tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10671571349040724642024-03-18T21:23:53.342-07:00Diary of a Sugar AddictTarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.comBlogger343125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-29835335379524573112023-08-27T13:55:00.005-07:002023-09-06T07:56:23.426-07:00Time Blindness<p>I brought cookies to work yesterday and popped into my managers office to see if whoever was there wanted some.</p><p>Oh, thank god you're okay! was what I was greeted with.</p><p>That was when I realized I showed up in time to start at 2pm for my shift that started at 1pm.</p><p>After being unreachable because my phone was on do not disturb.</p><p>I felt awful. Marci took care of my first guest, a 100 minute service, yikes. She smoothed it out and said, she wants you to pick her up right now. So I put my freshly heated up food in my locker and ran upstairs to get my room ready and give my best 100 minute massage in about 70ish minutes.</p><p>It took me a minute or two to get my heart rate down once we started, but I settled into a super present place and focused fully on the massage so that my guest would have a marvelous experience.</p><p>In the past I would have been all up in my head about being late and how bad I was and whatnot, being present would have taken a bit more effort.</p><p>But this is me.</p><p>Not a person who shows up late for a shift, but a person who lives with ADHD and deals with Time Blindness.</p><p>I have it mostly under control, but a few times a year something goes skewiff and I'm an hour early or an hour late. The hour early is very annoying to me as I generally have better things to do with my time, but I will take it any time over an hour late. An hour late in an office is generally not devastating, but in massage it can be a significant problem.</p><p>If you are neurotypical you have no idea what I'm talking about. Time Blindness? WTH? Just look at the clock and show up on time.</p><p>Oh, if only it were that easy.</p><p>Yesterday I had all the timing right for getting to work with plenty of time to set up my room for my first massage. I knew it was a 1pm start, just not yesterday morning. Yesterday morning something sidetracked my calculations and had me arriving at work for a 2pm start instead of 1pm.</p><p>I can't explain it to you. I won't try to convince non-believers that Time Blindness is a thing, how can I? It's just a part of how my brain functions.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJrWo3a2KJLYD8zA9A7mSthQO99woaupjI6ozAHF6jsGL-bvl9Ddn4Kpnq33HfoEsHlj4UzaVX86K2xJ7oeiSJ2QsgfRsUGTblDf47EYcG_C3smrsTWQzxDMjOaxx4mmkKnDCPUHZ1J8cRYPLi__-lzK0i0R2x-v0gm30KMSAV5_NejPq9kZDeqJZ6FCX/s4288/DSC_0038.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4288" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJrWo3a2KJLYD8zA9A7mSthQO99woaupjI6ozAHF6jsGL-bvl9Ddn4Kpnq33HfoEsHlj4UzaVX86K2xJ7oeiSJ2QsgfRsUGTblDf47EYcG_C3smrsTWQzxDMjOaxx4mmkKnDCPUHZ1J8cRYPLi__-lzK0i0R2x-v0gm30KMSAV5_NejPq9kZDeqJZ6FCX/s320/DSC_0038.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>A situation like this used to cause panic.<p></p><p>A lot of panic.</p><p>I spent a lot of my professional life being told that I was good at what I did, I just needed to be different. Often the people telling me to be different couldn't tell me how, they just knew I wasn't quite right, I didn't fit like other people.</p><p>It is hard to let go of that training, the knowing that I'm not quite right. It's most likely the reason that most of my work is in a private practice with a friend who trusts me to do my job and deal well with my clients. It helps that the vast majority of my practice is return business. People like what I do and I like being able to do it the way I want to.</p><p>But I do work in a large spa that counts on me to be there. And I am predominantly successful at doing that.</p><p>But when I'm not I don't panic. I take responsibility and take a fresh look at how I manage my calendar, what can I do to make sure it doesn't happen again any time soon? Should I only accept shifts that start at 10am or 2pm? 10am or 1pm? Should I ask Alexa to remind me every time I have a shift scheduled at the spa? Should that be the night before or the morning of? These are all things that I considered yesterday as I was cleaning my room between guests. I haven't landed on anything yet.</p><p>In general I'm looking at ways to review my schedule more effectively so I don't show up an hour early or an hour late. Also so I can celebrate my successes. I used to call my folks to talk about what was going on and that would be my acknowledgment for doing something well or successfully tackling something. Now they aren't here and everything in my life is constantly changing and I tend to experience the struggle of it all more than the successes.</p><p>Not sure how it'll all work, but it'll be a good bit of time before I'm an hour late again. Hopefully the next time my brain goes skewiff it makes me an hour early, I'm the only one who pays for that.</p><p>Meanwhile, I acknowledge that not panicking yesterday is a big win. My actions were very problematic for those I work with, but that doesn't make me bad. It just means I have some work to do.</p><p>Don't we all?<br /></p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-621050894614182272023-08-25T17:29:00.002-07:002023-08-25T17:29:58.317-07:00My cover photo<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiZbFPxnWOWAjVvqC1zjEm5Jbqq6YPCQ9n6x9y1uhBGg17G_ADP26OEfj3x8dBfmEZIzfYvsrX8gFwZcoVk-L_ZBbub-h4hPQQ8KS_PoK-f-V9Mjq8nSpE-t9hqmkNkpIHtp8QiFJs5jHdkpUNBDG2HkagHTYf9HmNUjaPz2Hk3IUJkBX_bbn-zGzNLrt9/s4032/IMG_1473.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiZbFPxnWOWAjVvqC1zjEm5Jbqq6YPCQ9n6x9y1uhBGg17G_ADP26OEfj3x8dBfmEZIzfYvsrX8gFwZcoVk-L_ZBbub-h4hPQQ8KS_PoK-f-V9Mjq8nSpE-t9hqmkNkpIHtp8QiFJs5jHdkpUNBDG2HkagHTYf9HmNUjaPz2Hk3IUJkBX_bbn-zGzNLrt9/w640-h480/IMG_1473.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>This is my cover photo on FB. I don't often see it. Just now I went to my profile to add a few words to a reel that I shared. And I saw this picture.</p><p>And I thought about the day I took it.</p><p>It was July 1, 2020. I'm not sure why we were out, dad's massage therapist wasn't working, maybe they just wanted to get out of the house. We drove down to the shore, about an hours drive from their house, Madison/Guilford area. I think we drove down Route 1 looking for a place to eat. We did that pretty regularly before covid.</p><p>I think we ended up googling and found this place that was outdoors right on the water. Not surprisingly it was a lobster place. Mom probably had a lobster roll, but dad and I got hot dogs. I believe our search for the best hot dog in Connecticut had ended at this point, but that didn't mean we weren't enjoying our hot dogs.</p><p>For the record, our favorite hot dog in Connecticut is found at The Glenwood Drive In. We searched throughout Connecticut, heading up to Litchfield County, down to New Haven, out Danbury way. The best hot dog was at the place we've gotten them since we moved to Connecticut in 1973.</p><p>Back to the story of this photo.</p><p>I parked and walked back to where they were preparing the food under a tent. It became clear that we wouldn't be eating in this establishment, they had picnic tables and dad could no longer sit at a picnic table. Literally.</p><p>So I got our order to go. Including a couple of cokes and some fries.</p><p>And we drove around the corner where there was a parking lot that was directly on the Long Island Sound.</p><p>I parked facing the water and this was our view while we ate. I'm not sure how much it registered with mom. As previously mentioned she was demented at this point and was focused on eating her lobster roll. As much as she was demented she participated with us, she just didn't love leaving the house. Dad likely enjoyed the view, but couldn't enjoy it much while he was eating because he was super bent at this point and looking out the window from the passenger seat that couldn't be raised - while eating a hot dog - was not happening.</p><p>But I appreciated it.</p><p>I helped them eat and drink. I cleaned them up when the inevitable spill happened - dad just couldn't keep the mustard on the dog. No matter what we did there was always mustard on his shirt. I held the soda and kept the straw steady while he took a drink. I passed a few fries to mom. Cleaned up her shirt. Let's face it, eating in the car is challenging at the best of times. When you are bent or demented it is far from the best of times.</p><p>When we were done I took a moment. I got out of the car and walked out to the rocks, no beach, just rocks. And I listened to the waves and the gulls. And I looked at these clouds and marveled.</p><p>And I took a picture because it was so spectacular.</p><p>So simple, but so spectacular.</p><p>And now that picture is a happy memory of a silly lunch with my parents where I had to parent them, clean them up, do all the things.</p><p>All the things that I would love to be doing now because it would mean that I could talk to my parents, hug my parents, see my parents.</p><p>On the 20th of August it was two years since mom died. On the 22d it was 19 months since dad died. No time and forever. I miss them. Sometimes I miss them with a smile, sometimes I miss them with gut wrenching sobs. But always I miss them.</p><p>And always I'm grateful for the things, like this beautiful photo, that remind me of a moment that I spent with them. It might be a nothing moment, but once there gone there is no such thing.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-41915826835186739782023-07-12T19:05:00.009-07:002023-08-29T09:28:29.695-07:00Pain<p>There were two people who had been in my life for a long time. Let's call them John and Jane Doe. I've known John since I was four or five. I met Jane when I was 12ish. John and Jane got married when I was 14, I had to leave camp for a weekend to attend the wedding.</p><p>I had reconnected with them when I moved back to Massachusetts. Their home was (indirectly) on the way to my parents house and I would occasionally visit them for dinner or just a quick hello when I was visiting mom and dad. There were a few pre-Christmas Eve visits before covid, ie 23d of December for dinner and presents, then off to 52 to spend a couple of days with the fam.</p><p>Those visits were super important when my parents health was declining and I was so very stressed out. Jane had been through similar things with her mother and siblings and talking out my stress and being understood was really, really helpful. Delicious dinners and silly TV in a nice warm room didn't hurt either.</p><p>My plan for cleaning out mom and dads house was to use Marketplace for items that could be sold, Buy Nothing for things that people might be interested in, the magic curb (leave stuff at the end of the driveway at 52 and it's gone in under a day), and the rolloff we had in the driveway for the stuff no one would want.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpEK_sRBSjdY10Ozy9SPfawC4Nf4VAwTKvOZP4ZihC1FETdAJ_2atu43VtQ7sQtOiSaGrOvVz-OPotBc5ErXCTxoq34cSL0_SUnHEeQE30DLgshAcnGbahtTSVDIczgUiaFHOhpd3RelFAFUvPEsrham2Xg6Q1AHNyaNrkcYkzN8ge6_KpZ1w8v8C-Il-f/s4032/IMG_1942D.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpEK_sRBSjdY10Ozy9SPfawC4Nf4VAwTKvOZP4ZihC1FETdAJ_2atu43VtQ7sQtOiSaGrOvVz-OPotBc5ErXCTxoq34cSL0_SUnHEeQE30DLgshAcnGbahtTSVDIczgUiaFHOhpd3RelFAFUvPEsrham2Xg6Q1AHNyaNrkcYkzN8ge6_KpZ1w8v8C-Il-f/s320/IMG_1942D.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Margaritas and a movie, sent this pic to the folks</td></tr></tbody></table>We had people scheduled throughout the week to come help us. I was living in the emptying house, my sister came every afternoon to work with me. And we had dinner, margaritas, and a movie each night before she went home. Those evenings were life savers.<p></p><p>It was the hardest week of my life. It was September of 2020 and my folks were under quarantine in their new place so we couldn't see them. Going through their stuff deciding what to let go was brutal. The time I was there alone was so overwhelming that I didn't get much done other than watching HGTV until someone came to help for the day.</p><p>John and Jane came late in the afternoon of Monday, the first day. Jane looked at the stuff we were pulling out of . . . the basement? The upstairs? Yes, I think it was the upstairs, but I really don't remember. At any rate Jane said, you have a lot of good stuff, you should have a tag sale. I don't want to have a tag sale. No, I'll handle everything, I have three 6' long tables, you just have to be there. Well, okay.</p><p>So we changed how we were looking at all the things during the week and we ended up with a living room full of things that would be great for a tag sale.</p><p>A living room that Siobhan and I sat in every night.</p><p>Keeping in mind that we were sad and stressed and I won't swear to the quality of our choices.</p><p>My phone rang Saturday as I was about to walk out the door to head home, with a stop at the transfer station to drop off computers for recycling before they closed at 1. It was about 12:30.</p><p>It was Jane. Calling to tell me she couldn't do the tag sale because of covid.</p><p>First, that is a totally legit call. Makes complete sense and I have no issue with the choice.</p><p>But on that particular day, when I hadn't been home in a week, and I was well past my ability to function mentally, I pretty much lost my mind.</p><p>I CAN'T EVEN F*&KING TALK TO YOU RIGHT NOW. I screamed as I dropped the phone or handed it to my sister, no actual clue what I did. But I do remember screaming that sentence into the void.</p><p>And then screaming at my sister after she hung up the phone. Not AT my sister, to my sister. So loudly that the neighbors were very concerned for the state of our relationship and her safety. She later assured them that I was not actually yelling at her, and that she was on the same page.</p><p>After screaming we went outside and I smashed a crystal decanter in the dumpster. It was exceptionally satisfying and allowed me to then make a plan with my sister. Here's what we're going to do I say. I'll come down every day I'm not working and we'll slowly Marketplace, Buy Nothing, magic curb, and rolloff everything that is left.</p><p>And off I went home.</p><p>I came back the following Wednesday when I wasn't working, walked into the house, looked at the pile in the living room and thought, well this won't work at all.</p><p>Fortunately the previous day I had met an 80 year old woman who had recently moved her older sister into assisted living, we should all be so lucky. They had used a company called Dutiful Daughter and she highly recommended it. I found out they work in Connecticut as well as Massachusetts and made an appointment for them to come check out what we had.</p><p>They came, sent an estimate, I called and set a date for them to come, then broke my foot and had to get my sister to be there when they went to the house.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhutb_zQ1OsBzxMkhwo4HiHNcDGP-RJHF-pcxi4dTaQ0r8HrZXxdH4pA5_Mix71IpyHBINbwvoLrSSanU_LsgUhcpmmPqRxBlG40h-_tlCPBpEha11Hkh-CRoGKAxNza76-RzXT9EZc22L-MOkdJ50jHccw71Dug4Yy2JI6AJYKm4zX1bqjwvj2rInZcO8O/s3493/IMG_2178%202.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3493" data-original-width="2620" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhutb_zQ1OsBzxMkhwo4HiHNcDGP-RJHF-pcxi4dTaQ0r8HrZXxdH4pA5_Mix71IpyHBINbwvoLrSSanU_LsgUhcpmmPqRxBlG40h-_tlCPBpEha11Hkh-CRoGKAxNza76-RzXT9EZc22L-MOkdJ50jHccw71Dug4Yy2JI6AJYKm4zX1bqjwvj2rInZcO8O/s320/IMG_2178%202.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rafferty after we rehired him<br /></td></tr></tbody></table>It cost us about $1800, we got about $1200 from what they sold. We were very happy, 100% worth the money.<p></p><p>Back to me. My reaction was terrible. So loud and so mean. And I am sorry.</p><p>That said, Jane hasn't spoken to me since then and didn't come to the Memorial Party Siobhan and I threw for our parents last September. I like to think that, had I been on the receiving end of that rant, I would have been horrified, but would quickly have remembered that the person screaming was done in emotionally by moving her parents to assisted living, rehoming their dog, and cleaning out their house in a matter of seven days.</p><p>Emotionally drained does not even begin to cover my state of mind on that Saturday when that call came.</p><p>But my response, best I can tell, was taken personally (fully understandable in the moment, less so with a little consideration of the situation) and no John and Jane are no longer in my life. I have thought about an apology letter. But you can see how long it's taken me to tell this story and, while the apology would be sincere, there is a BUT attached to it that I can't detach.</p><p>I have yet to decide if that is a personal failing or not. While it may be, I was very much let down by people that I loved in a moment when I needed more support than I've ever<br /> needed support before. I don't think there's any coming back from that, no matter what the apology looks like.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-83032207289476987702023-06-24T20:27:00.000-07:002023-06-24T20:27:04.236-07:00One year!<p> A year ago today I paid for my house. My first house. The place I can't be thrown out of if something happens to a landlord. That comes with some anxiety, every time it rains I wait for my skylight to leak. But mostly it's great.</p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim5eLqAMC6X09MhiJpBHLMJd0ndTfzEq5frBtPrbMuPqFwX24OHOpPhiCNrJa2vLhSTvTryVVmBAEc16Pr24LCl1z2GFqpJWSV8xafy8q8r8bb8hqBSp437W5eHHwbZubieZMXAKhib5HXVwzsIWLU-kAE8cJu31Ga0rHWwvHEWX7lLjulpvWDe9RSuxrD/s4032/ugly%20mirrors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim5eLqAMC6X09MhiJpBHLMJd0ndTfzEq5frBtPrbMuPqFwX24OHOpPhiCNrJa2vLhSTvTryVVmBAEc16Pr24LCl1z2GFqpJWSV8xafy8q8r8bb8hqBSp437W5eHHwbZubieZMXAKhib5HXVwzsIWLU-kAE8cJu31Ga0rHWwvHEWX7lLjulpvWDe9RSuxrD/w200-h150/ugly%20mirrors.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">fake mirror window thing</td></tr></tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnNpoNXLYpnBdPEp70f6lPeXkf0b7eVsZLrr-dQeyOZKv4XXGu8gFf8v7keR6vPI5zUwEKumJdFDCK2UKPb1zp0a9kFmGTlAX57RT2F1OIgf2cHzaF2LYX-NKC-6QQpWgttMRMFIYa0PJ3Nmt7VEHab8lFGSsf2npNFZ26DXCrHrx8I1r9ko3CIBRck-fG/s4032/too%20many%20doors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnNpoNXLYpnBdPEp70f6lPeXkf0b7eVsZLrr-dQeyOZKv4XXGu8gFf8v7keR6vPI5zUwEKumJdFDCK2UKPb1zp0a9kFmGTlAX57RT2F1OIgf2cHzaF2LYX-NKC-6QQpWgttMRMFIYa0PJ3Nmt7VEHab8lFGSsf2npNFZ26DXCrHrx8I1r9ko3CIBRck-fG/w150-h200/too%20many%20doors.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Too many doors</td></tr></tbody></table>It's been a year and I still don't feel settled in. I got sort of settled. But I kept painting which means moving things around so it's always in flux. Then in May I started some renovations. <br /><br />I got rid of a stupid door in my office. And I took out a fake window made of mirrors in my living room wall. When I looked at the house one of my first thoughts was - that has GOT to go. Now it's a dark blue wall and it makes me calm every time I look at it.</p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqZ6S4kIyDigwFGNPhEXom9Yp9chV7D4MnYiygy6Yh604NifdwRw8AVqwVIKvgqd1UgewO1a0gEi_0TETW0jeFoLQGYlKFEdD0nOwp-fsbZ-UKtUs1jMV6YkO2S0UyjuqqPsWcOnqWjZvvj1yI6bse2yR0AWnWgOMHoNLMUdRGrRlFGLS09Vc6G6iaMZM8/s4032/blue%20wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqZ6S4kIyDigwFGNPhEXom9Yp9chV7D4MnYiygy6Yh604NifdwRw8AVqwVIKvgqd1UgewO1a0gEi_0TETW0jeFoLQGYlKFEdD0nOwp-fsbZ-UKtUs1jMV6YkO2S0UyjuqqPsWcOnqWjZvvj1yI6bse2yR0AWnWgOMHoNLMUdRGrRlFGLS09Vc6G6iaMZM8/w200-h150/blue%20wall.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">so much better</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />The great thing is, I had friends here to celebrate with me this morning. It was kind of a fluke. We agreed months ago to go to the Michael Franti concert at Look Park. School is done so Dianna planned to stay over. And Tracey, the instigator, was up from Virginia with no real plan so I said, if nothing else comes up you can put your blow up mattress in my living room. And that is what happened.<br /></p><p><br /></p><p>Dianna was here when I got home from work yesterday. Made possible by my hide-a-key thing that I've had since last July and got installed last week. Then Tracey texted and we ended up waiting for her to arrive so we could all drive to the venue together.</p><p>The concert was a blast, though when I go to another Michael Franti concert I'll have to train for it, I am WAY out of shape. There was so much love and harmony, the weather was perfect, we met up with a couple of other friends, and I ran into another friend in the line for Local Burger. So much dancing, so many hugs, so much fun.</p><p>Having people over used to be super stressful. ADHD makes me a terrible housekeeper. That's not the case for everyone with ADHD, some folks have a cleaning hyper focus, but it's very true for me. I'm getting better. My house is easier to organize than my last apartment. I'm also in a better frame of mind. But I am still recovering my space from the renovations of the past month and it is not particularly clean, organized, or welcoming.</p><p>But I didn't hesitate when Tracey said she wasn't sure where she'd be sleeping. I have room, and last minute notice is fine. If the other folks for that ticket fall through, plan on staying here.</p><p>We got home from the concert, fed Dianna. She ordered food at about 7:15 and at 8:00 it still wasn't ready. Turns out that, had she not gotten her money back, she would have gotten her food around 9:15. So she was super hungry when we got home about 11. As she grazed through my kitchen we all chatted. Sitting around my living room, with Tracey's blow up bed in the middle of the floor and a cat or two exploring.</p><p>We got to bed too late and I woke up too early, but I have an easy day at work today so it's not a drama.</p><p>Once we were all up and willing to admit we weren't asleep I made breakfast. My friends will be shocked to hear it was an egg scramble with chicken jalapeño sausage, poblano pepper, red onion, and cheddar cheese. With some nice brown bread Dianna picked up for me a bit ago at the Brattleboro Coop.</p><p>As we were chatting after we ate I remembered that it is the one year anniversary of the big check and receiving the keys, we cheered.</p><p>Then I realized how amazing it is to not feel shame about my home, to be able to invite in people I love and not worry about the state of my house. It is a sea change for me and it is so freeing. I have spent much of my life feeling shame about the state of my living space because it's not model home worthy. Because I can't do things that other people do, I can't keep it neat and organized as a matter of course and trying to turns me into a crazy person, not the good kind I am normally, the kind that is hysterical.</p><p>This time I spent the time I had to clear up renovation chaos and make sure that people would be comfortable and then I had fun with my friends.</p><p>And it was good.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-62575719121121440752023-06-20T11:18:00.002-07:002023-06-20T11:18:25.689-07:00Time Blindness<p>Time blindness is a thing I have lived with all my life. I didn't know what it was until fairly recently, it comes with my ADHD. It has always been a struggle for me to get where I'm going when I say I'm going to be there or when I'm required to be there. Some people say if you're on time you're late. They see it as a sign of disrespect when you aren't early. The thing is, I just experience time differently than other people. It has taken a lot of work for me to function in time the way other people do.</p><p>And I still mess it up somewhat regularly.</p><p>Here are some things about how I process time, things I've had to change:</p><p>Work hours from 8-4 mean that the time right up until 8 is my time.</p><p>Time I'm not getting paid isn't really work time (so I must minimize that time).</p><p>If something takes ten minutes and I have ten minutes, I can get it done, even if there is drive time (that I haven't included in the time it takes to get the thing done).</p><p>Totally messing up my schedule when my work day starts on the half hour, seriously it messes with my head more than even I can figure out.</p><p>Add in hyper focus, those moments when I start a project because I have five minutes, and I'm done. It's never just five minutes. It almost always ends with me running late for something, or even rescheduling.</p><p>I lived in my last apartment for eight years. In that time I figured out when I needed to leave my apartment if I was walking to work, and when I needed to leave if I missed that deadline. Twenty five past the hour to walk, 23 before the hour to drive. It was a three minute drive and 12-17 minute walk depending on my state of mind. It took several years to get to that place, the place where it was so routine that I did it naturally most of the time.</p><p>Except when my work day started on the half hour, that screws with my head.</p><p>Then I moved across town. Instead of 8/10 of a mile from the office I live 3.8 miles and I can't walk because the first two miles are too dangerous.</p><p>But I found a way to walk some of the way.</p><p>But holy hell, getting the timing right? Not so much. I've been working on it since I moved on July 17th. I need to leave at 20 past the hour to park and walk to work. I often miss that because I think of a thing or another thing or something else that I forgot. But the attempts to leave in time to walk ensure I leave in time to arrive at work on time because the buffer to walk is filled with the things that need to happen and I can leave at half past and park across the street from work.</p><p>Today a miracle happened. I got out of bed a bit early and went to the bathroom. Things went all to hell there. I had my phone when I sat down and I started playing a game. Then Jasper jumped up on my lap and started purring. In case you aren’t aware it is a universal law that one does not disturb a happy cat, no matter how inconvenient.</p><p>Thus I wasted too much time in the bathroom. But eventually the cat got off my lap. I had 50 minutes to get ready and get out the door. I took a shower, I got dressed, I made breakfast, I ate while reading my novel.</p><p>Alexa said, Tara (she pronounces it wrong, Tahra) this is your reminder, leave for Tai Chi.</p><p>That means I have 10 minutes. I was still eating. Crap, I'm not going to make it. </p><p>I finished my breakfast, put the dishes in the dishwasher, got my stuff together, walked out the door, got in the car, pulled out my phone to put in the mileage (that's how I track it for tax purposes).</p><p>That's when I noticed</p><p>O</p><p>M</p><p>G</p><p>I was right on time.</p><p>That is only the start of the miracle.</p><p>I had a new client at 12:30, for a service I haven't done in the office before, I was kind of nervous.</p><p>I also wanted to get to the farmers market to get some green juice. I had a small window of opportunity for that, the farmers market is 12-5, I was booked from 12:30 to 7. I wasn't sure how I could get to the farmers market and get to the office to get ready for my client in the half hour between leaving Tai Chi and 12:20 to :30 when my client would arrive.</p><p>As I was practicing the form, I realized I wasn't going to stay at class until 12 like I usually do, I was going to give myself some room.</p><p>This is not a thing I've ever done, allowing extra time, whaaaaattttt?</p><p>And it occurred to me that if I stopped at the office first I could have everything ready, with slightly less pressure. So I parked in front of the office, went in and got everything all set. Then I confidently took off for the farmers market.</p><p>I parked, walked rapidly past the church, found the juice lady, waited for her to finish up with the couple she was helping. Then ordered a six pack of Sweet Green (spinach, apple, and lemon). I decided to treat myself to a strawberry something juice as well.</p><p>While I was waiting I noticed the lovely bread at the next tent over. When I was done with the juice I bought a garlic loaf and small blueberry pie.</p><p>Then I hightailed it back to my car. As I was walking I heard a lady say, after seeing my juice, ooooohhhhhh, the juice lady is here!</p><p>I parked, grabbed the juice so it wouldn't sit in my car for seven hours, ran across the street, into the office, switched my Tevas for clogs and went into the back, 12:10!</p><p>Two minutes later, the door chimed. We invite our clients to arrive up to 10 minutes before their appointment, she was 8 minutes early even for the 10 minutes early.</p><p>Because I gave myself the space to be comfortable I was prepared to walk out and greet her, even though she was super early.</p><p>I got everything done that I wanted to do, and I was on time, with virtually no stress. There are no words to explain how much this never happens to me.</p><p>Ever.</p><p>I struggle to get anywhere on time, never mind make the kind of choices like I did today. The kind of choices that allow me to do the things I want to do and be where I need to be when I need to be there. The amount of effort it has taken me to easily make these choices and end up in my office with my client on time and prepared is beyond words.</p><p>Everyone has that one friend or colleague who is never on time. I invite you to be kind. It may be that they experience time blindness and how they walk through time is completely different than you do. They are not purposely disrespectful, unconcerned, lazy, they just don't do time well.</p><p><br /></p><blockquote style="border: medium; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"> </p></blockquote><p></p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-47718846222890152262023-06-19T09:25:00.000-07:002023-06-19T09:25:15.690-07:00Fathers Day<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9lm5Z3xAvX2TjEVME1v0hkZO2Vap1ZQqaPshpYrz4PvBIESec4vu1eOpUI747vift--wa3LFC8avwNqYg0p4N7GzJ8cdjEnlhgjD9qzIKezhGacJzGeFeLpAK0aqU-e10u6xZt01jCMwdL0kEjIvirfMcmynvIH1mvs45trsR0kuWMuchP3bFOLX84w/s640/IMG_0882.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9lm5Z3xAvX2TjEVME1v0hkZO2Vap1ZQqaPshpYrz4PvBIESec4vu1eOpUI747vift--wa3LFC8avwNqYg0p4N7GzJ8cdjEnlhgjD9qzIKezhGacJzGeFeLpAK0aqU-e10u6xZt01jCMwdL0kEjIvirfMcmynvIH1mvs45trsR0kuWMuchP3bFOLX84w/s320/IMG_0882.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>This picture is in a frame on my bedside table. It is my dad and I on top of Streaked Mountain in South Paris, Maine. We climbed it regularly when we did our monthly trip to Maine. Going through all my pictures I realized how long it's been since daddy and I climbed Streaked, this is 2012 and it is the first picture of the two of us I found, heading back through the years. After that the pics are of me and Rafferty climbing, the pictures I sent to daddy back at the cabin after he could no longer climb.</p><p>I got a text yesterday from a company that takes platelet donations, Happy Fathers Day!</p><p>I wanted to respond to them, I'm not a father, I'm not even a single mother, and my dad - who I loved more than words can convey - died almost 17 months ago and I don't appreciate your Fathers Day greeting, find another way to encourage me to come donate platelets.</p><p>I wish a Happy Fathers Day to all the fathers and all those who play the role of father and to the cat and dog dads and honestly to anyone who identifies as a father.</p><p>But for me? For me today was a day in my house. A day tacking a terrifying graduation assignment. A day putting a second coat on the three bedroom walls I finished painting yesterday. A day watching TV. A day listening to The Moth Radio Hour. A day in painting jammies. A day of french toast for lunch. A day avoiding the swim I love to do.</p><p>I have been wondering why I didn't feel like getting outside on this beautiful weekend. It's partly because I had a lot of stuff to do. But it's also because Fathers Day is kicking my ass.</p><p>What I wouldn't give for one conversation, one hug, one "love you too kid".</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-84607525983153938162023-04-28T09:00:00.003-07:002023-04-28T09:00:31.552-07:00Another first<p> I flew home from Austin today.</p><p>The trip down was a bloody nightmare. Flight from Hartford to Baltimore was delayed a little - not a big deal, I was still going to make my connecting flight. Before we even got on the plane they moved the 3:50pm flight from Baltimore to Austin to 8:23pm.</p><p>Crap. Instead of getting in at 6:40 and having dinner with my friends I wouldn't get in until 11:28pm and then I'd still have to wait for my bag.</p><p>Which took forever because there was a terrible thunder and lightening storm and the ramp was closed so no one could bring our bags in.</p><p>I got to my friends house at 1am, 2am my time. Didn't get to sleep until 2am, 3 am my time.</p><p>Very frustrating. Very exhausting.</p><p>But a great vacation. Puzzles, guacamole, tequila, my friend singing (for two hours!!) at a brewery, a hike at a beautiful lake, NAPS, and more puzzling.</p><p>Oh, also a perfectly cooked NY strip steak. That provided a couple of meals. It was super delish.</p><p></p>I returned today. Everything was on time. I read for the first leg of the trip. I started with Lessons in Chemistry (highly recommend) and moved on to Coach the Person Not the Problem. Didn't make it far in that one, mainly because I didn't have a lot of room and I was trying to hold all the highlighters and markers I require with this type of reading. In Baltimore I went to Jamba Juice, ordered a small mango something or other, and received a ginormous mango something or other then plugged my phone in and kept reading. Fortunately my phone was charged enough to keep reading through to Hartford.<p></p><p>I got a window seat and this is what I saw:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5xW1zfwWHWiiswPDS9BTgBk-L-HvuI3a687ZDldt2lqkUHi5WgDNzJxFLaVkohRy6ESE49IKP8Fg3g155QiW3v9vEbNmjx0cqAXOYYAlmr4jAtWC4bJmoiV8Ot6zgGvYGeYUNCAbpFTnrj7VN2qfwtaaXflPWygLn-s2unUM---QD4anh3iUMP-E5jg/s4032/Clouds%202.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5xW1zfwWHWiiswPDS9BTgBk-L-HvuI3a687ZDldt2lqkUHi5WgDNzJxFLaVkohRy6ESE49IKP8Fg3g155QiW3v9vEbNmjx0cqAXOYYAlmr4jAtWC4bJmoiV8Ot6zgGvYGeYUNCAbpFTnrj7VN2qfwtaaXflPWygLn-s2unUM---QD4anh3iUMP-E5jg/w300-h400/Clouds%202.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption">Clouds as far as you can see</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0rzoYMyvGc0O4v5foizrLpV-qM3cLA_7iFwkTwJTzTUJWGTDMfBOHWEAk2NriLmp8XIuvpj1FMpcVQRnakw3jKSSw0-O366XXRFS3ekXaSLMeR3W5GYHKO_hV6WMV23rGhdQvUq91gKY8glwDHOZWOGlZ6upO4HvWhK-RfQQ_QF-PmK1-loG0j6bSHQ/s4032/Clouds%206.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0rzoYMyvGc0O4v5foizrLpV-qM3cLA_7iFwkTwJTzTUJWGTDMfBOHWEAk2NriLmp8XIuvpj1FMpcVQRnakw3jKSSw0-O366XXRFS3ekXaSLMeR3W5GYHKO_hV6WMV23rGhdQvUq91gKY8glwDHOZWOGlZ6upO4HvWhK-RfQQ_QF-PmK1-loG0j6bSHQ/w150-h200/Clouds%206.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cloud Shadows</td></tr></tbody></table>Clouds. Beautiful, puffy clouds on a sunny day. There haven't been enough sunny days lately. But above the clouds, it's always sunny. I thought about some peoples vision of heaven, people in robes on clouds playing harps. I don't know that there is anybody who actually believes that is heaven, but that is something I have in my head from when I was a kid. I thought about my parents, people who would not be caught dead in robes on clouds playing harps. They are quantumly part of the universe. I don't understand quantum physics, but I accept that there can be a particle in one place that is connected to a particle a kajillion light years away that reacts in the same way at the same time. And it makes me think that my parents energy is the entire universe. That they are everything everywhere all at once (a movie I have not yet seen), that they are always with me in the way that all things are connected. That when I feel like they are with me, they are in the way that I am pulled to look to my left when I am driving and the driver to my left is looking at me.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsQZacMSx7ZNxSyr-dfQiHIhQPyqtYhLKzTsVNwJeYruESq12Vopu6Y0rNvuTH1-c_b7nWe6ZbYL5ZGGt8GufNYU__ZA8KOOT5fxUlC4kXp4xNQqT613iKzAMVPZSES9XRUq6d0Us0LKo0hHHya-rCi6uqN2-0gFjbYzIF91P-5DnzdttRgb4RWemlJA/s4032/Clouds%205.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsQZacMSx7ZNxSyr-dfQiHIhQPyqtYhLKzTsVNwJeYruESq12Vopu6Y0rNvuTH1-c_b7nWe6ZbYL5ZGGt8GufNYU__ZA8KOOT5fxUlC4kXp4xNQqT613iKzAMVPZSES9XRUq6d0Us0LKo0hHHya-rCi6uqN2-0gFjbYzIF91P-5DnzdttRgb4RWemlJA/w200-h150/Clouds%205.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cloud shadows</td></tr></tbody></table>The problem is that there are moments when that is not at all comforting. There are so many things that I won't be able to share with them. So many things they won't experience. My dad loved The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, as do I. I didn't watch the fourth season until just last week. I couldn't bear not seeing it with dad, or laughing about it together as we recapped. I'm now in the fifth season and it is hilarious and I'm enjoying it. But it is bittersweet.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Grief comes in waves and doesn't follow a schedule. Everyone experiences it differently. After my trip to Austin it's a bit amped up. And now there will be all the Mothers Day ads, followed by my dads birthday and all the Fathers Day ads. I hate all those ads. They bring up envy in me, envy for all the people who have a mother, a father to do things with and for. I'm usually able to talk myself out of that, I was so blessed to have the relationship that I did with my parents and to have them in my life as long as I did. Some of the folks who have that mother or father to do something for or with would really rather not, for a variety of reasons. And I could laugh about Mothers Day. I was often working at Cranwell on Mothers Day. Mom would say, you can earn money? GO! She was all about fiscal responsibility. Now that she's gone I'm seeing how well she trained me on that front and I am so grateful. Plus, we saw each other so regularly that we didn't need a special day, and mom never wanted us to spend money on her. She loved things we got her, but she didn't need them just because of a named day.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">No matter what anyone tells you, your grief will not follow a specific timetable. The year of firsts is hard, but firsts continue to come after that year. Something will remind you of a particular moment and it will be so hard that your person isn't there to talk about it. I'm hoping that the sweetness of the memories will continue to grow stronger than the sadness.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm keeping the faith. And looking for diamonds on the water, that sight makes me happier than just about anything, ever.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdTOr2Zblls_VhlTDecWeZ5UFAVWHK1xL1zkKQ0ihePgg03pC-80IT1MUgtcKBiUuWQ1SOYSMFtfGy5cupV747G3tg8yAZ44_0sMvZY0x7avIquZPigDuWUV0aL6WbR99FL_s0PfcRdTTopjysgzABGbMre8E2iZOquF_mvt8BaFhuP9YiZgZ67PnkQQ/s4032/Clouds%204.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdTOr2Zblls_VhlTDecWeZ5UFAVWHK1xL1zkKQ0ihePgg03pC-80IT1MUgtcKBiUuWQ1SOYSMFtfGy5cupV747G3tg8yAZ44_0sMvZY0x7avIquZPigDuWUV0aL6WbR99FL_s0PfcRdTTopjysgzABGbMre8E2iZOquF_mvt8BaFhuP9YiZgZ67PnkQQ/s320/Clouds%204.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sun making diamonds on water</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-46327273311027122642023-04-25T19:48:00.000-07:002023-04-25T19:48:14.983-07:00I don't know how to live as a not depressed person<p>Lately I have been overwhelmed with all the things I'm doing. I have my full time massage practice, happily I am booked up. I have my classes to become a certified ADHD life coach, something I'm super excited about. I have my on call massage position at Miraval, I love the different energy I experience there - and getting to see friends I've worked with for 17 years. I have a new house and so many projects I want to do. I have a couple of trips coming up in 2024 that I need to be prepared for, there will be miles and miles and miles of walking and hiking. I made a commitment to myself to get to Planet Fitness three times a week to use the stair master, increasing (so far) a minute each time. I have a sweater I need to finish for a friend.</p><p>And I have to feed myself a few times a day. Seriously, that is super freaking challenging.</p><p>And today in therapy I had a huge revelation.</p><p>I don't know how to live as a not depressed person.</p><p>It occurred to me recently that before mom started having seizures in 2019 I spent a lot of years depressed. I did all the things, work, friends, laughing, crying, fun. But only when I had to. I've written about the sad darkness. How good it is at convincing me that getting outside for a bike ride will make me late fo the appointment I have scheduled later. How good it is at convincing me that it's safer to be curled up in bed watching TV on my computer.</p><p>I dealt with all of that for years. I can't tell you how long, I really don't know.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFAeLN0iPJYIaAoITB5OyrvZ9bX3n6zhYQeeCiLExc-GpXlz1R__brsZa7eO8kq6-lp1VWb5k36cWP1lG1yAg6j3GZmz9GB43XN7Dy0F7a4Z0D5tCsYAbrdUr8qmxhfSO_iziebIEtxGdJG5N20c49zR1O6j2wXMGOaERAwspu64rg0scu-EirAigc6Q/s4032/Sweet%20Mister.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFAeLN0iPJYIaAoITB5OyrvZ9bX3n6zhYQeeCiLExc-GpXlz1R__brsZa7eO8kq6-lp1VWb5k36cWP1lG1yAg6j3GZmz9GB43XN7Dy0F7a4Z0D5tCsYAbrdUr8qmxhfSO_iziebIEtxGdJG5N20c49zR1O6j2wXMGOaERAwspu64rg0scu-EirAigc6Q/s320/Sweet%20Mister.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet Mister</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>From that depression I moved to the stress of caring for my parents and the steady state of mourning as I did it.</p><p>I'm going to guess that all of that was about ten years. A good part of which I spent four or five days a week at a cabin on a lake in Maine with my favorite person. That's a pretty good way to not notice so much that you're depressed.</p><p>I started Wellbutrin in March of 2022. I don't have a frame of reference for how it was helping me, I've never lost parents and never been on an antidepressant before.</p><p>But last month I started to feel human again. The grief was no longer DEVASTATING, it was just devastating. I started to feel interested in adding activities. I started taking tai chi, I went to dinner and a movie with a friend of mine, I've been doing extra sessions with my classmates.</p><p>March was great.</p><p>Then April came and and I was sad more often, feeling out of sorts, and generally overwhelmed by all the things that were beginning to take up my time - even though they are things I want to do. I was really wondering what the heck is wrong with me as I know a lot of folks who work 40 hours a week, work out daily (and a lot), and do social things as well - and they seem fine. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLXJ31-TLOFXpRwaNi3bDpGqS0vvBBqWnrmnk06i7X9CMQkWmT8V_j4E_XTcnrqx2bEq8IbqPN6h_ObPbIf-fIppWubV_xEaJPpwfHCNfTsZ-ugNmWsgjejlsEIjfIwwSZItu4I8nz3Zusjs8FbpQFXV3gZhF81aEFo16B3wUHHAvQ3D7T52Kxp6xt7w/s4032/Goofy%20Jasper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLXJ31-TLOFXpRwaNi3bDpGqS0vvBBqWnrmnk06i7X9CMQkWmT8V_j4E_XTcnrqx2bEq8IbqPN6h_ObPbIf-fIppWubV_xEaJPpwfHCNfTsZ-ugNmWsgjejlsEIjfIwwSZItu4I8nz3Zusjs8FbpQFXV3gZhF81aEFo16B3wUHHAvQ3D7T52Kxp6xt7w/s320/Goofy%20Jasper.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goofy Jasper</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>I am not fine.</p><p>I mean I am fine.</p><p>What I mean is I can't figure out how to fit it all in. And sleep. And have recharge time.</p><p>What is wrong with me?</p><p>Well, here's the thing. I am in the process of building my life. My entire life. I'm learning to be an ADHD coach. A year long commitment that involves time in class, and time out of class, a long suggested reading list that I actually want to read, and a whole new understanding of who I am and how I walk through the world. I also have to figure out a business name and domain name, will it just be tara swinchatt.com? I don't know yet. And all the things that I will use to support my future clients. I am making my house what I want it to be, which is a lot of work. I am doing a ton of painting and regular reorganizing of space. I think I have finally found a contractor who will do some projects that will make my house even more my house, more of what I want. That is a whole new thing, I've never owned a home so was never able to say, I don't want a door there, make it a wall. I am back in a gym. I joined at the end of January and went a bunch of days at the beginning of February. Then my prepatellar bursa blew up and I stopped as I had no idea why that happened or if it would be made worse with exercise. But I'm back. I started last week and committed the the stair master three times a week. And I added Tai Chi on Thursday mornings. I love it and can see the positive impacts it has on my life, but it's another time commitment.</p><p>I did a session just now with one of my classmates and she asked if I could remember a time when I wasn't depressed and could get things done.</p><p>I can't.</p><p>That doesn't mean it never happened, but I can't remember it. Even if I could, that pre ADHD diagnosis woman and I are very different people.</p><p>So in the last six days my life has been blown up. In the best possible way, but blown up. And I am now astutely aware of exactly why I feel the way I do - I have absolutely no idea how to live this life because I am starting from the ground up.</p><p>Fortunately there is plenty of existing structure - jobs, friends, things I have to do - that will keep me moving forward. But around that existing structure is building all new stuff.</p><p>It's so exciting. Vaguely terrifying, but mostly exciting. And I'm so grateful to have folks in my life who are helping me see this and figure it out.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-61033980424312064372023-03-30T14:40:00.003-07:002023-03-30T14:40:31.554-07:00Sea change<p>I have experienced a sea change recently. It applies to pretty much every aspect of my life. My grief is different. My ability to get out of bed is different. My ability to get things done is different.</p><p>It's been a couple of weeks, maybe. I have a hard time with time so I can't really say for sure, but it feels like it's been since March started so I'm going with that.</p><p>My grief is different. I don't cry every day. Actually, I mostly don't cry. Not a day goes by that I don't think about my parents, talk to my parents, miss my parents. But I mostly don't cry. I don't get sucker punched by the grief regularly. I say regularly because I did get a bit sucker punched by grief on Monday, but that was the only time it's happened in a really long time. And it was a gentle sucker punch, not the kind that sucked the breath out of me. I often think of my folks with a smile.</p><p>I told a couple of friends that I will 100% be there for them when their parents health starts to change, but I also suggested they ask their parents to hold off for a bit as I wasn't ready in the months after my dad died. I've reached the point where other peoples stuff doesn't rub up against my stuff, it doesn't make me cry. I can be there for my friends, no one needs to worry about me falling apart.</p><p>My ability to get out of bed is different. Until recently I was inclined to stay in bed in the morning when I woke up. It was really hard to drag myself out of bed unless I had to actually leave my house for work or some other appointment. I would regularly spend a piece of my morning in bed scrolling on my phone, not getting anything important done. If it was my day off and I didn't have appointments I might get out of bed - to go sit on the couch and watch TV. If things were really bad, I'd stay in bed and watch TV on my computer. I simply couldn't motivate to get anything done.<br /></p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDIbwtI7GMCdPhRtjItR4nmUHFny_S4CxfgctYxQ7cuW2uiT9M2J6pnG7mZi1LXzTk6yOmGwd1jscB7PWimt8l2jJQ-Xa9q9YziKYRGUgVd5yhzTNUDXSIQV003DZ6qotsSlKWuP9LZpl2WaTNVGPKyxWOAgZK1T5jrjDfXqdwXV09mgNq6GhKf_BIww/s4032/tping%20with%20Mister.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDIbwtI7GMCdPhRtjItR4nmUHFny_S4CxfgctYxQ7cuW2uiT9M2J6pnG7mZi1LXzTk6yOmGwd1jscB7PWimt8l2jJQ-Xa9q9YziKYRGUgVd5yhzTNUDXSIQV003DZ6qotsSlKWuP9LZpl2WaTNVGPKyxWOAgZK1T5jrjDfXqdwXV09mgNq6GhKf_BIww/w320-h240/tping%20with%20Mister.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mister helping me write this piece</td></tr></tbody></table>Now I wake up before my alarm, when I have to set an alarm. I scroll on my phone for a few minutes, maybe read the news updates I get from one or two sources. See if my classmates have WhatsApped anything while I was asleep, check in with any friends who have stuff happening. Then I tell Alexa to play WAMC and I get out of bed, brush my teeth, and start doing things. I don't always get dressed at that moment, PJs are fine for doing things around the house and I don't have to worry about messing up my clothes before I head to work.</p><p>The point being, I don't lie in bed for an hour two without realizing. I don't stay in bed all day. I don't move to the couch and turn on the TV.</p><p>My ability to get things done is different. My mom started having seizures in January of 2019. I rearranged my schedule and spent Mondays and Wednesdays with my parents. I ran errands, took them to appointments, dealt with paperwork, cooked dinner, did yard work, spent time with mom & dad, helped them with the things that no one wants to talk about that caretakers are all too familiar with.</p><p>And I worked full time and had on call massage gigs at Kripalu and Cranwell that each required 12 hours a month.</p><p>Unsurprisingly, there wasn't time for anything else. There were no brain cells for reading. I absorbed what I could of the political landscape, but that was all thanks to Heather Cox Richardson, if I got to her email first thing in the morning. My house was a disaster. I would walk into the kitchen and drop all bags by the door and they pretty much didn't move after that. My overnight bag was packed and unpacked at least once a week. Thankfully I had a washer and dryer because going to a laundromat would have had me in a rubber room. I did my budgeting, but assigning all my money jobs when I get paid weekly and balancing my accounts at the same time kept that a pretty short and easy task, requiring minimal use of brain cells.</p><p>After my dad died I thought, now I can get things done.</p><p>And I did. Sort of.</p><p>I got probate stuff done. I dealt with all the accounts, the life insurance, the picking up of the ashes, the distribution of the trust, the filing of whatever needed filing, the closing of whatever needed closing, the cleaning out of the apartment.</p><p>But I didn't get the things done that I thought I would. I didn't get to my stuff. I didn't start exercising. I didn't start reading tons of books. I didn't add manual lymph drainage to my practice after the course I took almost a year ago - I'm just getting to that now.</p><p>I moved around in a sad fog and cried really easily.</p><p>I often didn't get out of bed. Or if I did, as mentioned above, I moved to the couch and watched TV.</p><p>Things were a bit better after the memorial party we held on September 24th, but then the holidays came. The first of all the things without both mom AND dad. I thought, I just need to get through New Years, forgetting that January was the time I spent two weeks with my dad while he died. That one took me a hot minute to figure out.</p><p>Through all of that I was kind to myself. I allowed all the things. Mainly because I didn't have energy to do anything else.</p><p>Recently though, I get stuff done.</p><p>Like a lot of stuff.</p><p>A shocking amount of stuff.</p><p>I get out of bed and start right in with things that I need to do. After I brush my teeth. Nothing happens until I brush my teeth. Except that I occasionally open the blinds in my bedroom first.</p><p>I get up and take a look around at what needs to be done. At the moment my house is somewhat chaotic. Not the mind numbing chaos that it was during the caretaker years, but the I bought an office chair and there is a giant cardboard box I haven't dealt with chaos. Or the I started painting the trim in my entryway, and haven't had time to do the second coat chaos.</p><p>Don't get me wrong, my somewhat chaotic is many peoples holy crap my house is a disaster chaotic. But for me it's manageable.</p><p>So I get up and assess. How much time do I have before I have to be somewhere, leave for work, get on zoom for class or therapy. Okay, what can I accomplish in that time? Make an egg scramble, make sure I have all my stuff to head to the office (or wherever)? Okay, that's what I do. More time than that? Enough time to open a paint can? Enough time to read a handout for class? Enough time to tackle a graduation task like write my About Me or research possible domain names or ADHD coach business names?</p><p>Whatever it is I have time for I start that task.</p><p>On a recent Saturday I left for the office, got a little bit down the road and realized I had left a half hour early - I do much better when my appointments start on the hour, I get completely screwed up when they start on the half hour, but that is a fully ADHD blog entry for another day. I considered possible actions, turned around and drove home. By the time I got inside I had 21 minutes to do something. So I picked up in my dining room. It wasn't a lot, but I made good headway and then left for work, with plenty of time to park and walk instead of parking across the street and not getting in my walk.</p><p>That is a pretty miraculous occurrence in my life.</p><p>Generally speaking a confusion of scheduling like that will throw me off completely and leave me utterly baffled as to how to proceed. Ordinarily, had I turned around and gone home, I would have sat on the couch trying to figure out what to do, and I would have done it just long enough to be late to the office. Had I gone to the office I would have locked the door behind me, then forgotten to open it for my client, causing the appointment to run late and my whole day to be off kilter.</p><p>Either way, the rest of my day would not have gone to plan.</p><p>But I turned around, got something done, got to work on time, and the rest of my day was fine.</p><p>I have been doing such things, using my time wisely, to get things done, be they things I need to do, or even (gasp) things I want to do.</p><p>I feel like this is an entirely new thing.</p><p><span style="color: #cc0000;">*just gave a massage, had an insight*</span></p><p>It may not be an entirely new thing, but it's been years since I felt anything like this. Even before the caretaker times. As I was giving that massage it occurred to me that it wasn't just the caretaker times that took away my ability to get out of bed and do things. There were many years of depression before that. Depression that I didn't always recognize as depression, but that took away my ability to do anything other than what I absolutely had to do (though I always made time for my family and friends).</p><p>There were days I would have a massage at 10 and another at 4, leaving about five hours in between that I could totally go for a bike ride. But I'd go home, grab my computer, and crawl into bed and watch TV. I couldn't even sit on the couch and watch TV, I'd crawl into bed and watch TV. On a glorious summer day when I should have been outside.</p><p>But the sad darkness was really good at convincing me that something would happen while I was on the bike that would prevent me from getting back in time to do the massage. Thus, it would be infinitely better to stay inside where it was safe and nothing would stop me from getting back to the office in time for the second massage.</p><p>But now!</p><p>Now I get up and look around and check my schedule and figure out if I'm hungry enough to eat breakfast first. Then I consider what needs doing - should I do a necessary thing like read my homework or do some other businessy thing or do I have time to paint something I want to paint? Do I need to do my budget? Or can I sit down and read my novel?</p><p>The TV never comes into it. I listen to Morning Edition and then the Round Table. If I don't have to be at work before 11 I'll listen to music or a podcast after the Round Table, while I do whatever thing I've decided needs doing.</p><p>Even when I am feeling overwhelmed by the state of my house or the state of my mind, I'm able to look around and choose a thing to do. It might be a pretty small thing, but it's a thing and it gets done.</p><p>And the small thing often helps me get energized and leads to a bigger thing.</p><p>And when I'm out of spoons at the end of the day and I can't really think, I pick up a paint brush and work on some trim, or my bathroom vanity (previously an unattractive fake wood situation, now half way to completely white).</p><p>Or . . .</p><p>or I think, I'm tired, I've done a lot today, I think I'll turn on the TV and knit for awhile.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-22080974699143378702023-03-22T09:06:00.000-07:002023-03-22T09:06:15.100-07:00Love letter to my dishwasher<p> I have never had a dishwasher.</p><p>My parents had a dishwasher, I don't remember that it was ever used when I lived in the house. I know they used it in the last twenty years, probably longer. I became enamored with it when I was taking care of them the last few years of their lives.</p><p>But I never had a dishwasher.</p><p>Until I bought my house in June.</p><p>I never realized how much a problem that was for me.</p><p>Until I moved into my house in July and started using the dishwasher.</p><p>Let me explain.</p><p>There are times that dishes sit in my sink overnight. Heck, there are times dishes sit in my sink until there is no more room and I have to move them to the counter to make room to wash anything.</p><p>This means that all cleaning efforts start with the sink. I don't know why, but I can't clean anything else until the sink is empty.</p><p>This turns out to be problematic because the sink gets full when the house is getting cleaned. Not necessarily with dishes, but other stuff that needs to be rinsed. The only example I can think of right now is a pot with dirt residue in it from repotting a plant. This doesn't happen often enough to be the only example, but here we are.</p><p>The sink fills up. I have to empty it. The sink fills up. I have to empty it. The sink fills up. I have to empty it.</p><p>Frustration ensues. And not much progress.</p><p>I honestly don't know how this happens. It's not like there are dirty dishes scattered all over my living space, there really aren't. Yet . . .</p><p>The sink fills up. I have to empty it.</p><p>And no headway is made in the effort to create order in my living space.</p><p>This has been the case the vast majority of my life. There was a five month span where I lived in this awesome apartment in Portland, CT that stayed neat and organized the entire time I lived there. I had my outdoor closet - both bikes lived there along with all my outerwear and other assorted outdoor toys. There was a walk-in closet in my bedroom, easy to use. I had a walk-in pantry and plenty of cabinet space. It was the perfect space for me.</p><p>My next apartment in Holyoke was pretty easy to keep organized. Except the kitchen. I'm really glad my parents are no longer here to remind me what a disaster the kitchen was.</p><p>Canaan, NY was a two room apartment, the bathroom was the hallway between. I loved living there and sometimes it was in perfect condition, but it did get out of control when my emotions went haywire.</p><p>My last apartment was big and impossible to keep organized. It was a disaster. There were two things that caused that. First, it was big, but super challenging to use. The living room had six doors and two windows. I used four of the doors regularly, one occasionally and one not at all. But the set up made it very difficult to use as a room. I moved things around a lot. Just before I moved out I found a way to make it work.</p><p>Sort of.</p><p>It was still a mess constantly.</p><p>Second, my emotional state was pretty much a mess much of the time I lived in that apartment. Dealing with a long time love that was a very unhealthy relationship that took me forever to let go of. Then, when I finally cleared that from my life, my parents health took a turn and my focus was entirely with them. It wasn't just that my focus was with them, I was in a steady state of mourning as I knew it was a matter of (not much) time before they were gone and I dreaded that moment. My living space is a direct reflection of my state of mind.</p><p>Mental chaos = environmental chaos.</p><p>Here's where the dishwasher comes in. I get a bug to clean. I do the pan and peanut butter knife sitting in the sink. Then I get to work on the house. I put the mug that's been used as a drinking cup in the bathroom into the dishwasher. I put the popcorn bowl from last night into the dishwasher. I put the various quart mason jars I've used to drink out of, then left at my desk and the side table where I watch TV, in the dishwasher.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-u9tl_Nf3dWrNs5mzJowdT_0TQtwf0tzyY00yAa12UNd0DPDF1pBKmhUGfSzAsxIyZvbXqLFsgTRBrpFbGHblFzxMHR3DatCMJpNP5tYNG4dmpy0jEU4NYnaGmq61o-FHMKrWlPQjGlyORJVctayHs0oSIazTARGQyyr9MF766ntTMIpCaU4hB2JjUw/s4032/dishwasher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-u9tl_Nf3dWrNs5mzJowdT_0TQtwf0tzyY00yAa12UNd0DPDF1pBKmhUGfSzAsxIyZvbXqLFsgTRBrpFbGHblFzxMHR3DatCMJpNP5tYNG4dmpy0jEU4NYnaGmq61o-FHMKrWlPQjGlyORJVctayHs0oSIazTARGQyyr9MF766ntTMIpCaU4hB2JjUw/s320/dishwasher.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>After each thing goes in the dishwasher, I get back to dealing with whatever chaos is happening in my living space.</p><p>It is a dream.</p><p>And it allows me to really lean into my ADHD when I'm picking up, cleaning, organizing. I can pick up the one thing, put it where it goes, notice the thing there that belongs somewhere else and move that thing to it's home, where I notice the next thing that I can take to it's home.</p><p>I'm still settling into my house. Yes, it's eight months since I moved in. As I live here I learn that what I thought would work when I moved in or a month or two later, doesn't work. I try something else. That maybe works, maybe it doesn't. I'm still assessing and figuring and rearranging and eliminating.</p><p>Or adding. I'm reorganizing my kitchen cabinets - does anyone need cumin? I have six bottles of cumin, the impact of not being able to find cumin when I needed to make quac for the fam, something we did pretty regularly the last few years, we all love quac and it was dinner on it's own more than a few times. At any rate, I am finally using all the little racks I bought at TJ Maxx to make additional shelves in my cabinets and I was right - I need a few more, they are very useful.</p><p>The dishwasher is a freaking life saver for me. I have environmentally better dishwasher pods. They are expensive, but I buy about a years worth at a time so I don't notice. As I've been typing this I am finishing my protein shake and I will walk the mason jar to the dishwasher when I'm done. On the way I'll notice something and deal with it. Or theoretically make a mental note to deal with it in a minute, but I have ADHD which means, essentially, no short term memory. Hopefully I notice it later.</p><p>Today I am grateful for my dishwasher.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-52634249782242326832023-03-19T11:34:00.000-07:002023-03-19T11:34:17.017-07:00Tears<p>I'm sitting at a side table I got from a friend recently. She posted it on FB and I said that I would love it. She rescued it from the street in Charlestown, MA years ago and is ready to pass it on. It fits perfectly with my Early American Attic aesthetic. It also looked like it would be the perfect height for me to use for a desk in my new office.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJiB6RElm7UICqrk00fTezwtnz8qkvq8FsbbBgefNi02Y5CNPSUOWJaDyO_Zl9rAGau8iyPwen0i3qnn6Ik_HRL-vSIcBGGEH_F9Gk9POfyxs4ehGg2DVc72GWkNdOULNkSx1IYF8phQQWm-2KDd1_JcayLnR35qmwaTugYRq5TFI6bpZz2sOcyMs9wg/s4032/new%20desk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJiB6RElm7UICqrk00fTezwtnz8qkvq8FsbbBgefNi02Y5CNPSUOWJaDyO_Zl9rAGau8iyPwen0i3qnn6Ik_HRL-vSIcBGGEH_F9Gk9POfyxs4ehGg2DVc72GWkNdOULNkSx1IYF8phQQWm-2KDd1_JcayLnR35qmwaTugYRq5TFI6bpZz2sOcyMs9wg/s320/new%20desk.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>A side table as a desk? WTH Tara, aren't there better options?</p><p>Nope. Using the computer at my dining table leaves me crippled. My feet don't reach the floor so they rest on the bar of the chair as I hunch over the computer, but my arms are too high and my shoulder girdle gets all tight, it is a complete nightmare of physical pain.</p><p>I have a chair that is a bit smaller, though it has been at my dining table for years, so my feet reach the floor when I sit in it. With this side table, that has leaves that can be raised and lowered on the side, my computer is at almost the perfect height - my elbows are very close to 90 degrees keeping my shoulder girdle much happier.</p><p>I read my homework for tomorrow so I have the handout and the absurd quantity of markers and highlighters I use when reading my homework, and the caddy I keep the absurd quantity in. I have my journal in case I had something to share with my folks. I have a notepad where I record edits that I would make in the handouts. Being able to record them helps my brain move on and focus on what I'm reading instead of a missing word or punctuation. I have the quart mason jar of water that helps me drink water at home. Can't explain it but I actually drink water at home if I use the quart mason jar instead of a water bottle. Except at night - no open containers by the bed, it will definitely get knocked over by me or the cats.</p><p>I spent the morning, after making bacon, eggs, and cinnamon raisin toast for breakfast, organizing my kitchen cabinets. Reorganizing. Ana did an amazing job setting up my kitchen back in July. But I have lived with it since then and am trying something different. Partly because I am shorter than Ana and there are things I constantly need a step stool for, trying to change that.</p><p>After I did as much as I could there I moved on to other rearranging. Like my office, and the side table/desk that has been sitting on the porch since it came home with me two weeks ago. </p><p>Once I got it into the office I sat down to see how it would work. I started with the reading I needed to do for class tomorrow. Then (I think) I took a reading break. Currently borrowing Educated by Tara Westover on Libby and it is absolutely gripping, I'm having a hard time diving into it to the exclusion of all things necessary in my life.</p><p>Next up was the definition of ADHD, a task I need to complete in order to graduate and that I have been putting off for many weeks. Every time I think of it I get kind of paralyzed by the number of ideas the octopus brain produces - how to put them all in one definition that makes sense and doesn't read as a three page run-on sentence? I had made a really good start on it during a massage last week, but it fell out of my brain as soon as I crossed the threshold at the end of the massage - you know, the moment I had an opportunity to capture it in writing. I got a bit of it and decided to take that and see what I came up with. I made a good start, though I really wish I could send it to my dad for his input. He was a great writer and always helped me edit that kind of thing. I used to send him every blog post before I put it out into the world. He never suggested any changes, they come from my gut fully formed and he never saw a need to change them. Unless there was a grammatical change. I know he could help me refine my thoughts on the definition of ADHD. But I'll get there on my own, it just takes time.</p><p>Once I had a definition I could share with my classmates for input I sat at the table and tried to think of what else I needed to do.</p><p>I was at a complete loss. It was between 1:30 and 2:00 in the afternoon and I have used all the focus I have to get to this point. I almost can't think right now. Normally I'd head to the living room, turn on the TV and pick up the knitting, but that would be it for the day.</p><p>Instead I put the iPad in front of me and started reading. Currently Tara is at Cambridge being complimented by a professor. She is starting to understand her absolute need to run from the compliment, she wants the professor to yell at her, that is familiar and comfortable to her. She can't reconcile scholar and whore, I can't explain more than that, just read the book, it's shocking and brilliantly written.</p><p>At any rate, I'm reading and her emotion is flowing off the page and washing over me and it is devastating. I'm sitting at my new desk crying as I read and trying to read faster to get to the point where she figures this stuff out and doesn't run from other people recognizing her brilliance.</p><p>It's too much. Combined with the blankness that comes when I have exhausted my executive function abilities for the day and the emotion of not having my dad around to help me edit something that is necessary for me to graduate and become a fully certified ADHD life coach, it's just too f*cking much.</p><p>The problem is that, having reached the exhaustion of my executive function capacity for the day, I can't even figure out where to go from here. </p><p>This is life with ADHD. I got up about 8:30 and had enough focus to get through to about 1:45. There is so much day left and I have so many things to do. But I have reached the point where I can look at a mess that needs to be picked up and literally have no comprehension of how to proceed.</p><p>So I sit down and read. Or I watch TV and knit. I have 40 minutes until a meeting with a classmate - and no idea how I'll get through that.</p><p>It's moments like this when I look at a busy week ahead and realize that I may not get anything done other than going to work and class because there just isn't brain enough to make that happen. Meal prep would be a good thing for after my meeting today, but I can't even fathom what foods to get.</p><p>And I have typed all the stuff from my gut and there is no more.</p><p>Except to say that I will be moving from grief writing to ADHD writing. I started my studies on 2 January 2023 and will graduate in January. We finish our studies in July and then we focus on practicing and putting things in place to start our practices as coaches. I have learned so much about myself since I was diagnosed in September of 2015. It turns out I had just scratched the surface. So much is becoming clear to me and I am so excited to help other people navigate life with ADHD. It can be challenging, but as I learn all the challenges I face I am finding that leaning into the ADHD has made my life so much easier. I have built so much more scaffolding to keep me moving through the world in a productive and happy way, reducing stress with each new level of scaffolding. I'm super excited to share this with anyone who is interested.</p><p>Enjoy your Sunday afternoon, whatever that looks like.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-67904805602098896482023-02-14T15:28:00.000-08:002023-02-14T15:28:08.662-08:00Happy Birthday Dianna<p>In late 2012 I asked on FB if anyone wanted to join me for my birthday weekend at the Rock N' Roll Half Marathon in Washington DC. My friend Dianna expressed interest, but I didn't get myself together, so the trip didn't happen.</p><p>But I asked again for 2015 and Dianna was in. I offered up frequent flyer miles to fly down because I couldn't afford any other way. This was before my ADHD diagnosis, my realization that I lack impulse control, my second bankruptcy, and me gaining control over my finances. I initially booked the hotel that was a sponsor of the event, but then I looked at Price Rite, no, that's not right . . . Priceline, and found a much better deal on a hotel that seemed like it would be alright.</p><p>I booked a super early flight on Thursday March 12th so we could have a couple of days in DC before the race and we flew out on my birthday, Sunday the 15th. Our friend Morag lives in Baltimore and offered to pick us up at the hotel on Sunday, take us out to breakfast, and drop us off at the airport.</p><p>It was all set up to be an excellent visit.</p><p>I was getting my place ready for Dianna to arrive on Wednesday evening when it occurred to me, just a few hours before we were going to spend four days together, that we hadn't seen each other in 34 years and had only been in touch for a few years on FB - would we even like each other in person?!?</p><p>Dianna had the same thought at about the same time.</p><p>Dianna arrived, I'm assuming we had dinner, we spent the evening organizing ourselves for the trip, and went to bed.</p><p>So far so good.</p><p>We got up and got to the airport, flew to BWI, navigated all the trains to get to our hotel, which turned out to be gorgeous!</p><p>So far so good.</p><p>We got there way before check in, but were able to leave our bags while we explored the city. We left the bags and took off for the National Zoo where we had a great time, despite seeing an otter rape. Seriously, dude did not get the no means no training.</p><p>So far so good.</p><p>My memory sucks, which I have recently learned is a symptom of ADHD, so I'm not sure where everything falls, but we walked the National Zoo, a couple of Smithsonians, saw a spectacular photo exhibit and both bought the National Geographics that have all the photos, went to the Lincoln Memorial (my favorite), saw the Viet Nam Memorial which was deeply moving, walked to packet pickup and all through the expo. We walked past a Scientology church. That was two days worth, and I probably missed something.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzbJhMm5Cuudxlk9z544xN8dZQDqkSEhWfHkLBROU4bAk_FuJ-optpju2POOf21zuSlIY43_NqcOZ230_MHUm7Ezp8lMCrHU0Hni02rmvPv2rRgvDvTmpd1cPleYNvaFwZqjRCsD5z2cT2nAeTXnd1n1QaAJnW8lAR9zgKPqof9UwrAFI5R5wERJ2ehg/s1280/IMG_6196%202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzbJhMm5Cuudxlk9z544xN8dZQDqkSEhWfHkLBROU4bAk_FuJ-optpju2POOf21zuSlIY43_NqcOZ230_MHUm7Ezp8lMCrHU0Hni02rmvPv2rRgvDvTmpd1cPleYNvaFwZqjRCsD5z2cT2nAeTXnd1n1QaAJnW8lAR9zgKPqof9UwrAFI5R5wERJ2ehg/s320/IMG_6196%202.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>We walked miles and miles and miles and miles.</p><p>Before running a half marathon.</p><p>I'm not saying it was brilliant. But the weather was perfect and we talked and laughed and had a truly fantastic weekend.</p><p>It rained on the day of the race, super unpleasant. But we both finished and managed to find each other at the end of the race. We hopped the subway back to our hotel and stayed there all afternoon just trying to warm up. There were baths, books, and some TV. It was lovely.</p><p>Since then we have visited each other occasionally. We try on ridiculous clothes and laugh hysterically. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicCV9tLwRI35HIqYdxPQ8cwMiwS-uLqFJFEqVtz0MttlkrVC_mkTkcD57S5n3X62N_AnQaoksYzr3HcFZ00hjm066pXdoSz09u_EplYW90y9uLW2TZTdFNCNgIsud-w6tFv55T_h4DnMgOa6IpOthUe9gZHzaFzurURlzx7sgIcPqrnD8BAZAfeexlfw/s3264/IMG_6486.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicCV9tLwRI35HIqYdxPQ8cwMiwS-uLqFJFEqVtz0MttlkrVC_mkTkcD57S5n3X62N_AnQaoksYzr3HcFZ00hjm066pXdoSz09u_EplYW90y9uLW2TZTdFNCNgIsud-w6tFv55T_h4DnMgOa6IpOthUe9gZHzaFzurURlzx7sgIcPqrnD8BAZAfeexlfw/w150-h200/IMG_6486.jpeg" width="150" /></a></div><br />Actually, if I'm being honest, Dianna tries the clothes on and I laugh hysterically. We talk often. We text even more. We have been there for each other as we deal with aging parents. I have told Dianna that when the time comes I will be whatever she needs, but also asked her to tell her parents to hang on until I have done some processing. I'm still grieving, but I have gotten to a point where I am ready should anything happen to Dianna's parents. We have scheduled our third week in Maine for this summer. We both like to read, swim, knit, kayak, walk. This coming year there will be a hike to the top of Streaked Mountain so I can scatter some of my dads ashes. I'll probably take mom too, I just can't imagine leaving some of dad without leaving some of mom.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpbyZBO013wjKns9Ah2JgC06aWfGGNuXqXPDwamQovvM6NNVYLDxsAjgjhmh8U8SActVDGaCOP5x2IVyAoCBhPQWuU8DOr9-u6oo1Bog1131ZsFGEIBPTf46db2db2zinDVtf94d3kuErNCPuC7h8b9CMli4UWkiJM-LwbaE2cacV_thLWsD6fUnrGYQ/s4032/IMG_1418.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpbyZBO013wjKns9Ah2JgC06aWfGGNuXqXPDwamQovvM6NNVYLDxsAjgjhmh8U8SActVDGaCOP5x2IVyAoCBhPQWuU8DOr9-u6oo1Bog1131ZsFGEIBPTf46db2db2zinDVtf94d3kuErNCPuC7h8b9CMli4UWkiJM-LwbaE2cacV_thLWsD6fUnrGYQ/w150-h200/IMG_1418.jpeg" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Dianna was at the end of the phone line when I was taking care of my parents and was one of the first texts/phone calls when they died. I can tell her to shut up when she's trying to fix me and I just need her to listen. I can tell her that it drives me nuts when she multitasks on our phone calls because it's loud and super distracting, but that I understand it's what she needs to do and it's okay. She can come to my house any time and I won't stress about cleaning up - she knows who I am, how I live, and I am okay with her seeing it.</p><p><br />I would have survived the last four years without Dianna, but I'm really glad I didn't have to.</p><p>Happy Birthday Dianna, you make 60 look good.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-17074699722623829802023-01-26T08:53:00.004-08:002023-01-26T09:03:00.198-08:00Anxiety and Grief and Tears Oh My!On Monday I found out I no longer qualify for Mass Health. Now I have to navigate the health connector, pay for health and dental insurance, and give up going to the doctor.<div><br /></div><div>Unsurprisingly, this is causing anxiety.</div><div><br /></div><div>Last night I texted a friend who lives with anxiety. Unfortunately we have very different schedules and she was long asleep when I texted at 8:50pm.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I watched TV. Worked on my knitting. Packaged up a return.</div><div><br /></div><div>It turns out that noise cancelling head phones stress me out. They were recommended for my ADHD Coach training course as it's all on zoom. They came and I finally tried them. Not a fan. Though sounds tend to draw my attention, if there are no sounds my attention goes to where the hell are the sounds.</div><div><br /></div><div>They also gave me a bit of a headache.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hence the return. Which is also problematic as the only option for return to Amazon was to have UPS pickup the package at my house. It means you don't have to print a label, but you do have to print the lithium battery warning and the return form to go inside the box. And you have to have an adult over the age of 18 at the house. I am over 18, but I have to leave my house for work and who knows when UPS will come by?!? If they try three times then you have to send it back another way, but I tried to find another way to send it when I set up the return and there was no other option. WTF Amazon, WTF?</div><div><br /></div><div>I got to bed later than I should have and it's 10:15 and I am not yet on the bike. I know, you thought I was going to say I'm not out of bed, but I am. I would have been on the bike, but I got the thought for this piece and I had to get it out of my head.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I really wanted last night was my parents. As I wrote in my journal, the letters I write to my parents, last night: I could really use a good conversation with you I could vent all my crazy, no one knows my crazy the way you do. This is a problem as no one is likely to figure it out any time soon.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's not just that my parents know my crazy, it's the relationship we had and how we listened to each other. it wasn't always perfect - show me a relationship that is - but it was comfortable, it flowed, and it made me feel better. I just wanted my mommy and daddy.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixEujlzgRcM2OClyeen55NNFHgsl1fx1w45p7RsRjlLTbrUioir1jybmmW34SunI3qnyQW8PiDcex34XkVGk1PCa4H-AYSU1gQ-LD7E1QUJH4it8vH6twj-xXufOOdOmxMZ5cv33IO9QrTXspwtuUa3VVM06YnyGmzbJGO81HL90DtpjQixvCw_B6L1g/s4032/list.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixEujlzgRcM2OClyeen55NNFHgsl1fx1w45p7RsRjlLTbrUioir1jybmmW34SunI3qnyQW8PiDcex34XkVGk1PCa4H-AYSU1gQ-LD7E1QUJH4it8vH6twj-xXufOOdOmxMZ5cv33IO9QrTXspwtuUa3VVM06YnyGmzbJGO81HL90DtpjQixvCw_B6L1g/w240-h322/list.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>This morning, while I was playing games on my phone while I waited for my watch to charge, my friend called me. I told her why I called and she asked if I wanted her to help or just listen. I wanted any ideas she had to offer.</div><div><br /></div><div>First she told me that she would respond to the health insurance the same way because health insurance is f*cked up in this country. Then she told me that even though she is in a very different situation financially, AKA more comfortable, when there is a financial speed bump she goes straight to anxiety. Then she said, get on the bike exercise helps. I told her I am. She said, make a list. I said, I did last night. There may have been another suggestion, I can't remember. She said, see - you're doing all the stuff I would.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We talked a bit more about me. Then I asked about her and she told me some stuff about challenges she's been facing that have made very positive turns, that made me happy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nothing has changed about my situation.</div><div><br /></div><div>I didn't get to talk to my parents.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yet I feel better.</div><div><br /></div><div>Being open and accepting what is around, no matter how much you want the thing that will never be there, can move you forward.</div><div><br /></div><div>So be open and accepting.</div><div><br /></div><div>And remind me to do that, sometimes I forget.</div>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-35164891859651318462023-01-23T08:38:00.003-08:002023-01-23T08:38:46.404-08:00The 17 month and 2 day year of firsts<p>Today is the anniversary of my fathers death, by date. It marks a year that lasted 17 months and two days, the year I thought I had to get through to "be okay."</p><p>It marks a year that had so many firsts I couldn't even acknowledge all of them.</p><p>And I really did think that getting through the first year would be the key. I didn't realize that my first year would last 17 months and two days.</p><p>I didn't realize the first year would be so confusing. We lost mom in so many ways long before she died. And when she died my focus turned to daddy, he was alone in the apartment and losing capacity. I was with him as much as I could be and I didn't show him my grief, except when he asked where I was going when I stepped out of the apartment to cry.</p><p>Five months and two days after mom died, dad was gone.</p><p>Grief was my entire focus.</p><p>I heard so much about the year of firsts, I believed there was some magic in it - getting through the year of firsts would make everything different.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPk-2lYprbAGL09cLi5HkhjMQ-WW726faNsbmy2zSE4juoyufOg42rPPaUbwpB_fgxe54566WQ8ryl1ln8x6mxubZqXlnj9ZGhxNldx_kAcDk8IiBEitiyyaGmSEgN4h9NLF449-d1IdQyuF7gSJjmOepGZ64-F3bhrm_CfSJOLQtioJNt78UFpPSb7g/s2448/IMG_1535.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="2448" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPk-2lYprbAGL09cLi5HkhjMQ-WW726faNsbmy2zSE4juoyufOg42rPPaUbwpB_fgxe54566WQ8ryl1ln8x6mxubZqXlnj9ZGhxNldx_kAcDk8IiBEitiyyaGmSEgN4h9NLF449-d1IdQyuF7gSJjmOepGZ64-F3bhrm_CfSJOLQtioJNt78UFpPSb7g/w200-h200/IMG_1535.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>My year of firsts lasted 17 months and two days, everything is not different. The last several months have been really hard. All the loving family ads/movies/etc of the holidays followed by the last two weeks remembering the time I spent with daddy as he died. I have been amazed at how it has all affected me physically and mentally. Last week I forced myself to get on the bike, I think that helped, but the streak was interrupted by a visit to friends in New Hampshire. I came home early from NH due to a storm moving in, so tomorrow I will get back on the bike. I can't explain to you how much effort it takes to force myself onto the bike, even though exercise helps my mood a lot. It also helps my executive function, a bonus.<br /><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPCNw9XWjI4Nsak5uLgRh9sZeeGV0D7a5_9M1LxdcOjIrx4Ug0qotlYYzfqsjf-KwJldCt4SsfZjceGwZK3ddXfR0M8zdLoVCXgRF0Q4pRYx4uD2GUAQzzvyelmusV_UhLDnBF5TTYxOYK8sbPLLVqr-Kk-wFzh3aDAjUwx1JFCe9jxxNvdZQwszVNiQ/s4288/DSC_0038.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4288" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPCNw9XWjI4Nsak5uLgRh9sZeeGV0D7a5_9M1LxdcOjIrx4Ug0qotlYYzfqsjf-KwJldCt4SsfZjceGwZK3ddXfR0M8zdLoVCXgRF0Q4pRYx4uD2GUAQzzvyelmusV_UhLDnBF5TTYxOYK8sbPLLVqr-Kk-wFzh3aDAjUwx1JFCe9jxxNvdZQwszVNiQ/s320/DSC_0038.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>Today is the end of the year that lasted 17 months and two days. Nothing is different, it just marks the start of another 365 days without my parents.<br /><p></p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-77461170313114545852023-01-20T09:47:00.003-08:002023-01-20T09:47:21.418-08:00Sometimes you just have to push through<p>I got on my bike for the fifth day in a row this morning. I wasn't sure I would as I'm visiting friends for the weekend and I often am throwing things together very last minute in a completely haphazard way. But I got up before my alarm and decided a few minutes were better than no minutes.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9HF8D1hWOlARoBLP6Oe3JkxRaajhpT13MgofY8qx0D-WSH5J5i6P7LwvnnJOGoly_Q28tEO29noecDT-5PzMC0qe7wCweyQNcW0oMc7bl9Wex9mhzTcHvGwqbIf1rZnoWmlpSWQ3wctXC0Qlht-xaHCcZbUZU32SFImqRo8dJhGVvhsAsmvGuhda2xg/s4032/Suitcase%20cats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9HF8D1hWOlARoBLP6Oe3JkxRaajhpT13MgofY8qx0D-WSH5J5i6P7LwvnnJOGoly_Q28tEO29noecDT-5PzMC0qe7wCweyQNcW0oMc7bl9Wex9mhzTcHvGwqbIf1rZnoWmlpSWQ3wctXC0Qlht-xaHCcZbUZU32SFImqRo8dJhGVvhsAsmvGuhda2xg/s320/Suitcase%20cats.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Packing started last night, sort of. Actually a couple of days ago when I made my list in my planner. Last night I pulled out my suitcase to start packing and realized quickly that I didn't have the juice to get it started. Plus, much of what I pack is stuff I needed for going to bed and being in bed. Then this happened so I just gave in.<br /><p></p><p>I did 20 minutes this morning. Less than would have happened had I had the time. I started with 20 minutes on Monday, 25 Tuesday, 30 Wednesday. I jumped to 40 yesterday because I was at a compelling point in my book and I had the time to stick with it.</p><p>Today would have been 40 again, or 45 if I had time. I woke up at 7:22, 38 minutes before my alarm. I managed to get on the bike at 7:43. In theory I could have been on the bike by 7:30, that was my intent. But then I read Heather Cox Richardson, brushed my teeth and other bathroom things, got dressed, had to get water. Frankly, it was a miracle I got on the bike.</p><p>But I did and was going to go until 8 sharp. Again, my book was good and I like to end at the end of a section or chapter, somewhere it makes sense to stop, when possible, so I rode a bit past 8.</p><p>Then I took a shower ending with cold water and MELTing my feet. I made an egg scramble that has turned more into sautéed veggies with some egg - broccoli, red pepper, poblano pepper, red onion, jalapeño chicken sausage, cheddar. So delicious.</p><p>After all that I finally packed. I have everything ready. Except I just gave a massage and remembered one thing that is still home. Fortunately home is pretty much on the way to my friends house.</p><p>The point of all this is that I have biked five days in a row.</p><p>I haven't done too much physical exercise in the last four years. When I was taking care of my parents I was focused on them, work, sleep - in that order. I don't function well without sleep so getting up early to exercise was off the agenda. I am currently paying the price for that. I am very close to turning 60 and not being super active is showing up in my joints etc. My weight has dropped a smidge and is holding steady, phew. Still, I would like to be a bit smaller.</p><p>When my dad died I went to a specialty bra shop and bought a couple of workout bras. I was all, now that they are gone, I will have time to do this thing I love, this working out being active thing.</p><p>I was dead f*cking wrong about that. Grief and depression make everything harder. Which means that focusing on what has to be done is the priority. Things like getting to work, taking a shower, cooking a dinner, laundry. Even some of the necessary things fall to the wayside.</p><p>Everything has been more challenging since my mom died in August 2021, though I didn't notice it right away because I was focused on what daddy needed. After he died I noticed how hard everything was.</p><p>Living with and processing grief takes a lot out of a person. Well, it takes a lot out of me. I think a broad sweeping statement is appropriate here, but I won't fully presume to speak for all people living with grief. It is exhausting to carry the weight of the loss, the constant awareness that you will never again speak to this person you love so much - these two people in my case. Learning to live without the people I turned to in the most challenging moments of my life has been quite the journey.</p><p>A journey that continues. And my therapist assures me that I am moving in a healthy direction and that I'm not as much of a basket case as I am occasionally convinced that I am.</p><p>So I have put a lot of effort into those five bike rides. I have a couple of days off from them as I won't be home and I'm not bringing my bike and all the accoutrement to my friends house, But come Monday, when I get home, I will make a point to get on the bike and spin it out.</p><p>And again Tuesday.</p><p>And again Wednesday.</p><p>And you get the point.</p><p>I will not let the sad darkness convince me that laying in bed dicking around on FB or playing Candy Crush is better than taking care of my physical body. The sad darkness is wrong and I will continue fighting to remember that.</p><p><br /></p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-28822001775795792072023-01-18T21:26:00.002-08:002023-01-18T21:26:55.228-08:00Girls weekend or no girls weekend?<p>A year ago today I was trying to decide whether to head to Pittsfield, NH for a girls weekend at my friends house.</p><p>It was a lot less about the girls weekend and a lot more about sleeping a whole night through.</p><p>I had been with my dad for almost two weeks and he was close to the end of his life. I hadn't slept a whole night through the whole time I was with him. Either he was calling my name for help or I was unable to sleep because, well, my dad was dying and I was super f*cking sad.</p><p>By this point I would burst into tears when the nurses asked me a question, I was so very sleep deprived that I couldn't remember things, I couldn't make decisions. I had nothing left.</p><p>But daddy was really close to the end and it felt awful to think about leaving him. How could I possibly leave? Seriously, how could I leave my sweet daddy all by himself?</p><p>Except my dad would have told me, had he been able, to go spend the weekend with my friends. Go get some sleep. Go eat a good meal. Honestly I couldn't tell you what I ate the time I was with my dad. There were a couple of grilled cheese from the facility. I've told you about those grilled cheese - they are crunchy and buttery, made with bread that has zero nutritional value - essentially the perfect comfort food. That's the only thing I can affirmatively say I ate. Go and have some margaritas. Go relax and laugh with your friends.</p><p>Siobhan reinforced my belief that daddy would want me to go.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsO5XfkBj8_c41y66eWx6PNBqRFET2qcAT7gWgxnlygkAqxWL_yUc2m1YzLxeae4irOqp46l0pHbefHwFa9mc6JxE3Y0KCGtiiTwoEDB9V08IHbyc0akpD3dFcqQblEesEuVTWTmHKeX1IfIVcCI4866kzj-mfIcRTYdIwTrvYusCKXnNUoeIurAe-dQ/s640/P1000165.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsO5XfkBj8_c41y66eWx6PNBqRFET2qcAT7gWgxnlygkAqxWL_yUc2m1YzLxeae4irOqp46l0pHbefHwFa9mc6JxE3Y0KCGtiiTwoEDB9V08IHbyc0akpD3dFcqQblEesEuVTWTmHKeX1IfIVcCI4866kzj-mfIcRTYdIwTrvYusCKXnNUoeIurAe-dQ/s320/P1000165.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>And I really, really, really needed some sleep.</p><p>I hired an aide to spend the nights with daddy. I arranged with some friends to sit with daddy during the day. I think I stopped at my apartment on the way to my friends house. But again, wouldn't swear to it, things are kind of blurry for much of those two weeks.</p><p>I arrived at my friends place on Friday afternoon. I'm sure we had a lovely dinner and some margaritas. Like I said, not many clear memories of last January exist in my brain.</p><p>Saturday was, no doubt, a lot of fun. I have awesome friends and when a few of us get together it is a blast. We had a slightly larger group than usual and it was a good time with lots of laughs.</p><p>Probably a bunch of tears as well.</p><p>As I was crawling into bed that Saturday, a year ago this coming Saturday, I got the call. That is a sharp memory. I answered, heard the voice and knew he was gone. The nurse asked me what they should do. I was four hours away in New Hampshire and, though I always planned to do what was needed to see my dad after he died, I couldn't fathom driving all that way and then being alone. So I said, I'm in New Hampshire, call my sister. Then I walked down the hall and crawled into bed with my friend and cried. And laughed. And cried. And laughed. And cried again.</p><p>It's very close to a year and it's still weird that he's gone. There are so many things I want to talk to my dad about. So many things I want to talk to my mom about. I spent two hours and 42 minutes on the phone with one of my cousins tonight. I said that I wished my mom was in her right mind when I realized I'm not really bad with money, I just have serious impulse control issues. Karen said, she knows, I really believe that's how energy works, if you want her to know she knows. I'm glad Karen called tonight, I needed to hear that.</p><p>I occasionally think that I should have been with daddy when he died, I shouldn't have left. Then I think about having to sleep in the apartment that night after he died, driving home to my apartment where I lived alone, spending the next few days alone. Instead I was with friends and, despite it being the weekend my dad died, we had a really good weekend. I stayed there until Tuesday being cared for by my friend Ana. What a gift that was. I may not remember much of January, but I know that weekend was a lifesaver and my dad would be glad that I was well taken care of by people I love. On Friday I leave for Pittsfield, NH again. I will have a bottle of Veuve Clicquot from the memorial party we held last September. My friends couldn't be there so we will toast the memory of my parents this weekend. We'll have another great weekend, and once again my friends will take care of me while my heart hurts.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-67390809565638279252023-01-11T11:50:00.002-08:002023-01-11T11:50:21.906-08:00Phew<p>Recent posts are all about the anniversaries that are happening this month. There's a lot of sad and grief attached to the memories. There's a lot of sad and grief in my day to day life.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEMr2mMrmjPk-4TIk6-8b09EXFY89fwluDP48RYUjsiSkMn1Sssz4MM4KbjC9W6hiWpENV0_IAorJ4c73f-aHpKxduyfiiHwzw97PHEFSKbbO6G2pGwcRMznnTxJLKJswrKoz7DOOCSJ6JniM-6qkQH3i9DDVX7y5HW3JnIvjcxBxXmrVRm_zwxBRfOQ/s1483/Text%20from%20Dianna.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1483" data-original-width="1043" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEMr2mMrmjPk-4TIk6-8b09EXFY89fwluDP48RYUjsiSkMn1Sssz4MM4KbjC9W6hiWpENV0_IAorJ4c73f-aHpKxduyfiiHwzw97PHEFSKbbO6G2pGwcRMznnTxJLKJswrKoz7DOOCSJ6JniM-6qkQH3i9DDVX7y5HW3JnIvjcxBxXmrVRm_zwxBRfOQ/s320/Text%20from%20Dianna.png" width="225" /></a></div>But that is not my entire life.<p></p><p>This morning I got a text from my friend. It made me think. First, what a wonderful friend to read my blog - there aren't many of you and each one is appreciated. But mostly I thought, hmmmm, I'm processing my grief in public and it might look like that is all there is.</p><p>That is not all there is.</p><p>Last week I started my ADHD coach training. It's a class of 15 plus the instructor and it's really good. Our first 16 classes are about ADHD. I'm learning about myself and I'm learning about aspects of ADHD that I don't live with. We are talking about coaching, but in a more general, here's things to be aware of kind of way so it's not too intimidating.</p><p>On Sunday I'm heading to Rye, NH to do a seal walk with a friend. We'll probably go to the Kittery Trading Post, have a nice meal somewhere, maybe hit Hampton Beach - empty beaches are way better than full ones. I'm looking forward to it. I'm not sure how close we get to seals, but it'll be closer than I've been before as I don't know that I've been anywhere near a seal before.</p><p>The following week I'm heading up to NH to spend a few days with dear dear friends. It's the anniversary of my dads death and my friend just got laid off, there will be tequila. But as I told her, that weekend at her house last year was a really nice weekend - despite my dads death in the middle of it. We will have a great time, regardless of tequila consumption.</p><p>In April I will, hopefully, take my Christmas trip to Austin. I haven't seen those friends in over four years. There will be tequila, Mexican food and puzzles. Though I doubt we will solve the puzzle of why people in TX eat at Taco Bell when there is authentic Mexican food on the opposite corner, that is a constant bafflement to me.</p><p>My house is coming together. Though I did my therapy zoom in my office, AKA second bedroom, today and realized that I will have to paint the closet doors at a minimum, probably the inside of the second closet as well. The first closet has no doors as it is where my office storage stuff, printer, and shredder reside. It has already been painted white. I have some finishing work to do on the walls of the kitchen and the laundry room. They are both already a million times better being white, even though they need the second or third coat of paint, than when they were fake wood paneling. The cabinet doors will be quite a project as I am painting them in place and the paint is special cabinet paint that is basically colored water and kind of a pain to use, but once dry is pretty great. It will take several coats, but I'm confident the finished product will be bright and cheerful. I'm looking at orange, probably a pale orange or darker orange below a fake chair rail and pail, peachy orange above, depends how motivated I am. Maybe start with the pale orange and then paint the darker orange over the bottom. Not really sure where I'll end up with that.</p><p>Exercise is still a sticky wicket. I find that I motivate to do other things before that. It's part of depression, but also it's because I have a bunch of document stuff that needs to happen, and I'm trying to keep chaos out of my house. As much as I need to exercise, I'm allowing it to be less of a priority so that I actually get something done, rather than hiding in bed or watching TV to avoid the exercise. It's working for me right now. Though my trip to Spain is looming and I know I have to be ready to walk A LOT for two weeks so it will have to be a priority sooner than later.</p><p>I feel good about the direction I'm heading in. Writing this blog helps me process the grief. Unfortunately that may make my life appear bleak to readers. My writing often comes from my pain so that is the focus, regardless of how good things might be generally.</p><p>Worry ye not, I am hanging in, making progress, and feeling good about all of it.</p><p></p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-16829991128479062772023-01-10T15:50:00.000-08:002023-01-10T15:50:00.666-08:00Today is the day<p>A year ago today, Tuesday the 11th of January, my dad asked me to stay with him for companionship. I spent the next two weeks knitting, reading, watching HGTV, and attempting to make daddy comfortable.</p><p>This was a monumental task as I was pretty much alone in it. The nurses at the facility were great, but they had a lot of folks to deal with. The aides were great, toward the end we mostly saw the aides that were very caring and enjoyed my dad. They were thoughtful of him, they were thoughtful of me, that helped as much s it could.</p><p>It was hospice that let me down.</p><p>I have a client who used to be a hospice nurse. She would meet with the family of a patient actively dying, talk about the goals, and explain exactly what they could do to make their loved one comfortable, ie how to use the morphine to keep them out of pain and, hopefully, shorten their suffering.</p><p>I didn't get that. I was given the code to the hospice box and told that I could give dad "this much" morphine for break through pain in between his standard doses. That is the entirety of the information I was given. I wasn't concerned with hastening the end of his life, I just didn't know what was truly acceptable.</p><p>My dad thought he would be gone by the weekend when he asked me to stay. He was round another week. He asked me what was taking so long. The Monday after the Tuesday he told me to stop giving him liquids. That was the hardest thing. It took another six days for him to die.</p><p>I tried to get hospice to send a nurse out for the overnights when I was heading out to spend the weekend with friends. That may sound callous, but the weekend had been long planned and I hadn't slept a full three hours in a row in two weeks. I was so tired that I would burst into tears when the nurses asked me a question. I could no longer think, I needed a couple of nights of good sleep.</p><p>Hospice told me I would have to hire an aide. Except aides can't give morphine. So for about 12 hours a day there was no one to give my dad any relief from pain, and he needed that relief by that point. I spoke to the nurses, I think one of them found me crying. I told them the problem I was having and they agreed that the morning shift would get to dad first thing on arrival and the evening shift would see dad at the last minute before they left the building.</p><p>They only had to do that three times, dad died on Saturday night.</p><p>This anniversary, this month, is refreshing my grief and my questions. Should I just have given him the morphine every two hours? Did I need to make the attempts at documentation that I made? Why couldn't anyone find files?</p><p>Why is it so fucking hard to have some basic protocols in place to help someone dealing with the active death of a loved one?</p><p>The time with my dad dying wasn't the hard part. Well mostly it wasn't. I was, and am, so grateful that he asked me, that he knew it was okay, that he trusted I could be with him, that he didn't worry about the aftermath, that he gave me the gift of being with him those two weeks.</p><p>The hard part was trying to get the support I needed. I am going to schedule a meeting with the director of that hospice. I know that covid created a lot of staffing issues, but it wouldn't have taken a lot of staff to spend 20 minutes with me telling me exactly what I could, and could not, do to help my dad through the process of dying. And it wouldn't have taken a lot of staff to be with him that last Friday night and few hours on Saturday, which is exactly the role they are supposed to play.</p><p>I thought today might be one of those days that I would really want to stay in bed. It continues to be grey and, frankly, a bit depressing here in western Massachusetts. But I got up, got dressed, cleaned my bedside tables - they were my folks, including the lamps I have on them, and I've been meaning to clean them since I started using them when I moved to my new place - IN JULY. I emptied my dishwasher. I checked my budget, which is in good shape, but gets out of control easily if I don't spend a couple of minutes daily to update transactions, than you You Need A Budget (YNAB). In between I texted support to a friend who found out this morning that she's been laid off. I did the second day of Ten Percents program, The Dalai Lama's Guide to Happiness. Am I 10% happier? No idea, but I know a regular mediation practice will help so I am doing my damndest to make that happen. And I wrote this - with various cats lying on my arms. As soon as I finish I'll change into work clothes, make something to eat and head to work.</p><p>Yesterday I told you about good advice I got, do something each day that you would have done with your dad, something he would enjoy, something that would make him proud. My dad was worried how I would be after he died and what I've done today? That would thrill him to bits. He would be (is?) so happy that I am up and functioning, living - granted with grief, but living well.</p><p>Today is the day I am starting to believe that I will be okay. Not that I didn't know I would be, I have been. But today is the day I am starting to know, in my core, that the agonizing grief is morphing, painfully slowly, but morphing into the kind of pain I can live with. It will never be gone. It doesn't have to be as long as it is the kind I can live with while still enjoying my life.</p><p>On Sunday I'm going to Rye, NH to do a seal walk with my friend Kris at the Seacoast Science Center. I can just see my dads reaction to me telling him that, it makes me smile. On this day when I really didn't think I'd be able to smile. And holy crap - as I type this the sun has come out from the clouds to brighten my living room.</p><p>I told you dads reaction would be great.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPxmY5kOJCzPuHlAX07rZLkwxfsNw8rBm_-QtNKgVzxNMpTUWFXvBSNphnOsqntGFjMJDnEJ5SCuUmJwDNaLIJKnwjS_OABuBrgLSrDNsybXp5UOXtQKZ3HyzLCzTbeEmc7x7aazyU-AllxGIE4_3BywoJrWdsKCJ8EkgvbH00oxUqho5Z78waPQJVdA/s3264/IMG_0258.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPxmY5kOJCzPuHlAX07rZLkwxfsNw8rBm_-QtNKgVzxNMpTUWFXvBSNphnOsqntGFjMJDnEJ5SCuUmJwDNaLIJKnwjS_OABuBrgLSrDNsybXp5UOXtQKZ3HyzLCzTbeEmc7x7aazyU-AllxGIE4_3BywoJrWdsKCJ8EkgvbH00oxUqho5Z78waPQJVdA/s320/IMG_0258.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My dad was obsessed with evergreen <br />trees, took this in the Carribbean for him.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-22124413943345593732023-01-09T19:45:00.000-08:002023-01-09T19:45:03.091-08:00Good AdviceJanuary, as I told you the other day, is being difficult. This month, where almost every day is an anniversary related to my dads death, is refreshing my grief. Something I had not expected. I've been super sleepy, feeling like I'm about to come down with a cold, and not able to motivate myself outside for exercise.<div><br /><div>On Friday I had an appointment with my therapist, that I totally missed. The ADHD tax, time blindness, read my calendar wrong.</div><div><br /></div></div><div>I cried. After I texted Liz to see if we could at least meet for whatever minutes were left of the session. She reached out after our time and we scheduled for late afternoon.</div><div><br /></div><div>Which turned out to be exactly what I needed. I cried and snotted and talked about the time I spent with dad and cried and snotted.</div><div><br /></div><div>Boy did that make me feel better. So much better. Surprisingly better.</div><div><br /></div><div>The days since then haven't been full of vim, vigor, and joy. But they have been productive. I haven't done all the things, but I have easily done the things that need doing, and a couple of things beyond that. It's felt pretty good.</div><div><br /></div><div>So what was the good advice? A couple of folks suggested I do something every day that I would have done with my dad, something that makes me think of him, something nice.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8O9WXGWuEUt73VDFNnr1AfrbtvnwmMWEPP6G_UEFc64OjkbkyouKQhrjIvh_bJAIWnSR1_szdfo9KiTmWRl4Yy4UG5FOgbuW_JZskbtYsJVWJma5MrnM6icQpwjJW6cP2BZ6tjP4rF7V6T-ag_3J7XH1fXiS6vGk7jHPWyFB19VYO_GwpM5f80bBXYQ/s3264/IMG_0837.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8O9WXGWuEUt73VDFNnr1AfrbtvnwmMWEPP6G_UEFc64OjkbkyouKQhrjIvh_bJAIWnSR1_szdfo9KiTmWRl4Yy4UG5FOgbuW_JZskbtYsJVWJma5MrnM6icQpwjJW6cP2BZ6tjP4rF7V6T-ag_3J7XH1fXiS6vGk7jHPWyFB19VYO_GwpM5f80bBXYQ/s320/IMG_0837.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><div>The other day I signed up for Ten Percent. They had a sale and I've been meaning to create a habit of daily (mostly) meditation. The Dalai Lama's Guide To Happiness started today and I did the first session.</div><div><br /></div><div>My dad would have liked that. In a quiet way, but he would have liked it.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I liked it. I'm looking forward to the second session tomorrow. I still miss my daddy. I'm still super sad. But I feel a little better and that's pretty okay.</div><br /><div><br /></div>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-53568925650065128102023-01-04T18:05:00.001-08:002023-01-04T18:05:16.631-08:00One Year<p>A year ago this coming Saturday my dad stopped eating. That day he told me he forgot to eat. He didn't make it clear that he was done immediately. I didn't have a client that Monday so I went down to visit him. I drove home because I had clients on Tuesday, but I went back on Tuesday for my weekly one or two night visit. That was when he said to me, I hate to ask, but could you take a few days off? I feel the need for companionship during this.</p><p>My dad was the best, he was all about my sister and I living our lives even when he and mom needed us so much. When I needed time with my friends he told me to have a good time. I still called him several times a day and went for a visit as soon as I possibly could.</p><p>But seriously, could I take a few days off? Try and keep me away.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqW-viFg8qwHkqhNtNRxF6LFsNN2oEKbocxFxoSHc-T0UBIBJtKy-OLeqqOorUMxgw4yGXL03CV2d6gUWBE8hgLJRQPaHZi-lGJPVdUIkmsi2PCLvzwOhSNrzcZ_3JAcEPZ4lBkxEBWrUNGNoYU0iNHhUqbQrmo7OUd-uysVZzgdThujRF4HVWBP2cJw/s640/IMG_1085.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqW-viFg8qwHkqhNtNRxF6LFsNN2oEKbocxFxoSHc-T0UBIBJtKy-OLeqqOorUMxgw4yGXL03CV2d6gUWBE8hgLJRQPaHZi-lGJPVdUIkmsi2PCLvzwOhSNrzcZ_3JAcEPZ4lBkxEBWrUNGNoYU0iNHhUqbQrmo7OUd-uysVZzgdThujRF4HVWBP2cJw/s320/IMG_1085.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>It was tough. Daddy thought he would be gone by he weekend, he meant it when he said a couple of days. I was with him for a couple of weeks. Sometimes we talked, we watched a lot of HGTV, I think there were some movies the first few days. I was thinking about it yesterday, I was wondering what I ate because I mostly didn't take meals from the dining area. I did have them bring me a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches, soft and gooey, but also crunchy - the best kind of nutrition less comfort good grilled cheese sandwiches. I also ate a lot of gumdrops, we had them for dad so that was also kind of a comfort thing. I know I must have eaten food during those two weeks, I have no recollection of what it might have been.</p><p>I wasn't with him when he died, I was with friends in New Hampshire. Whenever I regret that I wasn't with him when he left this world I remember that I would have been in that apartment with his body overnight and I would have gone home to my empty apartment by myself. Instead I got the call at 11:30 just as I was crawling into bed and I walked down the hall and crawled into bed with my friend Ana to cry and be hugged and feel my pain. I was with her when I got the call from the nurse who was on the way to the apartment and wanted to know what he should do about arrangements. I told him to call my sister and went back to chatting with Ana. I went back to my room at some point, I wasn't sure if I'd sleep and I didn't want my fidgeting to keep anyone else up.</p><p>Sunday morning I woke up to hugs from my friends, there were four of us that weekend. We had a nice breakfast. My friends were there for me without pushing me in any particular direction. I stayed until Tuesday and drove home.</p><p>I don't know if my dad waited until I was gone. It doesn't matter. He knew how hard all of it was and he knew how important my friends were to my sanity. Maybe he chose a time when I was with my friends, knowing they are equally my family.</p><p>Like I said, it doesn't matter. It is what happened.</p><p>And here we are, so much of this month is a one year anniversary of some event that makes me sad. It is weighing heavily on me. I slept a lot during the holidays, it was never enough. I thought I was getting sick, but that didn't come to pass. Then I realized, duh.</p><p>I was so focused on getting through the holidays that I forgot what was on the other side of them. Maybe it'll be easier once I get through this month, but I'm not holding my breath. There is always a moment when I would call them, or the memory of a moment at the end of their lives, a thing I want to tell them, something they would be proud of, something that would make them laugh, a movie we loved.</p><p>The bottom line is January sucks. The weight of my grief is heavy. At the same time things are good, my house is coming together, work is good, I'm starting on the next adventure in my work life, and I'm going to knock three things off my bucket list later this year. It should be noted that there are only four things on my bucket list so three in one trip is pretty great.</p><p>My dad is gone. And though I pretty much yell at anyone who tells me he's always with me - because when we're talking about it I just a hug from my dad - I know he is always with me.</p><p>Regardless, the pain of missing him is immense and also always with me.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-45846552164550284582022-12-31T20:15:00.003-08:002022-12-31T20:15:45.274-08:00Love Actually<p>Tonight is the end of the calendar year in which my dad was alive. I have watched all the Christmas movies: Miracle on 34th Street (black and white, of course), It's A Wonderful Life (also black and white), The Santa Clause, all the hokey ones I could find that were made in 2022 (I've spent the last couple of Christmas' anesthetizing with all the hokey Christmas movies made before 2022. I can't think of any others at the moment, I'm tired and I don't feel great.</p><p>I have been avoiding Love Actually like the plague. My dad loved it and we watched it together these last several years.</p><p>I didn't think I could get through it without crying.</p><p>I should say without crying more than usual, because seriously, can anyone get through Love Actually without crying?</p><p>My dad loved this movie. I love this movie. I love my dad.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJjqOYXCG648_8ObFUqcQxORPPh96ItTZv5KT7nMAVeysAD-mrN9W7AAaR2lTyqY9Tgf_aEQ3HWJzhg9TARQK3p6jZUA_3AEFA-GfJpWy3u7Bq2nFbVqlN52kXWm7CHFodZ24j3uRNznUEitAbIh6pRJqXsMX59CP-0EBefL2Rown1RULrdHEsKQQtUg/s1280/IMG_4696.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJjqOYXCG648_8ObFUqcQxORPPh96ItTZv5KT7nMAVeysAD-mrN9W7AAaR2lTyqY9Tgf_aEQ3HWJzhg9TARQK3p6jZUA_3AEFA-GfJpWy3u7Bq2nFbVqlN52kXWm7CHFodZ24j3uRNznUEitAbIh6pRJqXsMX59CP-0EBefL2Rown1RULrdHEsKQQtUg/s320/IMG_4696.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>No, not a typo, he may be gone, but I love him, that will never be past tense.</p><p>I've made it all the way through the movie without crying. Until just now when the little girl comes back to give Sam a kiss on the cheek. I knew that meant he would run to his dad and throw his tiny little boy self into ; ≥ arms.</p><p>I don't know if you've noticed, all Christmas (or I watched some movies that brought together the two holidays, they were lovely) movies have a dead parent. There were a lot of tears. So many dead parents, so many heart warming stories, so many tugged heart strings.</p><p>So many tears.</p><p>But not as many as I expected during Love Actually. I laughed. I cried. I cringed at Alan Rickmans behavior, I laughed at Hugh Grant dancing at #10 Downing, I mourned the end of Laura Linney's chance at happiness, I smiled as Colin Firth talked at cross purposes with his lady love, I wanted to hug Liam Neeson and Emma Thompson. And what can one say about Bill Nighy and Gregor Fisher? They are absurd and wonderful.</p><p>I'm so glad I took the chance on watching it. I enjoyed it so much.</p><p>I enjoyed it.</p><p>Somewhere my dad is happy that I watched. Happy that I enjoyed.</p><p>And so am I.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-19346746639263792162022-12-07T18:08:00.027-08:002022-12-07T18:45:29.534-08:00Thank you mommy<p>Years ago my family lived in a small cape in Hamden, Connecticut. There were five of us and one bathroom. Our TV room was a three season porch off the back of the house, we had lots of blankets. My sister and I had to wait for mom and dad to get up before we could watch Saturday cartoons because we had to go through their room to get to the TV. The fifth member of the house lived in the dining room.</p><p>My sister and I each had our own room upstairs.</p><p>Mom decorated the downstairs for Christmas. We didn't have a tree because we spent the week between Christmas and New Years with my grandparents. My mother was very talented and crafty, we had loads of awesome decorations.</p><p>One year my sister and I told mom that Christmas didn't make it upstairs. We wanted some Christmas upstairs.</p><p>So she made these: </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU-1_x0h1lSol2u2W6DzUoCMjLti0B5dVxuC7Ar_Yt2Q2VjFpQOVFjsoaM4Dt1kZeMBeJ7ZokYpdIohwEyKvMLDKvVtwZ4Tt6TXsPRX8UkwMAyVkmZPr8iU_pIvLLQwxwZgAx1_ZMMFhvtI8sgimYhl8DoGkCdHlNnIDTah4liPni6Zu4xIJiKydX1QA/s4032/Moms%20Christmas%20banner.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU-1_x0h1lSol2u2W6DzUoCMjLti0B5dVxuC7Ar_Yt2Q2VjFpQOVFjsoaM4Dt1kZeMBeJ7ZokYpdIohwEyKvMLDKvVtwZ4Tt6TXsPRX8UkwMAyVkmZPr8iU_pIvLLQwxwZgAx1_ZMMFhvtI8sgimYhl8DoGkCdHlNnIDTah4liPni6Zu4xIJiKydX1QA/s320/Moms%20Christmas%20banner.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>There were two of them. I think there was something else, but I can't remember what it was, that was more than 45 years ago! After that we always had some Christmas upstairs, even after we moved.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWRXaqUvyPVYAj1bFw7hppQEIoNQpgRWwNVl0rTmmyHwWnViVZbXRxci4rNSE7Ln1QphXZpHB5DqXbCEekYyEhoBjDDeorS5_-1VvPZlJzghZFxCKNWpPC5tsmIYV1cShE4lMzic5yQPdAsUOgdxGLDsqMfAa2y59li4HvyEVqTWZBYzjiperDPWllxQ/s4032/IMG_3337.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWRXaqUvyPVYAj1bFw7hppQEIoNQpgRWwNVl0rTmmyHwWnViVZbXRxci4rNSE7Ln1QphXZpHB5DqXbCEekYyEhoBjDDeorS5_-1VvPZlJzghZFxCKNWpPC5tsmIYV1cShE4lMzic5yQPdAsUOgdxGLDsqMfAa2y59li4HvyEVqTWZBYzjiperDPWllxQ/s320/IMG_3337.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I put my tree up the Saturday after Thanksgiving. I strung the lights the next day. I pulled the box of ornaments out of the closet when I put the tree up, but I didn't put them up until tonight. There are ornaments my gramma made, lots that my mom and dad gave me. I don't have any of the ones mom made yet, my sister and I haven't gone through them, we aren't ready yet. <p></p><p>But I found the banner and for the first time in ages I have a really nice place to put it.</p><p>I hung it up. Look at all those little bits of felt pieced together to make words, a candy cane with a bow, and a Christmas tree with star and decorations! So much love in such a simple item. Thank you mommy.</p><p>My mothers love has been abundant these last couple of days. I started my Christmas cookie baking last night. I couldn't find the snickerdoodle recipe, I can never remember where it is. I asked my sister to text it to me, I knew she had it. I also wanted to mix up the dough for sugar cookies. It's a particular recipe, another one that isn't handwritten in the dessert section of her ring binder recipe book. It's also not in the ancient Good Housekeeping cookbook that mom taped up so often. But I found it in a pile of copies that didn't make it into the ring binder. Thank you mommy.</p><p>Crap, the recipe calls for a tablespoon of milk. I hate milk, don't drink coffee, never use it for anything except birthday cake icing (AKA butter cream icing), and don't have it in the house. I didn't want to drive to the store. It's not far, but it's far for just a small container of milk. I was about to text a neighbor to see if I could borrow some milk - I live in a place where I can do that now! Then I thought, wait - I made birthday cupcakes not too long ago, I needed milk for the icing . . . maybe I got skim, if I got skim, and didn't chuck it, it would still be good. I opened the fridge door and there it was - a tiny jug of skim milk. Thank you mommy.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqbgaN53TwGDIGT4BxS4HZdHV5JSrjMc0dGQyn56z3qapV2pmEnzqCT9lHdWKFNGz9N96oOQDKHjFNNtmEi2iNEkNf7df4WZGD5BO8wY3N1oCKOgglnU-CJG1kqiAugs0N2lwYRkOnJf8t8Y789WX4Y3w1aLI01NHqYlTKg6MLcEp8k_1tN-wqYUh5cQ/s3840/yellow%20office.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="3840" height="113" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqbgaN53TwGDIGT4BxS4HZdHV5JSrjMc0dGQyn56z3qapV2pmEnzqCT9lHdWKFNGz9N96oOQDKHjFNNtmEi2iNEkNf7df4WZGD5BO8wY3N1oCKOgglnU-CJG1kqiAugs0N2lwYRkOnJf8t8Y789WX4Y3w1aLI01NHqYlTKg6MLcEp8k_1tN-wqYUh5cQ/w200-h113/yellow%20office.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Two days ago I wanted to start painting my second bedroom, but all my paintbrushes were lavender in my second bathroom that I started painting last weekend.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRySCDmfFXaa8LU5BLTom0HEl93Sd_VmQjgAoS1J9sMjnwzhZ4idk7JjOIUGIGz3RrtqRnJStN3vzz1CJYoEqBR98YguVoPWDxc2JX6aztK-SF_z8VM2AdI8vGhsV37QLYhInY1EvkBwtJqpSXhHmx8ayviAkyQyeZov0C8I4i8t677rSe8NLCKFXexQ/s4032/Lavendar%20bathroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRySCDmfFXaa8LU5BLTom0HEl93Sd_VmQjgAoS1J9sMjnwzhZ4idk7JjOIUGIGz3RrtqRnJStN3vzz1CJYoEqBR98YguVoPWDxc2JX6aztK-SF_z8VM2AdI8vGhsV37QLYhInY1EvkBwtJqpSXhHmx8ayviAkyQyeZov0C8I4i8t677rSe8NLCKFXexQ/w150-h200/Lavendar%20bathroom.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> I thought, well I can do a good part of the walls because I have a roller I can use. Then I had to change a light bulb and I found my moms paintbrushes in the box. That meant I could do the cutting in as well as paint the walls! <br />Now I have a lovely yellow room that I can start my studies in come January 2, 2023. Thanks mommy.<p></p><p>Thank you mommy, for everything.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-46308080859713924172022-12-06T21:01:00.004-08:002022-12-06T21:01:57.239-08:00A Year Ago<p>It's Tuesday. A year ago on a Tuesday I would have packed for an overnight, possibly two. Though spending two nights with my dad didn't really require extra outfits. A year ago on a Tuesday I would have called my dad during a break I had between clients to find out if he needed anything. A year ago on a Tuesday I would have left straight from work to get to dad as soon as possible. I might have called On The Border while I drove so I could pick up dinner on my way to Kensington. Thanks to covid I would have been able to get a margarita as well.</p><p>Dad would have eaten long before I arrived. But when I got there he probably would have wanted some coke. And a few cookies.</p><p>Always with the cookies. I baked a lot from 2019 through to the first week of this year. Dad ate cookies after breakfast, mid morning, after lunch, mid afternoon, after dinner, and before bed. He preferred oatmeal, almost to the end, because oatmeal is good for you. Toward the end oatmeal was tough on his belly and we tried different cookies.</p><p>I'd get dad settled with whatever he needed in the moment, turn on the TV, probably with HGTV, and eat my dinner. We might chat. Dad would likely nap. I'd knit.</p><p>At some point I'd change into flannel pants and lose the bra. Probably about the time I arrived.</p><p>Dad would call for the aides to help him get ready for bed some time around 9:20 and he'd be in bed by 10. Assuming someone was available to come when he first buzzed.</p><p>I'd go to bed between 10:30 and 11. Sleep would come with the aid of melatonin and a podcast listened to through my pillow.</p><p>Every couple of hours, more on a good night, dad would need help. It might be just calling my name to help him get a little more comfortable, he couldn't move on his own when he was in bed and he was often uncomfortable or in pain. Or he would buzz for the aides because he needed to go to the bathroom. Whatever the case was there would be a bit of sleep, and a lot of podcasts.</p><p>On Wednesday I might help daddy get up, sometimes the aides were busy. I'd make him breakfast, some cut up strawberries. That's what he had when he lived at home. Some toast and strawberries. No toasters at Kensington so we made do with strawberries when I came to visit, he only had blueberries the rest of the days, fresh blueberries in blueberry yogurt.</p><p>We'd listen to WNPR, Connecticut Public Radio. Until I had enough and I'd say, daddy, can we turn on HGTV? Of course.</p><p>Sometimes I'd ask them to bring me a grilled cheese for lunch - the perfect diner style grilled cheese, perfectly buttery, crunchy, devoid of nutrition white bread with the perfect amount of melty cheese. Excellent comfort food.</p><p>I might stay over Wednesday night as well, depending on what I had scheduled Thursday morning. Sometimes I'd head home after daddy ate dinner.</p><p>Regardless, a year ago on a Tuesday night I would have been with daddy.</p><p>Soon I won't be able to say that. We're coming up on the one year anniversary of his death. It's passed in ten seconds, yet it seems like forever. I still can't get used to the idea that he and mom are gone forever.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmgzAKrJBAvds_qjtJU_n5EgTsoFbS0VvdEs_Q0cnzTYIk20a5hGAsIPYmI6NJ9CF1g4dxCpqCZGGvIlSU2z32_c4pPM326FJtiCEZJ26WAVwbd7iMHwqZX503Y67U3kj_fPQydXe16fEQuNogxtYYNVl-Ak4atELTW3RFocTWuHDGxgzPrRP6dxlsww/s3840/Mom%20&%20Dad%20at%20Larla's%20wedding.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="3840" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmgzAKrJBAvds_qjtJU_n5EgTsoFbS0VvdEs_Q0cnzTYIk20a5hGAsIPYmI6NJ9CF1g4dxCpqCZGGvIlSU2z32_c4pPM326FJtiCEZJ26WAVwbd7iMHwqZX503Y67U3kj_fPQydXe16fEQuNogxtYYNVl-Ak4atELTW3RFocTWuHDGxgzPrRP6dxlsww/s320/Mom%20&%20Dad%20at%20Larla's%20wedding.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />I have a picture on my fridge, it's one of my favorites. They are both smiling and so clearly happy. They were at our neighbors daughters wedding. They are both smiling directly at the camera and it feels like they are looking right at me. Some days it makes me sad, but most days I say hi and have a nice chat with them. It's not the same, but it's still nice.<p></p><p>A year ago on a Tuesday I was hanging out with my dad.</p><p>What I wouldn't give.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-48466749146228517492022-12-06T19:40:00.000-08:002022-12-06T19:40:49.405-08:00Percolating<p> I have been writing a piece in my head for a day or two.</p><p>Then I had a conversation with my friend Dianna while I was driving home from the Berkshires. I yelled a lot. Not at Dianna, she was being a great friend listening to me vent my spleen about someone who is inconveniencing me, in the extreme. There were a bunch of other things that came before this that I was also yelling about. I stayed in the car, yelling about my annoyance, until it stopped. And I felt lighter.</p><p>Thank you Dianna.</p><p>I walked and got my mail. Then I came inside. I put a few things away. I put on my flannel pants. I sat in my dads chair.</p><p>I love my dads chair. But boy, I wish I could find someone to upholster it. Dad pretty much lived in it after we bought it in 2019, it's not pretty.</p><p>I sat in my dads chair and pulled up AppleTV+ and decided to watch some Ted Lasso. Awhile back I watched the first few episodes of season 1 and stopped. I stopped because it was too good to binge watch the first two season without taking some time to appreciate it.</p><p>But tonight I needed something lovely and happy.</p><p>So I chose Ted Lasso.</p><p>I'm not sure what happened. All of a sudden I was screaming. Wounded animal screaming. Throat wounding, cat frightening, gut wrenching, screams.</p><p>Seriously, Mister was resting on the back of dads chair, he took off.</p><p>And then I wondered where that came from. And I realized, oooohhhhhh.</p><p>11/24 is moms birthday. 11/24/2022 is my second Thanksgiving without mom. 11/24/2022 is the first birthday/Thanksgiving without mom. 11/24/2022 is the first Thanksgiving without daddy. 11/24/2022 is the first Thanksgiving without mom and dad.</p><p>I have tomorrow off, but I have to run a two hour errand that I am not looking forward to. I just wanted to be in my house getting a few things organized, but no, inconvenience. Then I'm working Monday through Wednesday.</p><p>Then Thanksgiving.</p><p>I have planned, for quite awhile, four days, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday with no commitments. No Thanksgiving dinner, possibly no changing out of flannels. Just me, Mister, Jasper, my knitting, some movies. Maybe Love Actually - one of dads favorites. A Knights Tale. Or maybe a bunch of James Bond movies, my friend Ana tells me I need to watch them in order - we watched a Daniel Craig one last weekend, I haven't seen one since . . . college? I think Roger Moore (my least favorite of the Bonds).</p><p>Okay, take a breath. That probably sounds horrible to you. What, no family? No friends? </p><p>*side note, I just saw an ad for Spirited with Will Farrell, Ryan Reynolds, and Octavia Spencer, and that will definitely be on the list next weekend*</p><p>Back to the story, I am excited for my four days off. There may be something outside my house, but I'm not planning anything in advance.</p><p>That said, I'm looking forward to it because I can just feel what I feel, no good face, no being on, just being.</p><p>And I ask you to remember that the holidays are hard for some of us. There aren't big gatherings, there aren't loads of family, in many cases there isn't turkey and gravy. My lack of turkey is a choice, for many that's not the case.</p><p>I miss my parents. So I baked birthday cupcakes to take to Miraval to celebrate my mom. And chocolate chip cookies to share with my colleagues at Optimum Health, and Miraval. It made me so happy to share things I love, that my parents loved, with people I love.</p><p>Be kind for the next couple of months. More so than normal. The holidays are super hard for a lot of us, your kindness goes a long, long way to make them slightly less unpleasant.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1067157134904072464.post-45984108069521816532022-12-05T19:58:00.002-08:002022-12-05T19:58:52.808-08:00Dad, would you like some fresh Coke?<p>After work today I went to the grocery store. I picked up some grapes, they were on sale for $1.99/lb. I grabbed a poblano pepper for my scramble. Some bananas and spinach for my protein shakes. What we call Crack Cheese, Grafton 2 year aged cheddar. Three colors of peppers. Some Blue Bunny chocolate coated ice cream cones, mini.</p><p>I also picked up a 10 pack of mini cans of 7up. I like the small cans, soda is terrible for you and I shouldn't drink it, but it's a comfort thing - mom used to give us 7up when we didn't feel well. I can justify small.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj77JW_0Bm2pAO8LhK9iksJEDpe7BQja3EG2TL4LXhRDNzdrom2zbrHx9oalrtdst3kct-Vvv-W3ol19PkuYdtP2Ol7Intvqq5nxTofe6TrC6dzW1CZxqSsiJ-ahJfBLS9ZAL5-31WV0rABj7gz7-eK2_xPncpb-1pWZxT0dengmSsIWYrIiZK-2JEkA/s4032/IMG_1675.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj77JW_0Bm2pAO8LhK9iksJEDpe7BQja3EG2TL4LXhRDNzdrom2zbrHx9oalrtdst3kct-Vvv-W3ol19PkuYdtP2Ol7Intvqq5nxTofe6TrC6dzW1CZxqSsiJ-ahJfBLS9ZAL5-31WV0rABj7gz7-eK2_xPncpb-1pWZxT0dengmSsIWYrIiZK-2JEkA/s320/IMG_1675.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>I paid and walked out to the car. I put the bag full of groceries and the 10 pack in my car. I was putting the cart back in the rack. As I walked toward it I thought of my dad asking for a glass of diet Coke. I had an image of him holding up his hand to indicate he wanted about an inch of Coke in the glass. His little smile when he looked over toward the kitchen. The effort it took for him to turn that way. <br /> Picking up the glass with two hands, or letting me hold the glass to give him a sip.<p></p><p>I miss that tiny smile, the twinkle in his eye.</p>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368607709321441032noreply@blogger.com0