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I try to keep this blog a cheery one. Actually, maybe I don’t, but I do attempt to keep it free of venting, but today, I need to, and it’s a bulleted list:

WordPress, the venue where my blog lives, offers their writers a word prompt every day. I believe it’s a new thing, but it’s possible I’ve been so spacey to not notice it before. Today’s prompt is “Who[m] do you envy?”

Merriam Webster defines envy as “painful or resentful awareness of an advantage enjoyed by another joined with a desire to possess the same advantage.” Well, dang!

I have no resentment toward another because of their advantage. I never looked at the literal definition before and did not realize it was hovered above by such a deep and negative aura.

Water kept puddling on the floor in the kitchen this morning, but I thought nothing of it. Between my four dogs and Tyler and Deaven’s two dogs, a few puddles of water are not unusual.

It didn’t seem to be dissipating so I looked under the sink and saw a good amount of water. I turned off the supply.

I’m kind of excited about changing it out. Nobody wants to spend money on a new faucet but I’ve been wanting to get one for some time, so home project it is! I’ll start tomorrow.

https://teresaforesteradams.com/2022/10/15/a-good-bra-day-403/

Social media, although we loathe it at times, is truly vital for businesses, especially new ones.

Many of my Facebook friends have started new businesses! It’s a sign of the times, and their true leap into the abyss of this scary business world is cool to watch, but we’re all doing it, and we’re not doing it alone.

I love to see the support that people are offering each other. The shares, likes, and kind words of encouragement that people publicly declare for other small business owners, even the competition, warms my heart. I hope it goes on forever.

Bucket lists are fun because they’re unrealistic at times, leaving us with the gift of true intention with no pressure of actually having to do the work. A trip to Iceland is on my bucket list, for example, but I am not expected to purchase tickets and plan my chilly, raw venture. Also, adding alpacas to my beautifully wild and lively family is on my bucket list, but I have not started building the barn, and nobody is calling me out on it.

I have an ever-evolving rusty bucket list that is not on cheap white paper in leaky blue ink, nor does it take up multiple bytes in an electronic document. Bucket lists are possible, though, so you have to remain within some parameters. You can’t say, for example, I want to take a time machine to 1955 or walk dogs with Billie Holiday. Either way, it’s fun to play the game, but not as much fun as it is to declare your items on a wish list.

My son, my little boy, the only one who knew me as a child, turned 31 today. I went to see him and brought a chocolate cake and some bourbon. The two of us with three canines were able to sit and chat while dolphins played in the ocean, and we had tacos. I’d say today was a really great day, and I am grateful.

Cheers.

I have 88 days left and then this blog project will be complete, and I’m facing it through a cloud of gray melancholy .

When we recall Christmas memories we tend to think about what and whom we miss, robbing ourselves of the opportunity to close our eyes and absorb a good memory. There are many people I miss from my paternal grandparents’ duplex in Easthampton, MA, but for now, I close my eyes and I am a child whose room is clean because Santa is on his way.

” . . . is just another word for nothin’ left to lose.”

-J.J.

Each year we make a Christmas chain. It consists of alternating red and green (if we have it) construction paper that’s either stapled or taped. Mild content, yes, but this is truly a sacred item I speak of, so please bear with me.

Baylee has been toying with the idea of becoming a sports writer one day. (I promise I had nothing to do with this.) For his English assignment, he was to write a column piece, so he decided to write about the Celtics. I know nothing about the numbers and stats, so please offer him some kind words if you wish.

Bear. Round, black bear.
Your coat is deep, heavy.
It ripples when you run.
Thick, liquid waves.

Maybe while you sleep in your den,
my friend,
black bear.
May I come inside to nap?
May I call you friend?

Will you wrap your protective arm around me?
Shield me from January, 
black bear?
Warm me until the sun rises?

Auburn rays peek over the pines and into your den,
black bear,
and they kiss your silky sleepy face.
Rainbow colors from the sun,
lavender luster, an oil slick on black water.

While you dream, I hide my face in your coat, 
black bear.
All of my face,
after I wash it with Ivory soap
and dry it with a crunchy sun-dried towel.

My fresh right cheek,
nestled into your chest, 
black bear.
You smell like winter’s air and peeling birch bark.
I inhale you, breathe in your clean, wild fur.

Your baby’s waking,
black bear.
It is almost time.
but I linger still,
ready myself,
dawdle and postpone my leave.

You begin to stir so I have to go,
back to the cold, human Earth.
I leave the simplicity of you.
The protection of you,
my friend, 
my black bear.

My cat, Gary, isn’t feeling well and has been in and out of the vet’s office this week. Of course, we fear the worst, but in our family, we have reason to assume the worst about each trial we face.

Although we are worriers by nature and genetics, we’ve also been dealt the “worst case scenario” so we know the possibilities of life.

We’ve tried all the tricks and some do work, but the fact is, we will always worry. It is debilitating, tiring, and it threatens our forward ever, but we do it together, and that helps.

It always amazes me how much the past affects the ways we perceive and deal with emotions and fear. There is no moving on. There just isn’t.

Maybe it’s the weather, or the flying time, or the lack of purchased gifts, or the fact that the decorations are still in the shed, but I’m still waiting, anticipating, being patient for the arrival of the Christmas spirit. My Christmas spirit. I flex my heart and squeeze my eyes shut but it stays away. Hopefully it will find me soon.

For one of Baylee’s assignments for poetry class, he was to write a poem and send it in the mail to me. The regular, plain old snail mail.

Hopefully your Thanksgiving was lovely and peaceful, and you were warmly surrounded by people and creatures who contribute to your contentment. Ours was lovely, and we were surrounded by people and creatures who contribute to our contentment, but not necessarily peaceful, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’ve never been one to shop the day after Thanksgiving. It makes no sense to me quite honestly. Instead, I use the day to refresh and reset and ready for the rest of the holiday season, and that’s what I’ll be doing today.

Happy Thanksgiving. An oldie of mine:

His fluorescent orange hat was menacing against the warm yellows and browns that autumn offered the eye as he hunted for his Thanksgiving feast. Rules never mattered to Warren, and he just loved baby turkey meat. His shotgun rested heavily on his fat-cushioned shoulder as he waited for a chance to shoot it. The tall man walked carefully and tried not to create a cacophony of cracking with the crispy twigs, Mother Nature’s warning. Off to Warren’s side, Tom sang a ballad to his ladies, and produced a feathered rainbow of tans and browns, grabbing Warren’s attention. Using only the balls of his feet, he turned his boots like the Black Swan. They made a little crunch on the tiny pebbles as he progressed towards the flock. His yellowed eyes saw them in the sunny field, dust bathing in the sand and familiarity. He maneuvered his lazy body their way, catching drool on the corner of his ashy lips. He must have stepped on a dry stick that blew his cover because the bony birds sped to the woods and over the shallow brook. They mimicked mannequins and stayed the color of the forest, then spread amongst the downed trees and dancing orange tape. Warren jumped over the brook and his size fourteen boot caught on a willow root, disrupting its drink. He landed hard on his right foot and knew instantly it was broken. He heard his gun crack as it fell from his reach, and watched the filtered water carry it close to its sand. Instantly, the feathered figurines began making their way towards him, smirking and slowly tilting their heads like tiny velociraptors. Back and forth. Back and forth. They were accompanied by friends who brought friends. Their lemon-sized heads swayed to the left. Then to the right, in perfect syncopation with The Blues on a cloudy Monday. The downy babies jumped on him first as he shooed them away with his meaty hand. They plucked at his orange vest with their sharp beaks, removing the down. The wild poultry snickered, and more friends came along. A female came from behind and chomped on his ear, rolling her beady eyes and shaking her head until half of it was in her mouth. She tilted back and quaked until it slid down to nourish her, then reapplied her red lipstick. Another Tom showed up with his girlfriend and the Ocean Spray cranberry sauce. They drank white zinfandel and choked down green bean casserole with extra dry onions while they continued to nibble on him. They made their way through his too-tight LL Bean vest and portly white belly, seeking out his intestines to make a nice sage gravy.

“Oh no! I don’t have any orange. I need the zest to make the cranberry sauce and I do not want to go to the store again,” I said aloud. The room cleared.

When you’re about to finish reading your book for the day, do you use a bookmark or do you turn down a small triangle at of the top of the page? (Yes, some of us still read books.)

Keeping up with a regular blog keeps your business fresh and active. Today, my blog post for Maescribes is about content. Thanks for reading.

I was looking for a recipe for marshmallows yesterday, and was surprised they contain gelatin. I don’t eat gelatin because it contains animal parts, and the vegan marshmallows are about five bucks a bag. It made me noodle around online to see what else I was eating that I, per my personal reasons, don’t.

If dating is in my future, it would have to be with someone who:

• loves animals and isn’t afraid of getting dog hair on their pants.
• is ok not living with me.
• wants to camp at least once a year.
• is OK with my quirky eating habits.

Yesterday, I spoke of the documentary, Stutz, and how I am using some of the magnificent tools I learned from it to ease my moods. The handiest of the handful of them, to me, is the maze, and I have several.

Jonah Hill attempts to turn the tables on his therapist, Phil Stutz, a sweet and funny therapist in a new Netflix documentary called Stutz. It is dark, light, and intriguingly informative. I will use a couple tools I learned by watching it for life, even though the movie was less than two hours.*

Google reviews can ruin a business. Today I write for Maescribes and tell how I can help you protect your brand.

I have not been having the most success stuffing myself into my favorite coral dress with the polka dots. It sits in my closet waiting patiently for me to lay off the extra butter and chocolate chip cookie bars.

The other day was a busy one around here and I didn’t have much time or free mind space to write something, so I searched my past blog posts for a good one to share.

When I repost something, even though I wrote it, I read it again to be sure it’s perfect. (It’s debilitating at times.) Comparing the past posts to my current writing, I noticed some great improvement in my writing, and saw some words I used or formatting that I simply didn’t like.

I suppose writing every day is like exercising. It’s a cool thing to do this 543-day writing for Roger, but it’s also cool that I am learning because of it, practicing and growing.

I’m writing an important article for someone, which I will share at a later date. It’s consuming my thoughts and creativity, so new material is not coming to me. For now, in an attempt to clear my mind to think of something to write about, I am listening to music. What I am mentally capable of now is sharing a few songs that are new to me or have been hiding for some time. They’ve been on repeat for about a week. Hopefully this will be a helpful share. (Be sure to find the edited version that works for you. Some may not fit your ears.):

I haven’t named my cast iron pan, the one that held the home fries with extra onions, and the one that was left in the sink for two whole days.

https://teresaforesteradams.com/2021/11/11/clnc-revision-day-65/

Happy birthday, dearest Marine Corps. I love you.

Oh, the things I have started that are now sitting in the corners of my round brain, nestled in their own plastic Walmart bins just waiting and hoping I return to them.

Unless we have company at the house, or I drive out to the beach to see people I know, people don’t say my name. The boys call me Mom so I will go days or even weeks before I hear a person say my first name.

“I think I want to cut my hair,” Baylee said to me about a month ago.

I laughed, then looked at him and noticed his serious face. “Please just think about it for a few weeks. It took you two years to grow it,” I said.

After 48 years on Earth, I still become confused twice a year when we change the clocks.

“Look at this cool photo I found of Wolcott,” I told Baylee. It’s of our front porch, patriotic blue church bench with burlap pillows cornered just right, and herbs hanging to dry.

Yesterday was a really good day. I drove to the beach to have breakfast with Tyler and Deaven, saw some friends from my job at Treasure Realty, and dropped off some business cards for Maescribes.

I was in the storage shed yesterday, clearing out room to get to a dresser. I lifted blue bin after blue bin, some dark some light, all heavy. I couldn’t help but open each one after I set it down and pop open the top.

I had my first client for Maescribes! I wrote a property description for a house that is for sale.

It was and still is surreal to send someone an invoice for something I did, for a business I created, for a dream I never thought I would fulfill, yet here I am, doing it like Nike.

All the support I am still receiving is granting me some extra confidence, and I am grateful. For now, I need a moment. Just a short one, though, because I have work to do.

Why do we fight against legalizing marijuana so much? Is it simply a political bargaining tool to keep in their navy blue suit pockets, maybe to entice voters, to use as a pawn to get something else? Do people really still believe it should not be legal? I mean, do people actually, in their hearts, believe it? What do they think will change with a vote to legalize it? People won’t start smoking weed because it becomes legal, and the benefits of it are numerous.

Maescribes is moving along! Here is another service I provide:

“Oh!” Baylee said. “Now I see the onions.”

Roger’s sister is back in North Carolina to stay! After much thought and consideration, and many emotions and sleepless nights for her, she has decided to start her life over, and single-handedly did all she needed to do to start fresh.

. . . to tell you all, but you’ll have to wait.

If infinity doesn’t exist, then what’s beyond it?

It exists, and it’s unsettling.

Do you ever wish there was one person who you could tell everything to? One who wouldn’t send you away? One who listened without judging? One who wouldn’t worry too much about your venting?

Roger was that person to me. For me. He didn’t share my thoughts with others. He knew when I was saying things I didn’t mean just to release some hot steam. He was safe.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime gift to me, and although I appreciate that I had it, I sure do miss it. I’m a little puffier these days, filled with thoughts and even dreams I just can’t spill. One day I will get to share with him again, and although I don’t want that day to come anytime soon, when it does, I will be weightless enough to fly.

On March 8th, I woke up in the middle of the night as I usually do and noticed the time was 1:53 AM. I decided to stay awake (like I had a choice in that matter) and see what it looks like when the time changes for Daylight Savings. I watched it go to 1:55 then closed my eyes. When I opened them again, it was 1:59 so I waited. I focused on not closing my eyes again. Next thing I knew, I saw 3:00. The hour was completely gone and with no celebration. It mirrored my life.