Z IS FOR ZOUNDS

Zounds! That is another April A-Z Challenge behind me.

Great 'z' word, too bad I didn't come up with it on my own. I read that the word is used to express surprise or indignation - so it was perfect. I'm surprised as well as a tad angered that I couldn't come up with a word on my own.

I don't know if any of my readers can relate, but I always get blocked for the my last few letters of the challenge. This year I had to head to Goggle to help me end my plight AND just like last year, I had to back date my final post.

The last few letters are always a slog. I believe in the eleven years I have done the challenge, only the first three were completed daily and on schedule. In fact, I backdated my  'from the achieves' effort because once the month had passed I decided that I didn't want to stop writing. 

This year, I was surprised how well I did each day on the fly. Very little filler, and I made an honest effort. The fact that I have never used the same word twice - is making each year more difficult. 

As I close out the 2024 challenge, my last task is to post a picture of someone/something that can anger me, frustrate me, but can also surprise me in general.

Thanks again for reading. It is truly appreciated.

Rhondi

Zounds! I can't believe she had to use Google!!
(#yagottalaughaboutit)
TAKEN: JULY 1976

TAMING MY TRESSES

You never know who you're going to want to kiss walking Broadway in Nashville! #imabigfan
TAKEN: OCTOBER 10th, 2024

About a week ago, I bit the bullet, went into a hair salon, and got my hair cut. 

Not the most earth-shattering news I have ever shared here - but in this instance, my hair was the longest it had ever been in my life. The truth is I hadn't allowed anyone or anything near my tresses (except my very dull kitchen scissors) since that tearful day last May when I fired my hairdresser.

To be honest, I did wait a couple of days after a Edweena Scissorhands and her barrel of bleach did their deed, before posting about it here. All these months later, my disappointment in what was promised versus what was delivered still really pisses me off!

Anyway, because my hair was already frail, I took a step back and except for root touch up spray to kill the glare, I let it rest for more than two months. Then, through online research, I discovered a natural gloss that washes out which I could apply to cover the blondeness; until my grey could grow out and be blended in with highlights.

You can tell by the picture I am sharing today that by last October, my hair was brittle and because of the overall weight of the length, it looked like crap. It didn't matter what I did. The thing that was once my best accessory, was looking like that super annoying cousin no one wanted to admit they were related to.

Wait, it gets worse. Without notice, my hair started coming out in large clumps in the shower and by the end of January it was significant. My buddy Google said that by repeatedly pulling my hair tightly on the top my head, it was most likely a type of hair loss called traction alopecia. 

I knew it was time. My hair was so damaged that most everything below shoulder length needed to go. So it did. I told my new gal to get rid of everything that needed to go when she very diplomatically said, 'you can come back in a week and we can take more off, it really is best to do this in stages so you can get use to it.'  

She was very empathetic to my journey, and she was absolutely amazing. 

I guess as I sit here and type I wonder how the hell I went from holding my hand up to my ear saying loudly, 'Sorry so-in-so, I can't hear you over the volume of my hair!' To trolling Amazon for hair growth oils and hair thinning solutions.

Three little words. 

Middle age sucks. That is all!

 Actually, that is six words... but I think you catch my drift.

RED SKY SKUNK PATROL

One of the prettiest morning sunrises I have ever experienced at the house (no filter)
TAKEN: OCTOBER 21st, 2023

Moving home from the cottage early, it was around the first week of September when I spied a skunk walking across the back yard, then continue to confidently toddle into our gully which is quite vast.

I immediately contacted the neighbours whose fenced in yard was where Pepe exited from. They nonchalantly informed me that they knew they had striped visitors at night, yet failed to mention the situation to us; which in itself really stunk!

You can imaging that the last thing we needed was our three dogs getting sprayed when out for a pre-dawn pee, so that weekend we put up motion censored spotlights around the yard and I purchased a 2000 lumen hand held spotlight so that I could survey for eyes glowing in the yard before the dogs ventured out.

We've lived in our home more than twenty years and this is only the second time I have seen a skunk at dawn. The last time was more than ten years ago. I know they surround us but until this fall, our 6 a.m. schedules never crossed.

Anyway, this morning I had been out with the pups before my husband left for work and after pouring my second cup of java, I spied the most beautiful colours rising on the horizon. I grabbed my phone and headed back outside alone.

The colours were muted at first but as the sun rose higher, the colours intensified. It was absolutely breathtaking.

As expected, social media filled up with similar photos around Muskoka of the beautiful morning sky with the 'red sky at morning' reference. 

Though I expect my red sky/skunk patrol will continue indefinitely, I don't expect to witness another sunrise as I did this morning for a very long time but there will always hope.

Speaking of hope, I hope we never cross path with them rascally striped smelly varmints we have been patrolling for every single morn...

Wish us luck on both counts!

MY HEARTBROKEN SMILE

As life would have it, my hair began to grey prematurely in the late 1990’s. As a result, I would book an appointment and off to the popular high priced salon I’d go.

Then, when I went into business for myself in 2004, I began doing my own root touch ups to spare the expense. The trouble with that, is that for the last decade it has become an ‘every third Sunday afternoon’ ritual.

I will openly admit that during the pandemic, I came very close (multiple times) to growing the chemicals out of my hair, then would ultimately fold like a lawn chair and get the touch up brush out.

As a matter of fact, if I am being brutally honest, though my mindset for going grey was always there, it just wasn’t as strong as my inner voice of vanity and personal pride not to.

Well, a couple of weeks ago, I went to get my haircut. Granted, it had been a while, but my stylist was generally worried about the state of my already dead hair that was forever entertaining the grim reaper; so I launched the 'next steps' dialogue.

Well, at the end of my workday Friday, a two-hour ritual to begin my transition was set in motion.

This is what a heartbroken smile looks like.
Stood next to the dark wood siding to cut the glare.
(Yep, my eyes are closed.. because even I couldn't stand to look!)
TAKEN: MAY 5TH,  2023

Though I am certain I was specific that I wanted to take a year to transition, and our starting point would be a warm caramel shade, the one mixing the bleach personally decided full on blonde (with white clumps - you can see the frizz on the right) was the way to go.

Suffice it to say, when she finished, I cried. And cried. And cried. And cried. My husband, the wonderful man he is, quickly and quietly hid!

With tears streaming down my face, I went home to my personal salon, plugged in my gadgets, and took a half a can of coloured root touch up spray to the white hair that framed my face. Then, freshened up my make-up and forced myself to go outside and take the selfie I am sharing here.

As you can see, my eyes are closed. It wasn't intentional, yet I am posting it because I suspect subconsciously I couldn’t stand to look at what I had just done to my already dead mane.

Well, as I have said here before, I will say again. You can’t stop change, only manage it.

Though my stylist did offer for me to return the following day and add low lights to offset, I turned her down. Not only did I not want to incur any more expense, but I also didn’t want to add anything else to my already dead and overbleached coif.

Instead, I decided to wait until after I've returned from the Caribbean in a couple of weeks and see where the sun and salt from snorkeling have my hair colour and I landing.

BUT if last Friday night were any indication, I would say there are going a couple of bars in Jamaica that are going to meet a blonde woman crying in her glass of spirits, with a man quietly hiding under the table sipping a beer.

Then again, maybe not. It’s not like anyone knows me there. 

Because hell... When I looked at myself in the mirror again this morning, I still didn't recognize the person looking back!!

#YaGottLaughAboutIt

N IS FOR NOT

 At the beginning of my A-Z challenge this year, I came across a poem by Erin Hanson. 

As an aside, I began never worrying about how I am defined by others after my father died.

Yet, the poem is so relatable by so many, I immediately knew it needed to be my 2023 letter N. 

To my electronic friends... Stay strong and always know your worth!

Reading (with some friendly company) at Poppa's Camp
TAKEN: Lake Temiscamng ~ Summer of 1996

NOT ~ by Erin Hanson

You are not your age,

nor the size of clothes you wear,

you are not a weight,

or the colour of your hair.

You are not your name,

nor the dimples in your  cheeks,

you are all the books you read,

and all the words you speak.

You are your croaky morning voice,

and the smiles you try to hide,

you're the sweetness in your laughter,

and every tear you've cried.

You the songs you sing so loudly,

when you know you're alone,

you're the places that you've been to,

and the ones that you call home.

You're the things that you believe in,

and the people that you love,

you're the photos in your bedroom,

and the future you dream of.

You're made of so much beauty,

but it seems that you forgot...

When you decided that you were defined,

by all the things you're not.

ELEVEN YEARS YOUNG

Happy Eleventh Anniversary to US!
TAKEN: 1976

 

Allow me to share a photo my mother took of me outside our home in Muskoka when I was eleven years old. Oh to be able to celebrate being eleven years old again. 

Wait... We can. Because today is the eleventh anniversary of my wee electronic journal Ya Gotta Laugh About It. 

If you are reading this, I am both pleased and grateful to report that you are helping me celebrate my nine hundredth and seventy fourth effort since I began this ride on this day back in 2011.

Can you believe it? Eleven. Freakin'. Years!

All these years later, I am honest when I admit that the offerings I have posted are truly a part of me. Yet, I'm not quite sure what made me realize my anniversary was looming. Very in tune with my seasonal affective disorder, I'd probably put gobs of cash on the time change. 

As you know, the darkness of the month of November and into December have always had me crawling into the closet, throwing a blanket over my head, with a bowl of warm gravy and a spoon; specifically, so the dogs would join me. 

Some of the funniest items written had tears steaming down my face. Not of joy, but because in most cases I was processing a deep hurt and moving forward. For those that know me personally  (rather than just words from a keyboard that you're reading) you know that humour has always been my go to attitude in deflecting hurt.

That said, these eleven years have produced so much great dialogue, not to mention life changing friendships. 

I am grateful for all of you that have inboxed me with your comments, opinions, as well as your unconditional support and feedback over the years. It's truly been a cathartic experience arriving at today

To each and every one of you peeps... A very heartfelt THANKS!

Happy 11th anniversary to us!!

R IS FOR REALITY

 

#truestory #lifeisshort

B IS FOR BROMANCE

 The urban dictionary defines the word bromance as the combination of two words, "brother" and "romance". It describes the unique male bonding found between "brothers from another mother". 

Though both Goob and Jukebox do have friendships with ‘brothers from another mother,’ their bond with each other has been equally as strong their entire lives.

That's Goob in blue and Jukebox in stripes.
The four of us enjoying Father's Day golf with the pre-surgery Poppa Bear.
TAKEN: JUNE 20th, 2021

As a matter a fact, I can recall my serving lunch to my three littlun’s at their wee yellow and orange Little Tykes picnic table. The twins were about four and Jukebox about six years of age. 

As they dined on their amazing culinary offering of PB&J, Goob looked at his brother, called him by name and proudly stated ‘...I love you’. As his sentiments were returned by his brother, their sister grabbed both of their plastic plates and threw their lunch to the dogs. 

True story, I swear. I still chuckle to myself whenever I think about it.

They have always shared life experiences. From taking diving lessons together when they were really young to junior golf memberships as teens, then onto mutual high school and work friendships. They have truly spent their formative years as a team, which remain their bond today.

That said, we are not a family that has not been without struggles and we've suffered growing pains like most. As parents of grown children, we’ve always been impressed that if we took issue with any behaviours or attitudes, these two never weighed in against the other.  

I can think of several instances over the years where the best medicine for all of us was some distance rather than unproductive dialogue. As a family, those have been, and always will be the most challenging and trying memories;  but once resolved, our family strength was regained.

As you know, there's no handbook for being the 'best parent on the face of the earth' because we were told last summer by our daughter matter-of-factly that we weren't. Just like other rents we know, we've hurt, been hurt, and ultimately healed. 

Then I look at these two with their Dad. It warms my heart to know that through all of our own short comings as parents, as grown children they know we've done our best with individual circumstances at the time.

Oh, the fact that we started golfing as a crew on Sunday again? 

Just one of the many small added bonuses!

T IS FOR TIMING

From the April A-Z Blogging archives.
This was originally posted April 23rd, 2015

As my daughter returned home to us today, I thought the quote below fitting when trying to understand the timing in ones life. 

I know for a fact that these very wise words will resonate with so many in my life: both past and present, near and far. 

May my timing find each and every one of you healthy & happy. 

~ Your friend, Rhondi

“Sometimes the best and worst times of your life can coincide. It is a talent of the soul to discover the joy in pain - thinking of moments you long for, and knowing you’ll never have them again. The beautiful ghosts of our past haunt us, and yet we still can’t decide if the pain they caused us outweighs the tender moments when they touched our soul. This is the irony of love.”           

                                                                                                                         ~ Shannon L. Alder

My Sweetie and me... Never to focus on the past. It's not the direction we're going.
TAKEN: MARCH 11th, 2012

LIFE LESSON #883

When riding through town tonight, I spied a familiar face manning the crosswalk at our busiest intersection in town. Though there is a traffic light there, the walk is exceptionally long and the flashing stop sign she holds high most certainly keeps the little ones venturing home from the local school out of harms way. I immediately noticed she was limping.

As we drove through, I physically turned my head to watch her.  Out of the blue, I felt the need to disclose her name and mention the type of wrath she was subjected to when we were in high school. The truth of the matter is that after sharing about her journey, I was embarrassed that I remembered such finite details of how she was bullied.

Though I wasn't the bully, the hard fact is the ones making fun of her were also the ones continually making fun of me. The single difference between she and I was that I got to walk around in their presence. To this day, those that treated the two us that way, are generally still the same;  ill informed, overbearing and insecure.

One of my teen year bullies snapped this pic!
(Introducing my one time blog costar: Dusty)
TAKEN: WINTER 1983

To let you know where I'm headed with this, I saw a meme on Facebook this afternoon that said “I’d rather have an enemy that admits they hate me, instead of a friend that secretly puts me down.” I see some serious merit in that.

I am embarrassed to admit that in one very singular instance (in fact, with the person that took the picture I am sharing) I occupied that latter lane I am referencing and she willingly did the same.

I use to be remorseful at how I forced our friendship to end, yet everyday I am grateful I finally did. 

I was drowning in her consumption of my good nature, which served as premium fuel for her narcissistic agenda. That was about 20 years ago, and if there is one single thing we now agree upon; which is neither have a single use for the other.

I'm no shrink but I believe because I was bullied in the past, I use to let certain toxic friendships consume me to simply prove that I was worthy. 

All these years later, there's absolutely no comparison to where I am in my life and where they are in theirs. The only way I can rationalize the difference, is that I've never stopped learning and they've always believed they know everything. 

My point tonight is that in watching the local crossing guard limp way, I was offered an instant 30+ year flashback. I instantly envisioned all of us standing in that high school atrium on that very day. 

Reflecting, I immediately had an profound sadness come over me. I suppose it is because I still only keep in touch with only one gal that witnessed what I did on the day I am writing about.

The saddest part to my story?

In mid-life, that gal is still a part of that specific crew. All these years later, she has become the one they STILL secretly put down behind her back.  

They always have and with her BFF's behaviour being deemed acceptable since public school, I suspect they always will.

For the umpteen time I reaffirm this simple life lesson.... Mean people suck!!

MY STEADY SEPTEMBER

My Annie on the left and my Puddin' going full tilt on the right!
TAKEN: September 20th, 2020

Vacation the first week of August may have been a total bust but the weather the last week of summer more than made up for it. I don’t know about you - but there has always been something with the end of September atmosphere that genuinely put an extra skip in my step. 

For obvious reasons, as fall approaches each year I always make the effort to give my pups as many unique experiences as possible. I suppose it’s because I know, for the most part, nature is preparing us to hunker down in darkness as we wait for the pre-winter snow to arrive.

As you can see from our last adventure photos, Annie is as active as toddler on steroids but the signs of Puddin’ officially becoming a senior are starting to visibly show. Therefore, I have decided that this fall has to be about a balance. Not just energy level balance. Overall life balance; not only for the pups but for me as well.

Such a big and important thought process (and learning curve) for me right now. 

In my effort to strive and achieve it, I will no longer be working 50 hours a week and on call from sun up until sun down. I have disabled all alerts on my phone and I honestly try my best to power that sucker down before I serve dinner and leave it off until I wake the following morn.

That change combined with an inner twang for more personal balance, resulted in me reconnecting with my very best gal pal. It’s not like she and I were estranged per se, just both got busy with life in general and became accustom to the Bluetooth on the road home doing all the legwork for us. 

I am pleased to report that this very steady September has us getting back to basics where the first question we ask the other is “...How are you doing?” I had truly missed that. 

You see, for the last several years I had been so focused on others and their demands, that the little things that mattered somehow got lost in the shuffle. I guess you could say that prior to making this small, almost minor change in behaviour, I was always in search of the answer as to how to create change.

Then, on the evening of September 10th, I realized that I no longer wanted to wait for the opportunity of change. I understood whole heartedly I had to pull up my big girl panties and encompass and embrace the change I was searching for.…So I did. 

The rest is up to me.

COTTAGE RAMP UP!

Only yours truly could be lucky enough to take their first summer vacation since 2012 and be blessed with rain all but the first day thus far. 

The crappy part is that the single sunny Saturday wasn't even taken as a day of rest, instead it was spent repairing and reinstalling the ramp attached to our floating dock system.

Notice the first step onto the ramp is missing?
TAKEN: AUGUST 1st, 2020

I think any repairs or renovations bring out the true personality of you and your life partner, which is probably why smart peeps pay someone to complete their chores to simply avoid the aggravation; automatically slotting us into the “sucker for punishment” construction category.

I’ve joked here numerous times that I married Canada’s Worst Handyman, which is exactly that, me teasing. If I was on the outside looking in, I would see that neither of us are lazy, nor less committed to accomplishing what we set our sites on.  We just approach any project we do in very different fashion. 

I like to have a firm plan from the start and my husband likes to jump in without even understanding if he has the right tools and material to finish.

I hate to be interrupted when I am in a task-oriented mode and he absolutely loves an extra five trips to the hardware store while the work is in process. Drives me bat shit crazy!

 

So, over the years I have learned that when we have a plan, there needs to be at least a three Saturday buffer to ensure we start without having to stop. To some it might read like micromanagement on my part, but I consider it as a solid investment in both efficiency and productivity... and the solemn promise from this cat not to argue whilst the task's being completed.

As you can see from the photo I am sharing, last Saturday has the top step from the deck onto the ramp missing. We never had a step there before, the ramp was always attached higher up. But by dropping the ramp and anchoring it differently, the hope is the ice won’t pummel it into submission again next winter.

Who wants to bet me that I don’t get a step installed this summer unless I do it myself?

Hey, I'm not trying to be a bitch here. 

I just have decades of historical data to prove I know the outcome of said bet hands down!

#yagottaslaughaboutit

Y IS FOR YIKES

#YaGottaLaughAboutIT

U IS FOR UNAPOLOGETIC

E IS FOR EGO

Can anyone relate to this?
I most certainly can!

MY GARAGE BAND-AID

I am a firm believer that if I haven’t used something I have stored within the last 12 months that it needs to be regifted, recycled, or properly disposed of. With a formal caveat - it CAN NOT belong to one of the kids!

I'm serious. The above claim is written in ink and not pencil and I am pleased to report that for the last four or five years, the double car garage at the homestead has been filled with extra furniture and appliances belonging to the aforementioned offspring.

If you love something set it free. If it comes back it's your. If it doesn't, it never was.
TAKEN: BUSKING 2018, CUBA 2017, LAKE SIMCOE 2016

Most of it landed in there as a result of them returning home for a brief stint, eventually moving in with a roommate, accumulating items that were classified as over flow. Over the recent holiday break, everything was pulled out, sorted through and dealt with accordingly.

The goal was simple. To dig out and once again set up my killer home office that I’d strategically packed in there a little over 5 years ago.

In digging for that treasure, I came across an old drum kit belonging to Jukebox. For some reason, I just stared at it before I began moving it. Truth is I stood completely frozen as the last decade simply flashed before my eyes; the good, the bad and the ugly.

Which leads me to my point. Nothing prepares you for an empty nest.

I’m sure it’s because there’s no regulated handbook for parenting. By the time they're ready to graduate high school, they typically think we totally suck and our speaking voice is worse than nails on the proverbial chalkboard.

To be brutally honest, I think I went through the “I’m your mother” motions far longer than ever needed. I clung on for dear life until I was eventually replaced by their personal voice and understanding, proving mine no longer mattered.

In everything I have experienced on my journey, I feel this was the toughest mom lesson I learned. The worst part is that I’m so thick, I needed to learn it three times. All individual, very painful life lessons.

Anyway, sitting here typing, my mind is flooded with thoughts of my life these past 30 years. Which is why I will be always be forever grateful for my double car garage. 

It’s like I can close my eyes and I can hear their young voices bellowing again.

I can hear that high school garage band practicing, the giggling girls definitely talking about boys, with the picnic table front and centre and the music blaring.

Yep, just like that… They’re all instantly home again!

Where does the time go?

REMEMBERING 2019

Most Significant Moment: 

The unexpected and very tragic passing of my sister in law Pamela Peacock.

She passed October 28th, 2019 and was only 39 years old. 

Pictured here in the middle, may this beautiful face, forever rest in peace.

My year in the rear view!
TAKEN: Throughout 2019

January:  My renovation project 'Popcorn Ceiling Begone' got underway. It lasted three months and the next floor gets underway again in January 2020. 

February: Spent an amazing week walking the miles of beach in Cayo Coco, Cuba.

March: My Spotti Dotti and her best friend by the bonfire. (Her very favourite thing to do!)

April: My birthday trip to New York City. It was amazing having my son as my tour guide and seeing Billy Joel at Madison Square Garden.

May: Took a Mommy/Daughter weekend trip to New Orleans, Louisiana. Here she is on Bourbon Street!!

June: My beloved Toronto Raptors won the 2019 NBA title.

July: The very difficult decision was made to allow Dot to finally sleep easy and rest in peace.

August: Spent the majority of this month and next living with the pups at the cottage. The solitude was exactly what I needed.

September: Played hostess for our company's bi-annual team building fishing trip on the west end of Lake Nippissing.

October: Was sickened by the entire federal election campaign bullshit that took place.

November: During my week long vacation I hiked to the top to the El Faro Lighthouse in Mexico

December: A whirlwind month that finally slowed down on Christmas Eve. Marking, what will hopefully be, a couple of new traditions.

Bullet points aside, this past year had me dealing with serious illness, the loss of several cherished loved ones, as well as a fur baby. 

I think a combination of all of the events is why now, more than ever, I am going to try not to focus my energy on others that aren't going to enhance my personal life and my loved ones around me for the better. 

As I have written here before, I believe sometimes all people need is a hand to hold, an ear to listen, and a heart to understand them. I think that is going to be my motto for the next year and surround myself accordingly.

Welcome 2020. 

Let's make it one of the best ones yet!

MAZATLAN MAYHEM

"Go to Mazatlan" they said. "You'll love it there!"

As most of you know, as common sense travelers, Mexico has always been a destination that we've been very comfortable with. The people and their culture's amazing and I love the fact that the Canadian dollar works in our favour; cutting Donald Trump out of said travel equation.

Because we travel as much as we do, we've always tried to alternate the choice of where we travel equally. The funny thing about Mazatlan is, it's been my husbands pick for a little over three years. The reason for our delay's that I always managed to convince him it really wasn't where he wanted to travel!

This time around, flight times, pricing, and every other item I could always combat against couldn't compare, leaving no practical reason not to officially get this particular stamp in my passport.`

What a difference 24 hours makes!

TAKEN: NOVEMBER 27th & 28th, 2019

That said, this adventure had me apprehensive from the start. Even boarding our flight in Toronto this past Tuesday morn, I disclosed that I had a bad feeling. Not one of doom and gloom per se, more something restless that I couldn't put my finger on.

First up was my worst travel day to date, topped off with the most serious level of culture shock I have ever experienced. The 40 minute trip from the airport was nothing like the videos I'd been watching on YouTube, and I instantly felt sick.

Check-in went smoothly, as a Riu never disappoints. But what I immediately discovered they can't control are the mariachi bands playing loud and off key just outside the resort barrier on the beach. 

Starting upon our arrival, two of them played for almost 6 hours straight well into the dark. The good news was once they stopped, the sound of the ocean waves as we fell asleep made the anxiety of the day disappear.

The next morning, excited it was surely a 'welcome to Mazatlan' thing, we met Canadians that disclosed they'd been here for two weeks and it happens like that every single night; with as many as four bands playing in a twenty foot area. Glass half full? We knew the bands wouldn't be playing Thursday because it was going to rain. 

Then, midnight Wednesday arrived. Rolling thunder and lightning in the distance. By 3am Thursday the rain got heavier and by 5am it was driving coming into the room. Figuring it would pass, I made a video and posted it to Instagram. Landing in the lobby for breakfast painted a more serious picture.

The majority of those staying here are of Mexican decent and the locals were panicked. The lobby was packed with hundreds trying to leave and when we arrived for breakfast most of the food had been eaten. 

We ventured into the rain a few time throughout the day until we were soaked through to the bone, only to notice it apparent the staff was working hard to keep everyone safe; and they truly did a fantastic job.

With the water receeding as I type and Mother Nature settleing into her jammies, I definately experienced some serious mayhem in Mazatlan today. So, as my husband's adamant we continue to discover more and more Mexican & South American coastal cities, I know a couple of thing to be true.

Next time I need to pack a few extra pairs of big girl panties... Not to mention a kick ass rain slicker!

PS: The Weather Network says only sunshine for the rest of our stay.
PSS: How's that for your a glass half full gal JC?

PSSS: MIC DROP!

REALISTIC RHON2theDEE

I headed south yesterday for some much needed face time and a super-size jolt of retail therapy.

It’s not like I'd put a lot of thought into hatching my Friday plan, because let’s face it, I rarely set time aside for myself and actually follow through. I think it was because I got a random text message from a friend that works in the city that simply read: “You OK?”

At first I wondered if he'd had some insight to my last couple of weeks, but at the end of the day he admitted that he’d checked my blog and noticed I hadn’t posted in almost a month, hence why he was checking in.

Truth of the matter is, during that period, every time I sat down to write there was another item much more pressing on my list of things to do, in need my attention.

Even my coffee was SHOCKED how crazy my summer was!
TAKEN: AUGUST 24, 2019

You see, my husband had surgery the first week of August which was followed by an eight week recovery stint. It was his third procedure for the same ailment, so I knew what to expect as far as him getting back on his feet. Though he’s weathered another storm, yours truly is absolutely exhausted. 

Maintaining a home, cottage, and pack of pups all alone is not for the faint of heart.

Factor in that I’ve had my busiest year at work to date, and the lethargy thickens.

Top it all off with the fact that I am on a mission to lose weight, and I feel the need a power nap just typing the words. What’s a girl to do?

I looked at taking a trip. This time last year I was planning a trip to eat KFC at the pyramids with my girlfriend for her 50th birthday. But almost a year later she was unexpectedly pitched the fastest curve ball ever thrown, so understandably, we've been forced to circle to airport indefinitely.

So I shifted my focus to a Toronto Raptors road trip (Pelicans, Clippers, Lakers) but I know better than most that I am in need of light, not hype. Then, about a week ago I came close to booking a return engagement in Mexico, but talked myself out of it. That point is not moot and entirely another post, so let's move along.

As the seasons change and I prepare to dress in layers, both with my clothing and with as many blankets I can cover myself with as I curl up in a ball in the closet, I realize just how big a realist I truly am. I know what’s coming and I will deal with the hand I’m dealt as I pick up each and every card. 

To shed some light, I read somewhere that realist is someone that has gone through hell and been purified. A pessimist is someone that's taken a similar path and been burned. 

Though I have been burned many times, I feel my purification process has evolved from my ability to understand what’s happening at the time, and my ability to swiftly remove any/all contaminants from my presence.

Just so we're clear... By contaminants, I mean complete and total bullshit!

OK, so writing that made me laugh.

Mission accomplished.

A COTTAGE EXORCISM

I took my mother in law out for a bit of retail therapy and a bite of lunch last week, and during our dining experience she asked me how much younger I was than her son; she was surprised when I reminded her that I was in fact older.

I’m not sure why, but I get that quite a lot. I think it’s partially because I have an abundance of daily energy, partially because I  strive to stay healthy, and partially because I've inherited some exceptional DNA. 

For example, the week my mother passed, her doctor commented on her flawless skin, to which she attributed to soap and water.

Though I do spend extra funds over and above her two-step process, I must admit that I have been very blessed to be in the skin I’m in.

That said, as much as DNA comes into play, a healthy lifestyle and positive attitude are also much haves to staying young at heart.

My biggest health challenge has always been the emotional eater that lurks under my surface and attacks when I’m at my weakest. I’m working on it, yet suspect it will remain an ongoing challenge for the rest of my life.

From the inside looking out, I don’t think am any different than most. Everyone has personal challenges, everyone has an approach as to how to manage them.

In this instance, my tipping point came after the long weekend in August, when I found myself eating and I wasn’t even hungry. It was in that very moment that I identified that there needed to be another cosmic shift; my last one was in 2011.

Thank goodness for the pedal 'boat that floats.'
Diet & exercise has me down 10 lbs so far.
TAKEN: AUGUST 4th, 2019

Short story long. After a full cleanse, and two weeks at home working inside and out, I landed at the cottage for the first time again yesterday. I was immediately horrified I'd fall back as the place was filled with absolute crap.

So, I immediately open the trash can and began an official exorcism. 

Out went the red licorice and wine gums, which were replaced by almonds and Greek yogurt. 

Potato chips and various buns and breads and cookies were tossed to make room for fruits and vegetables and lean cuts of meat and fish.

I must admit, you have no idea how cathartic it was to toss the enabling Miss Vicky out the door. 

It was like that scene from Night in Rodanthe (with Diane Lane & Richard Gere) when they took shots of tequila in the kitchen getting snookered while cleaning out the pantry of expired can goods... It was extremely exhilarating!

Though no tequila was consumed during my purification ritual, I do have to go on the record with something I recently discovered and consider to be a small blessing in this time of very important change.

…It’s that GIN contains zero grams of fat!

Ya Gotta Laugh About It!!