In the last couple of months, which have been a pretty hairy time for me and my family, because our son’s epileptic seizures had been out of control, I would notice my knee-jerk response to anyone who asked me, “Hi. How are you today?”
“Fine, thank you. How are you?” or even sometimes, “Great! How’s your day going?” were my pat responses, and always said in overly chirpy and in overly zealous, zippy tones. The worst I ever said was, “Pretty good.”
Now, of course, this is what we all do. The clerk at my grocery store does not honestly want a play-by-play of my sh*tshow of a day/week/month/year, and I don’t want to have an emotional collapse, in public, while purchasing some milk, bread and broccoli, in front of a bunch of hungry strangers. But still, at those times, I was honestly feeling really rotten. For the first time in a long time, I noticed my answers to those socially polite questions, and I noticed how false my fake answers rang out to me. I was lying through my teeth. Yet, just like Think Smarter states above, maybe my answers held some truth. “Fake it, ’til you make it.” Who knows how things in our lives on Earth are going to turn out, until the very end? And even then, the collective belief seems to be that after our lives on Earth, most (if not all) of us will all transition to an even better place. How many terrible, rotten, no-good experiences, in retrospect, after bringing you to your knees, brought you to new heights in your life, in ways that you could never have imagined? We all have had our rising-from-the-ashes Phoenix moments, oftentimes more than once.
So, with that in mind, how are things for you?
“It’s all good,” at my corner of the Earth. “It’s all good.”
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Our middle son is a first year medical student and on our Family Facetime last night, he told us that he was shadowing the orthopedic doctors in the emergency room on Friday night. He described a man who had lost the tip of his finger and then he told us about another poor man whose hand was completely disconnected from the rest of his wrist and was describing how he had to help hold the arm of the man (who was in agonizing pain), as the orthopedists worked to get the man’s hand back into proper position before it would be too late for the hand to have any hope of any sort of recovery. My son was so enthusiastically describing all of these maladies and remedies, that it got to the point that my younger son said, “Okay, Hannibal Lecter, pipe down.”
Our middle son swore that the only reason why he was smiling, while telling us about his latest medical experiences, was because the mortified and horrified expressions on the rest of our faces, were absolutely hilarious to watch. Every time that he describes one of his medical school experiences, such as holding a cadaver’s heart in the palm of his hand, I softly and weakly say, “So, honey, are you sure that this is still your calling?” And our son is always so enthusiastic in his response, “Yes, Mom, YES!”
Medical professionals, I am in awe of you. I am so grateful for you, and for what you do, and for what you are able to handle. I have trouble digesting our son’s stories, much less witnessing them, or having to be a vital part of these stories. There is no doubt in my mind, that like so many professions, medicine is a special calling. I think that if we would all listen to our deepest selves, and follow our own callings, we would see a world like no other. At the very least, it would be a happier, more passionate world. Thank you to all of you who are living what you are called to do, and made to do. It makes all of the difference in our shared world and experience. We all have our part to play. We are all a thread of The Tapestry. We are all a single cell of The Body.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
“I think in the future we are going to have 15 minutes of anonymity.” – Erica Rhodes
We got a new Firestick for one of our TVs and interestingly, all of these old pictures of our family, and of our past pets, etc. are showing up on the TV, as a screensaver. No one asked the stick to do that for us. Alexa took it upon herself, I suppose. This reminded me of a time (way back when you had to get your pictures developed, just to even view them), that the photography technician took it upon himself to blow up and frame a picture of my two little middle sons, in their matching green dragon Halloween costumes. I was equally delighted and creeped out by that gesture, all at the same time. (And yes, of course, I couldn’t resist buying the whole kit and kaboodle in the frame, and it still sits on our picture shelf today.)
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Well, good morning. How did you find my fun little blog? IYKYK Do you know what “IYKYK” means? I just found out this morning. I was lying in bed, reading about this funky little swanky seaside town, and the writer of the article casually threw that acronym into the mix. I showed it to my husband and just like we always do, we stared at it, and started guessing at it, like we were competing with each other, trying to figure out the Wheel ofFortune saying, in order to win the prize. Neither of us could figure it out, so my husband looked it up for me. “If You Know, You Know” So now you know, you know? My understanding is that this is a younger, hipper way of saying that you are somehow “in the know.” Adulting – Second Half, IYKYK. I like it.
So friends, if you really want to trip up the younger people in your circle, casually throw that one out, real casually, into a text. That’ll throw ’em for a loop. “How did that party go last night? IYKYK” That could scare them. Just like when I was a little kid and I thought my mom seemed to have eyes in the back of her head, this text could really start some wheels whirling around in their young heads. They would be thinking, “What does she know? How does she know? Oh no!”
I like surprising my kids like this, every once in a while. It keeps them on their toes. Like the other day, I sent out a text to the family chat, reminding my children not to do stupid things like “the milk crate challenge.” This is another one of those dumb internet challenges where people get filmed doing crazy stunts. People are stacking up empty milk crates, like Jenga pieces, and then seeing if they can balance on top of them, at colossal heights. Sadly, it is not out of the realm of possibility, that my two middle sons might find such a challenge interesting to do, or intriguing to instigate one of their friends to do, while they have their phones going, camera ready. But now they know that their Mom has all of her many eyes wide, wide open (imagine Medusa’s head), and she knows all about the milk crate challenge, and therefore they have gotten her warning not to attempt such foolery, before they could even start collecting and piling up some milk crates. IYKYK
Those who say, do not know. Those who know, do not say. ~ Le Tse
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
I’m cranky this morning. To me, sleep is probably the most crucial tool in my self-care toolbox. When I have a terrible night’s sleep, I’m just the worst example of my most awful, terrible, dark-sided self. Last night I got creative with dinner and I mixed some ground turkey with tabouli, which I have to say was delicious (and my family agreed). I decided to be generous by sharing some of it with the dogs, by mixing it up in their food. Big mistake. Colossal error in judgment, on my part. Josie, our collie, has a sensitive stomach and my husband and I paid the heavy price for my short-sighted stupidity, last night. Josie woke us up about every two hours to go out. (at least she saved us a mess in the house. She’s tidy like that.) It was like having a newborn again. I read that earlier this year, a 57-year-old woman, in the United States, gave birth naturally to a baby boy. All I can say is, “God bless her.”
Before I started writing today, I decided to check out Holiday Mathis’ horoscope column to see if she thought that there was any hope of me, salvaging the rest of my day. Holiday Mathis often writes in wise riddles. This was my horoscope for today:
“The special fondness between you and your people gets the spotlight as you laugh and share stories, many retold for the 100th time. This is how a legacy gets cemented.” (I’m a Sag, by the way.)
Now, I am not sure how good I will be at telling any stories today, without a level of snark and irritability, stemming from my exhaustion, but we do have our weekly Family Facetime call tonight. And I have noticed that I repeat a lot of the same old stories that I have told at least 100 times, on these family calls, and also to hundreds of other different people. When I was a kid and my elders did that repeating of the same old stories, I always figured that it was a form of aging and memory loss, but now I am wise. As I am telling one of my fond stories, I am fully aware that I have told the same story 543 times previously. As I am telling the same old story, there’s a voice in my head saying, “Oh, come on! Lady! You’ve told this story again and again and again. Look at their eyes glazing over. Stop betraying your age, you old fool!” But I can’t help myself. As an elder who commands some respect, I have my captive audience.
I think that maybe I didn’t repeat my stories so much when I was younger because I didn’t have as many stories. Or I was taking it for granted that I still had a whole lifetime to make stories. Or maybe I didn’t have the wisdom to glean anything from my stories to make them worth sharing. Or perhaps when I was younger, I was more self-conscious, and thus more afraid of being called “boring.” I honestly don’t know. All that I do know, is that as I age, I repeat a lot of my same old stories and it’s not a memory thing. I am fully aware that I do it.
I do like Holiday’s positive spin on it, though. My husband and I have been watching the Vikings series on TV. The Vikings did not have a written language. Their history is all based on legend and lore. Many times during the show, we witness Viking mothers telling stories of their rich history and ancestors to their children before they fall asleep. In the words of Holiday, “This is how legacy gets cemented.”
Most of the stories that I tell again and again, have a degree of fondness and intimacy and hope and humor interlaced in them. Many times I am repeating these stories to the very people whom I made the stories with. Maybe this is a way to try to capture and to keep the wonderful feelings that the experience brought about for all of us. Maybe repeating stories is about holding on to the very essence of all of the players involved. So that when these loved ones are no longer physically with us, we have captured the very spirit that will make them more real to those people who will never meet them physically, but will learn about their heritage, through legacy and lore. People and experiences that are important to us, we want to keep. We want to cement these people and experiences into posterity. Our stories are our lives. Our stories are our way to remain alive forever. Our stories are just a way of transferring the energy of the love and the life that exists in our hearts, on to those who go after us for generations to come, in this adventure that we call Life.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
(credit: Rex Masters, Twitter)
I love baloney. There are times in life that just call for a fried baloney sandwich. Facts. I grew up in Pittsburgh, PA. There is a famous restaurant there, that puts french fries and cole slaw on top of all of their sandwiches. I would always get the fried baloney version, topped with cheese and french fries and cole slaw. Heaven on bread. (Pittsburgh also perfected/invented? the steak salad, which is a giant pile of steak, french fries and loads of cheese, on top of some lettuce. By the time you finish the toppings, you never even get to the salad part, but at least you can say that you had “a salad” for dinner.)
This is the fifth day since after my vacation, and my bounceback game is terrible. I could easily be an actress in a Zombie movie without even trying. If I had one complaint about getting older, it’s knowing that if I choose to do anything “extra”, the payback is going to be really, really, really hard and tough and miserable. Staying up extra late, having one extra drink, one extra candy bar on Halloween night, one extra mile of walking, one extra sit-up, one extra half inch on my high heels, pizza with extra cheese – girl, you’re gonna pay, extra, extra exponentially!
Last night, I decided to mix up my own concoction of “Bounceback Brew.” (Those who know me well, know my tendencies to become my own sort of “self-taught” intuitive chemist. I take about 8000 supplements a day. I mix up all of my face creams that I bought on impulse, to create, what is in my own mind, a SUPER fabulous, miraculous, all-inclusive, one-step anti-aging cure cream, until I break out in a strange and intensely itchy rash. I love to “layer” my perfumes and lipsticks, until no one can breathe around me, and my lips stick out an extra half-inch from my face. My dear friends and family, thank you for loving kooky little me, just as I am. It means the world.) Bounceback Brew consisted of taking my biggest mug (the one that says “Queen Bee”) and filling it with boiling water. I then took four different tea bags (two sleepy-times, one detox and one Honey Lavender Stress Relief, all made by different tea companies) and I allowed these bags to simmer in the Queen Bee Mug for a good 30 minutes. I then slurped Bounceback Brew down quickly and purposefully. Bounceback Brew did not make me tired. At all. Bounceback Brew did not even help me in the powder room department, but for some strange reason, Bounceback Brew gave me the giggles. (this is all OTC grocery store bought stuff, trust me on this) After imbibing in Bounceback Brew, I thought that the dumbest things were the most hysterical things I had ever seen or read or thought about. And then I got incredibly annoyed with my husband because he was seemingly confused, irritated, and he didn’t see the humor in any of it, at all. So, I was laughing playfully and yet, angrily scolding my husband, all at the same time. This lasted for a good half hour and then, poof, I was back to my current state of “post-vacation clawback to life.”
Try “Bounceback Brew” if you like. There were no nasty side-effects and they do say that laughter is the best medicine, for just about anything. In the meantime, if you have a better recipe for Bounceback Brew, please put it in my Comments section. I am always game to try something new, even if it takes me extra time to recoup from my mixology “gamble”.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
“I’ve already lost touch with a couple of people I used to be.” – Joan Didion
“Happiness is when what you think, what you say and what you do, are in harmony.” – Mahatma Gandhi
“Don’t compare yourself to people who pretend to have it all together.” – Turtlebreezee
“Self care should be a daily practice, not an emergency procedure.” – love yourself (Twitter)
I find Mondays to be good “listening days.” I just put my head down, keep it simple and reflect on how I would like for my week to go. Mondays, tend to be good “find myself and center myself” days. When I go full bore, and I try to get all of my weekly chores done on a Monday, that always ends up being a lesson in frustration and futility. Mondays can be “fun days”, if we keep our expectations in check and our equilibriums finely tuned. May today be an excellent Monday!
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
+I ended up at an estate sale the other day. I’ve written before that I don’t particularly love estate sales because it often feels too personal and intimate to rummage through someone’s things and collections and to poke through their “very every day life”, but this estate sale was occuring at an intriguing, unique looking house that I happened to ride by. I was too curious not to stop. I was not disappointed. The home was filled to the brim with collections of every kind. It was like being in a museum and stepping back in time. I made a remark to that affect and one of the women, who was working the sale, murmured in a disgusted tone, “Yep, if she liked it, she bought it.” That was the exact, a-ha moment when I decided that I really didn’t need the odd, yet interesting, olive green owl candle, with a slightly melted ear tuft. I put it back on the table and I headed back to my car for some deeply needed, self-reflection.
+Why is everything these days seemingly “infused with technology”? My shampoo, my moisturizers, my laundry detergent all have descriptions on them, that make them sound like mega computers. I am washing my hair with microchips, apparently. My skin creme has a “hydration complex”. (So now my beauty products have as many complexes as I do.) And we are only on the brink of this “artificial intelligence” revolution. These are actual words, (these are not words that I made up), from some of my ordinary, everyday products: “Zip-Up technology”, “Nanovasive technology”, “dirt and fade technologies.” It feels like all products fall into two categories these days: “All Natural/Organic/Self Sustaining/Renewable/High and Mighty Perfection” or “Advanced Applied Mechanical Engineering in Technological Liquid Form”. Maybe I should rebrand my blog. Adulting – Second Half is an organic, aged mix and essence of non-artificial hormones, and biotic and cellular emotion, transferred on to your screen with the help of Desperate to Spit It All Out in the Hopes of Making Some Sense of It All. (DSIAOHMSSIA technology)
+I am very proud of West Virginia’s New River Gorge being named a National Park this past December. If you have read my blog for a while, you know my affinity for America’s best kept, natural secret – West Virginia. If you want to have a fabulous, nature filled trip this summer, keep this national (Yay!) park on your short list. This beautiful place will remind you that God’s creations are more purely organic, and far surpass any kind of technological wonder than anything that we humans have ever made. You will rest in peaceful awe, as you take in the views of all of the natural wonders that make this gorge and its gorgeous surroundings, so worthy of its new designation.
+Finally, Happy Pride Month!!! In the words of Morgan Freeman: “I hate the word homophobia. It’s not a phobia. You’re not scared. You’re an asshole.”
And as a promised, added feature, here’s Throwback Thursday‘s previous blog post of mine, for today. This one is one of the most viewed posts from my blog:
I love summer and all of the good stuff that comes with summer, such as ice cream trucks. I saw this chart on the internet the other day which showed the typical ice cream novelties commonly available from ice cream trucks. It made me instantly happy. Who doesn’t have fond childhood memories of “the ice cream man”? My regular go-to is the Good Humor Strawberry Shortcake bar (even at the age of 50, I am not beyond having my heart flutter as I rush to my purse, when I hear the familiar sound of the ice cream truck’s twinkling tune, and then pretend that I was just out getting my mail, as I try to appear all casual-like, among the throngs of neighborhood children – “oh well, perhaps a little ice cream could be refreshing, you know, for nostalgia’s sake.”) I honestly have tried each and every one of these scrumptious offerings on the chart, over the years, except for the “Screw Ball”. I had to look it up. I had no idea what a Screw Ball was, so it intrigued me greatly. It turns out that a Screw Ball is a sherbert type concoction in a cone, with a gum ball at the very bottom of the cone. (And this is the part of my story when I envision you all nodding, and rolling your eyes and saying, “Duh! How could you not know what a Screw Ball is???”) I am still not quite curious enough to switch from my Strawberry Shortcake selection, to a Screw Ball, but if it were the last offering left, I wouldn’t say no.
Speaking of gum, I bought four packets of Cinnamon Extra gum at my local Walgreens the other day. They were on clearance for fifteen cents each. When the kind and friendly young man behind the counter was ringing me out, I asked him if he liked gum. “Oh, I like gum,” he said. “Well, take one of these for yourself,” I said on a whim.
Friends, you would have thought I had handed the clerk, a gold bar or a Bitcoin token. His grateful and joyous and sincere reaction kind of bewildered me. He was so overwhelmingly thankful, that part of me was desperate to rummage through my purse for something more, like a hundred dollar bill in order to truly warrant his thankfulness (which I would not have found, because I don’t honestly carry around a lot of cash in my purse these days, and nor did I figure that he would want a used tube of lipstick). I started to sadly wonder if this young man hadn’t received many gifts in his life. Still, the experience, made me feel great. And it obviously seemed to make the clerk feel good, too. This fifteen cent, clearance gum is the most satisfying gum which I have ever purchased in my life, for myself or for anybody else, and I haven’t even taken the cellophane wrapper off of it yet. I suppose that there really is truth to the old adage, “It’s the thought that counts.”
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
