A Blessed Carrot

It amazes me that after seven years of blogging…well, just how many absolutely wonderful people, although they’ve never seen me in person (nor have they ever seen me snort-laugh,) give a true shit about me.

Comments from my last post:

❤ – beth ❤

Trying to buy a house is 1 part excitement to 9 parts shitty. – Ali, known since the beginning  ❤ 

You can do this, I believe in you. ❤ – Erin, known since the beginning 

I honestly don’t understand how some people enjoy the housing market and buy/sell on a semi-regular basis. Most regular people (not the house flipper types) don’t understand the system that well, you are not stupid! (but I know that inner voice all too well too)
good luck xx – A newer blog peep but still equally awesome

You aren’t stupid, Mer. Just tired and that’s ok but don’t give up when the first place doesn’t pan out. It’s a bad time of year for houses anyway. You know you’d feel much better and your dogs would be safer if you moved. Give it another try. We are always learning in life. It doesn’t make you any more stupid than the rest of us. ❤ – Jackie, my wise, empath soul friend

Real estate is confusing and complicated and your agent should have explained more clearly about what you were signing. You are NOT stupid. I hope everything works out ❤️ – MDB ❤

Good luck on the house! Most of us have roller coaster feelings during times like this. (You get your power back by not bad talking about yourself—it’s hard but doable). – Ruth ❤

There is nothing fun about trying to buy a house… and I knew zip about the process when I went looking for mine. It was pretty harrowing, but it all worked out in the end, and I certainly hope you get a nice little place as well. Hugs to you! – ES, known since the very start of my blog and my virtual brother.

Buying and selling a house is a long, drawn out nightmare, usually. So much paperwork and it gets confusing. I have been through it a few times and I felt so overwhelmed every time! I had a bad realtor once. The guy had definite opinions on what I should or should not purchase. He was basing the assumptions on the fact that I was a widow and had no man in my life. I know this from a few comments he made. I even had one realtor laugh when went to an open house and was interested. He asked if I was married. I told him I was a widow and he LAUGHED at me thinking I could purchase a home on my own. At that time, I had all of the life insurance money from my husband’s death sitting in my bank. I was SO mad that I blurted out that I could buy the home in cash if I wanted to, because I had the full purchase price in my bank. His expression changed dramatically. I just told him never mind, I wouldn’t do business with him and walked away. It felt good! – Kathy, one of my first blog friends ❤ 

And to all who don’t comment, just the act of faithfully reading about my various ups and downs over the years (if you know who asshat is, yeah, you’ve been around a long time) makes me feel as blessed as the carrot that didn’t get picked to go into the beef stew.


Phew, fuck yeah.

Thanks, you guys. So fucking much.

We did get the house, I got the call Wednesday night. More to come.

Gifts From Heaven

A few weeks ago, my family ended up gathered in my mother’s now sparse bedroom. She had boxes of trinkets, mementos, and photographs, so we all began the emotional visit to the land of nostalgia, almost 8 months after her passing.

Within my father’s wallet, which she obviously kept after his death in 1986, were three photos of the two of us, tucked inside. I had never before seen these pictures of my father and me and I’ll be 46 later this year.

Here are two of them.


Top Photo: Looking happy and handsome! Bottom Photo: There’s an enraptured me listening intently as my dad reads The Night Before Christmas.

The top one is my favorite and made me start to cry! Look at how happy I was and my dear daddy looking so handsome. How I loved him so and still do. The death of my mother last May has brought many old emotions to the top and I find myself missing the other people that I’ve lost even more so.

The idea that my dad had these pictures of the two of us with him in his wallet just amazes me. Maybe they were his favorite?

Whatever the reason they’ve been hidden away for so long, seeing them for the first time was like receiving a gift from heaven.

My daughter is going to get the top one enlarged for me because it makes me so happy.

Nettles On My Heart: Don’t Cry

I’m starting a 6 part series that touches on my codependent relationship with my mother, who passed away on May 20, 2019 of a “mystery” illness that was finally diagnosed (alas too late) with her digestive system.


In doing so, I’m hoping to promote some healing for myself. I am not doing this to badmouth my beautiful mother, who was a loving human being with faults, like all of us.

Due to the nature of these posts, if you have any sort of thoughts or similar experiences, I invite you to share them with me.

I’m a crier. I’ve always been.

And more than likely, I always will be.

I’ve cried during movies, so many movies. Bambi. Love Story. Schindler’s List. Awakenings. The Passion of the Christ.

West Side Story (my mom made me watch it with her.)

I cried when I held my daughter for the first time.

I cried when my dad died. A lot.

I’ve cried over lost pets throughout the many years, big, fat, salty tears of sadness.

I cried when my ex-husband came to pick up the rest of his stuff that had been stored in the garage, sliding down the wall and onto the kitchen floor in a heap of wailing tears, because I knew then that it was truly over.

That was the exact moment when I completely unraveled after 6 months of pure hell (stay strong, right?) and I didn’t call my mom, although I could have. Instead, I called my best friend Cheryl, who had to tell me to calm down enough so that she could understand what the hell I was trying to say through my sobbing.

My mom didn’t like crying. If I had a nickel for each time that I was told to stop crying…well, I’d have a shit ton of nickels.

I think I actually saw my mother cry herself perhaps a dozen times or so my entire life. I know from my aunt that my poor mom did plenty of crying in private, but she never wanted anyone to ever witness any signs of weakness, which is probably why she stopped wanting people to visit her, especially the last year or so of her life.

Including her only daughter and yes, it’s a part of the whole nettles thing, because it still hurts my heart that she didn’t want me around. I’d push, she’d push back and oftentimes get a bit nasty about it.

And I’d cry.

I remember the first Christmas after my dad died. We were at one of my uncle’s for the yearly party (it was one of the last ones, sadly) and I was running around acting crazy with my cousins. I saw my mom hurry past us in the upstairs hallway, making a beeline for the bathroom. She had her hands up, covering her face.

I instinctively knew why she was crying. It was because my dad wasn’t there with us and as they say, the first of everything after someone dies is the worst.

My one uncle confirmed it at the foot of the stairwell. He looked directly at me.

“She misses your dad, honey.”

I just nodded. I didn’t go to her, because I knew that she wouldn’t have wanted me to see her so fucking sad.

I’m cut from a different cloth, I suppose.

I don’t enjoy inflicting my tears and woe on anyone, but it’s really nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a human emotion and God gave us the ability to cry for many reasons.



Some of us are just more prone to it than others and not as proud to keep it a secret.

I don’t try to stop people from crying. Instead, I ask them why they are crying, because I want to know. I want to understand why those tears are flowing.

My mom has been gone almost 6 months now and that’s the reason why I’ve been crying.