Wednesday, January 30, 2019


I came home from work last night & climbed straight into bed. So weak with fever that I never bothered getting out of my dress clothes.

I just plopped my snotty self under the covers in an effort to achieve a level of complete relaxation that would ultimately lead to the comatose state I’d been craving all day. Those two hours of deep sleep were heavenly.

When I finally woke up, I managed to haul my ass out of bed long enough to get my jammies on, yet by 8pm I had called it a night. When my alarm went off at 5am, I text my boss and went back to sleep for another four hours. It was in those four hours that something extraordinary happened: I dreamt of my Dad.

Words can't accurately describe how glowing & vivid my dream was. I could actually hear his voice. I recognized the clothing he was wearing and navigated his surroundings like I was actually there. The scenario was as if he'd never spent is last months in hospice with me, rather been placed in a home for palliative care.

Though it was a sunny spring day outside, I was anxious when I was dreaming because his level of care was not what I thought he was entitled to. When I awoke (after what felt like spending the day with him) I was in the midst of dreaming that I was trying to locate my cellphone in his room; which was actually my cellphone signalling me notifications that my boss needed my assistance with something at the office. Just like that, our visit was over.

As I greeted my day still groggy, I realized it was just my fever breaking. Yet, because we had such a vivid visit today, as I sat at the computer sneezing like a poltergeist throughout the day, it felt like he was there with me. 

You see, once I'd get my snot & sneezing outbreaks under control, I'd sit quietly and listen for my Dad to acknowledge me with a kleenex box and his standard… ‘Gesundheit!

Fever breaking or just a silly dream, I love that my mind had us enjoy today together. 

As always, I'm forever grateful for him stopping by.

There is NEVER a bad time to get a visit from my Best Friend...

Sunday, January 27, 2019


Relaxing on the beach
in Cayo Coca
As I do when I prepare for any trip into the sun, I always throw out the old & purchase new sunscreen products. With my goal to better understand online shopping in 2019, I headed over to Amazon.

Wasting more time than expected trying to find the crap I was looking for, I received a personal message about a picture I posted to Facebook yesterday. They continued to comment that, 'I am looking better with age'.

After I made my standard offer to buy them some glasses, I stated the obvious. I matter a factually text back, ‘you know that’s a big fat lie, right?’

The messenger conversation continued as I expressed  that I wished I was still in my 30’s. Then, after looking back through that time via my photo albums this afternoon, I realized that I honestly never really hit my stride until my 40’s. 

That decade offered it all. Ranging from undeniable heartbreak, to the euphoric sense of being surrounded by true & unconditional love and personal happiness. 

Though it was the decade I achieved the most financial success, it was also the one where I suffered a full blown mid-life identity crisis. Year for year, there were very important life lessons in all of them; and I understand that I got to today, being grateful for each & every one of those lessons.

Be it my 30's or my 40's, I was appreciative of the kind words of my friend today. We both know I need to lose some weight, yet he chose to not focus there. Instead, we focused on the journey of our friendship. The truth is, we've always been good friends to each other. Comfortable, never confrontational. At times we've agreed to disagree... like we did today. 

I find it interesting what men typically disclose they find sexy in women. I work with a gaggle of men, and always find it intriguing to listen to them talk on the subject of perceived female sexuality around the water cooler.

It always warms my heart when they try to shock me with their antics. Yet, at the end of the day, they always set up the perfect volley for my spike. The key to saying anything that may be shocking and of a sexual nature is timing. Timing, and that you know you believe what you're saying.

Part of me thinks they have a pool going, as to if I'll bite on the bait they are serving me. What can I say? I try not to be predicable. I am always just me. That said, there are three things about myself I truly wear as (what I consider) badges of honour.

Though I do take pride in my appearance, my first badge is my powerful confidence in knowing the person I've truly evolved into. My generally warped albeit very witty sense of humour comes in a close second, and the fact that I am completely & totally comfortable in the skin I’m in completes my personal trifecta.

As I hope I age with grace,  I never want to get disconnected from the above three identifiers. Because let's face it, beauty fades.

...And I hear that Botox, as well as any/all other age averting enhancements hurt like hell!

Monday, January 21, 2019


An amazing lady I know was body shamed in an international airport yesterday because she was deemed too skinny; trust me, she isn’t. She’s an established & disciplined life coach, that is ultimately confident in the skin she’s in. 

Suffice it to say that it isn’t her girth that makes me take notice when she posts on social media, it's that she's intelligent and has an amazing energy/outlook on life; which was proven in her response to her followers on Instagram after the incident. 

Here’s a condensed snippet: I got “too skinny” at the airport today! LOL I was like phewf, I’ll take two muffins today and stop working out so I can gain some weight and start feeling shitty about myself and start making comments to skinny girls too! #goals

Notice that it’s never the people ahead of you who are criticizing you, they are too busy working on their own goals, it’s always the people behind you who are whispering, making comments and wondering how the hell you do it!

There is always one choice between judgement or inspiration.... try on inspiration for a change, trust me, it feels way better. 
(Be sure to look her up and follow to her. You won’t regret it!)

Anyway, as you know, from my quest for my waist electronic journal posts, “too skinny” will never be a criticizing whisper I’ll ever have to endure. Guess you can say, had I not had to travel the road I have, my personality wouldn’t be as outgoing albeit quirky as it is.

I wholeheartedly admit that my personal inspiration's always been one dimensional. The more I was bullied and misjudged, the more I became determine to prove the naysayers & injectors of hate wrong. I took in every single mean word and action, and as much as it hurt, I stood tall.

I stood so tall for so many years, that I eventually ended up in a different atmosphere, which brings me to my biggest motivator of all.

I'm sure this probably isn’t the inspiration that Tina H is talking about… But it will forever work for me.

Two words, One finger!

What can I say,  I have always been a true believe that less is more.

While touring Bourbon Street, I met my most inspirational mantra/t-shirt EVER!
TAKEN: APRIL 9th, 2017

Sunday, January 13, 2019


Growing up, thanks to having a sister and their parents limited mortgage borrowing power, my boys always shared a bedroom. Then, once we all weathered an unforeseen hospice journey in our new home, that extra room was offered to my eldest son; finally granting him a bedroom of his own. He was in his teens.

A creative soul since birth, Jukebox immediately decided he wanted to redecorate, and asked to paint his new space a very vibrant orange. Striving to prove that I wasn't a total control freak, I simply internalized my immediate anxiety attack, then agreed to his unconventional colour choice.

All these years later, though other rooms have received new flooring & updated colours, what's now my home office remains that popular fall colour that rhymes with no other. I suppose it's because I knew once I accepted the 'ultimate orange room renovation challenge', the rest of the house simply HAD to follow. 

You see, though I love the layout of my home, it's been blessed with 'popcorn ceilings'. An interior design (once considered somewhat sexy) plaster application, that was popular when every kid in the neighborhood had to be home before the street lights came on, and your mama wasn't afraid to spank you.

Though the crap in the home has been painted twice since the its purchase, I've known for years the retro look needed to go. So, with the help of YouTube and an ambitious renovation schedule, the now famous orange room officially lost its 1980's 'early heritage status' yesterday!

Wearing my fancy fur-lined CROCS were just one of my many renovation mistakes yesterday!
TAKEN: JANUARY 12th, 2019

After the experience, I would love to share that my plaster removal video training had me feeling the same euphoria that beautiful puppies & very expensive wine offer, yet that would be a bold-faced lie.

Even with my decision to outfit my chair in the ugliest fitted bed sheet destine for landfill, in a room draped in plastic that I swear could have been prepared by Dexter, things did not go as smoothly as planned.

Though I appreciate my YouTube video schooled me to spray water on the plaster before removing it, it did not warn against the true downside of doing so. Therefore, I gave said training video a thumbs down.

Why? The room, my hair, my clothing, my slippers, my skin were all covered in a paste like substance I magically, albeit, unexpectedly created. 

That said, my reason for my negative review was 100x's bigger than anything listed above.

You see, I always sing when I work.

And that stuff, though generally moist & bad in texture...

Tastes absolutely awful!!

Wednesday, January 9, 2019


In the deep winter of 2017, my yellow lab Puddin’ got the lead from her run tangled on one of the coldest nights in February. As always, I pulled her back in, this time realizing the majority of her 25 metre lead was still stuck in the frozen snowbank. Already frustrated, I became determine to finish the job.

After several forceful attempts freeing it, I backed up, dug in (yelled a really loud expletive) then with all my muscle heaved on that sucker with everything I had.

What happened next felt like I was in a cartoon. My force broke the leash from the ice, then and the slack came zipping my way with a serious zing. I began falling backward the more it let go.

Standing on a small landing at the top of the stairs, I started to lose my balance, realizing I was going to fall down the stairs. In slow motion, I felt my body gracefully tuck and roll, as I absorbed those six oak stairs.

Never letting go of the dog lead, the most damage done was when the large metal collar clasp bore all my weight between my middle and ring finger as it passed through with force. To this day, though never diagnosed, I believe I broke my left ring finger knuckle.

Here’s where my story enters into a 'this could only happen to Rhondi' zone.

(Left) A neat shot of us on the lake and the size of the diamond my dog ate!
(Right) Post event picture. My bad for letting the dog treat juice under my gem!!

Once my hand/finger healed, it became clear I was unable to remove my wedding ring set. Not a big deal, I figured my finger would eventually fully mend yet it never did. My circulation was fine, so I paid no attention; until a fateful day this past May.

I arrived home on a Friday night to greet my pups, when my Annie reaches up to gently tug at my fingers to throw her a stick. In the process, one of (what I believe to be) her incisors got underneath the setting of my half carat diamond solitaire, and in a nano-second it was gone.

I combed the grass for what felt like hours incase it had popped out of her mouth. I went back out the following couple of nights with a flashlight in hopes of seeing a sparkle. I even followed her around with a baggie for a week in hopes it landed where her lunch did: nothing.

Short story VERY long, I came to terms with the fact the diamond was gone forever, and cut off my engagement ring. I did however, leave the wedding band, with the hopes that after more than 30 years it could be salvaged.

Well, tonight I went back into the jewelry store and also had it cut off. As expected, it was an emotional end of an era, but at the end of the day we’d had a good ride.  I told the ladies that once I understood the underlying issues with my damaged knuckle, I’d be back to purchase another ring.

I told them that I’ve already decided on one ring with three diamonds. Primarily to pay homage to my life spent raising my three children, as well as my years with my three pups.

The one 'must have' I guarantee when I buy my new ring?

... A diamond flavour dogs DON'T love!