Chocolate Oatmeal For Breakfast

Moving from one home to another is always challenging - and we're becoming the experts, I think, since we're on our sixth move since the fall of 2013.

One challenge is not realizing you need an item until you don't have it.

For instance, I eat oatmeal every morning, mostly because I actually do like it.

But I don't like runny oatmeal.

And I don't like the taste of fresh milk.

Or the taste of unsweetened oatmeal.

So I make mine in the microwave with powedered milk and a bit of cream of wheat to thicken it - and then I add a sprinkle of brown sugar to sweeten it.

But not until I was making oatmeal after spending the night for the first time in the new home did I realize I had neither cream of wheat or brown sugar.

I did, however, have a box of chocolate graham crackers.

I cracker crumbled into powder and added to the oatmeal before microwaving both thickened and sweetened the mixture for me.

It also tasted rather good, too.

I recently wrote how I'm constantly pivoting these last few years.

And I also wrote about the importance of celebrating the "shifts" in our plans.

It's true I'm rather weary of the nonstop challenges that's keeping my family and me on edge these days.

But without the challenges, we wouldn't encounter the blessings.

Like eating chocolate oatmeal for breakfast.

Turning 65

Because we're in the process of moving (again), I planned for a very, very lowkey sixty-fifth birthday last Wednesday.

And the day turned busier with odd projects that I foresaw, along with two back-to-back meals.

My oldest son came up from Streator with his youngest son David (who is turning two on July 22) to treat me to lunch. 

The air-conditioning wasn't working at restaurant number one, so we migrated to restaurant number two.

When we returned home, Rebekah told me Timothy and Daniel had made dinner reservations and to "get ready." Ooof!

So we went to dinner, brought home enough leftovers for the next day's dinner, and then the boys stopped at Walt's Ice Cream, so I could have "something" to hold a candle while they sang "Happy Birthday."

They came home with enough ice cream to last for days. And then we sang "Happy Birthday" without the candles because we didn't have any.

NI had no presents at my request since we are putting so many resources into the new home. Their time and presence and help at all my out-of-the-box ideas and projects throughout the year are presents enough, presents of the priceless kind with eternal value and worth.

But my mother did send these lovely popup cards and kept texting me to be sure I opened them.

And Cindy came to the house on Friday with a box of gifts Eric and Justin picked out for me (and something very special she made for WriteOn Joliet's anthology release party on November 12).

Oh, and I still have two hundred-plus birthday wishes yet to read on Facebook.

While some people bemoan growing older, I love growing older.

Three of my grandparents never saw "older."

My paternal grandmother died at 55 from pancreatic cancer.

My patneral grandfather died at 62 from colon cancer.

My maternal grandmother died at 64 from colon cancer.

And my only female cousin died two years at age 58 from breast cancer.

Moreoever,  I'm fully aware I should have died in 2002 from something of which you've likely never heard.

I have family, friends, a new home, and life itself.

Turning sixty-five was such a blessing!

A Constant Pivot

By nature, I'm a planner.

And I know life doesn't always go according to plan.

But the sheer frequency with which my family and I pivot to meet the circumstances is dizzying.

Frankly, I'm astounded we accomplish anything of real significance at all...ever.

Seriously.

My to-do lists resemble a shell game with the amount of moving, manipulating, and reassigning of items I do.

Yet - we get stuff done.

Most (if not all) of it, eventually.

I'll bet you do, too.

So take heart when today doesn't go as hoped.

It will work out.

It always does.

Somehow.

Weathering the Storms

Like many, many others, I lost power, time, and money when a derecho and other strong storms ripped through the parts of Illinois last week.

I lost the same in 2020, when a derecho also ripped through the area, smack in the middle of the COVID-19 shutdown.

At the time, I was writing nine months worth of daily reflections on kindness (finding opportunties to be kind and finding kindness in others where I might have missed it otherwise), which I published later that year.

Here's what I wrote on two of those days in 2020.

AUGUST 10 

Be kind: Be thankful for the luxuries we take for granted.

A derecho blew through Will County this afternoon.

            Shortly afterwards, I was wandering through rubble, taking pictures of the aftermath for The Herald-News

            This single, brief storm uprooted trees, damaged homes and properties, and cut power to thousands of homes. Many people were especially angry about the loss of power and internet.

            Offering prayers and thinking good thoughts for the safety of the workers who bring us such luxuries as refrigerators and hot water might be a better use of time while we’re eating crackers in the dark than griping.

AUGUST 14 

Be kind: Spotlight someone else’s good works.

An injured baby squirrel will live another day because a kind person picked it up after the derecho and found a local squirrel rescue to accept it.

            That might not sound like a big deal to you.

            But you are not a squirrel.

            Yes, I wrote a story about it. And I’m glad I did. Because I added a postscript to this post.

            A few weeks later, someone I know in another state rescued two baby squirrels and didn’t know what to do.

            By connecting the novice with the expert, two more squirrels are now doing well.

From "Nine Months of Kindness"

The Last Chocolate Rabbit of 2026

As I've previously written, I have an affinity for these gold-foiled chocolate rabbits, which is more about their expressions than the actual chocolate beneath the foil.

I like them so much, I tend to save the last one wayyyyyyyy past Easter.

On June 1, I contemplated this little rabbit, all alone with its brothers and sisters (duly consumed) and wondered how the rabbit felt.

Did it feel safe from human devouration?

Lonely at the loss of its siblings?

Or perhaps unfilled, since its purpose is not to sit on a shelf but to be eaten?

I'm sure it's painful and scary for a chocolate rabbit (if it could actually feel) to be chomped away.

I'm sure sitting on a high shelf feels much safer.

But just as cats are not meant to hide under the bed most of the time, chocolate rabbits aren't meant to sit on the shelf forever.

In a few years, this chocolate rabbit would  likely be good for nothing except the trash.

Fulfilling one's purpose isn't always easy, is it?

Our responsiblities may consume us.

People may not understand us, leaving us alone and lonely.

And because we stretch past our comfort level in the process of becoming, we leave something of our old selves in the growth.

But what happens if we choose the safe, sure road (and really, no road is safe and sure), if we choose to just "sit on a shelf," and let our talents slowly decay?

Just so you know, on that first day of June 2026, I ate the rabbit.

PHOTOS: April 27, 2022

Good morning!

As I've mentioned in the past, our family has moved several times since we lost our home in Channahon when Ron developed dementia.

We are now contemplating another move.

And it occurred to me yesterday morning, while searching through my photos for one that highlighted a social media post, that this might be our last spring in this very picturesque area, that the view on April 27, 2027, might look very different next year.

So I scrolled through my saved photos for images I took on April 27, 2022.

Because when moving forward, it's good to know from whence we came, not for reasons of looking back for too long (lest we become immobile), but to give us the courage and hope to move forward, that beauty and blessing lie in the future, too.

If you think about it, we really can only move forward, right?

My Cat is a Phoenix

Anyone who's followed by Faith's nearly four-year cancer journey, knows this little kitty has defied the odds (and her eventual fate) more than nine lives should allow - including one dramatic turn for the better one hour before her euthansia more than two years ago.

Well, she's beat them again, at least for this moment.

Because of her longterm steriod use (anticipated to be a couple of months, not years), Faith drinks a lot but can't keep up with the fluid loss. So she was recently prescribed subcutaneous fluids twice a week at home.

Before Faith received Fluid Treatment No. 1, we had the carpet stretchers at opur house. My room and the hall had rather suddenly developed a large, long trail of  a hump that urgently needed repair due to its size, location, and hazard (large enough we kept tripping over it).

That means completely emptying my room, a many-hour task on Calkins Day, for which I took the day off work.

Well, the carpet stretchers arrived two hours early, and we were far from done. So they headed to some other jobs and came back at the end of the day. That means a panicked Faith hid somewhere all day and under my bed once they were gone.

Faith stayed there most of Saturday, and I don't think she slept much those two days.

By Saturday night, she'd lost half a pound, looked ghastly, and received her first treatment of at-home fluids.

I worked through the weekend, so she and I hung out together. She didn't eat or drink much, but she did rest her face in the water bowl.

We decided to cancel my PT for Monday, give Tiny's vaccination appointment to Faith, and do whatever we needed to do to address the issue.

That brings us to last night.

At ten o'clock, Faith suddently discovered water.

And kibbles.

And sticks of wet food (the lickable snacks, and she eats an average of ten per day as a supplement).

Well, she ate eight of them last night.

I dozed on the bed and refilled her bowl each time I heard her licking the empty bowl. Untill well past midnight, I was up and down refilling her bowl. I also gave her fresh water around four.

She's still a little dehydrated. But her veterinarian said no more subcutaneous fluids until her next scheduled one, since she's eating and drinking. She also doesn't need to be seen, hurray!

We get that Faith is on borrowed time, and her situation can change on a dime. Her four-year anniversary since diagnosis is less than two months away, and we'd be surprised if she makes that.

In the meantime...

Tiny is rescheduled for next week. I get to go to work and PT as if nothing happened. 

Faith is currently hanging out under the bed pecking and food and water.

Not bad for a Monday, right?

Perfect Attendance

Every now and again, I hear a story about "perfect attendance."

The person with the perfect attendance could be a student, a board member, an employee, even family members, etc.

With the last few years in my life being a bit messy and complicated, I'm a bit jealous of anyone who can attain perfect attendance anywhere in his or her life. I've never accomplished it, not in anything.

But I also wonder about those who DO attain it: Do these people have less challenging lives? Are other people better at navigating challenges? Or are other priorities set aside to achieve that perfect attendance?

I'm sure there's no one, all-consuming answer here.

And I'm sure we've all felt torn at times, when we really were needed in two (or more) places in the same instant.

Perfect attendance certainly shows one's committment to school, organizations, work, family events.

But when two important situations intersect, which one gets the perfect attendance? 

At the crossroads, which direction do you choose?

A Time for Silence

I love waking up before the rest of the household, when all the house is silent.

No voices.

No cats running around.

No corgis squeaking squeaky toys.

No background noises from media on computers or cell phones.

But I also love those same sounds once the day is really awake. That same type of silence would be out-of-place, I think.

Years ago when the children were young on an exceptionally weary day, I lay on the couch to nurse the baby to sleep and drifted off myself for a short bit.

The older kids had scattered to friends' house.

I remember waking up to the very quiet house and realizing that would, one day, be my reality. And I wasn't sure I liked it.

In college, several of us owned the same poster. Mine hung on my water closet door. The poster was about how life was full of contrasts, and that what made life meaningful.

For instance, having the flu meant you could stay in bed and lose weight. Having a cold meant you could say in bed and eat.

Or nights of going out and having fun would become dull without nights of staying home with a good book and hot cocoa.

Maybe that's why God created seasons, in nature, in life.

Maybe?

Thoughts?

Birthday Gift From Mom

So the birthday gift my mother sent for my birthday on July 15 arrived on July 22, which was frustrating to her and less so with me, since I had surgery on July 17 and that week was a blur of pre-op preparation.

But she followed the tracking with periodic text updates to me as to its location, with the final one being in our parcel box. So Rebekah brought in the box, which contained a cat and dog T-shirt and a pawprint coffee mug.

I asked Rebekah to snap a photo to text to my mother, which she did, shaking her head at our lived-in background and foreground: box that held the gifts, one purse, a bag of supplies on the table, a box that held the large sign now at The Book Market in Crest Hill that needs a home in the garage, a dog toy, Rebekah's tumbler collection on top of the "five minutes of kindness" cabinet, and bare walls since we are still "moving in" four years later.

Nothing is filtered, nothing is altered. Just one post-surgical moment in time and two birthday gifts that made the trek across the country from intention to recipient, with a smile and thankfulness sent back in return.

May you know both giving and recieving today - and may both make you smile.

Happy Monday!

A Smidgen of Normal

It all started with the bathroom shelf.

With all the emergencies and complications in our lives these last couple of years, "stuff" began accumulating everywhere.

One day, I sized up the organized dissarray in my bathroom and realized I had mores stuff in there than space. I decided I needed the type of bathroom shelf that Rebekah had in her bathroom.

Rebekah latched onto the idea, and we bought in on Thursday morning while we were running errands before work. She also bought some blue plastic wicker baskets, and I took the first steps toward moving some items away from the clutter and into their new home.

It looked nice.

The change was so subtle, so small, but it rekindled a motivation I hadn't realized had shrunk until I felt that spark.

So Saturday, I caught up on some BryonySeries project.

And on Sunday, I caught up on some household ones.

By "caught up," I don't mean to imply that I'm caught up at all. 

Still, I accomplished more than I ever dreamed possible when I placed those first folded washclothes into those simple baskets.

Now I can't predict the future, and I have no idea if our stormy season is coming to an end.

(Yes, I'm having surgery in a couple of weeks. Wouldn't that be great if the entire process was straightfoward as it should be?)

But it felt wonderful to do the "normal" things for two days without the ceiling and the floor collapsing on us.

Yes, that is indeed the drain sitting on the top of the shelf. Daniel removed it due to a problem six months or more months ago, and it's lived on my dresser ever since. That drain is now one step closer to returning to its "normal" place, too.

Seriously, several of us in the family were talking about how jumping from big problem to big problem has them on edge, and they've come to dread the weekends when "something" always seems to happen.

Nothing happened this weekend except the weekend. That really felt good.

And that gives me hope.

Happy Monday!

You Cannot Make This Up

So the "fun" for Lucas' graduation weekend probably started when we decided I should apply for an expeditated passport since I couild not get an appointment for a Real ID.

Naturally I could not find any copies of my birth certificate. So my mother, who also lives in North Carolina, found a copy from 1967 and overnighted it to me in package so sealed for safety we had trouble opening it ourselves.

We spent the money for the expeditation and breathed a sigh of relief. 

In the meantime, here's what this past week has looked like across the family, the Illiniois family and the North Carolina family: COVID, two ER trips for two different family members (including me; the barium in the photo is mine), an ER plumbing issue, power outage in ninety-three degrees, a romantic breakup, missing carryon bag with medication that had to be checked (found later destroyed), another illness overnight that prevented a grandparent from attending graduation, and one person in North Carolina that overslept and missed the graduation altogether.

Then we had trouble loading the virtual link and missed Lucas walking in (but we were jubilantly present when he received his diploma and watched him walk out as new graduate of the Class of 2025.

So this afternoon, we will have a Zoom celebration, and I will read Lucas my "Message to the Class of 2020," which I read to my two nieces at our Zoom celebration of their high school and college graduations in May 2020, because these same sentiments apply.

The one thing that did work out for us this week is that we all commiserated together.

This above list of "experiences" doesn't even make believable fiction. But it's all true, and it all happened to us over these past few days.

But those are the key words: "we" and "us."

Whenever we go through these trials, we remind each other that some people don't have "we" and "us." 

In fact, WE see it all the time in the ER: people who are there alone, without "we" and "us."

Which is worse? Being alone and having everything go right and according to plan? Or having everything go wrong but having it all go wrong with togetherness?

While you're mulling on that question, you've probably missed Chekhov's gun.

Well, that's because I'm missing it, too.

I'm referring to the "expedited" passport.

I received an email an hour ago. It should be here on Wednesday.

Happy Monday!

The Young Woman's Part-Time Job

Many, many years ago, I wrote a story about a young, single woman in her 20s who, unlike many people today, worked two jobs.

However, her purpose was not the typical reason.

The full-time job was for her.

The part-time job was for everyone else.

With the funds from the part-time job, this woman ran a clothing closet and a food pantry out of her garage.

I don't remember her name or how long ago I wrote the story. But my office was the attic office in Channahon and likely before Ron and I started The Higher Ark Youth Group for our church.. 

So I'm guessing approximately twenty-five years ago.

Her story inspired me because it proved that one person through hard work can make a significant change. 

I don't recall why she chose to tackle this on her own. She may have run into obstacles that led her to simply fund it herself.

But that's how Ron and I got things done.

We rolled up our sleeves and made changes at our church.

Ron painted, using paint we bought.

Ron and the kids cleaned out, painted, and organized the pantry.

Ron stripped all the floor wax in the large and small halls and rewaxed everything.

I created an entire Sunday School program with our money, organized it, and paid for it.

We did the same thing for the youth group, remodeling three outbuildings (two garages and one attached wooden shed) on our property, hiring an out-of-work constractor to construct a fourth, and buying a shed for the "stuff."

The kids jumped in and stuffed Sunday inserts for newspaper carriers to help buy snacks and pop, etc. for the youth group.

At the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, a writer comrade contacted me and asked me to edit his second book. I'd always turned those opportunities down, mostly because my schedule was tight between family, my own writing work, WriteOn Joliet, my own fiction writing, and because editing is expensive, and I knew writers on the independent level would likely never make that money back, ever.

But he insisted he would not take "no" for an answer. So I took on this project and then a few more, charging far, far, far below industry standard rates, more of a stipend, really.

And that inspired the beginning of the book giveaways, including this book giveaway.

When my oldest son Christopher was born in 1982, we found few pamphlets by an organization called The Christophers that we began collecting for when he was older.

The Christophers had a motto that has always stayed with me: "It's better to light one candle than to curse the darkness."

Lighting one candle doesn't dispel the darkness in the world.

But it can light up a room enough to see.

Happy Monday!

 

Slugs for a Day (NOT!)

By slight design, all members of the Core Four had Friday off work, presumbably to rest since we were working Ye Olde May Fest all weekend.

We mostly did not rest.

And that's not because we weren't tired - or because we got busy with housework. (we swore off most housework for the day).

Trust me, we were not busy with housework at all. No, it's all still waiting for us.

But you know how it goes. One thing and then another and then another and just one more thing popped up until the day ended.

Now, Friday was definitely a low-pressure day. No one was moving at top speed. We just had "stuff" to do here and there.

Still, I'm conflicted. The day off didn't happen. And now we've got all this work in the house to do.

At least half of us are working next weekend, too.

I often say that life is an adventure. Maybe the quest for a sluggish day is, too.

And life - and maybe rest, too - happens only in the moment.

You can take an entire day off from life until life is no more and all the days are gone.

This photo of two of my grandsons is six years old. The location is no longer part of our lives and one boy just graduated from high school last week.

Friday was not a sluggish day. But it wasn't a bad day. It was a productively relaxed day.

So thankful I didn't miss it.

Happy Monday!

A New Favorite Bible Verse

I've previously written about the chaotic few years my family and I have experienced, and we've had more of the same in 2025 - with more challenges on the horizon.

Last October, as Rebekah and I began recreating our BryonySeries financial year, the amount of paperwork documenting projects kept coming.

Ironically, both of us were ill that day, but the work needed to be done.

At one point, we stopped and looked at each other asking, "How? How did we get this all done?"

So many times, we've been so far behind on "stuff," that when we start to tackle getting caught up, we got knocked even farther behind.

These past three days have been very productive, so much so that we've been lulled into thinking "catching up" is possible.

But is it? Or are our cynical minds fearing that's an illusion?

We might get caught up this time - or we might start over and "catching up" will be delayed.

However, I also believe the time of constant turmoil is also a season, one that reminds us that progress and accomplishment is possible in the midst of storms and that mild weather and circumstances will return - and that life is both and not always linearly.

So here is my new favorite Bible verse and my personal mantra for this year. I clung it these past months of WriteOn Joliet's 2025 radio play season, when I had three emergency room visits, one hospital stay, and two new and separate diagnoses, and one scheduled (and then rescheduled) surgery - and I didn't know if participation in the play was possible and if I should quit or keep rehearsing (I kept rehearsing).

"If you wait for perfect weather, you will never plant your seeds. 

"If you are afraid that every cloud will bring rain, you will never harvest your crops. 

"You do not know which way the wind will blow." Ecclesiastes 11:4-5.

Happy Monday!

Three Faith-Filled Years

Three years ago today, our calico Faith was diagnosed with small cell lymphoma.

Side note: I took this photo of Faith (and the last two at the bottom) right before I posted this blog. The rest are from various times of her illness.

OK, now onto the blog!

At the time of her diagnosis, Faith was sick, weak, and recovering from nearly a weeklong hospital stay, aspiration pneumonia, the insertion of a feeding tube (which we never used, only flushed daily for several months), and rapid weight loss.

We were told she could live two years with cancer treatments if she tolerated them well. In the meantime, she went on palliative care: prednisolone, Vitamin B12, and Cerenia for nausea as needed, as well as two antibiotics.

Faith finished the antibiotics and then went back on a third when her feeding tube became infected.

As Faith recovered, we decided to forgo treatment and leave her on palliative care for several reasons.

1. All options of treatment were too expensive for us to consider - plus the cost of treating Faith for side effects. 

2. The recent illness had so traumatized Faith (who already had panic attacks during routine veterinarian check-ups) that we didn't want the rest of her life to be a cycle of chemotherapy, side effects, and trips to the vet for lots of blood draws and side effect treatments. So even if we had unlimited funds, we still would not have chosen cancer treatments.

3. Faith's quality of life was returning, and we wanted to keep it that way. We wanted good days (even if few in number) than lots of potentially miserable days.

I researched her cancer and learned a few things.

1. The range for life expectancy with treatment was one to three years.

2. The range for life expectancy with palliative care was two to three months.

3. I found one cat in the literature who lived a year on palliative care alone.

Naturally, we did not expect Faith to live through the summer.

But when she did, we did not expect Faith to see the holidays - or 2023. But she did.

We repeated these mantras in 2023, 2024, and at the beginning of 2025.

She's long lost the bloated steroid look and pounds.

Today, she's slightly 9.8 pounds.

We added Gabapentin for arthritis eighteen months ago. The Cerenia became a daily medication six months ago. Faith also gets an occasional Zofran. By upping her nausea medication, she really doesn't get dehydrated anymore.

Now she does look a little thin.

But she's also lost muscle mass because we have a corgi in the house, so she stays upstairs. It's been five months since she's ran up and down the stairs.

Faith also looks a little tired some days.

But she's now a seventeen-year-old cat with cancer. According to several cat sites. that makes Faith eight-four years old. Heck, if I were eighty-four with cancer, I'd look tired, too.

Faith's oncologist said Faith's case is unusual. They do have one cat in the practice that's lived seven years (so far) with small cell lymphoma. But he's a much younger cat, and he did have two years of chemotherapy, too.

How to celebrate?

Well, right now she's more interested in all the helicopters that have been flying overhead for the last few hours than in anything I can offer her.

What about treats?

She already gets all the treats she wants, so nothing special in that regard.

But maybe some extra hugs and pets today are in order - and gratefulness to God for three Faith-filled years.

Why We Almost Kept Our Christmas Tree Up Until May 6

The short answer is because we had hoped to celebrate Christmas with Sarah when she came out to the area for Timothy and Daniel's graduation (master's degree) from the University of St. Francis in Joliet the first weekend of May.

The long answer is more complicated.

As I've previously written, our family has journeyed through a couple of very challenging years - and 2025 (as Timothy said) arrived like a wrecking ball.

Still, we were foolishly hopeful 2025 might be a big gentler on us.

Now we could not have known that in December 2024.

But by December 2024, the boys were finishing up master degree classes, Rebekah was hearing rumors of job layoffs, and I was moving from health issue to health issue.

All of this dumped our holiday spirit on the chopping block.

Timothy had put his tree up early so Midnight could enjoy it for her last few days.

Rebekah, who normally loves decorating for Christmas, couldn't muster up the desire for it.

So I put up the tree, starting December 26, my first day of the last few vacation days I still needed to take for 2024.

And I also got sick with whatever respiratory virus was buzzing around at that time.

In a haze of unwellness, and interspersed with playing and napping with Tiny, I put that tree up, the first time I had decorated a tree in years because my work and life schedule gobbled up the time for it.

It took three days that felt like three years. But the tree went up.

I was still sick by New Year's Eve, when I finally put my little tree up in my room.

I was still sick by our family Christmas on January 7, although the virus was on its way out the door.

And I was disappointed at losing the full enjoyment of the Christmas beauty in my house after a blur of months laced with disappointment.

So we made plans to leave Christmas intact, so we could enjoy it with Sarah on her birthday weekend - and she was excited about that, since we haven't spent Christmas together in years.

And then Sarah learned her son's senior prom is that weekend, so she won't be coming out after all.

And then we got hit with a string of more emergencies until we realized all the trees and all the Christmas decor still needed packing up.

So Rebekah and I did that on Friday night.

For as much as we'd like to finally enjoy Christmas, Christmas has moved on.

But memory is a funny thing.

We took few Christmas photos this year because the holiday season was so hard we forgot to take photos.

But I did snap this photo once I finally got the tree done and my mother's old nativity scene in place on top of one of the bookcases, along with puppy Tiny (who's gotten so big since then), all tuckered out.

The scene looks lovely, peaceful, serene, homey.

Looking at this photo, I realized I was completely wrong about missing Christmas.

Christmas had arrived just the same, even if no one felt the full enjoyment of it.

For the spirit of Christmas is true, even if we are not perceiving it.

Some things just ARE and are not based on our perception.

Christmas, for many people, symbolizes love, joy, peace, and - most importantly - hope for a weary, weary world.

May the true spirit of Christmas rest in our hearts today - and may we share that same spirit with all we meet as we venture forth into a new week.

Happy Monday!

Hospital Rewards Card?

So as I've previously written, our family has spent a very challenging couple of years, which have come with unexpected blessings and (perhaps) the opportunity to grow stronger.

Humor is one of our family's coping mechanisms - and Rebekah used that card on Thursday night as we walked into the hospital emergency department, prepared for another all-nighter, for the second time in one month, for a second and separate reason.

Rebekah said, "They should offer a punch card," and I laughed.

So at the check-in desk, I asked if they offered a rewards card for frequent customers. The woman at the desk laughed, too.

None of that changed the situation, of course. But why not momentarily lighten the mood for all?

After I was triaged, I thanked everyone for their time and help and then headed out to the waiting room to find Rebekah and our backpacks of "stuff."

As I left, I heard one of the providers say to the other, "I wish they were all like her."

They don't really (just ask my family).

But I do like the idea of a hospital rewards card.

In the day of rising health care costs, offering a free visit could result in misuse by patients.

Still - why not a free coffee while you wait after, say, ten visits?

Or hospital swag (Rebekah loves swag): T-shirts, hoodies, coolers, mugs? Or (better yet) blankets and travel pillows (yes, Rebekah brings travel pillows and blankets. But extras never hurt).

Could this idea catch on?

Thoughts?

Illustration by Matt Coundiff for "Visage"

Funny What We Forget

One benefit of cloud-based photo storage is that I can search by date and see the images I captured last year, two years ago, ten years ago.

Consider this photo from February 16, 2019. I saw it while scrolling through February 16 photos and it caused me to pause and wonder why I snapped it in the first place.

This looks like a terrible day, doesn't it? I feel stressed just looking at it. 

But you know what? I can't recall this day at all. I don't remember what caused the need for so much coffee and the level of disarray at my desk. I can't recall the project I was tackling, why the room is so dark, and what stressors were taking place.

It's funny what we forget, isn't it?

Issues that seemed so overwhelming in the moment quickly fade once they resolve. And that's a great blessing.

It's also a good reminder as we embark upon another week that's certain to include some stress and negativity.

No matter how horrible certain instances might be, the odds are we won't remember them. Or, if we do, the memory of the horribleness will soften and fade.

Time may not heal all wounds. But time will heal quite a few of them - and spare our energy to heal the ones that linger.

That perspective, of course, won't change the present challenges. But it can give us hope when we struggle and flounder.

Now back to this photo. I'd like to point out the hidden joy in an image that looks chaotic at first glance.

The carryout coffee cups shows at least one person (maybe two) brought me coffee on that day.

The blue pen holder with the tulips (which I still use) was made by Sarah when she went to Brownie day camp at Hammel Woods in Shorewood many, many years ago. I'm still using it even today and it's a reminder of then and now.

Christopher built my actual desktop (right) and added glowing blue and purple lights (my favorite colors).

Timothy provided the larger screen (larger for the time - you should see the one he bought that I use now!), a keyboard that is easy on my fingers, and  stapler when my old one broke.

My mother bought my original computer in 1998 when I started freelancing for The Herald-News as a single mom of six children ages two through fifteen, and I was still using the base with the switches in 2019. 

I can see at least two greeting cards sitting on that base, which means someone cared enough to send them.

I've printed out plenty of paperwork on a working commercial printer that I own, and I apparently have/had plenty of projects and work to keep me busy.

The computer table was a gift from my parents, which did not survive the last two moves.

So you see? In the middle of the turmoil, I was surrounded by love.

We can't avoid the dark moments. But the light is always there, if we take the time to find it, notice it.

May you always find the light in your dark.

Happy Monday!

Coffee With Bertrand the Mouse

Good morning!

I found an old coffee photo of Bertrand the Mouse the other day, which made me think of all the coffee memories we've made together.

I'm sharing seven with you this morning, with the last photo also featuring Uncle Barty. I hope you enjoy them.

Happy Monday!