Category: Life

I’ve been quiet all week in terms of my blog. Why? I haven’t had a damn thing to write about, of interest anyway. 

I wrote three blog posts but deleted them. All I could hear booming in my head was the voice of my friend and writing mentor Jon saying, “Why should I give a shit about this?”

About those three pieces? He was right. I don’t write for the sake of writing; I write when I have something noteworthy to share. It took me six months into the blog to realize this.

So what in the hell did I do this week that wasn’t noteworthy? Production and deliveries. Planted flowers, herbs, and sunflower seeds. I cooked mediocre meals. I cleaned out my closet—big shit. 

Definitely, nothing to report about tackling the never-ending chore of laundry, but it’s good to see other people feel the same way about it as I do. 

Lately, I’ve been good about putting my clean clothes away the same day and not leaving them in a clothes basket for days on end. 

I am so freaking happy when I finish the laundry in one day and do not start wearing the clean clothes straight from the laundry basket and not my closet. Other people do this, right? So not something new to confess.

There are so many memes on the internet about laundry. Some make me howl laughing because they are accurate, and most people can relate. The ones that can’t relate most likely can fold a fitted sheet properly too! 

I saw this meme yesterday about laundry that solidified the decision of why we don’t have a chair in our bedroom or a piece of exercise equipment. 

I have a friend that used to say they are the proud owners of the most expensive clothes rack known to humanity; their Bow Flex machine. 😂

It’s Sunday morning, and we are sitting on the front porch enjoying a cup of coffee. I don’t have a damn thing planned for dinner or even on my schedule. It’s cloudy out for the first time in over a week, so I won’t feel guilty if I stay inside or on the porch all day. 

What will next week bring? Something excellent or noteworthy to post? We will have to wait and see. Will the laundry get done in all one day? I won’t hold my breath. Lol.

Last month, Marty and I were invited to an end-of-the-year children’s concert. Since our kids are grown, and our nieces and nephew live out of state, we don’t spend time with any children.

We were invited by one of our first wholesale customers, who happened to be a Mennonite. We have gotten to know the owners and employees of the shop very well over the last five years. I like delivering and shopping there; everyone is so nice.

Four years ago, the Mennonites asked if they could come to our home to sing us Christmas carols. When they showed up that snowy evening, it was magical.

Many of them we knew from the store with their families, and some we didn’t know. They sang religious carols like angels singing out in the glittery snowfall.

The Mennonites celebrate the true meaning of Christmas without any commercial aspects. There is no Santa Klaus, Frosty, or Rudolf. No songs like, “Grandma got run over by a reindeer.”

Marty was running errands earlier that afternoon, and I asked him to pick up something we could offer the carolers. He picked up Chocolate Santa Klaus’. Needless to say, he was eating chocolate Santa’s until Valentine’s Day. 🤦🏻‍♀️

We said yes, we would like to go to the concert. We have watched our customer’s children and families grow over the last five years and wanted to hear them sing. It was nice they invited us or even wanted to invite us.

We are probably the last people one would think of “hanging” with Mennonites, but everything aside, we enjoy each other’s company.

A few years ago, we did a couple of spätzle tastings in their store. At first, I thought it would be weird since we are covered with tattoos and piercings. To them, it didn’t matter. They don’t judge us. Only God can.

Once we got used to the hymns playing loudly in the store, it felt like any other store we demoed. We fit in, and it was enjoyable. We all laughed a lot and had fun in the meantime. We got to know each other and realized we all have the same hard work ethic.

Last night, we both dressed up for the concert. I did not wear long sleeves to cover my tattoo sleeves, but it was chilly. Since Marty was careful not to wear a Mennonite signature plaid shirt, we laughed.

He decided on black pants with a navy blue button-down with tiny white polka-dots. It was good he didn’t wear his light blue oxford button-down since that is what all the Mennonite men wore to church instead of plaid shirts.

The people from the store always see us in our yucky production clothes or looking like we were dragged behind a truck, disheveled and tired. One time, I went dressed up to drop off a delivery before going to an event. Suddenly, one of the employees stopped me because they didn’t recognize me in the back room. 🤣

I was a bit nervous about what it would be like at the concert. Marty and I had no idea what to expect from their church, even though I have been to Catholic Churches thousands of times.

When we got there, I saw our customer’s wife and asked her what we do. She told me her husband would show us to our seats. When he saw us, he got the biggest smile and sat us with his family. He made us feel welcome.

When the service began, it was more magical than the Christmas caroling; it was powerful and beautiful. The congregation all sang a hymn that everyone knew the words to. They harmonized, and it seemed everyone had a good singing voice. It was beyond impressive, especially since there was no music, only singing.

After an opening prayer, the children began to sing together, then each of the three “rooms” took turns singing. Again, no music, songs with lots of lyrics and talking parts. There was no clapping. No showing off. No praise or glory; that is left to God, who makes it all happen.

The children were happy, funny, and entertaining while singing about God. Many of the songs were about lessons they have been taught with meanings such as kindness, sharing, love, gratitude, peace, patience, and caring.

As I watched the children sing and their parents watching them, I saw pure bliss and innocence. They don’t watch movies or tv, go on the internet, play video games, or get caught up in social media. They didn’t have any outside distractions, yet they seemed like regular kids. 

The love I felt in that church last night is something I won’t forget for a long time. On our way home, Marty told me how much he enjoyed the concert and graduation of two older students, one being our friend’s oldest son.

I envied them for living life so simply and not having so many problems caused by all the distractions I mentioned earlier. 

They don’t know about the horrors of social media and aren’t caught up in the hate present in our country and the world. They know essential news, and that’s it. I would be embarrassed if they knew just how disrespectful and mean people are to each other. How terrible the fighting and war going on in the world is.

It was like taking a step back in time where God mattered first, then their families. Yes, like us, they have worries, financial problems, sickness, and death. They have burdens that weigh them down, but they give it all over to God and trust Him and only Him.

It was a beautiful experience. We forgot about the distractions we have in our lives while we were there enjoying the bliss we were surrounded by. What a beautiful life they live. Amen.

I lost track of time; I thought Mother’s Day was usually the second Sunday in May. I only realized it was this Sunday a couple of days ago. 

Growing up there were some years when my dad had to double up on gifts; my parent’s anniversary was May 14th, and it fell on Mother’s Day more than once. 

My father always got my mother a gift from me and the other child they adopted for Mother’s Day. My mother couldn’t understand why she didn’t get one from him until he told her, “because you’re not my mother.” That went over like a lead balloon. 😂

When our boys were small, it was our tradition that we would go to a garden nursery, and I would buy all my flowers, herbs, and vegetable plants. I would come home, and Marty kept an eye on the boys so I could plant my stuff in peace and however I wanted to.

This year my mother is no longer here. This is the first year I haven’t dreaded Mother’s Day for a month before. I could never give her the right gift or anything that she liked or expected.

Picking out a card was a whole other issue for me. I loved my mother when she was alive, and I still loved her now; I just didn’t like the person that she was to me. 

All the cards felt phony to me. Some made me almost gag; they were so over the top with sickening shit. Some years it took me close to half an hour to choose one.  

One year I came up with a solution to this problem. I would buy a card that said, “Happy Mother’s Day to the women who taught me how to be the mother I am today.” 

Of course, this was the first time my mother beamed when she read the card. She didn’t know that she taught me how to be the mother I am today by not doing or saying any of the things she did. I did everything opposite. 

This was a good compromise for me since I wasn’t lying by giving her some dripping with sugar card she wanted. It was true, and she perceived it the way she wanted to. 

I was never mean or hurt my mother mentally, emotionally, or just for the hell of it. That is not who I am, no matter how upset, broken, or fucked up she made me. 

Everything was carefully calculated and premeditated when it came to her actions and words to me. She was not like this to anyone else in the world—only me.

It wasn’t my imagination, or how I took things, Marty and my Aunt Claire, my Godmother, and my mother’s sister saw it happen repeatedly. Just before Aunt Claire passed away she apologized to me, which was the biggest shocker of my life.

She called me and said she wanted to say how sorry she was. She said everyone in the family saw and knew how my mother treated me, but no one ever said or did anything about it. 

This was one of the happiest days of my life!  I kept saying, “Really? Do you mean it wasn’t me all along? I wasn’t a bad kid or teenager?” She told me I was a good kid, so no one knew why she treated me poorly.

When my Aunt Claire passed away two weeks later, I cherished that conversation she had with me. It was the greatest gift anyone could have given me or will ever give me. 

Aunt Claire told me when we hung up, she felt better finally apologizing, but she never knew how important and life-changing that conversation was. It was unbelievable that I finally knew it wasn’t me after all; it was my mother. 

It’s still unbelievable to me to this day how fortunate for me that she told the truth shortly before she passed away from complications from her surgery. 

Her soul knew what was coming, and she died at peace. Before we hung up, she asked for my forgiveness. I laughed and said, “Oh, stop it; I don’t have anything to forgive; I have to thank you for telling me.”

I honestly didn’t plan to write about my mother or Aunt Claire today and the gift she gave me. I was going to write about the flowers I picked out this afternoon to plant on Mother’s Day.

These raw, emotional posts come out of left field; they start writing themselves. I’ve learned to honor them and let the story pour out. I’ve been holding on to them for a very long time. I am finding it is part of the healing and forgiveness process for me on my journey. 

Happy Friday guys!!! Have a great weekend! I will tell you about the flowers I got today next time. 🌺 🌸

***Marty just informed me that Sunday is the second Sunday in May. Boy o boy I did lose track of time!

We are both feeling fantastic and tested negative last night! Yay! 🤩

Today is day nine since my covid symptoms started. Everyone has their own thoughts and ideas about covid, isolation, and re-entering the world.

That being said, I wanted to look at the latest CDC recommendations and guidelines regarding isolation and returning to the world. It states:

If you had COVID-19 and had symptoms, isolate for at least 5 days. To calculate your 5-day isolation period, day 0 is your first day of symptoms. Day 1 is the first full day after your symptoms developed. You can leave isolation after 5 full days.

• You can end isolation after 5 full days if you are fever-free for 24 hours without the use of fever-reducing medication and your other symptoms have improved (Loss of taste and smell may persist for weeks or months after recovery and need not delay the end of isolation ).
• You should continue to wear a well-fitting mask around others at home and in public for 5 additional days (day 6 through day 10) after the end of your 5-day isolation period. If you are unable to wear a mask when around others, you should continue to isolate for a full 10 days. Avoid people who have weakened immune systems or are more likely to get very sick from COVID-19, and nursing homes and other high-risk settings, until after at least 10 days.
• If you continue to have fever or your other symptoms have not improved after 5 days of isolation, you should wait to end your isolation until you are fever-free for 24 hours without the use of fever-reducing medication and your other symptoms have improved. Continue to wear a well-fitting mask through day 10. Contact your healthcare provider if you have questions.
• See additional information about travel.
• Do not go to places where you are unable to wear a mask, such as restaurants and some gyms, and avoid eating around others at home and at work until a full 10 days after your first day of symptoms.

If an individual has access to a test and wants to test, the best approach is to use an antigen test1 towards the end of the 5-day isolation period. Collect the test sample only if you are fever-free for 24 hours without the use of fever-reducing medication and your other symptoms have improved (loss of taste and smell may persist for weeks or months after recovery and need not delay the end of isolation). If your test result is positive, you should continue to isolate until day 10. If your test result is negative, you can end isolation, but continue to wear a well-fitting mask around others at home and in public until day 10. Follow additional recommendations for masking and avoiding travel as described above.

Whew! Okay, by going by these latest recommendations, I could have gone out with a well-fitting mask four days ago after tomorrow, which, according to the guidelines, I could go out without a mask.

After re-reading these guidelines for days, I decided that’s it. Enough. I have felt better for four days and five without a fever. Today was the first day I went out to the bank drive-through and to buy trash bags. I hate that I felt guilty about going out.

It goes back to everyone having different thoughts and opinions, expressing them, sometimes shaming people for their own views.

According to the CDC, I had no reason to feel guilty but did because I let others’ opinions get into my head.

We all have to trust each other and have faith people are doing what’s right. We’ve decided to postpone production until next week, so our customers feel safe. I am staying home from dance class tonight for the same reason, even though I could have taught only with a mask.

When you feel sick, it’s easy to stay home, but being isolated when you feel healthy and full of energy is maddening. It’s like watching your life go by while you stand there watching it drift away.

This morning we both hit a wall. We had to get up, get dressed, and start doing projects around the house again. Marty is working on the outdoor electricity for the pool while I am cleaning closets.

I haven’t written for the past couple of days since I haven’t had a damn thing to write about. No one wants to read when someone is bored or having a pity party for themselves. I’m right about this, aren’t I?

I am about to close the chapter on my covid sickness and move forward to live my life unapologetically to the fullest. 🙂 Thanks for your support, care, and kind words during my illness; I appreciated it.

Our business is now over five years old. We’ve kept records of our invoices over the years, and I can tell you that egg prices have gone up 10-14 days before Easter every year.

Each year there is some excuse why the price of eggs doubles; this year is the bird flu. I just read a report from the government explaining the bird flu and why it is causing the prices to double. Here is the link if you are interested.

This morning, we were in the production kitchen early again since we are still climbing out from under all our orders. Then, out of nowhere, I had an anxiety attack. I was able to talk myself out of it quickly; I was in the middle of making a batch of spätzle batter and focused on that instead.

Before I started having anxiety attacks or even knew I had one, I thought it felt like you were very nervous or frightened. I was wrong.

I know seconds before an anxiety attack starts because my arms begin to tingle; then go numb. My hands start shaking, I can’t bend or straighten my fingers, and I get a pain in my chest. Then I feel like my whole body is in a vise that keeps getting tighter. Breathing becomes difficult.

Instead of panicking, which I know sounds ridiculous not to panic during a panic or anxiety attack, I try my hardest to stay calm. I begin deep breathing, focusing on something else, and tell myself to make it stop. 

Today’s attack lasted less than 5 minutes. My hands are usually still a little shaky for a while, but I pushed through it. Fifteen minutes later, it was like nothing had happened, business as usual.

I now know why people think they are having a heart attack instead of an anxiety attack; many symptoms are similar. It is horrifying when it is happening. It’s hard to hide in front of people and harder for people to understand what is happening.

People say you need to “calm down and not get stressed out.” Anxiety attacks come on even when I don’t feel stressed out but have a lot on my mind.

I take anxiety and depression medication twice a day, but I’ve had more attacks during the last two years. (I can’t imagine why right?) I can go months without one, then wham! Belly dancing and meditation help me tremendously with stress and anxiety, but I don’t get to do either of them enough.

I brought up the egg price because our egg delivery man, Greg, delivered the 3 cases of eggs we ordered later this afternoon. He apologized to me the second he saw me for the price increase.

The price of eggs went from $1.40 dozen to $2.99. Thirty dozen eggs are in a case, so you do the math how much our 3 cases of eggs increased. Greg said they told him it was because of the bird flu; usually, we are told it is due to the supply and demand during Easter. 

This stresses the fuck out of me because we make egg noodles. You can’t make egg noodles without eggs. I was foolish to think things may not get totally out of hand after our retail containers that nearly tripled in price and weren’t able to get for months are now back in stock again.

This afternoon I am anxious. There is such a thing as good stress and bad stress, which I am dealing with right now. I have to focus on taking care of the good stress, the stuff I have control over, and give the bad stress over to the universe or God, whichever you believe in. It works; I have to remember to do it and do it repeatedly.

This is another super busy work week with many orders to fill. I am also thinking ahead to next week since I will be then driving to my sister’s house in NJ on Saturday afternoon and not returning until Tuesday morning. I work well under pressure, so this is good stress, healthy stress, not bad like the egg situation.

Jennifer and I are having our first sisters’ only time together, which we are both very excited about. We have a lot of fun stuff planned. She has the menu, food, and wine ready to go. I know we will laugh until our cheeks hurt, watch movies, and eat delicious food. This is our relaxing, stress-free time together that I desperately need.

Mental health isn’t something that people generally like to talk about, I certainly don’t go blabbing about it often, but today was the day to share mine with you. This was hard for me to write about as a strong and confident person, but here we are.

We are headed down to NYC first thing on Thursday morning. We haven’t been down to the city in 9 years. Sam gave us two tickets to the Broadway show Hamilton for our February birthdays. Plus two Amtrack round trip tickets from Albany to Penn Station. The kicker is he also booked us one night at the hotel, OYO in Times Square, which is located very close to the theatre.

This was a shock. The first thing I did was cry. Then I felt terrible he spent so much money on us. We always tell our boys not to spend money on us and use their money for themselves.

I wouldn’t see Sam for hours to thank or talk to him about his gift. When I did see him, he told me he planned on doing it for a while. He said that since he was working so many extra hours, he could afford it. I guess he could, but I still felt bad. No one ever gave me or us a gift like this before.

Marty and I never got to go away when our kids were small; neither of our families would babysit for us. Hell, they wouldn’t even babysit for one night. If my mother had to, I would “owe her big time.” Owing you to spend time with your grandchildren? Ok then. Too bad she felt that way. My mother-in-law flat out refused. Sadly, that was her loss too.

I have a million things going through my head before we go. We have a lot of spätzle to make. Wholesale orders to fill and deliver. Plan for what needs to be done when we get back. Answer calls and email and post on social media; we will not be at the farmers market on Saturday. Plus, anything else that comes up.

I always pack days ahead when we go away. When the kids were small, and we rented a shore house for a week, I packed for weeks, including bedding, towels, inside and outside toys, books, clothes for four people, and food. We didn’t eat out; I cooked or grilled whatever I could find from the butcher shop and produce markets on Long Beach Island.

Last night, I got out what I am taking to NYC. It was easy because everything is black and I have an entire wardrobe of it. The weather will be iffy with rain and temps around 55 degrees. I hope the coat I am taking will do the trick; however, the thing about NYC is that you can find absolutely anything at any time if you need something.

We leave Albany at 8:30 am and get into Penn Station before 11 am. We can’t check into the hotel until 3 pm, so we have to carry whatever we bring all day. We are taking backpacks and are packing very lightly. This stressed me out until I got what I wanted to take and found everything fit, and my pack wasn’t too heavy.

Today, we were in the production kitchen bright and early so we could each go separate ways to make deliveries. Marty headed to Saratoga, and I went to Rutland. I wanted to pick up some food for Sam while we were gone, so I stopped at Aldis. I like leaving him good food since he is as much a food person as I am.

When I got home from Rutland, I made Klausie boy his doggy meatballs that we sneak his allergy meds in every morning. He will run out of meatballs before we get back on Friday night. I also made a quick marinara sauce for a baked ziti for Sam as a quick reheat and-go meal.

Last night, in the middle of the night, when I couldn’t sleep, I did some research and found many dedicated gluten-free restaurants in the city. Other restaurants can virtually make anything on their menu gluten-free if you ask. I see a big pastrami sandwich at Friedman’s and a real NY bagel at Modern Bread and Bagel, which is gluten-free and gets rave reviews by actual New Yorkers.

Hamilton starts at 7 pm on Thursday night, we plan to go out afterward in search of cocktails and snacks. We have the whole day on Friday in the city since our train doesn’t leave until 9 pm. Sam planned it this way for us to enjoy as much of the city we wanted to. We get back into Albany around 11:30 pm.

We love lower or downtown Manhattan. Our old stomping grounds in Greenwich Village haven’t seen us in decades. We always love to walk through Little Italy and Chinatown as well.

I found several dedicated gluten-free restaurants downtown. One is called Senza Gluten NY, and I want to check out a dedicated GF bakery called Posh Pop. It’s very girlie with pink roses on the walls. I am a sucker for girlie things, believe it or not.

After waking up to an anxiety attack at 4:30 am, I feel less stressed today than I have about our trip. Since we have an early morning train on Thursday morning, Marty is picking me up after bellydance Wednesday night and heading to Albany to spend the night. We have Hilton rewards points up the ass, so we may as well use them.

Now, I won’t have to worry about oversleeping or hitting traffic on the hour-plus ride. I know we would never oversleep, but my 2 am brain doesn’t know that.

Sam is happy to see me so excited; he told me he wanted us to have this trip and see Hamilton in person because he knew we would never do it ourselves. He’s 100% right! We wouldn’t do it in a million years. I am so looking forward to it I can hardly stand it! 🤗

I  am not a person who follows what others are doing. Back in high school, I wore designer jeans and had big hair like everyone else, but back then, I wanted to fit in at high school. 

I don’t copy and paste things and repost them on my Facebook page. I don’t take quizzes or do Wordle. The one exception is following the crowd wearing green on St. Patrick’s Day. It’s a big deal to me. When I was a child I hated St. Patrick’s Day.

Growing up adopted, I didn’t know my nationalities, and it bothered me when other people were proudly Irish, Italian, German, etc. I never knew how to answer when someone asked me what I “was.” I was nothing.

I would stammer around my words, explaining that I was adopted and didn’t know. That’s when people would play the guessing game. “You look Italian, you have to be Italian.” Many people thought I looked Jewish or Mediterranean. All good guesses but no one ever said, Irish. 

St. Patrick’s Day was my mother’s big holiday; she was Irish. My parents told me I was adopted when I was five years old. I remember I asked her if I was Irish too? She never answered me; instead, she would dress me up in green like a doll and send me to school telling me it was ok that I was wearing green; everyone was Irish on St. Patrick’s Day. It still makes me cringe how bad I felt and stupid wearing green.

I left the house in tears. I hated her for knowing she was Irish, and I didn’t know what I was. She hurt me year after year with that comment. Telling her how I felt wouldn’t have done any good, plus big consequences would have been. My father always told me to keep my mouth shut; everyone would be happy. Seriously?

That all changed in 2014 when I finally found my biological history, family, and DNA. I was indeed Irish; I am 72% Irish, about 6% Scottish, and a little Eastern European.

I found my biological Information after my mother had her stroke in 2013. She never wanted me to know my history and lied about her having my adoption information. She told me I would have to wait until she died. All the Information was in a large folder. Her “death” folder, she called it. 

The night of her stroke, I had to find and open the death folder and pull out the power of attorney paperwork for the hospital naming me as such. When I went through the rest of the death folder, I realized there was no paperwork from my adoption or any information.

I had to clean out her apartment since she now lived in a care facility. When I realized there was no information, not even a clue, I was in a state of shock. I remember sitting on the empty apartment floor crying that I never found anything, and she lied to me.

Not only was I in shock but more so angry and sad. How dare she use my adoption information like a carrot being dangled in front of me my whole life. I had to wait, she always said. Even when I had severe health issues, she didn’t want me to know anything, even my medical history.

A couple of months after closing the apartment, I called Catholic Charities in Newark, NJ, for help. New Jersey’s Governor opened sealed adoption records on January 1, 2014. I gave a woman from Catholic Charities some information, not thinking she would find anything. Guess what? They found my biological mother in 3 weeks. I can’t describe to you how it felt when I finally got the Information I had been wanting and needing.

I never told my adopted mother I found my biological or DNA history. I didn’t tell her I had relationships with my birth family either. I didn’t want to hurt her even though I was still hurt and angry that she lied to me. On the other hand, I didn’t think she deserved to know. It was my Information, not hers.

Once I found out my history, it closed a nagging open circle I had for my whole life. I felt complete. This is not something I can describe, only adopted people would know how it felt. I also knew I was blessed to have a happy ending when I searched when many others weren’t that lucky. It was a risk I was willing to take, no matter what I would have found.

Now that my adopted mother is deceased, I realize after working on forgiveness and letting go of hurtful stuff why she acted the way she did. She used the Irish thing on me for years to make herself feel better. She had something I didn’t have and she rubbed it in. Did she do it on purpose? Was she that unhappy or jealous of a child?

As far as lying to me about my adoption information, I know she was afraid of someone taking me back, or her worst fear was what if I did find my biological mother and like her better. As a mother, I can see how she may have felt that way, but it still doesn’t excuse continuing the lie for 48 years.

Finding my biological mother would never have changed the fact that she was my mother who took care of me, raised me, and always would be my mother. I loved her, and that would never change.

Back to St. Patrick’s Day, I found out Irish people tell ten stories before getting to what they want to say. I thought it was just me; it drives Marty crazy.

Now, I jump on the bandwagon every St. Patrick’s Day and wear green as everyone else does. I wear green like a beacon of green, showing the world where I came from and could finally answer those who wanted to what I “was.”

I knew someday this story would come out, I didn’t expect it to on St. Patrick’s Day. I didn’t expect to write about my mother in this piece. Before I knew it, words were pouring out of me.

Writing about my relationship with my mother is painful but is helping me with forgiveness and letting go. I still have a long way to go; there is a lot of emotional hurt and abuse trapped inside of me. Every time I let a little piece go, I feel the healing effect. 

I said from the start I wanted to be genuine and authentic on my blog. I wasn’t going to write about a bunch of fake bullshit; I would write about the journey I am on, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Yes, this was another difficult piece for me to write, but it needed to be told. 

Happy St. Patrick’s Day! 🍀 

Some blog posts are easy to write, especially the food ones; the words flow freely. Writing about when we are out and about is also easy. So is belly dance, but some posts are harder to write. Whenever I try to force a blog post, it sucks, and I delete it.

I follow my friend Jon’s advice about only writing if you have something to write about. Don’t write just for the sake of writing. It’s ok to take a day or two as a break and then return refreshed.

When I write a post, I let it simmer for a bit before I hit the publish button. When I reread what I wrote, I find mistakes that I missed while editing and correcting them. Sometimes I left out some crucial details that wrap up the story better. Sometimes I hit the delete button.

It doesn’t happen too often, deleting a post before I publish it, but it does happen. Those posts are ones that I write when I am tired, cranky, or annoyed about something. A couple of them have slipped through the cracks, and I’ve regretted them. I don’t delete a post once it’s published; what’s written has already been read. I learn from my mistakes.

Earlier today, while I was sitting on our back deck enjoying the sunshine and 68-degree temperatures, I wrote. I wrote for an hour. Marty joined me, and I saw his reaction as I talked about my piece. It was a negative post. I didn’t intend it to be, but it was. I hit the delete button. Fuck! What a waste of time, I thought.

I started thinking about my post and figured there are so many terrible things happening in our world right now to innocent people; I have no right to complain about anything. Nothing is significant when I think about it like that. Then I took some time to concentrate on positive energy for the world instead of sending out negativity.

I told Marty I deleted my post. He said good and suggested I write about deleted posts. That would be a good topic, he said. So here I am writing about it.

After talking with Marty, I started focusing on the beautiful weather, and I could grill tonight without snow on the deck! I didn’t have to wear boots or even a coat. It was fantastic! The serving platter didn’t freeze, and I brought a glass of wine outside with me. I know it’s still only March, but today reminded me that spring is just around the corner. ☺️