Sanity.

 Processing everything that has happened in the last 36+ hours (is that all???) has been  - for the lack of a better word - confusing. And exhausting. And depressing. And fricking scary. 

To me this feels like our future.

Ominous

Doom

Did I mention ominous?

Isolated

But I can't live that way. Or I will lose my mind. Although I have to admit, it will always be hiding in the way back corners of said mind. I'm not sleeping on this one. 

But I have to fill my life with nature 

and the little people in my life 

and cats 

and dogs 

and brunch and art and cocktails with friends 

and creativity 

and love 

to keep my mind sane. 

So one day at a time. Because thinking beyond that is waaaay too overwhelming. 

Namaste

Storm's Comin'

 Years ago I would walk my Simba dog in a local park every morning. We often ran into Thomas and his dog and we would stop and chat. I remember one particularly cloudy morning with ominous looking clouds. The white pelicans were circling overhead. 

“Storm’s comin’,” Thomas said.  

Storm’s comin’... 

I’m thinking about that tonight as we sit on the precipice of something so ominous. What will the country we see at Noon EST tomorrow be? It will be turned upside down and will remain that way for the foreseeable future. It’s terrifying. 

We know for sure we're in for a rough go of it for a few years. Because the richest man in the world told us so. HE TOLD US SO. And almost half the country said, "Ok." 

We're all flipping exhausted and haven't caught our breath from the last time. And the Pandemic that was a total shitshow.  So take a beat, but not too long. Because autocracy, like the fog, comes in on little cat feet.

And before you know it - the fog has enveloped everything. Everyone. 

But we are still here, dammit. 

Please don't give up. Our way of life, our country that so many of our family members fought for is still worth fighting for. In any way we can. 

On November 6, 2024, Vice President Kamala Harris said this:

I find such great inspiration in Andra Day's "Rise Up." Because we are going to need to. 

Namaste

We are more alike than we are different

 “Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”  *Mark Twain*

Sometimes the smallest act of kindness can make the difference in someone’s day. Hold the door for the person behind you. Let the car desperately trying to get in your lane in. 

Stop a stranger on the street to give them a compliment. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve done this when I see a hairdo I like (it’s all about the hair). Or compliment a woman in Target on her sparkle sandals. I did that once and she was so surprised and so happy. 

Tell a friend how much it means that they noticed you were a bit down “do you want to talk?.” Tell a colleague how much you admire the work they do. 

Text your bestie every morning to say “Good Morning! How are you? What’s on tap for today?”  Call your Mom -  if you are lucky enough to still have her with you. Write a letter to your grandkids – I mean snail mail. It will blow their minds. 

Surprise your Vet or your Doctor with some home baked goods for them and their staff. Theirs is not an easy path; let them know they are appreciated. Leave snacks on your front porch for the delivery folks - especially during the holidays when they work so hard. 

Donate to a cause that speaks to you – whether that be with your time, your talent or financially. 

It’s not hard. This being kind thing. Sometimes it takes two minutes. And it can be a bit addictive. In the best of ways. 

I always remind myself that we are more alike than we are different. On any given day you may be standing next to someone who is trying their best not to fall apart. Barely holding it together. Keep kindness in your heart. 

Namaste

What will you do with your one wild and precious life?

 Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? 

                                                                            *Mary Oliver*

I never had a plan. If I had would my life have been better? Maybe. Would it have been worse? Maybe. One thing for sure, it would have been different. 

For the longest time I regretted not getting a college degree. The world puts a lot of value on that. Well I had a two year degree from a community college but ~ big deal. For the longest time I felt "less than" because that’s all I had. 

I didn’t have a big career. I married young. I bounced around working in public schools for awhile. Worked in a small PR firm. Worked for a cable programmer. Went on to a large cable network in PR and Programming. Back to a public school ~ because I thought that would make me happy. It didn’t.

Then came the gift of time that Charlie gave me. “Do what you love.” 

So I created, designed and marketed a line of stuffed animals because there is a strong childhood connection with my little plush buddies. But that’s another story for another day. I digress. 

I got married at 19 because I wanted out of the Midwest and that seemed to be the easiest way to do it. I wasn't messing around. I moved to Canada. So, as you can see, I had no plan. 

What I didn't realize was in all of that scurrying around, I was making a life and I didn't even realize it. My wild and precious (emphasis on precious) started when I was 21. 

I had my first son when I was 21. I had no clue what I was doing and the nearest family was 700 miles away. So I just winged it. Being in unchartered waters I did my best.  And despite the fear of screwing this child up, it was delightful. And so was he. 

So enjoyable that I wanted to do it again so my second son was born when I was 24. He was a character and made me laugh every day. 

So that journey began. And what a ride it has been. I wouldn’t change a thing. Now, both fathers with children of their own, I am so proud of them. So lucky to be their Mom and Mimi to their precious children…

I met Charlie in 1991. We had a lot of fun and by 1993 we sealed the deal and here we are 32 years later. Ups and downs and all arounds.

It has been, and continues to be, what I am so happy to say is my one wild and precious life.

Namaste. 

BAKE!

 Don’t let a recipe tell you how many chocolate chips to use. You do you, girl. 

My Mom was a wonderful home baker. Her cooking? Ummm… not so much. I mean we didn’t starve but meals were pretty much meat ‘n potatoes, Midwestern style. I didn’t even have spaghetti until I was married with kids of my own and bought a cookbook. 

Remember cookbooks? Before every recipe known to man was on the internet? Have to admit I’m guilty of store housing my recipes in folders in cyberspace. And remember recipe cards? I do miss the tactical feel of a recipe card. When I helped my Mom and Dad go thru a lifetime of things in their home preparing to move to a retirement apartment I came across Mom’s very old, falling apart wooden recipe box, full of handwritten recipes of hers, my aunts, maybe even my grandmother. She said, “Oh just toss that; no one wants that.” 

“Mom! I do! This is priceless!” 

“Ok, it’s yours.” 

But I digress. My Mom baked the best cinnamon rolls. Charlie requested them every time we visited. Kringla – a Norwegian kind of shortbread thingie – was a staple in our house. 

She made the most delicious pies – with crusts created with lard – the old school way. Cherry pies with the lattice top. Lemon meringue with the perfect meringue. Rhubarb… omg my tongue twitches with the tartness of the yummy rhubarb freshly harvested from my Aunt’s garden. Pumpkin pie every Thanksgiving. 

She made a frozen ice cream cake – chocolate cake with ice cream in the middle, then rolled, frozen and sliced off. Omg. Yummo. And the most moist and delish carrot cake with cream cheese frosting.

My younger son is the one who inherited the real baking gene. I mean, he’s a fancy pants baker man who could probably be on a baking show. I’m not the baker Mom was but I do enjoy baking. I love trying new recipes and am happy when they turn out. 

When Mom passed I collected some of her better known and loved recipes, matched them with some photos of Mom and put together a book for my siblings, my sons and my nieces and nephews. It was challenging because most of Mom’s recipes were in her head so it was “I think this is the measurement… not sure, ”Not sure what she meant by ‘a handful’ but good luck.” 

I never really understood why I have this thing for baking. Maybe it’s Mom living thru me. How lucky I am to be her daughter. 

Go forth and BAKE!

Namaste. 

Silently listening.

 Listen and silent are spelled with the same letters.

I came from a big family of stoic Scandinavians. There wasn’t a lot of conversation and when there was, it was about practical matters. There was no going deep, no talk of family history, religion (I mean that was a given, no need to talk about it), politics, the funny thing that happened that day…

I married into a family of people who like to talk. A lot. Talk a lot. They are talkers. All of ‘em. Sharing stories of the past, current events, the latest best movie or book, the awesome lunch they had and laughter. Lots of laughter.  And I love them all dearly. What a fun bunch.

After a year and a half someone finally asked, “Hey. Who’s that blonde in the corner?”

So the blending of my past and my present has been challenging at times. As an introvert (Scandinavian stoic), too much conversation exhausts me. I mute the TV sometimes – even if I’m following a movie - because it’s just too much talking. Large crowds give me anxiety. Too much talking. And too much in my personal space. Oh, I have a severe case of claustrophobia, too. Elevators are not my friend.  An Irish goodbye is my modus operandi. 

Having grown up a stoic, quiet Scandinavian has its upside. I am perfectly happy spending time alone. I have so many creative hobbies and interests I need two lifetimes to get to them all. I am never bored. It’s why the Pandemic wasn’t all that hard for me. Well, except the fear of dying part but that’s a story for another day. We were all there. 

That said ~ one-on-one friendships, even two… three at a stretch… friendships are my jam. That is my comfort zone, my happy place. Because god knows, we all need those few special people to be there. They ones who "get" us. And to be there for them.  

That’s when I listen. That's when I'm silent. That’s when I’m there to hear you. To silently listen and hold your hand if you need it. Because you do that for me. 

Namaste.

Choose Your Battles

 Choose your battles.

Nope. That’s too many.

Put some back.

Nope. More.

One more.

Good lord… how many do you have?

This is my life every day. 

I live with a plethora of animals. All rescue/shelter kids who arrived with a plethora of issues. Name it, we've probably dealt with it. 

So there are a few daily “disagreements” to diffuse, moments when I have to stand (literally) between a couple throwing hissy fits, an endless parade of toe beans marching their way across my kitchen counters, pups so noise reactive that they can hear a pin drop… you get the idea. It is relentless.

Kukki likes to ambush Kazz. Kazz likes to ambush Kobie (and me). When Kobie has had it up to here (I’m holding my hand to my forehead), he will back Kazz in a corner and smack him. Gotta’ admit that one makes me chuckle because 97% of the time Kobie is extremely laid back and puts up with alotta’ shi..., I mean, stuff. 

Hilo hates Kazz; Kazz hates Hilo. That’s where my Custer’s Last Stand comes in. Teddi loves to scare the beegeebers out of Kona with her chihuahua, “I’m comin’ for you” stare. Hana (the only female feline) LOVES her big brother Hilo and will turn to him for cuddles on the regular. I see Hilo heave a big sigh and give in. Sugar, especially since going blind, can hear a speck of dust floating thru the air. And bark. Relentlessly.

They are ALL on various forms of medication and I am oh so grateful they all take them like the troopers that they are. 

You never know what you're going to get when you adopt a rescue/shelter pet, but one thing I've learned ~ you go with the flow, learn along the way and the rewards are priceless. 

Kobie is the most gentle, loving, easy almost 16 year old boy. He is my heart beating outside my body.

Kazz is a sweet and affectionate 10 year old boy who would probably love nothing more than to be an "only." But there he is, next to my pillow each night.

Kona. Oh my 10 year old Kona. He and I bonded over his issues early on and now we are inseparable. He’s my loving little shadow. 

Hilo is an independent, but loving 10 year old fellow and has his spot between our pillows every night. I call him Professor Round Bottom because I know he is a wise, old soul. 

Hana is a 10 year old enigma, the only girl and Kona’s twin. She loves to hover over me while I eat and is an excellent biscuit maker. 

Sugar is the most brave and adaptable 10 year old puppy. She loves nothing more than a good snuggle and a lap to warm. Did I mention she is brave?

Teddi is 10 years old and part chihuahua. 'Nuff said.  When not sleeping she’s licking the carpet and staring down Kona and begging for loving strokes on her wee head.

Kukki is the 7 year old character in the family. He is the very definition of a ginger cat. He’s trouble and adorable all wrapped into one big hunka’ hunka’ burnin’ love. 

They are all a combination of mischief and love. 

I am their Kahu - their Guardian, Protector, Steward, Beloved Attendant... Basically, someone entrusted with the safe keeping of something precious.

They are my Hygge - the coziness, the warmth, the love that makes me feel content, calm and happy. So happy. 

Namaste.