The journey I’ve been on for the last two years is not one I’d wish on anyone. I’d like to say I’m a better person for having gone through it, but I’m not. What I am is thankful for having survived it.
We lost our daughter in 2018. As that year came to an end, I was a shell of myself. From the outside it may not have been as obvious because I was pretty good at going through the motions. Each day I’d put one foot in front of the other in an effort to check a few things off my to-do list before I allowed myself to pull the covers back over my head for another sleepless night. But inside, I remember feeling very little beyond profound heartbreak. The horrors of Stephanie’s death were winning; the agony of losing her erasing memories of our happier times. I hadn’t just lost her; I lost an entire lifetime. Continue reading “It’s Easier Than You Think to Die Before You’re Dead”
From the beginning, I was adamant that fishing was not my thing. Despite repeated attempts by my six-year-old grandson to entice me to join in his new passion, I was steadfast in my refusal to even pick up a rod. I’m sure Caleb thought it odd, since I’d always been such a willing sidekick to every adventure he cooked up; all he had to do was mention it, and I was game. But not this time; not fishing. I encouraged him to seek involvement from others, as I was sitting this one out. 
How can you not love summer? The days are longer, the colors are brighter and life moves to the great outdoors. For many, summertime means the frantic pace of their everyday existence slows a bit; kids are out of school, people take vacations, traffic is lighter, and everything seems just a little easier. For me the opposite is true. Right about the time everyone else is taking that deep breath to welcome the summer respite, my life is speeding up. From May through August the pace is intense, my workload peaks and despite it all, or maybe, because of it all, I’m my happiest self. 
It’s not usually my style to lead with an apology, but since a couple of you have contacted me this week expressing concern regarding my suddenly dormant blog, let me start by saying all is well. Better than well, great really. And I’m sorry for dropping out of sight without warning. I’ll confess, I was sort of surprised anyone even noticed. 
I’m assuming National Sunglasses Day is another one of the hundreds of commemorative days intended to help improve our health and therefore, our quality of life. From what I learned on Twitter (you can see my research was extensive) it’s sponsored by The Vision Council and they hope to remind us that our eyes need as much protection from the sun as our skin does.
We fell in love with our adorable little fur ball the moment we met him last October. That’s the thing about puppies, they’re so damn cute they hook you before you remember the upheaval a baby of any species causes to your life. But by the time we drove the twelve hours from Erie, PA to Knoxville with the little guy, it was coming back to me. Still, I wasn’t too worried because my husband, Tim, had always taken the lead with our dogs. I did kids, he did dogs. That was the deal with the first pup, and I never saw a reason to change it. 
Every summer has a beat. It varies from year to year, but once it kicks in we all march to it. Some years I pick it up by Memorial Day, other years it takes a little longer to resonate. To most casual observers and our Facebook friends I’m sure each of our summers appear the same: weekend gatherings of our summertime family joined by an interesting array of guests with a backdrop of water, sun, boats, food, drinks, laughter, music, hugs, and smiles… Good times always rule, but trust me, each year has a distinct beat all its own. 
I rolled over and looked at the clock: 3:52 a.m. The grumpy stomach and foggy brain that awakened me Monday morning was unmistakable; it’s a hangover. . . a food hangover. It doesn’t take long to realize going back to sleep is not an option; my head is throbbing but it’s mostly because I’m pissed at myself for ruining the start to what I expect to be a very special week. 
I always have mixed emotions with the arrival of spring. Don’t get me wrong; I love the longer days, the warmer weather, and the explosion of color that’s replacing more of the gray shades of winter each day. But spring is petal-to-metal busy around here. The next eight weeks is when Tim and I transition our home from a winter sanctuary to the welcoming lake house so many friends and family help us enjoy each summer.