Hello, dear friends. I’m enjoying the bit of sunshine we are getting at the moment, as we’ve had mostly rain, rain, rain all week. In fact, there is more rain, rain, rain coming in the next hour, if you can believe the forecast. I am prepared: Lu has been out again and done her business, I’ve swiped the leaves out of the tiny little gutters on Opal, and I’m contemplating what to eat for lunch in a bit.

It’s been a productive weekend. I’ve gotten my outdoor one mile walk in both days before the downpours, finished a book I’ve had for months, ran all of the errands and even installed a few conveniences in my shower that have been sitting in a box for a couple of weeks. I’m already ahead on my water intake for today and I’ve done my resistance training this morning. I’m still not hitting my goal of doing that three times per week, but I’m calling it a win at two times. Three would be gravy. I wouldn’t want to let pride settle in.

I wasn’t sure how this past week would go. You see, Thursday, the 13th, was six years to the day since the raid on the house which turned my life upside down. To be honest, each year around this date since, I’ve struggled. I think around year three, I slipped into weepiness, grumpiness, and depression without even understanding what was causing it until I had an aha moment when I realized what the date was. I’ve written before about how some studies have shown that our bodies remember, even when our consciousness does not.

As I sat down to journal Thursday morning, I knew exactly what day it was and wrote this:

And I meant every word of it. I lived every word of it that day. And I will celebrate it every year from now until I’m no longer around. The truth is, as traumatic and horrible as it was, that day was the day I began to get my life back. I was delivered from a horrible marriage and every step I’ve taken (sometimes crawling, rather than stepping) has brought me to this incredible life I have right now. An incredible life that will only get better.

That is worth celebrating.

Joyful things this week:

• One of Fred’s offspring has put on two new little sprouts (they’re called cladodes or phylloclades rather than leaves)

• Found a home for my dad’s coin collection with my son*, which makes me happy to no end

• Found a ring that was my dad’s tossed in with the coins. I decided I am going to wear it for a while. It has a lovely amethyst in it, which was his birthstone and I was delighted when I realized it fits on my index finger. It is clearly too big for my hand and clearly a man’s ring, but I don’t care. I’m enjoying the vibe it carries and the memories it is prompting me to revisit.

Thanks for reading.

XX

*When I asked my son if he thought either of my granddaughters would want my dad’s coin collection, my son gently reminded me that he has a coin collection of his own and has had since he was still at home. 😳 I literally had no recollection of that which makes me question what else I’ve forgotten from their youth. The next day, I did feel a bit better when I dragged a memory up from the vault that he had collected those quarters they issued for every state and I can visualize the little folder they went in.

Now that things are calming down, I have turned my focus back to writing and reading. I made a commitment to myself this past week that I would spend at least 30 minutes each day either writing, reading (these library books aren’t going to read themselves), or working on honing my writing skills. I still have an unfinished writing course on Udemy I’ve been meaning to complete for...well, let’s just say you could measure it in years. So far, I’ve kept up with the 30-minute practice.

Speaking of library books, you all know what a fan I am of public libraries. Having worked for two and being a regular patron, I have reached the point where the thought of not having a local library to visit makes me panic a li’l bit. I’ve already researched my options for when I get to Texas in the fall and I currently have six checked out here: two books of fiction, one on writing, one on social issues, another on world religions and a biography of Dame Agatha Christie. Each of these are in various stages of completion. I used to be a monogamous reader, finishing one book before starting the next, but as I have gotten older, and with things like a full-time job clocking most of my time each week, I tend to read a bit of one here, then a bit of another there. It’s like a little literary buffet, so why would I eat just the grilled cheese when there’s so many other yummy things on the plate to take a bite of?

I was reading a bit earlier (in the book on writing) and came across a short hair between the pages at the binding. This is a regular occurrence and, being someone who sheds a fair amount of hair myself, it doesn’t bother me. Sometimes it’s clearly cat hair, most often it’s human. I did have the thought that this would make a good plot for a murder mystery - the murderer’s DNA ends up in an unsuspecting library patron’s home, having gotten there via library book. What fun we could have with that!

Anyway, it got me thinking about the random things I’ve come across in the library books I’ve checked out and those I checked in when I worked at the library. Library staff are trained to examine returned books for damage, bedbugs*, and random stuff. Here’s a short list:

• Random hair - as mentioned.

• Crumbs from some sort of snack - I sometimes try and figure out what they were eating while they were reading. One time, it was definitely Pringles. And then I wished I had some Pringles.

• Stains and smears - it was clear that the book had been in a bag containing something with red ink (maybe a marker) that had gotten wet and run into the page’s edges.

• Pencil, pen, crayon marks - I’ve found adult books where clearly someone’s toddler got hold of it and a crayon at the same time.

• Bookmarks, bookmarks, bookmarks.

• Money - when I worked at the library, someone turned in a book that had upwards of $50 in it stuck between the pages. I turned the money in to my supervisor along with the name of the patron who last had the book out.

• A packet of dog flea medication - you know, the kind where you put drops on the skin on their back?

• A kid’s dirty sock - okay this wasn’t in the book, but it was in the book drop and this was the grossest thing I ever found aside from the occasional trace of bedbugs.

Of course, before the digital age, books had a little pocket glued just inside the cover, either in the back or the front, that held a little paper card where the borrower wrote their name and the librarian stamped the due date on a paper date slip that was also glued inside the book. When I was a kid in school, I loved when I chose books from the school library and could see which kids had checked it out before me. Sometimes they were classmates. I got a kick out of finding the name of a popular classmate in the same book that I was going to read. Sometimes they were from classes that had long since moved on and I would try to imagine what that person was like. Did they love to read or did they just have to check the book out to do an assignment? Did they have the same teacher as I had? Did they like the book? If it was a boy’s name, was he good-looking?

We’ve come a long way with library technology, thankfully. I can’t imagine being the librarian that had to pick through those cards to pull the ones that were overdue, then typing a paper letter to snail mail to each of the tardy patrons!

Of course, libraries offer so much more than just books these days. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. If you have access to a public library you should utilize it! Libraries are a gift that we often take for granted.

And with that, I’ll leave you with some ideas other folks have had about libraries:

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*Yes, books may harbor bedbugs. Don’t freak out. Books are inspected before they hit the shelves and controls are in place. Take a breath. Now go get your library card.

I missed posting on Sunday, mostly because I was busy doing some other things. I’ve been pulling out my journals from years past. When I purged to get ready to move into the camper, I honestly thought about just burning them right then, but looking back at some entries made me realize there are snapshots there of my state of mind in those circumstances. I had a few from before the ex entered my life, ones that I wrote in during the reign of narcissism (pretty dark, actually), and am working my way through the ones I’ve written since the divorce. The earliest one I reviewed started in 1994, where I learned a hard truth:

Yes, that’s right, it appears I’ve hated nearly every job I’ve had for at least 30 years. That said, I did love my job as an educator at the hospital I worked at in Mississippi. Unfortunately, that was another casualty of the tailspin I fell into after the raid on the house and the ex being arrested. I’m coming up on that anniversary soon. Six years of survival. I count it as a win.

But...this is not about bitterness regarding the past.

This is the first time since the blowup that I’ve felt emotionally ready to look at my journey objectively (read: without melting down). I’m actually proud of myself for being brave enough to look at who I have been over the years. I mean, we are often our own worst critic, right? I won’t share the observations I made from reviewing those older journals. Let’s just say that I ended up making notes as if I were a stranger, looking at the characteristics of the individual whose journal I was reading. No hate, just an honest examination from a safe distance of a woman to identify patterns, obsessions, and delusions a frame of mind. I would recommend therapy. Definitely.

Aside from that, I’m thrilled to say that it looks like my going fully remote in my current job is a go. I’ve already made my reservations at an RV park in Texas and have locked in the company that will tow Opal down there. I will need to warn them that any abuse or neglect of Opal will result in severe consequences. Not necessarily from me, but I wouldn’t tangle with Opal if I was them.

Finally, I have to say that I am learning so much about RV-ing life. I have managed to get up on Opal’s roof a couple of times (I may have been a little scared), and I’ve figured out how to flush my black and gray tanks. I’ve braved spiders and slugs in order to connect up my second hose to the water supply (long story, doesn’t matter), and today...today I got my propane tanks refilled and managed to reconnect them with no problems!

I’m learning all the things.

I had to ask a neighbor to show me how to properly disconnect the propane tanks last night (I get by with a little help from my friends) and while we were chatting, he asked me if this (Opal) was my forever home. I wasn’t sure what to say and told him that I was committed for at least one year, and a lot depended on how things went with the move this fall (I’m not nervous, YOU’RE nervous). But to tell the truth?

I bloody love living in Opal.

Thanks for reading.

XX

The campground was rather busy this weekend. I mean, it’s usually busy on the weekend, but so far Memorial Day weekend and the weekend of the 4th have been the most crowded. This weekend rivaled those, I believe because they had a sort of Christmas in July thing going on. One camper had a string of Christmas inflatables outside their rig. It sounded like fun was had by all.

Typically, I don’t go out much around the campground over the weekends. I am certainly not an introvert but I have always felt like a fish out of water around a large crowd where I don’t know anyone. Give me a friend as a sidekick and I’m all in, but not when it’s just me. I don’t take Lu out much either, as the vast hordes of children get her WAY overstimulated. I nearly fell out when a little girl, probably about 9 or 10, came running full-speed at us. Lu freaked. I freaked. Managed to get the girl to stop before she got right up to us, then guided her through how to approach Lu without inducing trauma to either of them.

I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t get a little relieved on Sundays when the weekenders pull out. It’s kind of like having a bunch of houseguests show up at your place every weekend. You’re glad they have a good time while they are here, but you’re not sad to waive goodbye after a couple of days.

This past week has been good. I’ve been busy at work, which always makes me happy, and my personal to-do list shrunk by 75%. I took Thursday off to get some things done during business hours. After a productive day again today, I’m down to just three items on my list. One of them is huge, though. I need to call and make arrangements for my camper to be towed to Texas in late November/early December. I’ve got four possible companies to contact. The last week of the month is always much slower for me at work than the rest, so should be a good week to get it done. Did I mention I’ve already made my reservations at an RV park in Texas? I have indeed and I’m excited to make my first cross country move in a few months. I may also be a bit terrified. Going to be hard to put Opal in someone else’s hands.

I’ve been thinking about the speed of my life this year. How for months, I was going at 110 miles per hour with the move and with Mom and another new role at work. Then the move was complete and we lost Mom and things began to slow down, but there was still the personal to-do list that never seemed to get any smaller, until now. I even finally finished the blanket I was knitting for my grandson. It will be on its way to Texas sometime this coming week.

Suddenly, I have time. I’m not sure what to do with it all.

I am by nature a restless person. It is very difficult for me to rest; to just do nothing. But you know what? I’m going to try. I’m starting to figure out that all of the noise and activity has been a way to keep me distracted from really looking inside myself to see what might be in there. I have spent most of my life trying to be what and who everyone else thought I should be. It’s time to ask myself that question. Who do I want to be at this point in my life? So I’m shushing the inner voice that says I have to be doing something and I’m listening. I’m listening to me and I’m listening to God. I’m watching, absorbing everything my eyes take in. I’m waiting, confident that there is an amazing path that will be unfolding soon. There’s something very exciting about being open to whatever is to come. My faith has been transformed in these last few years, months, weeks. But that’s a subject for another post.

This morning, as I looked out at the massive tree line across the street, I was filled with this overwhelming sense of love. Like my heart was so full, it might burst. It’s been a long time since I had that feeling, if I ever did.

Thank you for reading, my friends.

XX

Day 58. Today is day 58 of my living full-time in Opal. I still feel like I need to pinch myself to ensure all this is real - that I’m not dreaming. Opal and I have made the best of partners and today is bliss. After a week of temperatures in the 90s (I’m not complaining - I’d rather sweat than shiver any day), we are sitting in the 70s on one of those gorgeous days where the sun is shining brightly but there is a breeze that makes even standing directly in the sun a near-perfect experience. It’s the first day in a while that I’ve been able to open up the windows and leave the A/C off.

I’ve been reflecting today on how grateful I am that we are where we are. I was told early on when I decided that living in a camper was the way I wanted to go that it was very important to be mindful of where you park. I looked at a few campgrounds before deciding on this one. Honestly, I thought this place wanted too much money. Thankfully, the other ones I looked at were awful. Really awful. Made the decision for me, actually. Turns out, this place is worth every penny. We are tucked into a sort of valley with woods all around and a little creek that runs through. A creek that tries hard to imitate a mighty river when we’ve had a downpour, but mostly it’s calm and peaceful and home to who knows how many creatures.

What a blessed life I’m living. There are wonders everywhere. I haven’t felt this fascinated by my surroundings since I was a child. I wake up to birdsong every day. My view from a large picture window (do people still call them that?) is of a beautiful wood. Most mornings, mist graces the tops of the majestic maple, oak, and fir trees. I can only imagine what it will look like when the air is brisk and the colors of autumn begin to appear.

And there are critters. Not the ones you don’t want to see (mostly). The ones that bring a sense of wonder. I’ve already mentioned the chipmunks that provide regular entertainment. I did see what I think was a skunk two weeks ago when I had Lu out after dark (hence the “mostly”). Thankfully, the thing was several campers down from mine and Lu didn’t see it. That would have been a tragic encounter.

I nearly didn’t notice the little bird in the picture below that had taken refuge between my camper tires. The thing just sat there and stared at me, even as I stood only a foot away. I wondered if it was hurt so I sent the picture to a knowledgeable friend who said it was a fledgling and would likely be fine. It was gone the next morning and no sign of trauma, so I choose to believe she was exactly right.

Every time I leave home and drive in either direction down the curvy, hilly road the campground is on, I see various wildlife: deer, ground hogs, even a rooster that seems to like playing chicken (see what I did there?) with the cars moving down the road. I must admit, I am most in awe of the deer. They are absolutely gorgeous creatures and I make a point to look for them now. Last Thursday evening as I came back home from town, I saw TWELVE of them in one field. I have to be careful that I don’t run off the road, I am so enraptured with them.

So many amazing and beautiful things to behold. All credit goes to our other Mother. Mother Nature. Her power can be frightening, yet her beauty is beyond compare. Her resilience in spite of mankind’s neglect and abuse is remarkable. Her ability to renew the soul is nothing short of miraculous.

I am right where I’m meant to be.

XX

Hi Mommy,

I made potato salad today. It’s the second time since we lost you. It seems so silly, but it reminds me of you. We always took pride in how good our potato salad was. I haven’t made any deviled eggs yet. Too soon, I think. Don’t worry, though. I promise I won’t ever use Miracle Whip in place of mayonnaise. Not only would you roll over, but Aunt Linda might make a special trip down to give me a boot in the backside. Too hot to make chili. Trying to figure out how to make our chili without meat. I’m fairly certain you would not approve, no matter what I come up with.

Probably also seems silly that I usually called you Mommy. Sometimes called you Mom. Never, ever called you Mother. I remember one of your birthdays when someone (not me) ordered a cake for you and it said, “Happy Birthday, Mother.” I kept thinking, “Who calls you ‘mother??’” Fairly certain not one of us four kids ever called you that. I seem to remember that whenever you got a card from your mom, she signed it “mother.” I also seem to recall that you wondered why she would sign it that way when you never called her “mother” either.

Every day, I run across something I did or saw or read and I think, “I’ve got to tell Mom this.” Then I remember. I feel the void. Somedays it feels like a giant chasm has opened up that I can’t cross and I can’t fill in. I know it’s only been a little over a month, but coming from a family that has been all, “Pull yourself up by your bootstraps,” it feels like I’m somehow failing because I am still grieving. Honestly, I can’t really believe that you’re gone. It feels like you are still here. In me, I guess.

Ray came to see me yesterday for no other reason than to see the camper and have lunch with me. I have often wondered if, after you were gone, my brothers would keep in touch with me. Why? I don’t know, I guess because they are technically my half brothers and I feel like I’ve spent my entire life trying to prove to them that I wasn’t some spoiled second marriage child. That I’m not a child at all anymore. That I’m worth knowing and, quite frankly, a lot of fun to be around. You’re not here anymore to reassure me about that.

Are you with Daddy? With your mom and dad? With your beloved siblings, Carl, Barb, and Rick, that passed before you? Are you with your granddaughter, Ryan? I hope you are. I hope you are joyful. I hope you are without pain and without sorrow and having the time of your life. Erm...well, not life. Afterlife, I guess. Then again, maybe the afterlife is the true life and what we have here is just a sort of dress rehearsal.

I also hope you know that I’m doing okay, but that I miss you terribly. That I’d give anything to get a text from you about anything. That I would so much like to hug you and kiss your cheek.

Love and miss you, Mommy.

XX

The winner is...Opal! She garnered nearly half of all of the votes and I couldn’t be more pleased. Being an October baby, opals have always had a special place in my heart. If you do a bit of research on the spiritual meaning of the opal, you’ll find phrases like “creativity, emotional healing, and personal transformation.” Not to get all “woo woo” about it, but turns out that artists and writers sometimes use opals as talismans to unlock creativity and inspiration. I find them to be a stunning example of beauty in the natural world.

So me and Opal. Opal and me. Adventures await!

I’m not sure what follows rises to the level of “adventure,” but I did two things yesterday that I haven’t done in ages.

First, I took a nap. Not the “I dozed off in my recliner” kind of nap that began happening to me occasionally after I hit 50. No, this was an “I’m going to actually lay down in my bed for a bit” kind of nap. I didn’t feel very well when Lu woke me up at the crack of dawn and after the morning routine and a bite for lunch I was sleepy. So I napped. Formally. It was glorious.

Of course, one reason I was drawn to my bed for a snooze is because my new bedroom has become a kind of passion project. It all started with a blanket a dear friend sent me quite a while ago. Brightly colored with lovely sayings about (what else?) friendship. When I was going between places, I brought the blanket to put on the bed in Opal, fully intending it to be temporary, but that’s not what happened. That blanket has become the inspiration for what I am calling my mid-life reinvention hippie room.

I moved in with light gray sheets. Before I knew it, I had ordered a hot pink set. I didn’t stop there. Old navy and grey pillow shams were swapped for deep teal and bright orange. Then the pièce de résistance: a pillow cover I found on Etsy that called to me. I relate to it because it is colorful, involves sheep (speaks to the knitter in me) and it is a bit ridiculous. Behold!

I’m not sure I’m done yet. I have a gold chain wall-hanging showing the phases of the moon that needs a place and I’m not going to rule out hanging beads. I want what I want.

The second thing I did yesterday that I haven’t done in a very long time is I walked over to the snack shack here on the grounds and bought two scoops of ice cream. Velvet’s* Moose Tracks (they were out of my favorite, Buckeye Classic).

Back inside Opal, I sat and enjoyed every spoonful of that ice cream and I thought of my mom. She loved her ice cream and, unlike me who only indulges on hot days, she would eat it summer, fall, winter, spring - didn’t matter to her. Toward the end, it’s one of the few things she would still eat. Cheers, Mom. I miss you.

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*I’ve had the virtues of Blue Bell ice cream extolled to me by my dear Southern friends for years, claiming it’s the best. I hear you. I love you. And I disagree. I’m a Velvet girl, through and through. We can still be friends. ❤️

Just a few days left for you to vote on a name for my camper. Please vote if you haven’t already! In the meantime, here are some delightful things I’ve discovered in the few weeks I’ve lived in the camper.

• The smell of a campfire that I didn’t have to light

• Wee chipmunks darting to and fro all day long

• Morning sun. Evening sun. Sun at any conceivable time. Except at midnight. That would be weird. Maybe even apocalyptic.

• Going to the grocery with a bit of leaf in my hair (I’m a real camper now).

• Finding new and wonderful ways to organize what little I brought to my new haven.

• A small felted otter gifted from my daughter and SIL from their recent vacation to Maine - hereby known as Otto, the Emotional Support Otter.

• My dog, happy as a clam with all of the new smells at the campground.

• Windows that open properly to let the fresh air in.

• Having a place filled with just those things that I love.

• Using one of my glass shell dishes for a tea bag and spoon rest (until now, they’ve sat on a shelf and never been used for anything).

• Mastering how to take a shower without dousing the entire bathroom in water.

• Figuring out how to open the shower thingie after my first shower (it’s not a curtain - what IS it?) when I feared I’d be trapped for days.

• Remembering to check my grey and black tanks regularly and emptying them when they should be emptied (delightful in an “I know how to do this” sort of way).

• Setting up my “home office” that is functional and brilliant.

• Having an early morning conversation with a little boy (he must have been around 6) on a bicycle who tagged up with Lu and I on our morning walk:

  Him: You’re up early (it was 7)

  Me: So are you!

  Him: I just thought I’d have a nice morning ride.

  Me: What a beautiful morning for a ride.

  Him: Have you been here long?

  Me: Not too long. How about you?

  Him: I got here a few days ago.

  Me: Are you having fun?

  Him: Yes. Where is your camper?

  Me: Just up here (pointing).

  Him: Mine is over there (pointing).

  Me: Yes, I saw you come out. It was nice to talk to you! I’m heading this way (pointing again).

  Him: I’m going that way too (changing direction to match mine).

  I walk and he rides in a companionable silence

  Me (at my camper): Have a good day!

  He waves and continues his nice ride.

XX

Listen.
I need your help.
Not in a “haha quirky blogger” way — in a “my camper has developed a personality and I’m afraid she’s going to unionize” way.

In my story, my main character travels with a foil — the sidekick who challenges her, balances her, and occasionally mutters “oh honey, no” when she makes a terrible decision.

Well, turns out my real-life camper has been doing that to me.

She’s my emotional support rectangle.
My rolling panic room.
My steel framed therapist who charges me zero dollars but silently judges my life choices.

And now she wants a name.
A real one.
A name with grit, chaos, and the energy of a woman who has absolutely been kicked out of at least one county fair.

So here we are.
Three names.
Three personalities.
Three women who could absolutely win a bar fight, but only one of them would do it on purpose.

Fran

Fran is the woman who’s been everywhere, seen everything, and doesn’t waste breath on nonsense. She’s the truck stop waitress who got promoted to manager because she runs the place better than the owner. She’s got a sharp eye, a quicker wit, and a soft spot she keeps under lock and key.
Fran feels like weathered steel with a warm, no nonsense edge — the kind of strength that doesn’t need to announce itself.

Mavis

Mavis is the character in the corner booth — the one with a gravel warm laugh, a story for every scar, and a past she doesn’t apologize for. She’s quirky in the way only a woman who’s lived a lot of life can be: unexpected, memorable, and just eccentric enough that you know she’s seen some things you wouldn’t survive. She gives advice that sounds questionable until it turns out to be exactly right.
Mavis feels like a road worn storyteller with grit, charm, and a spark of delightful weirdness — the kind of woman you remember forever.

Opal

Opal is the quiet mystic — not silent, just tuned in. She’s perceptive, intuitive, and carries a kind of inner fire that doesn’t need to flare to be felt. She’s the woman who senses the shift in the wind before the storm rolls in and raises one eyebrow like she knew it all along. And since she’s my birthstone, she comes with built in personal lore.
Opal feels like a sanctuary with a hidden ember — mysterious, protective, and quietly powerful.

⭐ CAST YOUR VOTE BEFORE I NAME HER AFTER A GAS STATION SNACK OR A WEATHER EVENT

The poll will be open for a week. Name selected will be announced in a forthcoming post. Locals will be invited for a christening with a slightly less expensive than champagne symbolic liquid…

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PS - Seriously, cast your vote even if you’ve never interacted with a post of mine before. It’ll be okay. I won’t sell your information to anyone, I promise.

This morning is the way I would love all of my mornings to begin. I have nowhere to be, no reason to get up early and Lu actually let me sleep in until 8. The morning sun filters in through the windows, splashing light here and there. No rushing through my coffee, no morning makeup routine, even though mine is quite minimal. No deciding which of my five work-appropriate shirts to wear. It’s all t-shirts and stretchy pants today.

Sunday mornings at the campground are an interesting mix. The buzz of activity that erupts at the start of every weekend has calmed considerably as moms and dads step through their routines to prepare for pulling out and returning to their homes while their children fly through on their bicycles and scooters, trying to squeeze every last drop of fun out of their adventure that’s coming to a close for now. From where I sit, I have a direct line of sight to the campground exit, and I get to watch the slow procession of campers lumbering out onto the winding road that brought them here a couple of days ago. It’s a sort of somber parade. I smile to myself, thoroughly amazed and grateful that I actually live in such a magical place.

I want to thank all of you for your condolences and kind words after the loss of my mom. I’m not quite sure it’s all sunk in yet. The funeral service itself, especially the calling hours, are a blur. I was touched that so many people showed up to honor Mom, and I am sure I will write more about her and what she meant to me eventually. For now, I am sitting at the edge my grief. I venture a tiny ways into it, then I pull back immediately, lest it swallow me up. I know I will need to face it all at some point, but I’m not going to subject myself to some arbitrary timeline. A dear friend reminded me that there is no set formula for handling loss. We each have to find our own way through sorrow. I imagine I’ll be on that path for a good while.

I selected two things from Mom’s apartment to keep with me. It was a challenge now that I live in such a small space. The first thing I chose was her Christmas cactus. Her name is Ethel. I had one named Fred.* Ethel has been through a lot as Mom was too weak at the end to tend to her. I’m hoping I can nurse her back to health.

The second thing I took was a little glass angel. She used to sit on a mirrored shelf in every place that Mom lived. Now she sits on a ledge above one of my windows.

That’s close enough to the edge for today.

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*If you’re of a certain age, or you watch a lot of “classic” TV shows, you’ll get the Fred and Ethel reference. Fred has gone to live with my daughter because he got so large, I had no room for him in the camper. Apparently, I talk about Fred and Ethel more than is deemed necessary to members of my family, as a comment was made at our gathering for Mom’s funeral that indicated I may have mentioned them several times over the course of the years. Honestly, I think the names are very clever and who doesn’t like to talk about when they came up with something clever? BTW, Fred has two little offspring sitting on my kitchen counter and Ethel has one. I will unapologetically attempt to keep the line of Freds and Ethels going. And I’ll likely keep talking about them. Sorry, not sorry.

She’s gone. Yet, she lives in me.

XX

Yesterday, on quite possibly the rainiest day of the entire year - because why not move a bunch of stuff and a Frenchie in on a day when everything was saturated - I officially moved into the camper. There were some bumps, I’m not gonna lie, but I was very pleased with how easily I found a place for everything and eliminated a few other things that I thought I couldn’t live without but it turns out I most certainly can (like those extra decorative bed pillows...buh-bye).

I’m writing this at the camper dinette, with a window open in front of me and behind me and there’s an occasional breeze that feels wonderful. I still have to set up my “office space” at the table, but I can honestly say that’s about the only thing left to do. I may move some things around as I settle in, but that will be after I’ve lived with stuff where it’s at for a bit. Not only did I find a place for everything, but I actually have some room to spare, not that I’m looking to add onto my collection o’stuff unless it meets a real need. I find there are two main requirements now that I’m here: bins and hooks. Bins, because my pantry and bathroom cupboards are fairly deep and sliding out a bin seems preferable to pulling out 15 things to get to the one thing I’m looking for. Hooks, because camper designers do not consider that someone might actually need a place just inside the door to hang up a jacket.

But oh my gosh, I LOVE IT!

The campground was packed when I rolled in with my car full of stuff yesterday, it being Memorial Day Weekend. This evening, it appears that 75% of the folks have pulled out, heading back to their everyday lives. It is not lost on me that I get to stay! Even with the crowd here yesterday and part of today, I am not disappointed in my choice of a place to stay for the first few months of my new lifestyle. The place is clean, the people are friendly and I’m surrounded by nature, which is a real trick considering this place has a lot of sites. I’ve gotten the biggest kick from a couple of wee chipmunks who must have made their home under the rig next to mine - the guy is a full-timer who has a fancy skirt around his camper and I’ve seen the little pair darting in and out. There are two larger rocks behind his rig and I’ve spotted them on top of the rock a few times today, hence the picture. They are adorable, yet I will be looking up later this evening how to keep these delightful critters out of my camper.

These are all things I would love to share with my mom, however she continues to decline and while I saw her on Saturday and she knew who I was, she had no memory on Sunday that I had been there. Once again, I am forced to reconcile great joy with unfathomable heartbreak. I’d like to say I’m dealing with it well, but honestly, I’m not. My boss, whose father was in hospice care before he passed, said to me when I told her about Mom weeks ago that with hospice, you begin to grieve while they are still here. She was right. The journey between now and the inevitable is excruciating. There is nothing on this earth like mother-love. It can never be matched. It can never be replaced. And the loss of it leaves a void that will never, ever be filled.

So, in the same weekend, my heart sings, and my heart breaks.

XX

PS - I realize that maybe some of you who are reading this did not have the kind of mother-love I refer to. To be honest, my mom is not perfect, but I have heard so many stories from people whose mothers were absent, uncaring, negligent. I am truly, truly sorry if that was your mom, and I pray you find healing. ❤️

PSS - To my children, I love you fiercely. I hope you never doubt it.

This is going to be a no-frills, brief and to the point post tonight, as it’s 8:30 p.m. and I’m rapidly running out of what little steam I have left.

Last week was very rough with my mom, and combined with the move, learning a new role at work, and trying to show up for my family and friends here and there, I am absolutely exhausted. Friday evening, I hit a solid wall, emotionally, physically, spiritually, and any other “ally” that is common unto mankind.

And yet, I persist. I get up every morning. I chip away at all that still needs to be done. Forward progress.

This, my friends, is in very large part to your support with your encouraging messages and welcomed advice as well as the packages that have arrived as many of you have graciously contributed by sending something from my Camper Warming List. You all have no idea how much every word, gesture and gift has been a bright spot in a difficult time.

I’ve gotten no notes with any of the gifts, but if you reveal yourselves to me via direct message, I’d love to thank you personally. Either way, thank you, thank you, thank you. 💕

I had no idea when I wrote this dream out here nearly a year ago, that I’d be on the verge of seeing it come true. Unfortunately, I also didn’t know I’d be dealing with the steady decline of my mom at the same time.

Joy.

Sorrow.

Through it all, very grateful for you.

XX

I’d like to say so much is happening - and it is, sort of - but it’s like the same thing night after night and honestly, I’m tired of the routine so I don’t see any reason to bore you all with it. The reality of selling or donating 90% of my worldly goods and trying to clear out this apartment while being very particular about what I am allowing myself to haul to the camper has morphed from the excitement of just a month ago to the equivalent of an endless session of Chinese water torture. Okay, I can’t really make that comparison because thankfully I have never been subjected to Chinese water torture and I’m sure what I’m feeling isn’t even close to how horrible that must be. Let’s just say that my current reality is made up of two worlds. The first is one in which I am thankful to have so much time to thoughtfully go through all of my stuff and make sure I’m not rushed. The second is one in which I worry that I will never reach the end of the seemingly limitless supply of junk I’ve managed to schlep around with me from home to home since before I left Mississippi and I’ll wake up one morning with the apartment still half-filled with crap and it’s the day before I have to turn in the keys.

I have been successfully avoiding the other stuff that goes with moving. You know, the “administrative” stuff like changing my address and voter registration, cutting off the utilities for the apartment and ensuring the internet at the camper is up and running. Folks, I have been through this routine so many times, you’d think I could do it in my sleep, which may actually be necessary if this “in-between” time doesn’t end soon.

I suppose the idea of selling off everything might be terrifying to most folks. I think maybe we tie our identity to those things that we possess whether it be a house or its contents. I will say that for me, selling off or donating so much has actually been quite freeing. Many of the things were leftovers from my life before my marriage blew up and I’m really okay with letting them go. I find that there is very little I am keeping. For those things that I am not, I have taken pictures, thanked the thing for the joy it’s brought me (channeling Marie Kondo here), and let them go to bring someone else joy. I found a local thrift store that gives their proceeds to the local Humane Society, which is a cause near and dear to my heart.

I had set a goal of actually living in the camper by this next weekend, but I’m not sure that’s going to happen. I have had some personal things come up that I must attend to which will delay my “go live” date. At this point, it looks more like Memorial Day weekend will be when I stop “living” in my apartment and will start my new life in the camper.

Speaking of which, there are still a few things I need or would like for the camper. This may be really cheeky, but I’ve decided to compile a “Camper Warming List” on Amazon (I know, I know) and I’m posting it here in case any of you would like to contribute to this new start of mine. Most of the items are not glamorous (hello, Rhino Blaster), but they would definitely be used and appreciated. And if this whole appeal is cringe for you, then just ignore it. All good. You saw nothing...

Before I forget, the furnace in the camper is now working fine. Simple fix, really. Turns out there was air in the propane line to it. No maintenance call required. And now I know what to try if this happens again after transport.

If you enjoy my posts, please consider tapping the little heart at the end. You would be contributing both to my self-esteem as well as to the Substack algorithm that keeps this blog visible.

Feels like I’ve asked a lot of you today, so I’m done. Please know, I appreciate every comment, every like, and every time you take a moment from your busy lives to read my posts.

I’m off to count dust bunnies under my bed...

X

Sunday rolls around again and this week, my countenance has lifted some after my mom had a turn for the better. Many thanks to those of you who sent prayers and thoughts. After my last post, I was compelled to drive up to see her again (I had just gone the week before) which did my heart a lot of good. I may have mentioned before that I live 90 minutes (one way) from her and with the shocking tally at the gas station these days, I am unable to go every weekend. Not to mention that I’m also trying to reduce my belongings to what will reasonably and safely fit into a 30’ camper and getting ready for the actual move which I hope will take place around the middle of this month. Then I will have about another month to get everything out of the apartment.

I’ve stayed for short periods in a camper before, but when you’ve decided to actually live in one, you wonder what it will be like, and you might romanticize it a bit. The “you” in the last sentence being me, of course. It’s one thing to study up on the important bits to be “prepared” and quite another to place yourself and everything you own into one. The camper has been in place now for just a hair over a week and while I’ve visited my soon-to-be home several times, I had not attempted to stay overnight in it.

Until last night.

Here’s what you need to know about last night. In true Ohio fashion, completely disregarding that we are now into May, the temperature dipped aaaaalllll the way down to 30°. No biggie. My camper is an all-seasons camper. I just turned on the furnace. And, um...nothing happened*.

Now, I could have let this little snag make me second-guess every decision I’ve made over the last 10 months and fallen deeply into despair, but alas, I did not. There are actually several good things I focused on while Lu and I were trying to stay warm.

1. I know the furnace has worked, as it was turned on the day I closed on it and did my final walkthrough because it was frigid outside that day.

2. The camper is under warranty.

3. It also has a little electric fireplace that doubles as a heater.

An added benefit was that I’ve been fretting over what would happen with the camper if it got down to freezing (bursting pipes, frozen tanks, etc.) and now that it’s not only happened, but I was IN the camper when it did, I can rest in knowing that the world did not, in fact, end, and the camper**, Lu, and I all survived the night.

I did manage to get what remains of my yarn stash tucked away in a space that looked like it was made for it. I also set up the TV and actually pulled in a few channels with the little onboard antenna on the roof, and I managed to connect up my Blu-ray player.

As I sat there in my hat and my scarf, watching an episode of Father Brown on PBS, with the little fireplace flickering and the Frenchie snoring away in her bed, I thought to myself, this is going to be brilliant.

Yes. Yes, it will.

X

*Yes, I checked the propane and the voltage - both good. No, I did not open up the panel because I don’t pretend to know what I’m doing while there’s still a warranty on the thing, no matter how many YouTube videos say it would be a piece of cake. Once there’s no warranty? I will definitely pretend to know what I’m doing.

**She needs a name. Something that symbolizes this new chapter in my life. Ideas? Hit me up in the comments, I’m all ears!

Good morning, dear friends. It is just a bit after 6 a.m. on a Sunday morning. Dawn hasn’t yet arrived, but here I am. Funny thing over the last month or so - no matter what time I go to bed, I seem to wake up at nearly the same time every morning. If that time coincided with my daily alarm clock, one might assume it is just my body’s rhythm adjusting to the time my alarm goes off most days, but I’m not waking up at my normal alarm time. Nearly every day, the time has been 5:42 a.m. At first, it frustrated me. I’ve spent several menopausal years begging sleep to come and being brought to tears by my seeming inability to sleep enough. I thought those days were finally over. This time, since this new pattern has happened several times now, I realize I am not really tired when I wake up before dawn. Then when it happened over and over again, I began to look at it as a sort of gift. Time when the world is still quiet and I am alone with my thoughts.

There have been a multitude of those.

This morning, I am thinking about the roles we play in life. Looking at the many ways we show up in the world can be a bit overwhelming. Have you ever listed out, even if just in your mind, all of the roles you fulfill? For me, at any given time I am a mom, a grandmother, a friend, a coworker, a neighbor. I’m often a learner, sometimes a teacher. I have recently added adventurer to that list. I have much to write about regarding that new role, but that’s not the one that’s foremost on my mind this morning.

I am also, for now, a daughter.

It is this role that has become my primary focus in the last month. Looking back, when I was young, being a daughter was easy. Puberty came and it got a little harder. When my own children were born, it became a whole lot easier, and it really rested there for many years until my mom began to struggle with age-related health issues. It has been an even bigger challenge over the last couple of years after a fall reduced her ability to be independent. It feels nearly impossible right now.

My mom has made the decision to let nature take its course now that she is 92, which is absolutely her right. I mentioned in an earlier post that I will not go into details. I wasn’t going to write about this at all, but I find myself unable to write about anything else which is why there was no post last week. As her daughter, I am not quite sure how to navigate my role in this circumstance. Most everything in me wants to cling more tightly, to revert back to the little girl that screams, “Mommy, don’t leave me!” That’s not fair though, is it?

We humans know from an early age that we will eventually say goodbye to those we love, whether by their death or our own. I lost my grandparents ages ago. I’ve lost aunts and uncles. I lost my father nearly 44 years ago. Now, either sooner or later, I will lose the one person who is the last witness and close connection to the whole of my own life. She is the primary link to my history. She has always, always been there. Soon she will not be.

I don’t know how to exist in a world without her. I will learn to, but right now the idea seems too daunting, as is the thought of letting her go. So I cry and I pray and I look for distractions. And I try to be a good daughter, even in this.

X

Another Sunday and I’m determined to write, even though I feel like I’m already tired tomorrow. My life is pretty much about getting ready for the move and seeing that my mom has what she needs while managing a 40-hours-a-week job and continually asking myself why in the world did I keep things like random rubber bands and an empty jewelry box that I can’t even remember what was originally in it. I’m not sure that sentence is grammatically correct, but I’m too tired to care.

I’ve done bits of prepping over the weekend, although yesterday, after I dusted what’s left in the apartment and did some actual cooking rather than living off of whatever frozen wonder I could heat up in less than 10 minutes, I settled for knitting - working on my new grandson’s second blanket which makes me happy and I decided I needed to log some joyful hours.

Because I took it “easy” yesterday, I decided to actually do some work today and first, I vacuumed. It was high time. Then I went through the few books I have left - honestly, I purged them ages ago - and while I read a lot, I utilize my library* rather than spending money on books I’ll read once and then have to decide what to do with. I have a little stack of what I’m keeping (mostly about writing), another little stack of what I believe a friend of mine might like, and a slightly larger stack that I’ll be selling/donating.

That wasn’t enough though. So I did the BIG challenge this afternoon. I went through my yarn stash.

Now, if you know me, you know that I take my yarn very seriously. This was no easy task. My yarn stash pretty much represents my fiber journey over the last decade (or more). From Lion Brand Pound of Love acrylic, which is where I started, to Madelintosh, Blue Sky Fibers and Malabrigo, my yarn choices have been serious business. I’ve purchased from Knit Picks, which offers quality yarn at a decent price, to high-end Etsy indie dyers who offer one-of-a-kind yarns. I’ve got some Tanis Fiber Arts as well as my personal favorite, Lost City Knits, whose owner, Denise, I was able to meet at a fiber festival in (of all places) Vicksburg, MS several years ago. I still have two skeins of their amazing Lost City Silk. All that to say, this was not an easy task. But, dear friends, I am proud of myself in that I was able to reduce my yarn stash from FOUR large Rubbermaid totes down to ONE large tote plus a smaller tote of yarn I’m keeping. The rest has got to go. If you’re interested, give me a shout.

The work is all about being ready for when I am able to move into my new camper, and as of today, it will be delivered in less than two weeks! I AM SO EXCITED! My RV dealer has been keeping my rig for me until the end of the month so I can save an extra month’s RV spot fee while I’m still paying rent at the apartment (they are amazing like that). I feel like I should have insisted on visitation rights while I waited, but I’m biding my time until it is delivered and set up at my first temporary residence. Can’t wait to show you pictures!

That’s where I’m at. I am looking forward to sharing this drastic lifestyle change journey with you. More to come.

Exhausted, but yours always.

XX

*Incidentally, having worked at two different library systems in the past, if you don’t have a library card (FREE) and don’t take advantage of the many services every library offers (ALSO USUALLY FREE), then you need to go get a card immediately. Seriously, it’s worth it. Support your local library.

Hello, dear friends! Happy Easter to those of you who celebrate it!

Last weekend, two very significant events took place - one, a moment of pure joy and the other, an emotional and difficult life turn. Isn’t that just the way life can be? I have struggled to write since then, trying to reconcile having had one of the best days of my life and one of the worst in the same 24-hour period. Truthfully, I still haven’t figured it out. I gave myself grace last week and skipped a post. This week, I determined that I would write, regardless of how I felt. Perhaps it will help.

Have you ever experienced this scenario: “I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want to hear first?” I think most of us have, or have at least seen it play out in the movies or on television. Which would you choose? I tend to tackle difficult or distasteful things first. Last Saturday, the chronology of events was kind of a sandwich of hard news, great news, then trying to process the hard news. It has been...well, hard.

The bottom line on the hard news is that it involves my mom and her ongoing health and care. She turned 92 on the 27th. I won’t be sharing anything further about it, as she deserves her privacy. I will only ask that if you are a praying person, I would appreciate your remembering her in your petitions.

Which brings me to the good bit. I found her. My new home. She’s officially mine and I’ll be moving into her over the next two months. The culmination of what started as a 12-month plan, a dream, really. As you know, I’ve experienced some setbacks, but in the last few weeks, things began to fall into place and it turned out to be right on target.

More to come.

XX

Did you know that the origin of “Best By” dates on food products is linked back to Al Capone? In the 1930s, Capone lobbied for date labels on milk after a family member became ill, presumably by consuming some bad milk. The practice became widespread in the 1970s, as consumers wanted to know the food they were buying in the grocery store was fresh.

With the exception of baby formula, “Best By” dates are not required in the US. “Best By” dates are about quality, not safety. According to the USDA, the “Best By” date is when a product’s quality will begin to decline. It doesn’t mean the food is necessarily unsafe to consume after that date. Heck, I’ve gotten half gallons of milk that were still good a month after the “Best By” date. I think that’s because my fridge runs colder than most. My mom, who grew up on a farm, talks about how when she was a kid, they never refrigerated an egg they got straight from the chicken coop. Today’s eggs you buy in the grocery are cleaned, sanitized, candled, sorted and refrigerated. It’s a wonder anyone from my mom’s generation survived. But I won’t get started on that. As a proud Gen X-er, my childhood was filled with all sorts of potentially deadly activities. Yet, somehow, we survived.

Why am I tattering on about “Best By” dates, you ask? Good question.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately. Not as relates to food, but as relates to life. It occurred to me one day a few weeks ago, that as human beings, we all have an expiration date. We don’t know when, we usually don’t know how, but we’ve all got one.

You know what we DON’T have? We don’t have a “Best By” date.

Yet, that’s not what we’ve been told. As I have aged, it has become very apparent that most people (read: younger folks, although some older folks subscribe to this as well) believe that once you reach a certain age, your best years are behind you. It’s like, “Thanks for all you’ve done, we’ll take it from here.” Feels like we’ve been summarily dismissed to go do whatever it is younger people think that older folk do. I’m pretty sure it revolves around watching Jeopardy and eating supper at 4:00 p.m.

Um...HOLD THE BLOODY PHONE.

This really hit home for me this past week when I got to see my son and his family who were up north for a visit and we collectively went to see my (92 years old this coming Friday) mom at her assisted living facility. I misspoke. Well, first, I mistyped in a text to my mom*, and then I misspoke. It was small. It was inconsequential. It amounted to nothing more than the proverbial hill of beans. Yet I obsessed over it to the point that I later asked my son if he would let me know if I began showing signs of dementia.

DEMENTIA? SERIOUSLY?

All over a mistake that, had I made it in my 20s, I would have laughed at and moved on. Incidentally, I made plenty of those types of mistakes in my 20s - I still laugh about the “lapped chips” incident from 40 years ago. I was sober, so no excuse. It was hilarious.

No. Just no. I’m literally ashamed of myself that the thought even crossed my mind.

I’m not trying to minimize the devastation that some families experience when early onset dementia sets in. I’ve had family members and friends with family members who suffer from dementia and Alzheimer’s and it’s horrific. This is not about that.

This is about knowing that just because I’ve hit a certain age doesn’t mean it’s all over with, except for the final curtain.

In fact, for the FIRST time in my entire life, I feel like the possibilities for my future are endless. I absolutely refuse to spend the rest of my days the way that society believes is appropriate for a woman “of my age.”

I plan to stir the pot. I plan to defy the stereotypes. I plan to have some good fun. I plan for the rest of my life to be an adventure.

I listened to a podcast recently with a world-renowned brain surgeon whose patients suffer from terminal cancer. He told the podcast host that he learned how to identify a well-lived life in his terminal patients by whether the person could say either, “I wish I had…” or “I’m glad I did…” The latter defining the success.

I’m not going to my grave wishing I had. I’d much prefer to go to my grave saying, “I’m glad I did…”

Why is this important? Because my kids and my grandkids are watching. Because I want, more than anything in the world, for those I love to know that it’s never too late. Never.

XX

*The fact that I regularly text my mom and she texts me back is a testament to the fact that age is just a number. My mom rocks!

PS - I am hoping by next week to be able to share a picture of my new home!

PSS - If you’re so inclined, you can buy me a coffee.

Good morning, my friends! My heart embraces the enthusiasm implied with that exclamation point, even if my body has forsaken me and would rather just climb back into bed.

The crud that I mentioned last weekend showed itself by Monday morning, and I ended up missing a day and a half of work. I struggled to stay awake to actually complete a full 8-hour day when I did work. Add to that the terrible coughing fits in which your coworkers give you the side-eye, wondering why you’re even at the office and also in which you must tightly cross your legs while coughing to avoid additional humiliation. You ladies of a certain age know exactly what I’m talking about. Monday through Wednesday, I couldn’t speak for coughing. Right around Thursday morning, I could have sung bass in the church choir. By Friday, I sounded like a squeaky mouse, if I could make any noise at all. The good news is, I am feeling better, yet still managed to be awake at 7 a.m. this morning, hacking a lung. I did nothing yesterday but drop my recycling off, which was threatening to need its own room, and stop at the drug store to get more Sudafed and a package of Poise (again, ladies - you get it). The rest of the day was spent resting, knitting, napping. I simply could not aspire to anything more. Today, it’s this post and laundry, then a repeat of yesterday.

Incidentally, I find it incredibly sad that I have to repeatedly tell myself that it’s okay to rest. I’m not good with sitting still, mostly because I’m wired that way, but also because of guilt. Anyone else struggle with that? Just me?

This last week has also been a roller coaster, emotionally. I’ve been all over the place which is really not surprising since I wholeheartedly believe that your emotions are affected by how you feel physically. After having let go of the RV I mentioned last week, I got my hopes up on a different one that was shut down almost immediately and ushered in a rather dramatic meltdown, due mostly to my physical state. Normally, I would get on the phone with my friend J, but seeing as how I couldn’t even talk, I managed to melt down via text with her.

I need to take a minute here and tell you how massively grateful I am for J. This woman would cringe at the idea of being called a saint, but she comes pretty close to one in my life. She has always been there to listen, not judge, and never offers up any platitudes that minimize my feelings, even if I am throwing a record-breaking tantrum and we both know it. She cheers me on, speaks truth to me when needed (wisely, not in the middle of a meltdown), and has my back, always. She’s an amazing friend that has earned the right to speak into my life. She’s seen the worst and the best and loves me no matter which I’m marinating in at any given moment.

So I’m having this meltdown when J suggests that maybe I should look for a camper rather than a motorhome. Price is WAY less and in this day and age when there’s a service for anything, you don’t need to own a tow vehicle, especially if you’re not moving around constantly. There are companies that do that for you for a lot less than either a motorhome or a tow vehicle.

Now the funny thing here is at that moment, I realize the salesman I’ve been working with suggested that very same thing earlier in the day when I hit a wall with the other motorhome, but I immediately shut HIM down. But let J say the same thing, and all of a sudden, my ears are wide open. Folks, this goes to show you the power of people who’ve earned the right to speak to you and be heard. No offense, Sales Dude.

With that, the clouds parted. My plan lives.

As I write this, the sun is shining - always a blessing - and while rain is expected later, the temp is supposed to get to 75° today. Which you’d think would be the best news ever, until you realize that tomorrow’s low is set to be 19°. Typical Ohio. Can’t imagine how I ended up sick.

Thank you for reading.

XX

Buy me a coffee?