Sick & Chic: How to nurse a cold with class

SickChicIt’s New Year’s Day. I’m sick. I am none too happy – not only because I’ve got snot running down my face on the first day of the year, but also because I’m working while everyone else has the day off {obviously because every business I need to contact has their holiday greeting on. *sigh*}.

So I feel like crap and I have a crap-load of work to do. What’s a cosmopolitan girl to do? Well, I can tell you what this girl did. I ran over to my local Tar-jay, picked up a value size box of Emergen-C, some Cold-Eeze, and as many boxes of Puffs with Lotion as I could carry.

Well, that’s not very sophisticated, Tuesday…

Yeah, I know. I wasn’t feeling very sophisticated either. Wads of tissue in your pocket have a way of doing that. But I had to make the most of the situation. So I pulled out my fancy stemware and the crystal candy dish that I only use at Christmas. I poured a full glass of fizzy immune support and stocked my crystal with red-wrapped zinc capsules. Now that’s sophisticated!

It didn’t make me feel better physically, but it made me feel better mentally, and that is half the battle.

With love,



Something was going to giveI was cracking. It wouldn’t be long now. Things were going to start falling. This life…this situation…it wasn’t sustainable. Too heavy. That was apparent now. The only question was how soon?

I was in this by myself. I supposed that someone might have cared or understood…but experience made me doubt that. No, it was me…alone.

But I wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t strong enough to go it alone – or with anyone else for that matter. It was all just… I was juggling too much; I had taken on too many things. Something was going to give – namely, me.

“No, just hold on,” I told myself, “It’s not much longer now.” I wasn’t sure if that was truth or a lie. At this point it was just something I said. I had no idea how much longer I would have to hold on. Months…years?

I wasn’t built for this. I could feel my feeble arms, not as strong as they were in my youth, begin to sag.

“Stay strong. Stay strong. Stay strong.” My biceps were burning. My hands were tired, aching. I could just let go. Let it all drop. Let the world fall down around me. Would it be so bad?

“Would it be so good?” I asked myself. I imagined what would happen if I wasn’t in control…of everything. I reminded myself that the theory had already been tested. “Didn’t work out so well, did it?” I chided myself. No, it hadn’t. Things…happened. More importantly, things didn’t happen. I hated being out of control.

But this was different…worse. The constant carrying, juggling…it was making me hate myself. I hated the person I was when I was responsible for so much. Angry. Tired. Stressed. High strung. Irritable. Short tempered.


My head was still telling me to hang on. Adamantly. “You didn’t come all this way….do all this work…to quit. You just hang on!”

I had a point. Letting go would mean failure.


“Do you want to be a failure? Haven’t you done enough of that for one lifetime?” I hung my head. Why did I always have to drag the past into it? “Forget I mentioned it,” I told myself. “Just hang on. Hang on!” My arms were tired. I was tired. I could feel my shoulders collapsing. “No!” my conscience yelled.


I heard the metaphoric crash.

Then there was silence.

Happy Birthday

Watching him this way…it was a rare moment. Usually he was out of bed before me. Up and in the shower before I was awake. But he’d overslept this morning. The alarm on his phone had gone off nearly twenty minutes ago, but he had promptly shut it off and rolled over, his face now turned towards mine. I should have urged him out of bed, but I couldn’t. It was his birthday. Yeah, he was going to be late for work, but I knew it would be a forgivable offense. The guys in his office routinely waltzed in well past their eight o’clock check in. Right then, I wanted the moment.

Lying there, watching him sleep, his eyes softly fluttering as he dreamed…this was a novelty for me. One I intended to cherish… Suddenly, his eyes fluttered open, revealing ocean blue irises. “Happy birthday,” I wished him, softly. He smiled, melting my heart.


Was there a difference between working and writing?I made a big deal out of stretching my arms above my head,
reaching for the heavens. The lengthening felt good to my tense
shoulders and back. I’d been hunched over my laptop for too many
days. My posture was beginning to pay the price.

I sat down to my computer once again – this time not
to work, but to write. I had to laugh at myself for a moment…was
there a difference? Between working and writing? Of course I knew
there was, but some days it certainly didn’t feel like it – which
is probably how I’d ended up taking such a long break from my

I defiantly shook my head at the thought. “You promised not to do
this,” I reminded myself. “You’ll write when you want
to and you won’t when you don’t. End of story.” Nevertheless, my
wandered over the last three months and all the events that had
driven me away from my writing…returning to the job I had left
two years ago, the now constant traveling to visit my recovering
mom, and the increased caregiver responsibilities upon the
discovery of my mother-in-law’s cancer. I could feel my body
tense up again.

I forced myself out my reverie and lifted my arms high above my
head again. The tension relaxed its grasp on me and I sat down to

Memorial Day

Memorial Day2:00 pm, Monday. It’s 104 degrees outside, give or take. The kitschy, sunflower shaped, outdoor thermometer says 102, but it routinely lies. I mist myself in another layer of natural, essential oil mosquito repellent as I head into the heat. Smoke is rising from a metal coffin where racks of meat lie on grills. The heady smell of cooked animal flesh captivates my stomach. I head for the pub style patio table where a plate of vibrant fruit rests underneath a miniature, mesh canopy. Brilliant purple-y blueberries, giant red strawberries, and super-sized green grapes all reside together peacefully. Beside the platter is a sweaty, glass pitcher filled with icy lemonade. I pour a tall glass of the lemony liquid and climb into one of the high-top chairs. From my perch I see a row of mini starred and striped flags waving proudly over the sad block wall I share with my neighbors. I consider for a moment our outdoor celebration…and the men and women who gave their lives to insure its possibility. A mosquito lands on the upper part of my arm. How harmful is DEET, really? I wonder before I swat it away. A breeze kicks up, making the little flags flap wildly. It looks like laughter to me and I smile. I raise my glass of lemonade to them in a toast.

Happy Memorial Day.
With love,

Okay, This Is What’s REALLY Been Going On

You can’t tell by the sporadic posts I make on this blog, but I think about From Tuesday, With Love a LOT. It’s my baby and I love it. I’m just an awful mother.

BUT I’m a really awesome caregiver {not to toot my own horn or anything}. You see, the honest-to-goodness-for-real-for-real truth is my mom who lives 300 miles away from me had a stroke earlier this year. Like, an I’m-going-to-need-some-help-while-I-rehab-for-several-months stroke. PLUS my 85-year-old mother-in-law who I’ve cared for over the last year and a half still has a laundry list of medical conditions that require frequent doctor/hospital visits and help with things like grocery shopping and paying bills.


I’ve enlisted as much help as I can get {thank God for helpful family on both sides!}. I’ve called and talked with every assistance agency I can get a number to. But at the end of the day, there are still a lot of things you just have to tend to yourself. Not that I mind. I love my mom and my MIL with everything I’ve got. I do what I do for them BECAUSE I love them so much. Can’t lie though, caring for someone is a big job. Caring for TWO someones is a ginormous job. But I wouldn’t trade it for the world. It’s important to me that these women get all the care and service they need and deserve.

THAT BEING SAID – It leaves me little time to care for my baby, my blog. Nearly every day something new, cool, or interesting pops into my head that I think, “Oooo, I should write and post about that!” But there never seems to be any time. For a long time, I told myself that I was using lack of time as an excuse. Surely I could FIND time. I mean, lack of time is the very excuse we, as writers, use to procrastinate doing the one thing that we know we need to do.

But after a while I realized, I wasn’t just procrastinating {well, not mostly}. I really wanted to find those minutes where I could sit down and write, but they were always preempted by a doctor’s appointment, packing, phone calls, or just plain exhaustion. Yep, some days I was just too dang tired to even consider writing. So I slept or laid on the couch to watch TV instead. Lord knows that if I didn’t sit down occasionally, I’d kill myself from going, going, going ALL. THE. TIME.

But the fact remains – yes I said, FACT – I want to invest in this blog. I don’t know how that’s going to happen, but that’s what I want to happen. It pains me to see her dying a slow death, but I can’t annihilate her in one fell swoop either. She’s a part of me. But like I said, I’m a bad mother. And if my blog fails to become a productive member of society, I’ll have no one to blame but myself.

With love,

Note #4: Life Is More Than A To-Do List

Life is more than a to-do list.I’ve spent lots of my time lately checking things off of a list. Get the oil changed. Call the insurance company. Clean the baseboards. Pay the power bill. I’ve been focused and determined. My only goal is to check, check, check. Each little check mark – even if it’s only a mental check mark – is like a brilliant, gold star.

But I questioned today, in the middle of checking yet another chore off my list, what were all those gold stars getting me? The question hung in my mind so boldly that it was all I could focus on for a few moments {which was really something, because nothing ever gets that much of my attention. I’m too busy being focused on all the things I need to get done. Check, check, check!}. No doubt I was busy, busy, busy…I’d earned the badge for Busyness and was wearing it proudly…but what was it earning me? What was I getting out of all my busyness?

A quick mental rundown showed that my friendships were neglected, my family had recently only spent time with me when it had been an emergency, my husband and I hadn’t had a real vacation {as opposed to a working one or one tied into some family event} in longer than I cared to remember {2006??} and my “me” time usually consisted of folding laundry {it’s zen, right?}

Was this the life my gold stars were earning me? A life full of doing, but void of living? I didn’t think that was what I signed up for. Surely, I thought, life is not just a to-do list…right?!?

I wondered what would happen if I set my to-do list aside? Simply forgot about it, didn’t tend to it…ripped it up? What would happen? Would my relationships  find new life? Would I finish my novel? Write more on my blog? Would I travel more? Or would life fall apart? Perhaps I would fail to pay my bills, take care of my car, or buy groceries.

I believe we need to find balance in all things. To-do lists obviously serve their purpose. For me, they keep me on track and remind me to tend to things that keep my life moving. But when getting things done becomes more important than living itself…when the checklist becomes the gospel of my life…something is out of whack.

Yes, life is more than a to-do list. It is a vehicle by which we get to experience – enjoy, even! – living. So, I suppose, I should get to enjoying it more and stop racing through it to collect those gold stars.

Let me just add that to my to-do list.

With love,

Note #3: Embrace Age With Grace

Embrace age with grace

As a caregiver to an 85-year-old woman, I find myself constantly in the company of older people. They’re in doctors’ offices, senior centers, and the adult diaper section of Wal-Mart {all places I regularly frequent these days}. All of them, having reached their winter season, embrace their elder status differently. Some are jovial and spirited, childlike even, believing that their advanced age has given them a free pass to behave as they please. Others are sad and disheartened as if old age is life’s final curse before the blessed redemption of death.
And then there are those who have embraced their seniority with grace. They own their age because they have earned it. They don’t play it down, they don’t excuse it, they don’t deny it. Not only do they embrace their age, they embrace the fact that age has changed and will continue to change them. They have imparted decades of life experiences on the world and they are proud of their contribution. As long as they have breath, they believe they still have more to give. It shows in the way they act, they talk, they dress. They still care about what their style, their personality, their actions say about who they are.
I am learning that as we age, attitude counts – gets you bonus points even. It counts more than beauty, more than style, more than age or illness. Attitude counts. It has the potential to make or break how we come across. Getting older is full of landmines – death, failing health, financial inadequacy – but you can often tell who decided to get on with life {as they always have – because, let’s face it – LIFE is full of landmines} and those who chose to wallow in the mire of it all.

A scanned postcard photo of Ella Fitzgerald by Annie Leibovitz

A scanned postcard photo of Ella Fitzgerald by Annie Leibovitz

I have long known that I want to embrace positivity in my later stages of my life. Sure, youth is behind you, but life is still ahead of you. Oh, what could I do with the life I have left! Race a car, start a business, be a fashion icon? With a lifetime of experience, what could I do? Life become meaningless? I don’t think so. Not even in the midst of the battlefield that is old age.
When I get silver-haired {fully – not just the random strands that poke out of my polished ‘dos now}, I hope I wake up every day striving to be relevant, attractive, and my age. I hope I am able to embrace who I am and how old I am. As long as I have breath, I hope I give something positive to the world. I hope I become better with age. I hope I age gracefully.

With love,

Note #2: Know Your Role

Know your roleFirst, apologies to the talented blogger, Eric, over at Clawing At The Keys. This post/review is loooong overdue. Second, as full disclosure, this post was inspired by William Shatner’s “The Transformed Man,” a CD I “won” {if one can call it that} as a contestant in Eric’s “Worst Short Story” contest {you can check out my entry here}.

After forcing myself to listen through an entire disc of William Shatner’s campy, kitschy…OMG, let me just say it…TERRIBLE…interpretive “singing” {?? poetry reading?? comedic acting?? dramatic monologue??}, I believe the following are truths:

  • Each of us is granted certain gifts, talents, and abilities.
  • Each of us has the ability to be a master of those gifts and talents within the realm in which we are placed.
  • If you move outside of those giftings…move beyond your realm of talent…well, you end up with this:

The moral is: know your role. You shouldn’t fancy yourself a singer if you can’t sing {obviously}*. You shouldn’t teach if you’re not gifted as a teacher. Don’t feel compelled to audition for So You Think You Can Dance if you know you have two left feet. Move within the realm of talent you are gifted with. This is not to say that you shouldn’t expand your horizons or try new things. Doing so will not only expand your grey matter, but may uncover a hidden gift or talent. But if it doesn’t…please, PLEASE don’t punish the world by putting your lack of talent on public display. I assure you that there is enough pain in the world as it is**.

Disagree if you must, but I say, know your role, people. Know your role.

With love,

*Apparently there are whole crowds of people who think Mr. Shatner CAN sing {or whatever you call what he’s doing} and are willing to let him belt it out again and again and again. Just Google it. However I also suggest you read the reviews of The Transformed Man on Amazon. HIL-AR-I-OUS!

**For the record, at multiple points on the disc I laughed until I cried. Thus, I cannot say that these 38 minutes were completely pain inflicting. This might also lead one to believe that I overlooked the obvious talent to be gleaned from this record – BUT, a glance through the liner notes reveals that Mr. Shatner took this album very seriously and had no intention of bringing hilarity into my otherwise mundane day. So, sorry – no credit there.

Note #1: Life Isn’t Always What We Expect It Will Be

Life isn't always what we expect it will be

Life isn’t always what we expect it will be. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine myself becoming a housewife or a caregiver. You couldn’t have convinced my 25-year-old self that this is where I’d be in twelve years. But these are the choices I’ve made and this is the road that I am on.

I am reminded of Robert Frost’s iconic poem, “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by…” I’ve always detected a hint of woe in that poem, not for the choice he made, but for the choice he didn’t make. He tells himself that one day he will come back to see what lies down the other path, yet he knows, because life has a way of doing what it does, he will probably never get back to this fork and see what lies down the road not taken.

I believe most of us understand that the choices we make today could, perhaps, unknowingly, take us away from the life we imagine. One “wrong” turn can lead us down the rabbit hole as easily as it can lead us to great success. The fabled Alice of Alice in Wonderland could have just stayed put and not followed that plucky rabbit down the hole. But lucky for her – and for us – even choosing  a path of folly can turn out for the good in the end.

Without a doubt I have chosen some paths that have taken me into the scary forests of Wonderland. But I find that my misdirection tends to teach me so much about myself. And these days – after experiencing a few too many trips around the mountain – rather than wallow in the pity of it all – as I have in the past – I am dissecting the choices…the personal traits…that put me where I am. I am peeling away the layers of fog and discovering who I truly am. I am revealing my authentic self. Honestly, I don’t like everything I am discovering. Some of the truths are hard to digest. But I am not letting the acknowledgement of them get me down. Instead I am analyzing them and trying to figure out how I can either cut these traits or live with them. Turn negative into positive. Learn to find balance in them. Learn to be alert for them. Because some things about ourselves I don’t think we can completely be rid of. They become the thorns in our side. But if we are on constant alert for when they make an appearance in our lives and when they are about to wreak havoc, I think we can manage them. We can live with them. We can forgive ourselves these sins.

Whatever road we find ourselves on, we have two choices. We can reject it…run from it…escape it. Or we can embrace it. Those of us who are resilient, those of us who are diligent, those who refuse to give up…we embrace our life’s path – however it turns out. We believe that life can and will be more than it is right now…that a couple of wrong turns {or fifteen} do not mean we are definitely headed for disaster. We know that we are still masters of our destiny. We also know that our definition of what our future destiny looks like can change – will change. And that change is not always a bad thing.

There are good things about traveling our chosen, yet unknown path. There are good things you discover about yourself and the world around you. You discover what you are capable of. Sometimes you find out what you are NOT capable of and that is good, too. It forces you to accept who you are and how to sometimes ask for help. It humbles you.  I have discovered many joys along this chosen road – as well as sorrows – that I might not have otherwise found.

Still I have dreams. There are paths that I do hope I get a chance to come back and explore. Many of the destinies dreamed by my 20-something self have not – will not – die. And I don’t want them to. There are some dreams you must hold on to…cling to…remember. For it is those dreams, those destinies…they give you something to live for.

With love,