lemon to a knife fight

I’m currently obsessed with this song!

According to songfacts.com:

The lyrics detail someone fighting a losing battle.
Frontman Matthew “Murph” Murphy told Annie Mac at BBC Radio 1 the song came after a huge argument on Mulholland Drive with his wife.

“I was watching kind of a lot of David Lynch, and my wife and I were driving on Mulholland and we had this big kind of raging argument (…) Arguing with [his wife] is similar to kind of arguing with a dragon, like a Game of Thrones-style dragon: you just open your mouth but before you know it, you’re like burned to a cinder. So yeah, the title I guess is a metaphor for going into a situation that I knew 100% I was going to lose but I went into it anyway.”

This is Lemon to a Knife Fight by The Wombats
Please listen responsibly.

According to songfacts.com:

The song’s music video was directed by Finn Keenan (The Strypes’ “She’s So Fine”, The Wombats’ “Greek Tragedy”). He described the clip as “David Lynch meets Power Rangers.”
Keean added: “I wanted to make something that started off dark, surreal and a little bit disturbing but then flip it on its head with a big ol’ twist that led to a ludicrous ending.”

I didn’t like the vid at all, I get it conceptually, but for me it has absolutely nothing to do with the song…but I’m neither the artists nor the director.
Here is is in case you want to watch it:

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Gloria

Gloria (by Branden Jacobs-Jenkins) was our first show of the season at Woolly Mammoth Theater Company. When choosing our subscription, we purposely choose Talkback Sundays shows.
About which the theater company has this to say:

“Complete every show with an in-depth conversation. Talk with the artists who create Woolly’s season, and help us turn every audience into a community.”

I find sharing questions and thoughts with the actors and other audience members make these post show conversations an excellent way to learn more about the subject matter. To stimulate thought. To simply enjoy the show even more.

Here’s what I carried with me from the theater.
The importance of making human connections.
Without this ability, we’re missing out on the opportunity to further our own human development. If we can connect with the people around us, we continue to learn important social and emotional skills. Empathy, communication, cooperation, and patience. Not to mention honing self, and social awareness, responsible decision making, and the simple ability to feel comfortable in a variety of situations. When we see other humans as competition, or road blocks to our ambition, we create a toxic environment. Toxicity is bad for all humans.

And
Who’s story is it? How is it decided? Who has the ‘right’ to a story? Who ‘gets’ to tell it?
Now this is powerful stuff!
And in some ways is directly related to a human’s social-emotional skills.
Let’s say an event impacts a group of five humans. Each human receives the event and reacts to it differently. Each of those humans share their story of the event…you get five different events. Makes sense, right?
Why?
Because we see things through the filters of our own life experience, the event is shaped to fit what we are capable of understanding and relating to.

Here’s where empathy comes into play.
If we are connected to the other humans around us, we are able to at the very least, hear and accept their points of view. We will always view everything through our own filter, but we’ll have the ability to have feels, and some sort of understanding for the other humans that shared the experience. The event itself will create more connection instead of division.
When it comes to sharing the story, there will always be different versions, but they’ll be more closely related.

But who has the right to share this story?
Those ‘most’ impacted? What does that mean? Who decides what that means?
The meaning of ‘most’ to one is not the same as to another…
Who has the right to decide one is not worthy of sharing the story?
Who has the right to profit from the sharing of the story? Does anyone have that right?

Is the power in the story, or in the telling of it?
Who has the right to the power?

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even though I’m a whiny crybaby, I know how far I’ve come

Y’all, I needed this reminder!
I’ve been feeling puny of late.
Digestive issues of more ridiculousness than usual. Emotional struggles. Figuring out life plans. Actively concerned for my family in South Carolina. And to top it all off, I blew a blood vessel in my left eye to such proportions that I look like some sort of cosplay ghoul!
I’m having one of those “I’m kind of over life” situations.
Of course, I know it’s temporary. But I’ve hit the wall and haven’t anywhere else to go at the moment.

Life can kick the shit out of you. But the way you handle it is what makes you who you are.
I have had my share of tough times. But, I’m stronger for them. What’s going on with me currently is really nothing on the scale of what I’ve lived through.
It’s just that I’m weary. Physically and emotionally, and that’s when it begins to feel overwhelming.
I think the trick is admitting it. Saying it out loud, however insignificant it may sound. Once you admit where you are, how you’re feeling, you suddenly regain control.
So instead of me fretting, or being pathetic, or having to explain to one more elementary school kid why my eye looks like this, I can express it directly and hit it head on.
I feel like ass. I don’t want to adult today(s). I’m so f**king sick of being sick to my stomach. My eye really hurts and is scary to look at. I’m mad I can’t wear mascara because of it! I’m so stressed about finishing this term. I want the people I love to be safe in this storm. I worry about them on the coast, staying put or evac-ing. I worry about the rain Thing 2 will get further inland, home alone, will she have power? I cannot believe how much time and energy on YBW and I spend figuring out how to help Thing G learn how to be a college student, learn how to take responsibility for himself. Can I get everything finished this school term? Am I just being a whiny crybaby?
Of course, directly expressing it really does feel whiny. But I’ll handle that too. I’m so past the point of judging myself right now. I’m just going to lie my head in my own lap and pet my hair. (What? *shrugs* Makes a kind of sense in my head.)

Here’s what I know.
This will pass.
I’ll soon feel better physically.
My family will weather this hurricane and remain safe and sound.
No more gut wrenching therapy visits for a bit.
Thing G will get his shit straight and YBW will let out his breath and the new normal will be more bearable.
I’ll survive this school term.

I can handle it.
Because I’ve handled so much worse. And on the scale of what I’ve handled, this is nothing. A minor irritation, a fly buzzing round my head.
It’s all very ‘so the drama’, but it’s where I am in my world.
However insignificant it may sound, it is very real to me.
Even if I’m a whiny crybaby, at least I’m honest.

I am a Warrior Goddess.
My strength is deep in me.
I know how far I’ve come.

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the best of places

“You see, bookshops are dreams built of wood and paper. They are time travel and escape and knowledge and power. They are, simply put, the best of places.”
― Jen Campbell, The Bookshop Book

Bookshops are really and truly magical.
I’m fortunate to be able to frequent some seriously
Used bookstores are a fascinating combination of the scent of excited humans and the slightly mildewy smell of old paper. One thing I love about them is using mad detective skills while searching. There’s a sort of Indiana Jones feeling about it, never knowing what treasure you’ll find mixed in with dog eared paperbacks.

Right here in Manassas we have McKay’s. Y’all this place! From vinyl to blu ray discs, from board books for babies to fat biographies. McKay’s is our go to for donating and shopping. They’ll take your old books and give you store credit. (Much to Thing 2’s chagrin, you can’t use it to buy vinyl.) They also have this free bin out front, that if you time just right, is filled with the most random collection of books you can imagine. Occasionally I’ll choose some with cool fonts just to use for future projects. As a matter of fact, I have a stack under my work table, waiting for the perfect project.

I don’t get to Capital Hill Books as often as I’d like. But, it’s one of the coolest used bookshops I’ve ever entered. And the truth is one could actually get lost in this shop. Not because of the size, my God, it’s teeny and so packed with books you almost can’t get around them, much less other browsing humans, but because of the sheer volume of merchandise in the store! The owner is knowledgeable but crotchety, so be prepared to ask well thought out questions, he suffers no fools.

Prospero’s Books is here in Old Town Manassas. I don’t really like visiting this shop as much as McKay’s. There’s something about it that feels…well, off, somehow. I’m not sure how to explain it. I always feel like something bad is going to happen when I’m in there. But, it does have that delicious mildewy smell about it, and you know you’re in a building that’s seen a century of life in Manassas. This shop has an excellent first editions section, especially if you’re interested in the American Civil War.

Second Chapter Books in Middleburg, and Page Master Used Books in Front Royal are also good for a look.
In the five points area of Columbia (SC) there’s a little shop called Dr Books. Y’all this store has it’s own kitty! The people who run it have been doing so for a couple of generations. Eight or nine years ago, I was tickled to find a f.e. of Homage to Clio here for less than ten dollars!

Sometimes it’s simpler to get on the internet and search. I buy loads of books from both Abe Books and Alibris.

And while Amazon is handy for online shopping, and and B & N has a in store selection, I’m much more inclined to visit independent booksellers.
I adore Bard’s Alley! Vienna is a quick trip and grabbing a glass of wine and a snack in the bookshop is pretty much Heaven! The ladies here are well read and seriously helpful! I’ve been delighted by the books I’ve picked up in this shop. I swung by recently because I was early for an appointment and had just enough to browse, make a selection, and purchase before arriving on time at my appointment. Sometimes those are the best moments!

Politics and Prose has two locations in DC. The one at the recently revitalized Warf is chock full of great reads, fun little gifties and a knowledgeable and well read staff. They’re displays are playful and interesting. I love that! I think it makes it more of an adventure finding your next read! And I’m all about book adventures! The other location hosts some seriously cool authors on a fairly regular basis.

When spending time with Jessica, a trip to Kiawah to visit Indigo Books is always on the schedule. This shop has a small, but well thought out children’s section. The staff is helpful and can order pretty much anything into the store for pick up. This shop feels more casual than the ones in VA and DC, I mean of course it does! It’s on an island. It’s laid back atmosphere makes you want to search for beach reads and books to spark your imagination, but I’ve found some pretty cool serious reads there too. A mystery book for Thing 1’s Christmas Eve book came from this shop. My girl loves mysteries!

“Books are a uniquely portable magic.” – Stephen King
Dude knows what’s up.
I love to find my portable magic in these unique spaces!
Where do you get your book on?
What do you love about those spaces?
Let me know in the comments!

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#werthday

After a two and a half hour rain delay, the Nats beat the Cubs 10-3. YAY!
Then it was time to celebrate the Hobo!

This lady was ready to go with her sign. (autographed by Werth at some point in the past)

Patiently waiting.

Standing O!

“You go, Dan Kolko.”

Newest addition to the park.

A gift from the players for the Hobo’s retirement, presented by Ryan Zimmerman.

Retirement suits him.

Ted and Mark Lerner (father and son, they own the team) presented him with a literal ring of honor.

It looked like a tryhard world series ring. Joke’s on them because Werth has one of those. (with the Phillies in 2008)

Seriously though, it was a nice gesture, and the first of it’s kind.

Peroud, yet humble after watching vids of former teammates sending their best.

Speech!

“Harper, you’re an idiot.”

Cheers from the dugout.

The Hobo was gracious and humorous and emotional. He thanked his family, his wife and two sons, and got choked up when he thanked his momma. He reflected on his seven years as a Washington National and his 22 year career. The fans and the team were fully supportive and did not hesitate to show it! I ‘wooooooooed’ till I was hoarse!

Jayson was honored to throw the first pitch, caught by his son, Jackson.

Last standing O of his career!

Hugs for Max.

Love to his team.

I love baseball.
Even though I’ve been frustrated this season, I still love baseball. I’ve loved it since I was a little girl.
Cal Ripken, Jr was my first baseball bae. I was hooked at the age of 10. Jayson Werth became my baseball bae in 2011. Now they’re both retired, but will always have a little bit of my baseball loving heart.
Goodbye, Hobo. I’ll miss your left field shenanigans.

Thank you, and goodnight.

P.S. Nats beat the Cubs 6-5 in the post-tribute second game!
Ain’t baseball great?

Check out what MLB had to say about #werthday at Nationals Park.
http://mlb.mlb.com/r/article?ymd=20180908&content_id=293888306&vkey=news_was&c_id=was

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Beard! Comes! Home!

Baseball and I are on a break.
My Washington Nationals are a steaming hot mess this season. Not because they’re getting their asses kicked all over the NL East, but because of “restructuring” in the organization.
What that means is they’re trading guys left and right. Good guys. Guys that make legitimate contributions to the team.
Mike Rizzo is an absolute ass, and I think the Lerner family has lost their damn minds. And I just don’t like Davey Martinez in any way, shape, or form.
These people have taken an exceptional ball club and kind of kicked the shit out of it.
I’m so over it.

But I’m putting all that aside to go to the ballpark today to celebrate the Hobo!

It’s Jayson Werth day at Nats Park!
He is beloved here in DC, and the fans are going nuts! Getting tickets to this game was no easy feat. But got them we did. And wild horses couldn’t keep me from cheering my baseball bae one last time!

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what kind of mother does that? or love and hope make me whole

It’s no secret I have mother issues. Normally they’re on the DL, you know, just kind of there minding their own business. But Tuesday? Well, Tuesday they threw a f**king parade.
YBW and I were with our therapist Tuesday. And while discussing something (that at the time seemed) completely unrelated the teenage girl in me was triggered.

*****
The summer after my freshman year of high school, my mother literally removed all trace of me from my home. She packed up all my belongings in black trash bags and left them on the porch. When my father took me to pick up my things, my mother would not allow me in the house. She actually stood behind the storm door long enough to deny me entrance before closing the big door in my face. I wasn’t allowed to say goodbye to my brother. I never got to hug my Grandaddy. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to my cat.
When I was fifteen years old, my mother sent me to live with the father who abandoned me when I was five.

I know you want to ask why.
Believe me, I asked it enough. In fact, the last time I made the attempt to speak with my mother about it, she politely told me she was not going to discuss it. That it was over and there was no reason to go back to it.
UM…NO REASON TO DISCUSS THE SEMINAL MOMENT IN MY LIFE!?!?
So, to answer your question, I don’t know why.

I do know that she didn’t like the fact that I was beginning to become my own person. I no longer wanted to be a girl scout. I no longer wanted to be a memember of the CAR. I didn’t want to do the things she forced me to do. I wanted to do things I was curious about, interested in, not just what she decided I would do.
I wanted to play softball. I wanted to take theater, and dance classes.
I played briefly at not turning in homework and skipping classes. That didn’t last long, I love(d) learning and understood it was ridiculous to miss out on something I loved to spite my mother.
I started dating a very sweet guy that was instantly hated simply because of the timing. He was kind and caring and was actually good for me, encouraging me to be more focused in school, etc.
I wanted to choose more for myself. I was weary of living the life she designed, I wanted to be my own person.
Of course, this is actually developmentally appropriate behavior for teenagers.
And I was not drinking. I was not doing drugs. I was just trying to figure out what I wanted my life to look like.
That was not what my mother wanted. She expected me to do all the things she wanted me to do. She expected me to live my life for her. She didn’t want any part of a daughter that didn’t keep her head down and do what she was told.

According to my father, my mother called him one day at work and when he answered she said, “If you don’t take her, I’m putting her in a home.” His reply…? “Who is this?”
(I learned this as a 40-something year old woman)
Yeah, these two f**kwits were my parents. Yay. (sarcasm, just so we’re clear)

I didn’t do what she wanted me to so she got rid of me.
Let that sink in. I didn’t do what she wanted me to do so she got rid of me.
No conversation, no talk with me about ‘getting it together’, no warning. Just me calling her from my dad’s one afternoon in the summer asking her to pick me up so I could come home and her telling me, “You’re not coming home.”
Let that sink in. “You’re not coming home.”
That was her solution to her problem of me. Her first born child, her only daughter. Her solution to the problem of me not doing what she wanted was to get rid of me.
What kind of mother does that?
*****

And even after my deep-heel-digging-in resistance, this all (and more) came out in our therapy session.
So. Many. Tears.
I didn’t want YBW there. I didn’t want the therapist there. I’d rather never have to be there, but of course, ‘there’ is always down deep in me.
Here’s why I don’t want anyone there.
First of all, it was the most damaging moment of my life. In that moment I was taught that if I didn’t do what someone else wanted/expected/told me to do, I was so unlovable that I needed to be disposed of. In that moment I learned that without knowing all the rules all the time I was never going to be safe. In that moment I learned that home is nothing but a noun.
Secondly, I have so much shame regarding every single bit of that.
I am so ashamed it happened to me. Ashamed because I feel like I’m betraying my mother if I tell this story.
No one should experience what I did. Even secondhand.

Of course, that’s not how therapy works. And I’m a weeping, gasping, snotty mess talking about how my mother didn’t love me. Talking about how I was sent away from my little brother. How I was sent away from my own precious Grandaddy.
I wanted to run as far away from that room as my feet could carry me. I hated every single moment of sharing that story. To be perfectly honest, I would rather have removed my own tongue than share that experience.

After the worst of it, I talked about Grandaddy. How he was the first man I ever loved. How he taught me how to give and receive love. How he taught me to express myself and not be passive aggressive like my mother. How he once told me that if anything every happened to my mother, I never had to worry, I didn’t have to leave him, he would keep me with him always. How until the day I left Thing 2 in the NICU, the day he died was the worst day of my life. How even though he could sometimes be a grouchy old man, he was chock full of love.
Our therapist suggested that I’m kind of a grouch in love because that’s how I learned to love.
I actually laughed out loud! She’s right.
I’m gruff but loving.
Velvet hammer, much?
I love the way I was loved by the only adult who loved me consistently and unconditionally.
(I suspect the girls will experience a great “Ah ha” moment at reading this.)

What kind of mother throws away her child because she can no longer control her?
My kind of mother.
All my issues with trust, with always having to know and understand what the rules are. All my issues of never feeling good enough, or truly lovable. All my issues regarding feeling safe. And my issues regarding house vs home, wondering if I’ll ever feel at home anywhere again?
These are directly related to that trauma.
That trauma she caused.
The one she flat refused to discuss later on in our lives.
And still I have the guilt. Still I have the shame.
It feels like, I shouldn’t talk mad shit about my mother. I should protect her. She loved me. She did the best she could.
How every single bit of it still feels like my fault.

Our therapist asked YBW to be my fifteen year old self’s ‘champion’ as a way of having an adult speak to my mother.
First he told her that I am an amazing, beautiful, loving, woman and mother no thanks to her.
He told her I was fractured, but she did not break me.
He told her that I learned love from her father and that he is a part of me every single day and she is not.
He told her that I am a really wonderful mother, and she should never have told me otherwise.
He told her that because I’m so lovely he was blessed and honored to be my husband.
He told her a great big f**k you!
And finally, he told her that all I wanted to do was go home, why wouldn’t she let me go home?

Years ago, I used to say, “Home is where the Roby is.”
I didn’t realize it was because I felt so f**king homeless. But I was determined to create a home where I felt safe, so wherever I was, that was home. Only I couldn’t love myself unconditionally enough, so that didn’t quite work out.
That’s why I’m so hell-bent to build a home with YBW that’s just ours, not one he already had, not one with any of our kids in it. Just him and me, in the home we create. Where we’ll both feel safe and sound and loved and wanted.
One day…

This story has been in me for thirty two years.
This experience of sharing it has been upsetting me for the last couple days.
I’m feeling pathetic and needy. I’m wanting to be snuggly. I want to, as Grandaddy used to say, “crawl into a hole and pull the hole in after you”. Mostly I want reassurance that I’m lovable and not disposable. YBW’s on it.
I laid my head on him this morning, and he asked if I was OK.
No, I’m not remotely OK, I told him, but I feel better now.

Here’s what I know now.
If I hadn’t been sent to my father’s I wouldn’t have met my ex-husband, and while that may have been a bonus, I would not have my girls. And my girls are everything!
I wouldn’t have been in British Lit senior year of high school with a boy I took no notice of, but twenty years later took great notice of. So much so that six years later, we got hitched.
I wouldn’t have Sundance, or Sally. Don’t want to live with out them!
I might not have Jessica, or Nicole, or Becca in my world.

I know that I’m not the perfect mother, I know I’ve f**ked shit right up for my girls. But, I do know that I did everything in my power to make sure they felt loved. To make sure they felt safe. To make sure they could make their own choices.
It is my ultimate hope that they know I love them more than anything else. Ever. In the history of the world!
For me, however bad things were, I wanted them fiercely and I wanted them to know that.

I know that I’m flawed.
Jesus, by this time in my life, it’s simply part of my charm!
I know why I’m flawed. I know my responsibilities in my flaws. I know that these flaws make me the woman I am. And steaming hot mess or not, I’m full of love. I’m full of hope. It slips in and fills in the cracks from those long ago fractures. Love and hope make me a whole woman.
For how much more could I ask?

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be aware

I haven’t been writing much.
I could explain why, (school, feeling puny, environmental changes, emotional stuff) but that’s just kind of making excuses that simply boil down to: I haven’t had it in me.
I spend more time attempting to write than actually writing. I spend time considering what I’d like to write and paying attention to why I’m not writing.
It’s an interesting place to be. It’s also troubling. I truly enjoy writing. But can’t seem to make it happen. Not even in my journal. I’m adrift in a sea of paper, pencils, pens, and this laptop. (It makes for a crap visual when I try to write it out, but it was working in my head.)
Anyway, that’s were I am at the moment.

This morning I received this:

I read them several times before I responded. I needed to swim around in her words before I did anything else. For a solid half hour this is what I did.
She had it in her heart, she wanted me to know.
She said she felt compelled to tell me. That’s the word she used, compelled.
She did not know that I needed to read those words today. She just knew she needed to tell me.

How many of us each day think, Oh, I should tell so-and-so something-or-other and it’s only a passing thought? How many of us actually tell so-and-so the something-or-other?
Simply living life gets in the way. That happens to every one of us.
But when we stop for a moment, we can pay attention those little things that are so important in life.
One simple act of kindness can start the most complex change.
Now, this particular act of kindness may not change the world, but it created ripples in me. And that’s all it takes.

Sally shared with me that she was aware. That act of love is a precious and powerful gift. I am at once comforted and inspired by her love.

Being aware.
What a beautiful act of love.
Sharing your awareness.
What a beautiful act of kindness.

And, check it out!
I’m writing.

Categories: love, me | Tags: , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Soundtracking my Saturday

Soundtracking my Saturday.
It was a struggle to choose music that inspired me to tackle getting the house back together after the chaos of construction.
(In addition to the tree falling on the house which finally finished construction the last week of August, our main waterline from the meter to the house was leaking. Homeownership is NOT for the weak of heart…or stomach.) Moving the shelves of tools to make access for them to jackhammer out a place in the floor where the water comes into the house and now completely reorganizing the utility room.
We also moved Thing G into his brother’s old room. (the one damaged by the tree and rain in the house) Now we must disassemble Thing G’s old room.
Purging. So much purging.
Decorating for Autumn because I must honor the beginning of meteorological fall!
This is my life today and I’m cool with that.
But, I was slow moving and couldn’t land on a playlist that worked for me. Turns out, the wonderful thing about my madly eclectic music collection is how quickly it can surprise and delight me!
A song from Thing 2’s Cool Boy, Real Cool mix came on and fired me right up!
I’m inspired to accomplish great things. Let’s see how long I can keep up the momentum.

This is Brick + Mortar with Terrible Things.
Please listen responsibly.

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peace out, August

As I say goodbye to a summer I’m more than happy to have in my rear view mirror, I want to take a moment to share my gratitude for what I experienced in August.

Unexpected trip to New Orleans.
Mental health care providers.
Farmers market Thursdays with Meredith, Beau, and their Mommy.
Time with Nora and Dale’s kids.
SiriusXM Broadway.
Libran Provence Rose.
Back to school with people I enjoy.
Massage therapist.
Surprise packages from a friend that knew I needed a bit of love.
Celebrating the full and loving life of Sundance’s Grandpa.
YBW’s love and companionship.
Long phone conversations with the girls.
Independent book shops.
Bloom gin.
The Town of Vienna.
Old Town Manassas.
Crossroads Tabletop Tavern
Diet Dr Pepper.
Essie nail polish.
Analog clocks.
Gel pens.
Sleeping in my own bed.
Old Bust Head Brewery.

Tomorrow is the start of ‘Meteorological Fall’. I can hardly wait! I’ve got loads of Autumnal items in bins in the closet under the stairs waiting to be set free!
Autumn is my absolute favorite time of year. I’m not a PSL kind of girl, though I do love pumpkiny things.
My point is, I’m not “basic” in my love of Fall. Sure I love sweater, jeans, and boots weather, but it’s so much more than that! The change of seasons brings all things new. And even though some consider this the ‘dying time’ I look at it as a time for rest, for recharging, for beginning all new things, and continuing older things with hope.
Hope is truly the greatest ability we possess.
As we move from Summer into Autumn I wish all y’all as much gratitude and hope as your hearts can possibly hold!

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Parenting and Mental Health Blog

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We Each Have A Story To Tell

Thought Box

Sweet...Bitter...Happy...Sad...All thoughts trapped in a Box...

M.A. Lossl

An author's life, books, and historical research

Life at the end of a fork

The adventures of two culinary explorers adrift on the high-seas of our great city, London, in search of an edible El Dorado.

Pointless Overthinking

Understanding myself and the world I live in.

Water for Camels

Encouragement and Development for Social Workers and Those with a Mission of Helping Others

Anxiety The Bitch

We are present in the millions, yet we remain unheard

J. A. Allen

Scribbles on Cocktail Napkins

Mistakes & Adventures

What I've always wanted

Persevere

By Dan Sims

In A Messy World

I live in a world of fantasy, so keep your reality away from me.

Living In the Sweet Spot

"You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that it leaves your arms too full to embrace the present." Jan Glidewell

Waking up on the Wrong Side of 50

Navigating the second half of my life

Sawblades In Your Walkman

effervescing with muchness

Must Be This Tall To Ride

I'm a single dad documenting his journey. A guy trying to walk a higher path. And messing up. A lot.

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