Category Archives: Health and Fitness

In Search of My Lost Inner Superhero


If you watch Grey’s Anatomy or you have read Shonda Rhymes Year of Yes, you know of the superhero pose:

“Standing around like Wonder Woman in the morning can make people think you are more amazing at lunchtime.” Stand up like a badass, legs in a wide stance, chin up, hands on your hips. Like you own the place. Like you have on a magical silver bracelets and know how to use them. Like your superhero cape is flapping behind you!

-Shonda Rymes, Year of Yes 

First, Year of Yes is an awesome book. Second, buy the book. Everyone should read the book! 

I never realized I had an inner superhero until long after I’d lost her. 

I grew up in a small town. From as far back as I can remember, I felt like a fish out of water. I mean no disrespect to anyone in my family or the town I grew up in. I simply always longed to see and experience what the world had to offer, and I never felt like I belonged, even in my own family. I often felt like an outsider looking in, wondering what was wrong with me. 

I always had a lot of fear in me, deep down, paralyzing fear. Fear that held me back, fear that left me on the sidelines. There was always a voice in my head saying “you don’t need that” “stop over-reaching” “why can’t you appreciate what you have” “it’s good enough for us” – years later I would learn that the voice in my head was the mother. 

At the age of 12, I began planning my escape. Things happened that year, things that scarred my soul. 12-13 were hard years for me. Being the good girl I was, I never said a word about my struggles. Never once, to anyone. But, I knew I wouldn’t stay. I just had to get to high school graduation. 12 year olds should never think like that. 

At age 14 I read the book Scruples, or as I like to say, sex education in paperback! It was a great book full of adventure, strong women…and sex!  I hid that book for a long time because, well, the mother did not need to know I had read all THAT! (When she read the book, I got yelled at.) But the sex part didn’t make an impact near as much as Paris did. It was then that I fell in love with the idea of seeing Paris. Paris was Utopia, my ultimate goal. I had to get to Paris. When I would mention that? I was told I didn’t need to go to Paris. There was nothing in Paris for me. “It’s just a book. Stop trying to be someone you’re not.” “Everything there is old, there’s nothing to see.” “Parisians are rude.” “Be realistic. People like us don’t go to Paris.” 

Throughout high school, I began to come into my own. I credit a few amazing teachers who saw potential in me, encouraged and mentored me. They truly changed the path of my life and made me believe I DID deserve all the world had to offer. I could BE more, DO more, WANT more. 

I took part in Future Homemakers of America and was able to travel to regional and state meetings, participate in competitions, and meet new people who were not from our small community. Me? Homemaker? It wasn’t just about that so much as giving young women the skills to be amazing. 

By Senior year, things were clicking for me. I was evolving into a confident person whose fear of everything was slowly being replaced with anticipation for the future. The beginnings of my superhero cape were forming. 

I became a regional officer for FHA. The leadership training and time spent with my advisor was a true, life-changing gift. The mother did not approve. She didn’t understand why I never wanted to be home. That was her stance. Me, looking for excuses to be gone, wanting more than I really needed…

My music teacher encouraged me to sing the National Anthem at our first or second home football game. A Capella. I don’t remember that very well. I recall walking out onto the field, taking a few breath, and for the first time, unconsciously assuming the super-hero stance. I remember it ending and people being amazingly kind and complimentary. I thought, if I could do that, I could do anything!

There was a flurry of music training, music and FHA camps, drama, and other FHA related activities in high school. It all prepared me for life on the outside (although I did not realize that at the time.)  Gifts I never took for granted. 

Those experiences taught me to perform. 

If nothing else, I could push the fear down and PRETEND I was brave. I could put on my game face, assume the superhero pose, step “on stage” and be amazing. 

I desperately wanted to go to college. That was not encouraged at home. Waste of time. Waste of money. We didn’t go to college, we are doing fine. “What have we ever done to make you want to leave?  “You’ll get no help from us!” 

She kept that vicious promise, and I was determined to NEVER move back home and let her win. I won a few scholarships, but in the end, the choice was college or rent. I ended up ending my brief college career and losing those precious scholarships. “You just have to work hard, you don’t need more than that.” “Come home and I will take care of you. Just come back home.” 

My superhero cape had a tear in it. I’d failed. I couldn’t figure out how to make college happen on my own. I was all of 19, how could I let that happen?  I later learnedthatnlack of parental support was punishment #1 for having the audacity to move out of the house after graduation. That tear in my cape was the first of many. 

I was 23, I think, when I decided to go to a trade school and get my accounting certificate. I needed more skills to get a better job. That opened the door for my 17 year career at a company that changed my life. I learned amazing skills in the accounting and IT departments, and they didn’t care that I didn’t have a degree (that wasn’t as big a deal in the 80’s and 90’s as it is now.)

While I excelled at work, I did not excel at a personal life. I fell into a rut, believing, finally, that if I just worked hard I didn’t need anything else. I had drank the Koolaid. My cape was slowly shredding. She had won. A business trip to Florida woke me up and changed the course of everything. 

A co-worker invited me to spend the weekend with her. We went to the beach. I experienced downtown. This was a place I could see myself living in. It wasn’t Paris, but there was 28 miles of white sandy beaches. It was kind of like the Santa Cruz I remembered when I was really little, without the boardwalk. The place my Nana taught me to love the ocean. The mother hated that my Nana had such influence in me. 

St Petersburg Florida is an amazing city with a small town feel. The vibe, the pace, it all just clicked for me at that time. It was exactly the change I needed to make, and I hadn’t been looking for a change! 

I took a deep breath and made a superhero decision to move. That was twenty years ago. My cape was slowly mending itself. 

That decison began a 19 year battle with the mother, full of anger, hostility, lies, manipulations and verbal abuse. I was over-reaching again. She must have failed if I needed to live so far from her. Yada. Yada. Yada. As hard as I tried to fight it, she continued to influence me. My poor cape. 

I blossomed. I took up volunteering and focused on fundraising. I was a member of the Junior League (which made the mother crazy, me being one of those “stuck up, elitists”. “You’re not one of them. You never will be. Stop over-reaching.”) I worked with Race for the Cure. I loved volunteering, giving back, being a part of something bigger. It was satisfying. 

It took superhero powers to approach businesses for funding. Hell, I solicited $500 from my gynecologist while my feet were in the sturrups! I was terrified, but I was DOING. Living. Being. 

I finally went back to school. Twenty-odd years after failing, I was back. I loved it. I did amazingly well. I got a bachelors in three years, while working full time. I worked, I studied, I went to class, I did homework. That was my life. The response from home? “That’s a waste of money. Why do you continue to want more than you are meant to have?” “You are wasting your time, you need to come home.”

I graduated, exhausted, run down, and numb. As much as I loved school, keeping up with everything took a toll on me. A few months later my 17 year career came to an end. Changes were in the air and I did not want to be a part of them. While I don’t regret leaving when I did, doing so broke my spirit. That was my home, the place I had grown into an adult, it was in my blood. My boss and I didn’t part on the best of terms and that ate me up as well. Part of me has never fully recovered from the loss. My cape had a new, huge tear and a few shredded areas. 

I ventured out on my own and started a business. Timing was bad, economics were not in my favor, and try as I might, I couldn’t make a go of it. When my biz ended, the experience broke me some more. My cape looked like Swiss cheese. 

The last ten years have been, well, hell in many ways. The abuse from the mother plus the ups and downs of my finances, health, and overall life…everything I tried to achieve left me scarred and two steps behind where if begun. Soul sucking is the word you’re looking for. The pressure from the mother became unbearable. 

That brave little girl retreated and my inner superhero disappeared. The cape fell into ruins, and the remnants blew away in the crazy, wild winds that were ruling my life. 

In the last two years I blew out my ankle a a second and third time. The mother died, and I felt guilty for feeling relieved. The father died. I reconnected with family I had been denied a relationship with most of my life. I learned a great deal about the truth of my childhood and the lengths the mother would go for absolute control. I woke up and saw the mother for the insane, sociopath she truly was. 

In the end, I was going through the paces.  Get up. Go to work. Go home. Sleep sometimes. Get up. Go to work…

This week I realized…I am a shell of my former self. 

In the shower a couple days ago, I realized I need to get that brave little girl back. I need to make a new cape. I assumed the superhero pose. I stood there, allowing the water to wash off the grime of the previous day and some from the previous years.  I realized I will need a lot of showers to wash all that grime away. I began searching for that brave 12 year old who wanted to escape that world and have more. This world, my world,  needs her. 

I decided to enter performance mode. Put on my game face, every day. Strike the superhero pose, every day. Push the fear back, every day. I expect some days will go better than others. I have to keep moving forward. 

I can see that little girl, peaking out from the sideline, tentatively deciding how to proceed. I need to coax her out again. 

I need to be brave, get out of my way, and return to me. 

PS: I went to Paris in 2004. It was was amazing as I thought it would be. In fact, on that trip I saw Rome, Florence, Vincenza, Venice, Milan, and Paris. I will go back. I will have coffee at a cafe and eat strawberry crepes. I will sit among the artists on the steer and sketch the most beautiful city on earth. A superhero can do that. 

Photo from Grey’s Anatomy borrowed from https://goo.gl/images/mVgdaz 

What’s Herman Been Up To?


Does a skull fracture heal or just float around? I should probably find this out. I swear that there are days when Herman is bothering me, but not in the usual place.

A CT scan is $300…or $400, in either case, it’s kind of a lot and I’ve not gotten around to it. Yet. I’m thinking I need to, as good ole Herman continues to raise his head now and then. 

Herman doesn’t like extreme heat. When I get overheated, he acts up. It’s summer in Florida. Herman is restless. 

He still does not like lifting or any type of exertion. Damn it Herman, I need to be able to DO things! I need to exercise, and I need to lift things at work without you wreaking havoc the rest of the day. 

Today was one of those days. I lifted a 35 pound or so item up from the floor and into a wagon. I ended up with a headache. My coworker jumped in my case, worried that I’d hurt my back. I didn’t even tell her that I had woken up Herman. He and I simply spent the rest of the day co-existing. 

I think my memory is as improved as it’s going to get. Long term is pretty good. Short term can be spotty. Somethings I remember really well. Some things I don’t. I have noticed that on “Herman Days”, the memory isn’t as good as it should be. I’ve decided I need note cards in my pocket and purse to help me with things I need to know at the drop of a hat. Key points. Elevator speeches. 

One really annoying thing with all this is me trying to learn everything I can about Willing Beauty – the company, the product lines, all of it. Some things have stuck well. Some just don’t stick at all. I find that if I read something over and over, and study a lot, it helps. I didn’t have to study this hard in high school or college!

There is a bright spot in the Herman saga! Yes, I said a bright spot! It’s really exciting. Are you ready??? 

I am able to put more of my head on a pillow. That’s huge. I still sleep at an incline with a pillow under my neck. It’s kinda comfortable, I don’t snore, and I don’t wake up sore. I kind of like it. But I can get more of my head on a pillow for a longer period of time now than I could even six months ago, so that’s good. Plus, it gives the kitties a place to snuggle next to me (they do love a good pillow.)
I’ve begun to wonder, is it all in my head? Maybe I’m all better and my head just THINKS I’m not. Sometimes I think it’s all a dream and I will wake up. Oh how wonderful that would be?!?! I don’t think that is going to happen though, so I need to keep making it work. Herman is, by far, the toughest relationship I’ve ever had! 

50 Doesn’t Look Like 50 Did Thirty Years Ago

I was watching The Golden Girls recently. You know, that 80’s show about the adventures of ladies entering their golden years. At the beginning of the show, at least two characters were in their 50’s. 

When I first watched this in the 80’s, I thought “They are so old!” Rose dressed in old lady clothes. Blanche dressed in grampa old lady clothes. Dorothy dressed like Maude, who I always thought was old also. There was grey hair, aging topics, and the attitude that they were almost elderly and living younger lives. They made growing old look like fun. 

The last few months, this show has bothered me. I am 51. Many of my friends are in their late 40’s and older (a few into their 70’s.) as I watched the show one afternoon it hit me:

I am not 51 like my grandparents or parents were 51. 

My Nana died at 54 after a three year battle with pancreatic cancer. She died in the mid-70’s, when treatments were not as successful as they are today. 

My Nana was always old. I remember her as always having grey hair, wearing dirty blonde wigs and housecoats, and acting like she was elderly. She was a grandmother afterall!

My other grandma? Same thing, except there were a LOT of mumus. She wore them around the house. I don’t remember her wearing a top or pants unless she left the house. (I will have to check with my brother on that point!) 

My grandpas were the same. Always old. They both worked until they were 65, but even before they retired, they were old. 

The parents were old at 40. I kid you not. They began acting old at 40. By 50? They may as well have been in rocking chairs. They traveled by motor home and they took cruises until their health declined to the point they couldn’t. But they were never young during those years. 

Maybe it’s because I was a kid, or maybe it was the lifestyle of the times. Either way, I realized that afternoon watching The Golden Girls: 

I am younger at 51 than my parents or grandparents ever were. 

I color my hair. I take care of my skin. I work on my health. I try to maintain a youthful appearance. I work full time and have one freelance job and one business that I work on my off hours. I don’t see myself slowing down. The thought of retiring is a crazy fantasy (what would I DO?) I socialize, I DO things. I don’t sit in a chair aging. I don’t want to age. I want to live as much as possible. (Falling off a ladder cemented my need to do that!)

My friends? Same thing. We are all more vibrant, active, and young than our parents and grandparents ever were. We live very different lifestyles. We are always learning and expanding our minds. We are not waiting for grandchildren and death. 

I don’t own one mumu, housecoat, or wig. I don’t sit by the window knitting and watching the world pass by (not that I don’t enjoy knitting!) I don’t even take advantage of the “you’re 50 or older” discounts that are out there (though I probably should!) AARP? I won’t join in principle. Ok, that’s silly, but I’m not mentally “ready” to do that. 

I am a young 51. Many people don’t believe me when I tell them my age. I like that. I like that I’m mistaken for ten years younger. I like that the cashiers look shocked when they automatically card me and then see my age. 

I like being young. 

That’s not to say I’m not aging. I have less patience. I live more simply. Obtaining material things means less to me. I like wearing flats and flip flops. Heck, flip-flops are my all-occassion shoe (black Crocs to be exact.) I wear mostly black and grey because it’s simply easier. I don’t have to agonize over outfits, I just grab and go. It all matches. I enjoy my alone time. I can’t drink like I used to (probably not a bad thing.) I certainly don’t handle a hangover as well as I did ten years ago. 

I’m aging gracefully and slowly. 

My 51 is where my parents and grandparents were in their 30’s. 

I’m cool with that. 

A Time to Celebrate

It’s 4:08am. I’ve been awake for almost two hours. It seems to be my new routine. As I lay here with a million things running through my mind, I suddenly remembered something I’ve been quietly excited about for months:

Yesterday marked one year since my last “monthly visit”, “that time”, or as I came to refer to it as “my monthly hell”.  

It was never an easy road. I started when I was 12. I remember waking up one morning, seeing the evidence, and being angry. This was not something I ever wanted to deal with. I certainly had never looked forward to it. I had awful cramps all day, and I had to go to school and suck it up. I remember being so nauseous and in so much pain I could barely concentrate. I was miserable. 

When I get home, the mother had called EVERYONE she knew to tell them “the exciting news” – I was woman!

Actually, I was humiliate.  She became irate. She told me I was being stupid, that I should be proud of “becoming a woman”.

H U M I L I A T E D. 

I told her that it was nobodies business and she had no right to announce it to the world. It was my personal. It was embarrassing and I was miserable. She told me to grow up. She told me I was a child and had no rights. I told her I was supposedly a woman. She told me to shut up before she slapped that look off my face. Oh the warm memories…

The next 39 years were mostly hell where this was concerned. Severe PMS hat dragged on for two weeks. Extreme cramps that often left me sick for two days every month. Heavy flow that left me exhausted and wondering how people ever survive such blood loss. 

In high school, the cramps were so bad my doctor prescribed Vicodin. Yes, I said Vicodin! WTH??  Who does that??? 

I was never allowed to stay home with a migraine or cramps. I was told at an early age that I had to learn how to live in the world with these things, and that I was never to use them as an excuse. I won’t say as an adult that I followed that advise. Rarely did I call in sick, and if the mother got wind of it, she gave me hell. 

I had an abnormal pap about 19 years ago. Precancerous cells were caught early and dealt with. I asked for a hysterectomy, and was told no. I was serious, but the doc didn’t take me seriously. 

At this point I will mention that I am the only female on the mother’s side of the family to have a uterus after the age of 30. There was no family history to compare me to. There was a lot of cervical cancer, cysts, hardening of the uterus, and generally not healthy female parts. 

In my late 30’s/early 40’s I asked again for a hysterectomy. I was told that would be “elective surgery” and insurance doesn’t cover that. Instead she put me on the Depo Provera shot and for four glorious years I had no “time of the month”. 

H E A V E N. 

The PMS was gone. The severe nausea and other symptoms that arrived on day one were gone. It was amazing. Then my job situation changed and my insurance changed and they were no longer covered. Heavy sigh. 

Then they got sporadic for several years. Every two weeks…every six weeks…every few months…every two weeks…you get the picture. 

Finally, I skipped several months. I started keeping count. On month six? Surprise. Mother Nature did that to me three times. 

This time, I wrote the start date down and forgot about it. A couple months ago I checked to see what it had been. June 19, 2016. It had been heavy, ugly, made me sick as a dog, and lasted a full seven days. Then nothing. 

It is now 4:45am on June 29, 2017. One year has officially gone by. One year, which marks the official start to menopause. 

Perimenopause has been here for several years, as have hot flashes, night sweats, and the like. I can live with that. 

I will make a doctor appointment to get checked out and make sure all is well. Then I may call my friends and suggest a celebratory drink. 

This bears celebrating. The horror that began 39 years ago is no more. 

Welcome menopause!! I’ve been anxiously awaiting your arrival!! 

Hello June!

Half a year has whizzed by in the blink of an eye! Where did January go? February? March? Winter?? 

June. Officially summer. Hot days, warm nights. In Florida, it’s not even the hottest time (we’ll revisit that in August/September!)  when we were kids it meant pool time, motor home vacations, reading a LOT of books and vegetating until the school year began. 

I woke this morning feeling like time has swept past me and I’ve not moved. Ever feel like that? 

I have a problem you see, a very big problem. I live as I was trained to live. I wake up, I go to work, I work hard, I come home, I eat dinner, I go to bed. 

Trained since birth!

Now, that’s not to say I don’t socialize. I go out to dinner, meet up with friends, all the fun things. I don’t do that as often as I probably should. You know, the balance thing and all. Balance? Yes, it’s a thing. I’m told it’s an important thing. 

I find myself in a rut this first day of June. I just don’t make enough time for me. There, I said it. It’s out in the universe. 

I need more me time. 

Sounds simple, yes? No. It’s my age old struggle. 

What to DO? 

I declare today the first day that I purposefully  spend a little more time on me. This month I will do more things that benefit me, my life, my future. Wow, that sounds incredibly selfish! How DARE I think such a thing? Another part of the training. Oh, that damn training to be content with nothing, to not over reach, to not dream of a better future, to not be selfish. I may need a detox of some kind…

I want to better serve the people around me. Friends. Strangers. I want to make a difference. I want to be someone who can make someone smile, even if they don’t realize it. I want to bring forth joy. 

I don’t need pomp and circumstance. I just want to give back to this world of ours, and be a brighter spot, a positive spot, a good person. 

I will work on me, body and soul. A healthier me is better for everyone. 

I think it’s doable. I just need to start. 

Summer Means…More Water

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Summer has hit Florida. Not, you know, like August Summer…I’d call this May Summer.  In April. August summer is hell on earth.  May summer is warm enough to be uncomfortable, but nice in the evenings.

I have put away the leggings and taken out the skirts. The fans are dusted and going. My home and wardrobe are switched over to summer mode. My water consumption is increasing.

Water consumption? Yes! The warmer it gets, the more water I drink.  

My grandfather (who I always called Papa) used to drink ice tea in the winter and hot coffee in the summer. He reasoned that the liquids helped maintain his body temperature and keep him from becoming too hot or too cold. I remember telling him that was crazy. It was a blistering hot 110+ day in July, and he had stopped by the house for lunch. He ate his sandwich, drank steaming hot coffee from his thermos, and tried to explain to my why it worked for him. I’m still not sold on that one.

What I can tell you, now that I’m a grown up and all, is that when it’s warmer, I feel more thirsty. My water consumption jumps about a third. A THIRD! And maybe it’s my Papa’s influence on me, or maybe it’s in the genes, but…I don’t drink ice water. I like my water room temperature…even if that room is 90 degrees. I don’t care much for cold drinks or drinks that are overly hot.  Call me Goldilocks, I like the liquid temperature just right. Unless it’s white wine. Wine should always be chilled. And Moscow Mules. And Bloody Marys…

Now, let’s talk about my water habit.  I drink a lot of water.  Still water, sparkling water with no sodium or calories, and herbal tea. I shoot for half my body weight in ounces each day. Yes, I said half. Yes, depending on how things are going in my life, that is often a lot of water.

(Side note: when you drink that much water, you need to pace yourself. If you don’t, you will be up every half hour all night long. Find your cutoff time and stick to it. Trust me. Learn from me. )

During the winter, I hit about 40-60% of that goal. Now that it’s warmer? I’m getting closer. Every day I drink a little bit more. Yes, I count. I have an app that I track it in. I can look at a glass and guess pretty darn close how many ounces it will hold. I have cups and glasses that I drink from daily so I don’t have to guess. Obsessed? No. Accurate!

Water is good for the body. It makes our skin look and feel better. It washes our insides. It gives toxins a way to exit the body. It helps with the poops. Water is a good thing.

Now that the days are longer, I will begin walking again. That means even more water. Water helps maintain your weight, it helps keep you from dehydrating, it’s just plain good for you.

My general rule is, IF I have something with caffeine or alcohol, I drink that much more water to counteract it. OK, I have caffeine once or twice a month. I have alcohol once or twice a week. I always have extra water when I indulge. Which I do. On occasion.

I am working on getting my water consumption back up to par before I begin using my new beauty regimen. Water will only help! Let’s face it, I lack any kind of regimen right now, so ANYTHING will help, right?

Drink your water.  It’s good for you!

Happy Mail

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2,000 new Beauty Advisors are being processed today (I’m number 2,086 when last I saw the number.) I should be processed in the next few weeks, and rumor has it my kit will ship today or tomorrow.

Having stalked my bank account all morning, watched a movie, and partook in some quality time with the kitties, I decided I should leave the house and find something worthwhile to do.  Like get a cup of tea, put gas in the car, pay a couple bills, write a blog post…When I got outside, something caught my eye.  My mailbox was exploding with Happy Mail.

What is Happy Mail?  Mail that makes you happy, of course!  Today’s mail brought me a skirt I bought from a direct sales gal I know (it’s blue, and it’s fabulous,) new business cards, nail wraps, and a lovely gift from a fabulous friend.  I couldn’t wait, I had to open it all IN MY CAR!  I found the overflowing mailbox when I was leaving the house, so that kinda made sense.

All these envelopes of happiness made me smile really big, and it really did brighten my day. You could say, it made me happy!

Who doesn’t like new, shiny things that make them happy?

 

My Skin Care Regimen – Part 1

Wise words from a dear friend. Once upon a time my friend and I went to a New Year’s Eve party. We had some tasty beverages, toasted the new year with our friends, and then went back to her place, as it was close and we had a sober ride. I decided to spend the rest of the night on her sofa rather than drive home in a slightly intoxicated condition (always a good decision!)

That was the night I learned the joys of the DVR and was introduced to a great new show called Sex in the City. I’ve had a DVR ever since, and lived vicariously through Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte for many seasons. Those gals had great skin.

My friend and I sat up for a bit chatting, laughing, catching me up on SITC, enjoying another tasty beverage, having some water. We solved the worlds problems and then called it a night.

As my friend headed to bed she mentioned that she needed to wash her face. What? I could barely get off the sofa, and she was determined to wash her face? I asked about this and she said she washed her face every night, no matter what. It was the main part of her skin care regimen. Well, she did have fabulous skin (and still does!)

Looking back, I should have paid attention. 

I’ve never had a skin care regimen. I’ve tried many, many products over the years, but never consistently. I’ve spent thousands on this system or that, only to try it for a week or two and give up. I was young, impatient, I had plenty of time…

I began worshipping the sun as a pre-teen, using cooking oil as my tanning blend. I am fair skinned with blue eyes. I wasn’t allowed suntan oil, so Wesson worked in a pinch. If I’d known then what I know now.

By my 20’s, I was covered in freckles. Nor the cute kind. The sun-damage kind. I continued to work on my tan. In my 30’s, the lines began forming around my eyes, but my tan was awesome. In my 40’s, I began avoiding the sun and drinking water. Water? Turns out that one is as important as washing your face every night!

Drinking water instead of soda has done wonders. My lips are less chapped. My dry skin requires less lotion. Overall, I feel better when I drink my weight (in ounces) in water each day…or darn close.

My current regemin is embarrassing.

It truly is. Now that I’m in my 50’s (barely) I am concerned about my previous choices. I want to get it right. I want to make improvements to my skin.

Look for the details of the embarrassing regimen and what I’m doing to remedy it in Part 2…

Hello April! 

New month. New business. New Opportunities. Spring is in full swing, unless you’re in Florida. If you’re in Florida, summer has begun! Mid-high 80’s this week. I am not mentally prepared for summer, but it’s here.

April is usually the time I change the color on my toes to something springier. When I take up walking…again. When I enjoy the long days and cool evenings. The cool evenings will be gone soon enough. New beginnings.

April it always a transition month for me. As a child, April often meant an Easter week trip to camp on a beach near Mendocino. Last April my mother passed away. One April, a thousand years ago, I walked out on an abusive relationship. See? Transition.

This April brings new adventures. 

I WILL begin walking again. It’s time. I have a brace for my ankle, and I may even have a couple pair of good socks.

I WILL give yoga another try.

I WILL begin my Willing Beauty adventure.

I WILL take better care of myself, and my skin.

That’s a whole lot of adventure kinda stuff I’ve thrown out into the universe!

– Penny

Osprey and Heartache


I drive past 12 osprey nests on the way to and from work. Most are within a one mile stretch of road. Every day o see the nests, and often times I see the birds, beautiful, magnificent creatures that amaze me. 

I wish them good morning each day. I count how many I see. They make me smile. I know it will be a good day when I see them. How can it not be?

Friday night I happened upon an Osprey Cam for one of the nests. According to the blog, there were two babies and a third egg waiting to hatch. My bank has adopted these osprey and had ensured them a safe home. The story of this family is heartwarming. 

Saturday I tuned in periodically throughout the day. I saw the mama and the babies, the papa bird bringing them a fish, the feeding. It was magical. 

When I got news that a wonderful person I know received a devastating cancer diagnosis, I pulled up the osprey. When the work day ended and I was tired and overwhelmed, I pulled up the osprey. It was then I noticed one baby was motionless. I cried. The other baby was active and I clung to the idea that it was the bright spot of the day. New life, so cute, so sweet. Hope in a nest. 

Over dinner I learned that a second wonderful person’s husband received a devastating cancer diagnosis. No way! Back to the osprey. As the sun began to set, mama and baby were settled in, and again, the adorable life in that nest was a bright shiny spot as I thought of my friends. 

Sunday morning I tuned in. I couldn’t see the baby. My heart dropped and I became concerned. An hour later I saw the Facebook post: both babies had passed. 

Mother Nature let me down. 

I cried for an hour. I assumed the fetal position, snuggles with my cat and cried the loud, ugly cry. I cried off and on the rest of the day. I have tears now, even as I type this. What happened? Why? How do the parents feel? How will we go on?

Mother Nature had other plans for those sweet babies. Mother Nature can bite me…letting me fall in love then ripping my heart out. Heavy sigh. 

Some days you need more baby osprey and less real life. 

I checked the Osprey Cam yesterday evening and the mama was eating a fish. The nest looked so…quiet. Sadness washed over me again. 

Today I will see the 12 nests I’ve become an expert at spotting. If I time my commute right I will see 4-8 osprey hanging out watching commuters go by. Eleven is the record. 

I’m not sure my heart can take more bad news right now. May today be free of death and disease. 

If you’d like to see my friends the osprey, you can tune into the live feed anytime. They are fascinating creatures that will continue to enchant me.