My desk faces a large window and I’m blessed with a beautiful view of two large pine trees that are home to dozens of birds. From early spring, through late fall, the birds are loud and active. Staring out at those trees this morning there’s too much wind, too little sun, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s too late for spring.
Recently my doctor, in his most serious tone, told me I tested positive for Celiac Disease, and in the same breath, told me I had symptoms of SAD, Seasonal Affective Disorder. If I wasn’t careful, SAD could lead to clinical depression.
I couldn’t help but laugh. Mother Nature has one heck of a sense of humor!
I discovered the benefits of being alone as a young child. Oddly I often misbehaved so I would be sent to my room. On the second floor of our Cape Cod style home I had the most beautiful view of a tall Mimosa tree with the most beautiful pink flowers and the largest lilac bush I’ve ever seen. I’d open the window and close my eyes while breathing in that heavenly lavender and my little world was perfect. Lying on my bed with a notebook and pen or reading the latest Nancy Drew mystery, uninterrupted, was pure bliss.
People in my life often assumed I was lonely and sad. My answer has always been, “Have you ever been in a room, crowded with people, yet felt so alone?
I love lemons, but not long ago I squeezed one so hard it ripped the inside of my thumb. How did I not know you’re supposed to roll tough lemons before cutting and squeezing them? While recuperating from surgery I reflected on the various accidents I’ve had over the years.
I was surprised at how many could be attributed to rushing, including this one.
“Are you phubbing me?” he asked with a bit of attitude. I didn’t look up right away because I had no idea what the heck he said. When I finally looked up he said, “Are you watching this?”
“No,” I said. “I’m playing Words with Friends.”
“It feels like you’re not even here.”
I felt bad, but told him I wasn’t interested in what he was watching but wanted to be in the same room with him.
“It’s a thing,” he said. “Phubbing is real, and people are getting divorced over it.” Continue Reading
If you’ve read Doreen McGettigan’s blogs on 1010ParkPlace then you know her life hasn’t been easy. She was sexually abused by a priest when she was eight; raped at 13 by her mother’s boyfriend; her house burned down when she was 14; she married and had her first baby in her teens, and her youngest brother was brutally beaten—by an angry mob—in a random road rage incident. He was left for dead, suffered severe brain damage and died a few days later. It was an unspeakable act that divided a town as well as Doreen’s family.
Instead of succumbing to what could have taken down the strongest of warriors, Doreen became an outspoken advocate for victim’s rights and the homeless.
They say everyone has a story, and I believe this is true. I also understand everyone doesn’t want to tell their story.
Some feel emotionally unable to share something so personal.
My favorite fall sweater had several loose threads when I packed it away last spring, but I wasn’t ready to consider throwing it away. A few days ago, it wasn’t even out of the storage box when I started twirling and tucking the loose threads, thinking I could magically reattach them.
Discarding things has never been easy for me. It’s not that I’m a hoarder. I’m a fixer. A serial fixer. There… I said it out loud. Moving on from people hasn’t been easy either.
My granddaughter is 17-years-old and a new, high school senior. Just a few years ago she was teased and came home from school sobbing. I couldn’t help but wonder where fifth-grade little girls learned to be so mean, and if those same girls are as cruel, now that they’re nearly adults?
Irena Sendler who saved thousands of Jewish children
While passing through an airport security check, actress Ashley Judd had a major meltdown. At fault was a screener who called her “sweetheart” and complimented her dress. She branded his comments “everyday sexism.”
This got me thinking about the women who came before us.
Once when I woke from a sound sleep to use the bathroom, I wiped and felt something that didn’t belong there. It felt like I had a tumor. Seven specialists, seven months and seven days in the hospital later, I was diagnosed with pelvic congestion syndrome, caused by hard-to-detect varicose veins in the pelvis. Continue Reading