Tag: family

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!

Posted on in anxiety, essay, family

It Was My Choice

Recently, I reconnected with a family member, while not estranged, we were never in the same zip code, and life moves quickly. A question asked with innocence crushed my soul. “Who are your people in the family?” I could not answer. I was baffled. All I could think about was my dad, my bridge into a world that was not mine. No one made me feel different or out of a loop, but 3,000 miles will do that to any relationship, no matter the level. He is gone. It is still heartbreaking as he was my person. I understood him like no other in my family. The link is broken, and again, I am alone.

I blamed the strength and oddness of genes for giving me a family at a distance, but yet my moving was never my choice. My far away western local was done for my grandmothers health and my own mothers attempt to hide from the mess that was created, not due to anything but love, but still much to clean with no guidance as the early 60’s were rather a socially neat era.  I listed off who I would love to see. But that’s all I have, that and a feeling of being detached from a clan, that innately I feel so attached to, but yet so far away. I have no bitter feelings, just an occasional sigh or feeling of sadness, all of which were stirred with one question. “Who are your people.”

The conversation led to my dads passing, and my trying to explain my missing his day.  While there was an actual reason for my no-show due to logistics, timing, and a huge chunk of change. Let’s face it, I made a choice. I did not go to my father’s funeral. I mourned at home and still do. So, why not go? Yes, money was a small part of the equation, but it became a scapegoat that I used to become my mother, running away from facing the truth.  Her running away from a life without him by her side, and my sprint away from his passing. I still struggle daily, not due to the missing of the service but the detachment I feel. The love I lost. The man I truly never knew, at his core, was the father I wanted, needed, and had in our own distant relationship. As odd as it sounds, perhaps the miles might have been for the best. Distance can never leave. It is already gone. Too many “dads” had come and gone in my life to have the real one, faults and all, leave me in this life. As such, I still can’t bear to say goodbye. It was my choice.

Posted on in family, fitness, weight loss

Enter Tovala

My Best Friend

I have not felt this sort of initial love in decades. It is as we were made for each other, as this is my answer, to all things cooking. Imagine a scan and go technology with the ability to churn out meals that have ingredients only tasted by my household in restaurants. I can’t cook, but marvel at those that can and actually love the process. I applaud you. I am more of the shop, five minute prep and scan girl. Oh, I can do chicken nuggets and lunchables but charcuterie still comes in plastic with my shop, open and go mentality, and I am ok with this.

The hubs heard of this Christmas gift to myself and he balked. You can cook, it will be costly, yadda yadda. I ignored. So far, he likes it. It is not a love match as he has his own eating peculiarities (bariatric patient) but so far I have received a positive reaction. I am just learning to order for him and myself separately. I am low calorie and he gets what wants and divides it up. It works and makes me happy. Tonight is a Korean pork dish. Yum.

The upsides of this new countertop space grabber far outweighs its bulkiness in a world gone minimal. We are eating balanced low calorie meals that are portioned correctly and enjoying our choices, more time together, and sometimes a fancy lunch, if leftovers or an extra chicken, does no meet his tastebuds.

So run do not walk to www.tovala.com and find you machine, meals, and your new best friend.

Salmon, brocoli and fancy sauce
Posted on in book, essay, family

Joe

I was Joe for years. I have no understanding as to why technology placed my number under this moniker. But so be it. My dad was happy, it made him laugh, and that is what I lived for, his laugh. It was big and Joe made him laugh. Sometimes. I still have his last message and kick myself that I waited a day to give him a call but I did not expect death. No one does. I cry at odd times and need to see a shrink. I am a mess. We were an odd couple with a deep father- daughter bond with distance, understanding, and a likeness that was odd since I never grew up in the same zip code, state, or on the same coast. No ill will. Just a reality that made our times, good and bad, more poignant. The last time I saw him, I let him read part of my book, aka the heap of papers that I am rewriting and asked his permission to use his addiction story but no name. No big details just enough to tell my own co-dependency story. He loved it and agreed. But it sits. Every year, it is the books year, with more of an effort on the type of cover picture than the words. This is a problem and a pure sense of delay in my own healing and perhaps the two others that purchase the book. It is not the sales, it is the completion.

So, this is the year and while I should dedicate it to “Joe” whoever that technology snafu friend was, it will be dedicated to my Clem.

Posted on in essay, family, granparent life, humor, life, sixty

The Claw Can Lose!

The first haul from the claw!

Going to an arcade with a five-year-old is a blast. As a grandparent you cherish the smiles, the firsts, the games you choose and do not choose to play. You do, however, just because you are a grandparent and let’s face it this is more fun than parenthood. Truth. Even better is the fact that my nugget outsmarted the claw four times over. Yes, the impossible claw, that my husband and I swore to our own son, “the claw always wins.” We were cheap. Well, with the nugget, who cares. This is our third or fourth trip. I stayed with the mantra, but dad gave in… well, toys came out galore. “Grandma, I won. I beat the claw.” Of course, this is really the first time I have seen anyone win at the claw, so I was overjoyed and yes, we continued to play. Why not? Yes, there is more loot (one stuffed item for all) as he shares nicely. The Kermit like figure, is my gift from my grandson, which I will cherish. All $50.00 of him! A grandparent’s time is pricey but well worth it, as parents, usually cannot do what we can due to just life being expensive. It is our time. I never did arcades with our son. Never, but the nugget, after reading me a book gets the moon and I get the love of Kermitish.

Kermitish

The Kermitish, will be my forever. It was the combination of the sharing, the excitement, and just the enjoyment of the day. Nugget laughed at the name. I would as well, it is goofy. But so is an arcade and an after delight of a kid’s movie in a fancy theater. These days are precious, and they are coupled with the delight of reading, watching him tie shoes. Almost. Helping me pick out a Halloween costume (Blues Clue) down to the tights and ears. Since it was cost effective, and it made him happy, why not? No reason, sans my dignity but it for a school function. I lost any sanity and sense of costume style long ago. So, while the claw can lose, news to me, grandparents who put in the time, a few bucks, and plans for the years ahead to share in their lives, will never. That to me is the adventure, I will gladly continue to take, as long as Kermitish can come along for the ride, and he will. In the arcade I had an epiphany. Odd, yes. But it was the consistent flashing lights that brought on an idea he will never forget. Wherever we travel so will the Kerm, sort of like Flat Stanely, with postcards, journals, and of course pictures of grandma and grandpa (unwillingly) and the Kerm, wherever we go. So today, while was just a small adventure in an arcade and the viewing of a movie became so much more. It was compassion, sharing, beating the claw, and having a grandma make it into a lifetime of memories for all of us, especially the Kermitish because he thought his life would be inside a bubble, but now he will see the world. Eventually.

Posted on in family, german shephards, life, sixty

Nothing But Love

There were things I did today. Yes, but there was also alot of nothing. Silence. Occasional thoughts. Not many. Just sitting and watching stupid TV, a summer goal, and live with my thoughts that have been relatively reflective on a life level. Between just normal life, training our furry friends and introducing them into their new lives. I can’t help but think about my former life, as a young mom, and draw comparisons to my current summer life. Schedules, activities, meals, more activities, a ton of no’s, daily teaching, and a car ride or two. I love this summer. Not because it’s our dogs settling into life, but it brings me back to a time where there was a bit of mental nothing on a daily basis, but filled with plenty of activities for others. In that time of my young mom’s life, I got excited when the diaper did not fall off. My current situation of teaching the sit… down…sit…command, with success, was a highpoint of today. It came to me today that this is my final attempt at parenting. Furry. Yes. But parenting. Once in awhile, my real kid might need my advice and he will always have my love and worry, but he does not need what these two need. My furry friends are giving me exactly what I need at sixty. Not much. I got it all, well, not all. But everything necessary. So, these pups are giving me back my simplistic life and tasks from long ago. My days are filled with mental boredom but a complete focus on others, too much TV in the background for noise (drowning out other dogs) and great for breaks during their frequent naptimes. I get my mom life back one more time, and this makes this summer, while not exciting, and filled with trips. It is a walk down memory lane as I look at them and remember that while it is alot of nothing but daily groundhog tasks. It is filled with the unconditional love. This brings back my first set of memories, of pure love and the true importance of the daily mental nothings. While not I.Q. raisers, they are physically and mentally challenging, that simplistically thrill me in a way that brings back the best time in my life.

Posted on in dog training, family, german shephards, humor

The Pheromone Decision…

If you scream outside, trust me, no one comes. Even in my sleepy little neighborhood, that is Legislative District friendly. No one comes. Oh, the screaming. A bird in my dogs mouth. Second walk for the day. My Coco was perfect. Onto King. I made the decision to bring on socialization using just grass sniffing. He was fine, not pulling, a dream and suddenly I see feathers. I was not wearing contacts or glasses. Note to self. Big blue feathers. He was thrilled and shoved it my way. So proud. I screamed a sound so panicked and ear piering that he dropped the decapitated bird. We hustled across the street away from the terror. I sat him down and rattled on my thanks but no. We carried on.

Now, my GSD babies are young and we are successfully working on seeing other humans, dogs barking, cars, and garage doors. They are learning life, as until us they had no interaction with anyone but their owners and cows. Yes, cows. yesterday they were so rough in their play, I was worried. So I researched calming behaviors. I found adaptil. It is a naturally calming collar using pheromones. I needed calm as I am the summer trainer and their activity was taking up my day. So, I rushed two to my house. They are on and they are noticeably calmer. Not high, but chill. Oh, pheromones are natural. I highly recommend. Go to the link or Amazon. https://www.adaptil.com/ Get it today.

I love them. But life cannot be stopped because of breaking up spats of play, all day. I do that enough in my day job, middle-school teacher and I feel like my vocabulary has not passed the word “no” in eight weeks. How do I know this. I keep a lesson planner on their every move. A bit OCD. But I want to see the data on their progress. If you nuts or need a reminder you are doing them justice in your training. Grab a journal and write. About them. Everyday. Or just be a normal dog owner and enjoy. My political hubs thinks I am crazy, but I remind him of his profession and suddenly order is restored.

Posted on in family, Uncategorized

I Need A Manual…

There are how to birth books, how to raise your sweet baby books, how to raise any pet, and if you are into any DIY a book is there for you, that will take you through the steps of any creative project you can dream. There are books on careers or how to find a career, what is anxiety and how to solve it, along with more drastic mental health dilemmas. Do you drink? Do drugs? Books for that. But death or grief. None. At least not what I need at this moment, a how to grieve. A how to not feel guilt. A how to focus on life when someone you loved is now gone. I am lost. My hubs, who was trying, told me my attitude was much worse when my grandparents passed. That entire catastrophic time period is not one that has stayed in my memory. Obviously, his. I was probably a bitch. Today I yelled at the pharmacist, a usual moment, as they are ridiculous. But this was a bit more than my usual tirade.

So, what is this process? How long does it last? Will it ever go away? Will my mind return, or is it gone forever? Those are the answers I need, as now I am just mad, not at my dad’s age, his health, his life, but at me, and the fact that I could not say goodbye. Every tiny mistake comes back in HD and this is a channel, with time I need to turn, so I can serve my family and my mom, who is in her own era of hospice care.

When my friends parents have passed, I send condolences. But now it has hit that while kind, it means nothing. It is just a social transaction that we follow because it makes us feel better, not for those in pain. Just us. So without a manual this is just another part of life that we muddle through with alot of patience and self-love, and in my world some extra yelling at my pharmacist, who always after ten years at this store, manages to mess things up.

Posted on in family, granparent life, grey hair, non-fiction, retirement

I Don’t Wrap and The 35th Anniversary Gift Saga.

After thirty-five years together, it is the thought that counts and I tend to spoil. Always. But wrapping is not my thing. I learned long ago, when stores were grand, they wrapped for you. I never looked back. Now, I bag with the best of them, just don’t wrap. Don’t ask. Amazon has wrap service which delights my senses but only sometimes. This maddens me especially when the gifts are for our 35th anniversary. Now, for a non-wrapper my love language is over the top wrapping, because I know you can find good stores, that still wrap. Major hint. I asked my hubs what he wanted because I do survive on a teachers salary, unless I “lift” a credit card and deal with the repercussions. I did that once. I bought a Porsche. Yes, yes I did. We kept it, still have it. Those were the days. As we age my budget became well cut-off.

So, we are building a house. It’s all he wants. Can’t wrap that. Phew. The decor is my gig, modern nautical with island whimsy. What does that mean? I don’t know but it sounds fancy AF. I have been plotting items for two years and I definitely want a bit of old with the new. So I searched for our first two antique pieces to give it the old/new/island vibe. Obviously, pleased with myself, as they sit boxed on our kitchen table, waiting for May 28th, number thrity-five. Not as grand as a sportscar but hopefully the true thought, search, and future memories that will come from the gifts, will be perfect for a major years celebration. One that is filled with much love, patience, and moments of change as we head into our next seasons together forever.