This life – This {______

2026 – My year of self-care

This year, I resolve to turn inward with intention, not avoidance.

I will:

Let myself rest without guilt, understanding that rest is productive when healing and clarity are required.
Honor my grief in whatever form it shows up, without rushing it or explaining it away.
Choose peace over being right, and disengage from arguments that cost me my calm.
Set firmer boundaries—not as punishment, but as protection.
Trust my instincts, even when others question them.
Release responsibility for fixing people or situations that are not mine to carry.
Make space for joy without waiting for permission, even in the midst of hard seasons.
Speak to myself with the same kindness I offer others, especially on the days I fall short.
Celebrate progress, not perfection.
Believe that good things can arrive softly, without chaos or struggle attached.

This year isn’t about becoming someone new.

It’s about returning to myself—steadier, braver, and more at ease.

See you next year!

My first Christmas without both of my parents

I always knew this Christmas would be different. I just didn’t know how different.

Christmas has always been tethered to my parents in ways I didn’t fully appreciate until they were gone. The familiar rituals—the phone calls, the meals that somehow tasted like childhood no matter how old I got, the quiet reassurances that came from simply knowing they were there—were the invisible threads holding the season together. This year, those threads are gone, and I feel the absence in every corner of December.

What surprised me most was how early the grief arrived. It didn’t wait for Christmas Eve or Christmas morning. It showed up with the first holiday commercial, the first Christmas song in a store, the first casual question of, “So what are you doing for the holidays?” Grief, I’ve learned, doesn’t need an invitation.

This Christmas feels quieter. Not just in sound, but in spirit. There’s no one to call with last-minute questions, no parental excitement bubbling over about traditions or food or plans. There’s no safety net of “home” in the way there used to be. I’m realizing that home wasn’t a place—it was them.

I’ve also noticed how grief doesn’t come neatly wrapped. Some moments are heavy and sad, exactly as I expected. Others catch me completely off guard—like laughing at a memory and then feeling guilty for laughing, or feeling oddly numb when I thought I’d be in tears. There’s no right way to do this, no checklist for surviving a first Christmas without your parents. There’s just getting through it one moment at a time.

I’m trying to give myself permission this year. Permission to say no to traditions that hurt too much. Permission to keep the ones that feel comforting. Permission to step away when it all feels overwhelming. And permission to feel joy when it shows up, even if it sits right next to sorrow.

Because that’s the truth of this Christmas: joy and grief are sharing the same space. I miss my parents deeply. I wish I could hear their voices, see their names light up my phone, feel that sense of being someone’s child again. That loss doesn’t disappear just because it’s Christmas.

But I also know they wouldn’t want this season to break me. They would want me to be gentle with myself, to find small moments of warmth, to keep going—even when it’s hard.

So this Christmas, I’m honoring them not by pretending everything is fine, but by being honest about what this season is now. It’s tender. It’s complicated. It’s painful. And somehow, it’s still meaningful.

If you’re walking through your own first Christmas without someone you love, know this: you’re not doing it wrong. However you’re surviving is enough. And even in the quiet, even in the ache, love is still here—just in a different form.

This Christmas looks different.
And I’m learning that different doesn’t mean empty.

It just means changed.

Thanks for reading. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

Starting My Crochet Journey: Stress Relief and Sales

With all that’s going on in the world and in my life, I needed to get back to one of my favorite stress relievers…crocheting. I’ve decided to start selling some of my creations. I’ve opened up a Tedoo shop and listed some things but haven’t made a sale yet. It’s ok, I only just started listing items this week. Here are a few of the things I have made and listed.

Yes! I stood up for myself.

Today I stood up to a bully and I’m so darned proud of myself.

That’s it.

Thanks for reading.

I don’t…

hate people who think differently from me
hate people who worship differently from me
hate people who look different
hate people who love differently from me
hate people who have more/less money than me
hate people who are from other countries
hate people who speak differently
hate people who vote differently from me
hate people who don’t act the same way I do
hate people who hate people
hate

I do…

try to spread positivity
treat all people with kindness
try to lead by example
smile at strangers
pray for people I don’t know
give hugs when needed

I hope…

I give a good example of kindness and positivity for others
people forgive me when I am wrong (which is often)
no one hates me for not hating other people
I can lift people’s spirits

This week has been rough…

A young woman murdered in cold blood in front of people who didn’t step in.
A young father murdered for his faith and people celebrating
Bodies found in the trunks of impounded vehicles in CA
Wars
Genocide
Babies starving
Shootings at colleges and weapons brought to school by young kids
The 24th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. It never gets better. I’ll never forget.

I pray…

for peace
that people affected by violence find healing, physically, mentally, and spiritually
for people who have health challenges
for people who are suffering through a mental health crisis
for the children who have grown up only knowing war, poverty, hatred, and greed
for children who find it normal to see people killed on social media (can we please stop that?)
for the parents, grandparents, and great grandparents who worry about the world they are leaving their children and future generations
for healing when my heart hurts from current events and the suffering going on in the world
that we haven’t completely ruined the environment and we can turn things around

Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are they who mourn,
for they will be comforted.

Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the land.

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be satisfied.

Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.

Blessed are the clean in heart,
for they will see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called children of God.

Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Thanks for reading.

Don’t tell me how to grieve

So, you’ve moved on and life is back to normal. Good for you.

I am still grieving. In my own way. We are not the same and, therefore, do not grieve the same. I’m happy you have moved through all the stages of grief and are doing well. I have not and you can’t tell me where I should be or how I should honor the memory of the people I have lost.

Have you checked to see how other grievers are doing? Have you responded to messages they have sent checking on YOU? No? Well, that says a LOT about you!

Don’t tell me not to post “happy heavenly birthday” or “happy (name a holiday) in heaven”. This is how I keep my happy memories alive. I’m going to go and remember the happy memories. I wish one of you could remember with me. But you have moved on.

Clearing the Garden

My mind is a garden, tender and wide,
where bright blooms flourish when given the sky.
But shadows creep in, with thorn and with weed,
draining the roots of the light that I need.

I’ve learned to be gentle, yet firm with my ground,
to pull up the voices that drag spirits down.
The ones who bring poison, resentment, and spite,
I lay at the gate, and I turn toward the light.

For peace is a harvest, not gathered by chance,
but grown when we guard what deserves to advance.
In silence and sunlight, the soul can repair—
once freed from the weight of a toxic despair.

So I tend to my garden with patience and care,
inviting in kindness, refusing what tears.
For preserving my spirit means learning to see:
Not all who approach are meant to grow with me.

*** I haven’t been online much, unless I’ve been working on things. I haven’t been in the mood or in the correct space to share my thoughts and feelings. The past 4 months have been a challenge and continue to wear me down. However, I have decided to weed my garden of negativity and poison, and plant beauty, kindness, and love in their place.

Grief sucks. Grief brings out the best and the worst in us. I choose to turn my grief into positive memories. It will take a while, but I’m determined to remember to be kind and not let other’s actions and words ruin my happy memories.

Miss you Mom and Dad.

Father’s Day

Wishing all the fathers and father-figures a very happy Father’s Day. I hope your people celebrate you today and every day.

My dad passed away peacefully about 25 days ago. I am going to miss him, especially on his birthday and Father’s Day.

I was going to post “happy heavenly Father’s Day” on Facebook but I recently had someone make nasty comments about people who write those things. Normally I would say something like “let people mourn the way they mourn” but with all the hatred and animosity going on in this world right now, I don’t want to add to it. So, I will mourn the way I want to mourn. I just won’t share my thoughts and feelings with people who don’t treat others with kindness.

Miss you, Dad.

Have you had the cold?

Down here on the SW Florida coast, there is a cold, virus…crud going around. Mike came home with it two Friday’s ago. Two days later, I started with it. It was weird. The symptoms were exactly the same for us both, just two days difference.

They were:

Sore throat
Extreme sinus/nasal congestion
Headache
Exhaustion
Body aches
Cough (starting as non-productive then becoming productive)

I started with it on Sunday. I spent Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday in bed. No appetite. On Wednesday, I saw the doctor and he put me on antibiotics. Thursday, Friday, Saturday showed much improvement. It is now Sunday and I am feeling a lot better. We both still have the cough but that will go away soon, I hope.

I am susceptible to bronchitis and pneumonia, so I was lucky this time. This all started with someone coughing all over him at work.

Things I ask, without infringing upon your “freedoms”:

Cover your mouth when you cough
Cover your face when you sneeze
If are sick and you can, STAY HOME
Wash your hands
Use hand sanitizer

Good luck out there.

Thanks for reading.

For Mom – the little yellow notebook queen

In the hush of dawn, where the robins sing,

I hear her hum—a quiet, joyful thing.

A thread of song spun from kitchen light,

She made the world feel soft, and right.

She walked with wonder through the trees,

Studied deer tracks, whispered to the breeze.

A cardinal perched, she’d smile and say,

“Nature’s blessing us again today.”

She loved her Richard, hand in hand,

Built a life both strong and grand.

Her children grown, with love she’d sew

New stitches into hearts she’d know.

Grandkids, great-grandkids—each one dear,

She held them close, kept memories near.

And in her bag, so oft unseen,

That little yellow notebook queen

Would jot a thought, a joke, a list—

The smallest details never missed.

She knitted warmth, she stitched delight,

With tiny chairs tucked in just right.

A dollhouse world within her care,

Where love was nestled everywhere.

And oh, the songs! The kitchen tunes—

About lost keys and spoons and moons.

I laugh, remembering the silly flair—

A melody made from thinning hair.

Camping nights with stars above,

We farted loud, then laughed with love.

A bond unique, just hers and mine,

Our secret joy, our shared sunshine.

I miss her voice, her gentle hands,

The way she’d always understand.

But in the birdcall, breeze, and sky,

She’s with me still—and nearby.

So here’s to her, forever seen—

My heart’s own yellow notebook queen.

–Today is my Mom’s birthday. I miss her!