read on her step-father. One glance at the crumpled Budweisers littering the back seat confirmed that he had been drinking tonight. The cans weren’t there earlier when her mom had driven her to work.

It was moments like these when Loretta really wished she had her own car. Last year she had gotten her driver’s license but Mick would never let her drive his classic Forest Green Chevy Camaro. “Classic” as in 100 years old, Loretta thought wryly.

Suddenly overwhelmed by the nauseating mix of smoke, stale beer, and decades-old leather, Loretta quickly cracked her window for air. The fresh blast was a welcomed relief from the musty armpit of a car she felt trapped in.

“Hey!” Mick snarled. “It’s too cold for that bullshit. Roll the window up!”

Even though it was winter, February in Florida was not that bad. It was probably 45 or 50 degrees outside, Loretta estimated. She slowly rolled the window back up.

“Shit, there are ashes all over me now, thanks to you!” Mick complained as he tried to drive with one hand and brush his jacket with the other.

Loretta opened her mouth to set him straight but then closed it again. Why bother. She turned her head and closed her eyes.

Mick turned the stereo up another notch in defiance. Buzzing feedback crawled into Loretta’s ear and through to her back teeth. She shook her head to the side, making a futile attempt to get it out.

“Jerk,” she thought but said nothing. She looked out into the blackness of the night.

Mick rolled down his window just far enough to toss his cigarette. He reached for another.

BOOM!

A thud loud enough to be heard over the rattling stereo caused Loretta to sit up straight and grab the arm rest.

“What the hell was that?!” Mick asked. Loretta was only able to shake her head and stare at him with giant eyes.

The car continued to speed down the highway as Mick glanced at the rearview mirror. Loretta wondered when he was going to stop.

“It was probably nothing,” Mick shrugged stubbornly. ”I’m not stopping.”

Panic gave way to anger as Loretta turned toward her step-father.

“You have to go back!” she demanded, her voice cracking. He just looked at the road and ignored her, his face like stone.

“Mick! What the hell? Are you that drunk that you can’t think straight?”

“I am not drunk! I had 3 beers at the most,” Mick lied. “What do you know about it, anyway, little girl?”

Loretta felt the threat in his voice. She had overstepped her bounds.

“You have to go back,” Loretta said as calmly as she could. “Please. What if there is an injured animal or something?”

Mick reluctantly slowed the car. After it came to a complete stop, he threw the door open and jumped out. Loretta opened her side and followed. She shivered inside her polyester waitress uniform. The cold darkness seemed to swallow them both into a desolate nothingness.

 Flicking his cigarette lighter on, Mick frowned as he examined his front left tire. Loretta approached slowly, noticing what appeared to be a mass of blood and fur.

Or was that hair?

Creative Writing - The Window

The following is a piece I wrote for a creative writing class I am taking. If you're interested, I highly recommend it! 

https://www.writingclasses.com/classes/description/creative-writing-101

The Window

     Lightning bites the night with a quick snarl that startles the soul. A crack of thunder vibrates against the glass pane into black velvet nothingness. Ally looks up from her math book, waiting for another flash to punctuate the dark sky.

     The phone rings. “Hello?”

     “Hey, sweetie. You okay? I’m stuck at the restaurant for another hour which I guess is a good thing since this weather is--” Click.    

     She tries calling her mom back but it goes straight to voicemail.

      “Figures, storms.” Ally shakes her head and turns the TV back on, pulling the quilted throw over her bent knees. There’s not much on at 7 pm but Ally has to finish her homework, anyway. An old sitcom plays in the background, mixing with the sound of rain, as she jots down some notes.

     BOOM! Another bright flash lights up the window through the sheer beige curtain. Ally jumps this time, her papers scattering onto the floor.

     “Geez,” she mutters, bending to pick everything up, placing it in a neat stack on the coffee table next to her.

     A small calico steps onto her lap from the other end of the couch. “Mrrrrr-ow?”

     “Yes, Clarice, I’m okay. What a night, huh?” She pets the cat between her ears to soothe her. “Where are your brothers? Probably outside getting soaked.”

      Ally gently places Clarice back in her original spot and pushes herself up to go look for the other two cats. Hannibal and Billy love hanging out on the screened-in porch, no matter the weather.

     As she approaches the back door, another crrrrraaack of lightning reverberates through the house, stopping Ally in her tracks. The electricity goes off, leaving her standing in the pitch black kitchen. A small scratching sound interrupts the steady rhythm of rain.

     Ally whips her head around in the darkness toward the sound. Screech, screech, screeeech. Her heart is pounding wildly in her chest. She never noticed how dark her house could get with no lights, no TV, not even the friendly hallway nightlight. Screech, screech, screeeech. The sound seems to be coming from the living room but it’s hard to pinpoint with the rain pattering down hard on the roof.

     “Cla-rice? Here kitty kitty,” Ally nervously calls out, her voice uneven and shaky.

     “Mrrrr-ow” Something furry rubs against Ally’s leg. She lets out a small sigh and scoops up her cat. The warm calico purrs against her chest.

     Ally slowly navigates the darkness toward the living room. Screech, screech, screech, screech, screeeeeech. The sound is becoming louder and more urgent.            

     Screech, screech, scree—BOOM! The flash lights up the entire living room. Clarice springs off of Ally and hides under a table. Ally jumps onto the couch and hides under the quilt. This latest clap of thunder was louder than the previous ones.

     After catching her breath, Ally slowly rises up onto her knees and carefully pulls the curtain aside to look out the window. The rainy darkness makes it difficult to see anything. She reluctantly draws closer to the window, cupping her hands to look out.

     Two wet faces are peering back at her.

Signs from Heaven

Signs from Heaven, God Winks...There have been many names attributed to the phenomenon of receiving messages from loved ones who have crossed over.

I personally have received many of these signs.

The night my daughter, Alicia, was killed (but before I knew), I heard my wind chimes clattering in the "wind" on a hot, muggy August night. There wasn't any wind...

It gave me an eerie and uneasy feeling. About 30 minutes later, police were at my door giving me the worst news of my life.

It's my belief that Alicia passed by to warn me of the devastating news to come, and also to let me know she was okay, and that she wasn't really gone.

Since then, I have seen so many different signs, messages, clues, etc. that it's difficult NOT to believe that it means something.

I don't think everything I hear or see is from Alicia, but when something special or unusual happens AND I get a strong emotion from it, I tend to think it's my little girl shining through. Sometimes I feel my mom or sister is sending me a message but not nearly as often as what I believe to be from Alicia.

One of the most frequent signs I get relates to dragonflies.

In 2001, we watched an emotional movie that really moved me called "Dragonfly." It was about a wife who was in an accident and sending urgent messages to her husband (Kevin Costner).

Here's a link to the IMDB website if you want to check it out: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0259288/

A few years later, Alicia gave me a dragonfly pin.

So it makes sense that Alicia would send me messages via dragonflies. To clarify, I see MANY dragonflies every day in my backyard. I think most of them are just regular insects doing their thing. But once in a while, I just get a vibe from one dragonfly that flies close or lands on my car antenna or something. I can't explain it, really. It's just a feeling.

The other night, my husband and I were taking pics outside. I was taking some of the pretty sky streaked with pink. Then I saw this and my jaw dropped:

It's a perfect dragonfly in the clouds, with thorax and wings and everything. 

Wow, just wow! I said "Okay, Alicia, message received loud and clear!" <3 p="">

What kind of signs or messages do you get from your loved ones who have passed away?

Momma G's Sweet Tea

     One of my favorite things about the South and summer is delightfully refreshing sweet tea. Usually the BBQ restaurants have the best tea (although Red Lobster's is pretty good, too!)

     This is our sweet tea recipe. I like to swap a couple black tea bags with green tea to mix it up and add some of the nutritional benefits. Tea is good for you -- although I know all the sugar is not. But sometimes our souls just need something yummy. Enjoy!

Bird and Nature Photos

Some birding we did using our Nikon Coolpix L840.

                                                   Dragonfly having lunch

Hawk

Woodpecker

Hawk

Mockingbird chasing after a hawk

                                                     Canadian Goose Family

Male cardinal

Male cardinal

Lizard

Canadian Goose Family

Sweet!

Cat and Dog Photos

These are some pictures we took of our pets using our Nikon Coolpix L840.
We enjoy this point and shoot camera so much!

"Hey, I'm Tony. Forgetaboutit!"

This is Red showing you his WHOLE mouth!

Beasley in her new hat.

Sawyer saying hi.

Sawyer stalking Tony

Sawyer about to pounce,.

Sawyer stalking Tony. 

Action shot!

Tony saying hi.

The Moon

Oh, how I love the moon...Pictures taken with Nikon Coolpix L840

Photography for Fun - Using Coolpix L840

We bought this terrific point and shoot camera on clearance at Target a couple of months ago. We've been taking pictures of the moon, birds, and everything cool we can think of.

Here are some pictures from the beach and the lake:

Collecting Recipes

My husband and I both lost our moms in 2014. We're left with sad hearts and many happy memories of childhood and beyond.

We find ourselves reminiscing about our mothers' recipes. We'll never again have that special potato salad, banana bread, or other specialties just how Mom lovingly made.

This started us on a quest for good recipes. We're at an age now where we have a little more time and patience for cooking and baking.

Barbecue is my husband's specialty. Ribs and pork, cooked low and slow, earns him many praises from family and friends. (Look for a post here soon about his cooking!)

My specialty is...eating. Ha!

Alas, I have never been known for my skills in the kitchen. However, I have a few dishes that I think I have perfected for my taste and my family's, at least. When I cook, it's usually baking and usually semi-homemade.

In this post I want to share some of the recipes we've collected from the internet. Enjoy!


If you love comfort food as much as I do, you'll enjoy this yummy (and easy!) apple crisp.

http://outofthegardenintothekitchen.blogspot.com/2012/01/apple-crisp-with-canned-apples.html

(I'll keep adding to this post. Please check back.)

Alone, Lonely, or Independent? On Becoming a Cat Lady

Pop Quiz: It's Saturday night. I am sitting on the couch with my laptop and my cat. A load of laundry is spinning in the background.

Am I alone, lonely, or independent?

Answer: None of the above. I am simply becoming a Cat Lady.

Before I sound too dramatic, I will clarify that I have a husband and friends and family, But as of late, I am alone - a lot.

When my husband's not working, he's usually with me. Today he had a golfing date with his buddies, and I was happy for him. "Sure, go!" I said. I have errands to run, anyway.

{Insert Whitesnake song}

"Here I go again on my own, going down the only road I've ever known;
Like a drifter I was born to walk alone."

Sigh...

I really do like myself and I really do appreciate "me" time. Yet I feel a little bit lonely.

As I walked into Walmart (part of my errands), I saw a woman with her older mom, shopping. I felt a pang in my heart as I thought of my mom, who passed away 2 years ago, She normally wouldn't have gone shopping with me, anyway. She was extremely independent and wanted to do things in her own way and in her own time frame. But suddenly I pictured us walking along, chit chatting, and I really, really missed her. After all, I haven't had a mommy at age 50 and I don't know what that would be like. I bet it would be nice.

While I was driving home, my daughter called me. I enjoy talking with my grown up baby girl who no longer lives at home. She worries about me. I think she thinks I will end up a Cat Lady like my mom was. But I told my daughter not to worry. "I am OKAY," I said. "I guess I am a little lonely but not really." The last thing I want to do is hold back my daughter by laying a bunch of misplaced guilt onto her.

The truth is, I am just sad. I am just missing people who are no longer in my life. No one can fix that. Not my husband, not my daughter, not my friends.

I am not really okay but I have to learn to be okay with not being okay.

Don't we all, at one point or another?

So, I sit here tonight, and I pet my cat, Sawyer. He purrs and he squints his eyes at me (which means I love you according to Jackson Galaxy.) http://www.animalplanet.com/tv-shows/my-cat-from-hell

I am Becoming a Cat Lady of sorts. Just like my mom. And I don't consider that a bad thing. Peace out.

Pandora Stand Up Comedy

Great stress relief!

Identity Crisis: When Your Youngest Leaves the Nest (After Your Oldest Died)

What now?

In a couple of week this, my youngest child will be 21. Not only is she truly an adult now, she's also been spending a lot of time away from home with her boyfriend. So although she hasn't officially left, things are definitely different.

I am having an IDENTITY CRISIS.

I have been a mom since my oldest child was born in 1987- almost 30 years. I am still a mom, of course, and I always will be. But I am no longer a "mommy" doing all those many parental things that were my norm for a few decades now. 

Every parent goes through this, I know. And I am extremely happy for my daughter as she embarks upon this new chapter in her life. However, I am struggling with a few challenges that not every mom has to deal with.

My oldest daughter was killed 10 years ago. She was only 19. So her "little" sister is now older than she is--which is weird for me. If she were still here, she could be the Big Sister and give me advice as Little Sister ventures out on her own. Maybe I would even be a grandma by now since my oldest would have turned 29 this year. A lot of maybes. And it all adds up to heartache.

As I cried this morning, wondering what my role is in life--especially since both my mom and older sister are also gone--it occurred to me that I am no longer young and pretty and I am no longer a daughter or a sister (since 2014) and now I am not even a MOMMY. 

Who the hell am I then?!

I am a wife. My husband is supportive, thank goodness. But this is not an issue for him. He doesn't have all of the instincts and emotions that course through my veins. 

I am still "me" and luckily I like "me" and I am able to be alone without being lonely.

But no matter what, this hurts. Feeling UN-NEEDED hurts. And this is on top of the unbelievable amount of pain from losing my oldest daughter.

I listened to John Mayer's "Born and Raised" today, and even though he is not a mom (not even a dad) the lyrics are spot on.

"Now and then I pace my place

I can't retrace how I got here

I cheat and lie to check my fates
It's slightly harder than last year

Then all at once it gets hard to take
It gets hard to fake what I won't be
'Cause one of these days I'll be born and raised
And it's such a waste to grow up lonely

I still have dreams, they're not the same
They don't fly as high as they used to
I saw my friend, he's in my head
And he said, "You don't remember me, do you?"

Then all at once it gets hard to take
It gets hard to fake what I won't be
'Cause one of these days I'll be born and raised
And it's such a waste to grow up lonely

I still got time, I still got faith
I call on both of my brothers
I got a mom, I got a dad
But they do not have each other

So line on up, take your place
And show your face to the morning
'Cause one of these days you'll be born and raised
And it all comes on without warning.":

My mom accomplished her goal. I was successfully "Born and Raised" and so was my sister. Sadly, she is "Born and Raised (and in Heaven)" and so is my oldest daughter. What am I supposed to do with that bundle of emotions?

On top of this, I can't vent about it to anyone. Fortunately, none of my friends can quite understand this specific Identity Crisis I am having. And there is no way I will vent to my daughter. She deserves to follow her own path and find happiness. My personal problems are NOT her problem. 
If she sees me cry, I hope she knows that I am still happy for her.

Summer is my least favorite season

Summertime Sadness. Summertime Blues. Cruel Summer. These songs all apply to me. But I feel that they (and I) are the exception to the rule.

For me, summer is a season full of  some of my highest highs but also my absolute lowest lows.

I have endured great loss in the summer. Unimaginable loss. But summer is also a time for many birthdays in my family and circle of friends. My own birthday is in the summer. But I can't forget the sadness of summer.

In addition, summer is hard very on my body. The combination of heat and humidity and the types of mold and pollen wreak havoc on my sinuses. Especially in July and August. In fact, the "Dog Days" of summer refer to a period of time July 3-August 11 that the Egyptians thought were the hottest days due to the rising of Sirius (the dog star). Here is a link to an article that explains the "Dog Days" of summer.

http://www.almanac.com/calendar/date/2015-07-3

Contrary to what is posted on facebook, I am indeed not the only one to get the summertime blues. See article on abcnews.go.com below:

http://abcnews.go.com/Health/Wellness/11-signs-suffer-summer-depression/story?id=19855110#

Of course, there are certain aspects of summer that are nice. Going to the beach and getting a tan, for one. I am fair skinned so I wear a lot of sunscreen and I don't stay long. But the nice summery glow I get does brighten my outlook some. The ocean air is also very fresh and relaxing (and contains less pollen, too!) so that all is very healing for me.

Do you have certain seasons that you love or strongly dislike?

Transitions

     Transitions. We all go through them. When we're little, we change at lightning fast speed from a newborn, to a toddler, to a child, to a teen and then we're suddenly "adults" and things seem to slow down for a bit.
     Until we get swept up in the next storm of college, career, marriage, kids--maybe in that order, maybe not. Maybe we go through all those steps. Maybe not. Typically, most of us experience at least some of these things.
     If we're fortunate enough, we eventually hit "middle age." Most people I know don't like using that phrase to describe themselves. I suppose it's the same as a young person who hates being referred to as a "teenager." Labels are just not fun.
     At middle age, we literally start to creak and our eyesight starts to go. When it first happens, it's rather amusing. We quickly discover that many of the stereotypes of getting older are true. We may try to deny it at first or even fight it. Until we slip into some form of acceptance. We choose fashionable reading glasses and try to dress "our age" (whatever that means), We go to the doctor regularly, try to eat better, try to exercise more, but we know our bodies are simply aging.
     It's kind of sad but it's kind of no big deal. After all, we've experienced something similar before. Remember puberty? Our bodies suddenly betrayed us, churning our hormones around and turning our smooth skin into bright red pimples. Now our knees are giving out sometimes and our smooth skin is become a little less firm. Oh well.
     What's truly sad, however, is when we begin to see our parents really aging. Their bodies seem to go right before our eyes. They may still be "Mommy" or "Daddy" and they may still have a sharp mind and quick wit. But the inevitable is happening. And there is nothing we can do to stop it.
     Many of us are in the "sandwich generation" as it's known. We have children to take care of and we're trying to help our parents, too. I can attest that it isn't easy to balance all of this. Especially while trying to keep up with a full-time job, take care of a home, maintain a happy marriage, and (maybe) visit with friends every once in a while.
     Let me state the obvious: all of it is worth it but none of it is easy. I can remember very vividly feeling so "harried" for many years. I felt as though I was just being thrown from day to day, spread too thin, chronically sleep-deprived, with no time or energy to make any conscious decisions.
     Then everything slowed down. I was able to catch my breath a little. The pressures were easing up a bit.  I crossed a lot of mile markers in my life--graduations, anniversaries, and other accomplishments. But this is a very bittersweet feeling.
    Tragically, many of my loved ones are gone now. Crossing this mile marker in my life is absolutely nothing to celebrate. So I sit with these feelings of heartbreak and loss, missing people who I love dearly and can never replace. At the same time, knowing there is nothing I can do to change these sad truths, knowing I must continue to move forward into another chapter of my life.
     But what do I do with myself? What is my identity now? For decades I was "Daughter" and "Mother" so who am I now?
     I will always be my mom's little girl and I will always be my children's mommy. Logically I know this. But my heart is a bit achy.
     As a woman of the 21st century, I know labels don't hold all of my identity. After all, I am so much more. However, these labels are ones that I wore proudly (still do) so they're not easy to let go of.
     I am stumbling into my "new" life now, a little at a time. I am re-discovering my younger self within my older self. For example, I am reading books again, writing more, walking more. I am getting back into nature, focusing on my pets again (because after all, they still need me!) My husband and I are dating again, enjoying quiet down time. We're playing Yahtzee, having deep conversations, eating leisurely meals.
     One of the best perks is that my "little girl" Alexandra is now an adult. She has become one of my best friends. We enjoy hanging out together, doing girl things, having grown up talks. I still do a lot of mothering (and sometimes probably smothering!) because it's a hard habit to break. But she doesn't seem to mind.
     After all, she is transitioning, too. We all are.
   

So this is what "normal" grief feels like

      My mother died less than a month ago. She was 75 years old, she had been sick for many years, and she died in her sleep at hospice surrounded by family. Since she was my only parent (and I didn't have aunts or uncles or other adult family members with whom I was close), my mom was my life. Quite literally. My childhood was always just three of us--Mom and my sister and me.
      It's been eight years since my oldest daughter, Alicia, was killed. Right now I am grieving my mom and I miss her very much. But her passing has triggered immense grief pains for my Alicia. I wasn't expecting this but I believe it is due to the extreme contrast.
     The way Mom passed seemed so peaceful. Sad, of course, but it made sense in the big scheme of life. I can't help but be reminded how terribly unfair Alicia's death was. She was only 19. Mom was 75. Mom lived a full life. Not a perfect life, not a problem-free life. But there wasn't much Mom didn't get to experience.
      Mom also died relatively pain-free as far as I could tell. She had nurses surrounding her with pillows, blankets, medicine, and I don't think she was even conscious when she passed. If she was aware at all, then she could hear us telling her how much we love her and that it was okay if she wanted to go. We were holding her hand and thanking her for all she had done for us.
      My daughter was killed--she didn't "pass." She was brutally beaten. I reel when I imagine it. Sometimes I picture the terrible event in my mind--what it must have looked like, sounded like, felt like for her. I can't help it. It is torture for me but my mind goes there sometimes. I hope Alicia died quickly but I know she didn't die peacefully. I know she experienced pain and fear. Sometimes I like to think that adrenaline kicked in and she was shielded biologically. I like to believe that God took her soul before she was able to experience the horror and she was shielded spiritually. But the truth is, I just don't know.
     Losing Alicia caused me to experience "complicated grief." Now that Mom has passed, I am experiencing "normal grief." I almost feel guilty that I am not more upset about Mom but I know this is healthy. I have so much acceptance, knowing that my mom was ready and somewhat relieved since she was in pain for so many years. This experience has made me feel extra bad about Alicia's death. I am devastated about how extremely unfair it was for her.
     I'd like to believe Mom is with Alicia now. It is a beautiful thought. In fact, I had a vision of Alicia dressed in white with a huge smile on her face, lifting mom from her bed as she passed. Was it wishful thinking? Or was it a spiritual experience? I don't know but I am going to choose the latter.

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