Posted on in book

Not My Story

I spent the summer tidying a book in the making for over ten years. I am three chapters away from a second complete novel, with the hard work yet to come. While I am not pressing delete, like five years ago, I am either adjusting, ending or sticking to children’s books and of course this blog, which I have ignored. Instead, I tried to win the Tik Tok lottery of micro influencer fame. With under $200.00 in earnings I am a well below micro. Not even on the radar of app. Let’s just say, it’s fun, keeps me young, and sounds crazy all at the same time. Its going private for awhile. Maybe permanently. There are no miracles out in the real world especially for a sixty-three year old teacher. I teach. It’s who I am. I write. Its who I am. I don’t dance around skincare products with perfect lighting and sound just to hook you to watch more than five seconds of a video and beg you to click below and grab a sale. That is not who I am. Back to the thesis. Stories, I have but some are not mine to tell and while I wasn’t, I was. The fringes of others lives are still theirs to tell or not to tell. So, I can’t continue as it feels wrong on many levels. Some would argue I wasted a summer. Perhaps. I believe I finally have my book that is my story. All mine which I finally found while writing and almost sharing stories that are better left unsaid. More to come.

Posted on in education, essay, family, granparent life

It started with fish…

Last year on our nuggets yearly visit it started with the grandisiose vision of fishing, selling fish, and a side of coffee. The latter was a courtesy of my husband’s thoughts, as coffee is life. We toned down to the reality of lemonade, cute cups (grandma’s input) and the option of ice or no ice. Everyone needs an option. The nugget figured out the flyers, we allowed for Oops moments, as that is life, a gorgeous banner, and monitoring the moments as a little guy can’t do everything and grandma needs a lifetime of memories. But what made this idea come to life were those on the island willing to give, donate, enjoy, and compliment his selling skills, along with his impeccable manners. We are proud. His dad is proud. The island has new young life burgeoning at the seams and while changes may be ahead as the years pass, the ferry grows, and more find this paradise. This community is rooted in compassion and neighborly love. This deeply engrained magic that flows into this magical island, allows all of us to end our worry, socialize, and allow a dreamer to become a lemon entrepreneur.

Thank you Neebish Island!

David, Tracy, Kyle, and DJ

Posted on in education

Time Files

Truly a year without writing. Writers call this heaven or hell, to me it was a break to focus on my weighty decision of GLP-1 and just deal with one big change at a time. My weight is under control. Clothes are falling off and I haver mastered cheap looks, that look great until I find my size. I have found that I like jeans, blazers, vests, tweeds,  basics t-shirts, and comfy sweaters with plenty of jewels, cool shoes, and a full rotation of handbags. I am basically preppy. Always was and I still am underneath the extra 75 pounds of weight that vanished with time and work. No more old lady clothes but nothing runway crazy that will be out tomorrow.

While I have been doing everything but writing, I have taken a fancy to everything face care. You name it, I have the product and use it well per the directions with an extra prayer that the miracle in a bottle works. I roll, massage, red light, serum and more serum, and the infamous neck care in a variety of forms. I do not believe in plastic surgery, so it me is against products galore.

My other diversion from the two books that sit is finding my fitness and what Mayo requests for muscle gain. I cannot swing big medicine balls or ropes due to former injury so I have chosen home pilates, yoga, barre in rotation with light weights plus cardio spin. Most can figure this out in less than a year but to me it was more than choosing, it had to be fiscally sound, able to do twice a day (before and after school) and activities to build upon and focus on strength, and longevity of movement. I still am not a fan, but it is not a choice, it is mandatory.

Now, that time has flown by and my house is in order it is back to writing as the stories won’t tell themselves and my nugget wants a signed copy. No pressure.

Posted on in health, weight loss

A Weighty Decision

As a teacher, sitting around in PJ’s is heaven, but it brings me to the neverending contemplating of getting on the semiglutide train. It brings concerns, but I have been on a weight loss journey since May and have lost six pounds. Golf clap, but no more, I have tried. Cut back, tracked, rode miles a day. But still, about a pound a month.  At this rate, I will collect social security before my loss has been completed. Oh. How much? Forty pounds. It’s a nice round number, and to do this, I need a kickstart. Or a kick in the arse. Both this will be should I decide.

There are two camps of semiglutide users. The ones that deny and the ones that say bring it on. Obviously, I am the latter but still with fear and medical concerns. But my docs are the Mayo Clinic, so I know I am in good hands and not buying the meds online with a hot script. Not that it did not cross my mind.

But as for today I am still here in my PJ’s and still have two choices. I can stay on the slow train or take a trip and restart my health journey and my relationship with food.

We shall see. 

Posted on in life, sixty

My Dupe Era.

If you are shopping in high-end boutiques. Fantastic. Carry on and enjoy, but outside the happy bubble of high-end everything, the rest of society is hurting. So, don’t get judgmental. Prices on everything have created dupe mania, which is different from fake designers wares. I don’t promote copies or fakes, but I am at a point that $100 for just about anything from leggings to facial products is stupid, but I still want comfort and the overall style that designers create. So, I am duping. I want the look for less. Period.

It took me a minute to get comfortable with this Gen Z creation. I like designer clothes, bags and shoes. I have pieces and will continue to go in that direction at times, but as prices climb in all areas from food, airfare, housing, etc. Gen Z’s may have it right even if it costs the public new boutique designs and a life of faster fashion. In this day and age, the saving of money is more important than ever, and frankly, the direction of prices shows no sign of slowing.

So, dupe, my friend. You can find some of your old friends for less, and while not exactly, the same it is close as there are tribes of dupers that compare the products like scientists. Watch a few videos, and you can buy the closest products to what is now a few hundred dollars a jar, La Prairie vs. Aldi, yes, the grocery store price, please. Hey, caviar is caviar… and groceries are also available. Food plus a treat. It’s such a 1990’s way of life which I miss.

At 61, my dupes are selective and based on a true desire to save money for big ticket items, travel, and retirement. This economy has caused us all pause, or it should.

Posted on in education

Drapes that Bind

I am supposed to name my depression. To me, it has no name, just the symbol of opening and closing like fancy brocade drapes from long ago. The feel of a castle window design with the fancy tiebacks and the heaviness of the huge amounts of fabric matches my inner feeling of weight upon my body and being trapped inside darkness.  During these times, I wander the castle and clean without ever tending the outside gardens, as inside is my protection during these times. No harm. Just tending to my castle and an inner rest and reset, that will allow me to the opening and allow the light to come back into my life. I wish this was easy or had a handbook for those who love me, but thirty-two years ago, this began, and it is a life sentence with much reprieve and abundance of joy. Usually.

Most see happiness, a smile, life well lived, and not a care. I am blessed. Depression does not care. It picked me. The why is a very long list of situations I have coped with proudly and do not carry grudges or a why me attitudes. I am stronger than that and have, as needed, great care in my life. This time, my curtains are closed tight. So, I go back to my lists, activities, eating better, just checking off every box to make sure what I can control is at peace as the tightness of the darkness has nothing to do with my daily life. It hits. A million of my past moments could have triggered it but nothing rings true, nor would it matter as having an answer to the why does not let the light in…you would think it would, but no.

As for the naming. It is a drape. That is all I am giving it. Not a full name or cutsey code. A drape. An ugly brocade drape with dust and cobwebs hidden in the folds. To me, the color varies, but a faded burgandy is what usually pops into my head. Now, the hard stuff. I must open the drape and allow myself to feel and do what I enjoy on great days. It is under my control. Most days, the drape is open, and I am accepting of joy, but when I am entwined in a battle, the heaviness of the material is like a weight that just lies atop of me stopping my every desire. I hate these days. On these days, I pull back the drape and stay busy inside my castle. I clean. Workout. Clean. Take a break. Etc. My habits form around what I can control during times of chaos. It works. The drapes fight closure, and then I insert other activities outside of cleaning frenzy. I am not there. Not today. Nothing could get me to leave. Nothing. I know I am not alone. I continue to march on until going out and being with others sounds tolerable, and eventually, it will be great again. But not now. I have floors to clean.

Posted on in education

Back to School

This is the time of the year when parents rejoice and teachers fall into a deep short-term depression. Each summer gets shorter, or so it feels for educators, and that is due not to days but the pressure cooker of the nine months we are gearing up for, like soldiers in a battle against all the outside opportunities children have in their lives. Phones, a battle. Vacations, a silly but real battle. And my favorite, the mental health days parents give their children. It is amazing if we get some students in a focused manner at all throughout the week.  If we actually could just teach and not consistently re-teach due to absences or lack of focus, we would be ahead of the game.  But while I start out with that hope. It sadly ends by week two.  We are in a society where many put all other things over school but have the expectation of us to fix/teach/parent all the missing pieces so their working life can come first without a thought about the child’s day.  In my twenty-nine years and twenty-one in public schools, it just gets worse. It’s not a parent thing. It’s society and their fight to stay afloat in our economy.

Phones: Ugh. They are every teachers nightmare. Why we have not imposed real restrictions on them is absolutely crazy. If you look at any adult in a lecture…are they riveted or scrolling. Your child is the same way. Teachers can’t compete with these pocket pieces of terror. No way, and our scores show it, but parents only you can impose the rules as our hands are tied.

Vacations: Why? We have plenty of breaks. Don’t do it, and if you do, make sure your child does the work we spend time gathering or recreating for their needs. I am weary of these trips during the year because no one does the work while they are away. It is crazy. Once they return, you guessed it, it has to be re-taught.

Mental health breaks: This is when a child is overwhelmed by school or plainly does not want to come. No, this has no alignment with mental health issues. They just want a day or two or three off. I am serious. These are real.

So, let’s get back at it without the sad memes. Funny are fabulous, but not dreadful and morose about a profession we love. Starting with welcome arms on day 1 because the more we welcome, the fewer days will be lost to other days off from our students, who I am excited to meet.

Posted on in education

Midwest Tough

I am going to say it… the Midwest breeds tough folk. The hubs and I are out of our league. They cook, bake, sew, chop wood, and build homes or at least understand how to fix a problem, all before noon. We can manage people and situations, but doing the manual part is out of league and desire. We went to a horticulture meeting, and while most were discussing plants and such with big names with flair, we wanted to ask what grass we should plant. We didn’t ask, out of fear that we would outed as absolute idiots in a land that growing anything came from generational knowledge from the time they were in the womb. The horticulture group is not my jam, but the people were so nice and a breed of Midwest tough that put me in a state of awe. I just enjoyed our vast differences and the pretty pictures of the plants. The rest was over my little Arizona head filled with rocks and cactus and the ability to call anyone to fix anything without worrying about a ferry schedule.

Horticulture ain’t my thing, obviously, but I appreciate everyones knowledge and abilities. One of the leaders of the group just finished the first wall in their home and was starting another one. Yup. All before dinner. The group taught me who to go to learn what kind of grass grows in this absolute land of wonders on the St. Mary’s River and truly understand that both coasts are absolutely spoiled with enormous amounts of everything, but we all have  skills. However, to be considered Midwest tough, you must grow up with a lack of things and the abundance of land that makes you land smart and talented with what you have in a way I will never become but appreciate. For me I will marvel in their talents and kind ways, but still cater  parties we throw due to my Westerners’ weakness and inability to cook for a crew.

It’s OK.

Please note: the picture is of a real bear 100 feet from where we are staying. Ah, what do you do? Put your arms up and scream while standing dead (hopefully a figure of speech) in your tracks. Again, Midwest tough, I hid in the house for three hours after this sighting, but I told the story all day long.

Posted on in life, sixty, travel

The Little Farmhouse

There is something to be said about hanging out on a farm when you go to pick apples or buy jams and jellies, lovingly prepped and packed. Now, take this a step further and live on-site. Yep, on a farm. A working farm, no less. We were lovingly granted this opportunity from a family that realized our predicament while our own river home (not farm based) is being built, and we are grateful. Now, this farmhouse is used yearly as a hunting cabin. It comes complete with many horns on the wall and a real landline with a rotary dial phone. No internet. None. Nada. No TV. We do have radio and the outside noises of the outside trees. That’s it. Peace but also a relection of slower times and the reality that while nice, I like the simple comforts that time and technology have provided.

The days are easy. Writing. Walking. Writing. Walking. Cards at night. Rinse and repeat. We have a DVD player, so old movies are the comfort of noise and the colors that jet across the screen that I take for granted. Dinner, for us, it is a frozen meal, as cooking for me is difficult in the real world, now mix in ancient conditions.  I can’t imagine. But frozen stays in tune with the diet I am on, so it works. No real-world fancy temptations at every corner. A simple life.

We are young for the island. Oh, there are others, but land was bought a century ago and handed down or purchased by family.  Our parcel was a gift. It is priceless as I have aged to the slowness of the island and the desire to try new things. Hiking. Boating. Maybe even golf (off island). Reading, definitely, and of course, writing. Gardening? Well, it’s a  maybe. Our home will have the trappings of technology, as working is still a must, as is the desire to stay relevant and entertained.  But a simple life it is to escape from the city expectations and a sanctuary to fully enjoy life.

Posted on in anxiety, education, fitness, goals, Peloton, sixty, weight loss

Just One

Sweat is dripping onto my eyelids and into my eyes, causing blurred vision. I wipe away my fluids only to have buckets seemingly fall from the sky. This was my longest ride, best PR, and mileage pee minute did not suck. I am breathless, but the type you want again, and my mind is clear. Yesterday, I took a cheat day in my 21-day habit forming exercise. I needed it and while my calendar notes a blank hole,  my guilt got the best of me and I did yoga for fifteen minutes after midnight. To me I am still on track, neurotic, but now understand a day off of exercise is not an option.

However, last night was pure perfection for this calorie counting, protein shoving, and daily spinning grandma. A burger and a glass of champs! Absolute heaven. I have been so great in the numbers and workout department, but I knew I needed a bit of a treat. I did not work out. Horror, and I ate food with saturated fat. It was yummy. Was it necessary? Yes. It delighted my taste buds and caused me to miss working out and feeling the after-effects of too much of a good thing. It was a testament to my newly built strength, habits that are forming, and the realization that this will take a year of my life, but a life filled with the new real focus of the mayo way health. Count calories and protein. Period, and move daily beyond from couch to kitchen.

While strides are happening, the food, drink, and workout break were fabulous. However, the guilt felt was and is miserable, and it is my job on my long-term lifestyle change to fully enbrace that guilt has no place in this scenario. So, today, I pushed, excelled, and realized that while I still love a culinary delight. I love the person I am becoming more!