WORDS TO LIVE BY

Unless you’ve been living under a rock or on a deserted island, you know Sunday is Mother’s Day. For some, it is a day to honor and lavish our mothers. For others, it is one of the most dreaded days of the year.

Motherless Daughters is a book by Hope Edelman. It’s a book I frequently recommend to grieving daughters of all ages. I like the content, but I am not a fan of the title.

Can you ever really be a motherless daughter? Maybe your mom was more Moira Rose than Rebecca Pearson. Maybe your mom has dementia and you lost her while she’s still here. Maybe a grandmother, special aunt, or friend stepped in as a surrogate mother. Even if your mom has died, you are still a daughter.

I’ve learned mothers come in all shapes and sizes. Some mothers are ‘family by chance’ and some are ‘family by choice.’ Some make us better and some make us bitter, it’s really kind of a crap shoot. I’ve also learned there are myriad ways to find the love and support we all need, regardless of who bestows it.

Hallmark wants us to think we have one day a year to honor our mothers. I call b.s. on that. Being the best you, every day, honors your mother. Mentoring young men and women honors your mother. Dressing your littles in gingham dresses honors her too. Checking in once a week by phone or in person is an honor many covet. No one knows a mother like her children, so maybe spend some time thinking about how to best honor her while you have the chance.

And for those whose child has died, or mothers estranged from their children, you are still their mother. For those of you missing your mother, or those who can’t or don’t have children, be kind to yourself this weekend…Monday is right around the corner.

A few weeks ago, I decided to ride my bicycle. The bike was given to me and it had been in my garage for 2 years. I drove to beautiful Waterton Canyon and hopped on. It wasn’t until mile 3 that I realized there were no brakes. Upon my harrowing return, I promptly used the gift card my kids gave me last year for my birthday and ordered a new bicycle.

It’s not like me to be so spontaneous. I mean, I did have the gift card for almost a year. It’s just that I have recently decided to quit postponing fun. If working in end-of-life care has taught me anything it’s, “Don’t wait.” After Covid, my friend, Karen, declared, “This is the year we’re doing sh*t.” We vowed to try something new once a month. We weren’t entirely successful but we did have lots of fun.

This year, I’m taking it upon myself to find fun. I plan to make the most of every day and to say “Yes” to every opportunity for fun. Just the thought of it makes me smile. What about you? Are you having fun? Do you add ‘fun’ to your To-Do list? Can you recall the last time you had fun? Do you even remember what the word means? Now is the time; don’t wait!

If you call and I don’t answer, I’m probably at the canyon riding past the big horn sheep, the people fly fishing, or looking for the 5 mile marker I missed last week. My bum is still recovering from that excursion.

I went to a showing of the documentary “Dosed: The Trip of a Lifetime” last night. The movie chronicled the journey of a woman with Stage IV cancer who was suffering from the emotional aspects of living with a terminal disease. In an effort to ameliorate her symptoms, she elected to try magic mushrooms (psylocibin). The result was a psychedelic “trip” she described as equal parts frightening and freeing.

Full disclosure, I have never tried psychedelics. That said, I did vote for their legalization. I am grateful Colorado has been at the forefront of many controversial laws and regs that empower those living with serious illness. In 2000, the legalization of medical marijuana for those living with chronic pain and other debilitating maladies was historic. A few years ago, Medical Aid in Dying (MAID) was voted on and approved. I’ve had the honor of working with patients who chose MAID. The appreciation and relief they expressed for finally having control over their incurable disease was palpable. And now, there is psylocibin to consider as a therapeutic intervention for emotional and psychological distress.

My interest in learning more about magic mushrooms was two-fold. First, I know absolutely nothing about psychedelics and second, I wanted to understand the psychological benefits. The documentary was educational and informative; the history of plants as medicine was enlightening. It was also assuring to know clinical trials and research studies at esteemed medical institutions like Johns Hopkins University are being conducted to learn more about the efficacy of the plant.

The woman in the movie reported significant benefits from her use of magic mushrooms. She felt her anxiety and fear diminished exponentially. She also experienced a “spiritual” awakening that brought a renewed appreciation for living in the present moment. Most importantly, she was “no longer afraid to die.” That impressed me. Having spent years working with patients who were approaching death, the angst and anxiety of how and when and what’s next can be a killer (pun intended).

I left the movie hopeful. Anything that can improve the lives of those who are dying, or those living with debilitating anxiety, depression, or PTSD, is “magical” to me.

P.S. If you are interested in learning about psylocibin, Dosed is available to watch online. Another resource is the 60 Minutes special entitled, “Cancer patient overcomes anxiety about death with psychedelics.” That program can be viewed on YouTube.

I’ve lived in my home for 8 years. At first, I was just grateful to have a home; the Denver housing market is a nightmare. Little by little, and dollar by dollar, I’ve renovated and updated. I like DIY projects but even I knew better than to attempt replacing windows or installing central air. Last year, I enlisted the assistance of my gbabes to help spread 6 tons of rock and to stain the deck. They thought my offer of $25/hr was “too much” until they actually spread 6 tons of rock. Trust me, it was $ well spent.

This week, I decided to “save money” and install a curtain rod I purchased 7 years ago. I gathered my tools, set up the ladder, and began my “How hard can it be?” DIY project. Long story short, after disassembling the previous brackets, patching the holes, and painting the wall, all before installing the new rod, I’m here to tell ya, it’s harder than it looks.

In my effort to “save money,” I bought a pair of curtains at Goodwill for $5.99. When I got them home, I realized they were too short. I painstakingly took out the hem, pressed the creases, and hemmed them again. I then embarked on installing the curtain rod. Suffice it to say, the installation did not go well. In fact, it went so poorly I ended up paying a handyman $50.00 to fix the multitude of holes and hang the curtain rod correctly. Imagine my surprise when I hung the curtains and they were still too short. At that point, money was no object and I promptly ordered some from Amazon for $36.99. They look lovely.

A few days later, I realized the Goodwill curtains could be used in another room. (They really are nice curtains!) Unfortunately, now the curtains were too long and had to be rehemmed to their original length. I also had to buy a new curtain rod for $20.00 because the one I had wasn’t wide enough. And then there was the problem of installing it. I was determined to watch as many YouTube videos as necessary in order to become accomplished in the fine art of curtain rod hanging. It took more time than I will ever admit but I was successful-ish. Upon a final inspection of my handywork, I realized I was 1/4″ off on one side. If you know me, you know I cannot live with that kind of shoddy workmanship. My attempts to correct the problem resulted in 4 holes where there were once 2, but the project is complete.

So far, I have NOT “saved” $112.98 + tax.

Many, many years ago, I heard this in a movie and it seared into my brain: “You may be done with your past, but your past isn’t done with you.”

I came face-to-face with that reality, once again, last week. Forty years ago, my husband and I divorced; it was not an amicable dissolution. I’m pleased to say civility returned over the years and we were able to celebrate our children’s accomplishments and gbabes’ milestones harmoniously. A few years ago, I even added he and his wife to my morning prayers as his health declined and his wife faced difficult decisions regarding his well-being.

Last week, my children received a call from their stepmom letting them know their dad had died quite unexpectedly. For the next few days, there were texts, calls, and a multitude of decisions to be made. I will be forever grateful for her kindness in considering their feelings while making arrangements and choosing songs that held special memories for them.

If your parents are divorced, regardless of your age or theirs, you know the delicate juxtaposition of blended families. My children have navigated those tumultuous waters most of their lives. Yet, it came as no surprise that they were gracious and kindhearted these past few weeks. I think back to the contentious behaviors their father and I exhibited for years and know that despite our worst selves, they are a much wiser, more empathetic version of their parents and I could not be more proud.

I have a friend I used to speak with regularly, like every week or two. We stayed in touch through good times and bad, sickness and fitness, and all the times in between. We are kindred spirits despite distance and time zones. That was, until this year.

It had not escaped me that there had been radio silence for months. I texted numerous times and even actually called, all to no avail. I wondered and worried, “Why the silence?” Try as I might, and believe me, I tried, absolutely nothing came to mind. Sometimes I was mad; I thought our relationship was important to both of us. Sometimes I was sad; I missed my friend. Most of the time I was puzzled and confused. In all of our 35 year friendship, never had we gone months without speaking.

Finally, I did a thing. I sat down and wrote a letter. I shared my concern and asked for an explanation. I explained I was more than willing to apologize if I had offended, I just needed to know how and what I could do to resolve the issue. It felt good to be taking an active step toward resolution, whether or not I received a response. At least I had quit ruminating.

It was a few weeks before I received a response, but what a response it was. My friend could not have been more apologetic and explained that “absolutely nothing could ever sever our relationship.” She also shared that she and her entire family had been afflicted with Covid, one after the other, but never at the same time. Can you imagine 3 months of continuous Covid? Her mother-in-law has become a long-hauler and a permanent resident in their home. One of her children is making college visits, another will be “lucky if she graduates from high school,” and a third is in therapy for depression. All three kids play sports and have active social lives. It was the proverbial Christmas letter on steroids.

Although I was terribly sorry to hear her life is currently a “shitshow” (her words not mine), I was unbelievably relieved to learn it wasn’t me or anything I had done that created the chasm. I was reminded that sometimes life gets in the way and no one is at fault. Sometimes it’s just too hard to tell one more person the same sad story, and sometimes silence is all that’s left. I can relate.

The lessons for me in all of this were monumental. The amount of time I spent wondering, worrying, hypothesizing, and second-guessing was significant, and to no avail. When I sent the letter, I knew there was a chance I would not get a reply, and that was okay. At least I had stopped the mental anguish and taken action – the only things I could control.

For the past few years I have intermittently participated in a fitness challenge called 75 Hard. The premise of the program is straightforward and specific. There’s really nothing outrageous involved other than the 75 part.

For 75 consecutive days:
Perform two 45-minute workouts each day, one of which must be done outdoors
Take a progress picture
Read 10 pages of a self-help book
Drink 1 gallon of water
Follow a diet
No cheat meals or alcohol…
FOR 75 DAYS!

If you miss a day or one of the activities, you have to go back to Day 1. I’ve started over more times than I’ve completed the program, but I’m proud to say I’ve had some successes, too.

I love a fitness challenge and I find this program physically, mentally, and spiritually rewarding. The discipline it takes to complete all 7 tasks on the daily is the hardest part for me. I’ve been known to get out of bed at 10pm because I forgot to take a progress picture. I’m also very familiar with the consequences of not getting a gallon of water consumed before 3pm. Suffice it to say, I should have counted all the nocturnal trips to the loo as exercise.

Physically, two 45 minute workouts a day come easily. I count walking my pup for 45 minutes as one; the other 45 minutes are spent either running, swimming, or lifting…activities I love.

Spiritually, I choose self-help books that feed my soul. I love anything written by the Dalai Lama, Thich Nhat Hanh, or Anne Lamott. On the occasions that I completed all 75 days, I read at least 3 books during that time.

The mental piece is the hardest for me. It takes a hella determination for me to make it 75 days straight. Sometimes life (or Covid) gets in the way. A few months ago, I was on day 40 but headed out of town for a week. I was proud of myself for getting that far but knew to continue the program while visiting friends would jeopardize my time with them. Friends come first. (Evidently its true that one gets wiser with age.) Nonetheless, when I returned, I started over. A friend suggested I pick up where I left off. I explained Catholic guilt would get the best of me for cheating.

I watch my children, nieces, and nephews setting excellent fitness examples for their children and other littles and I’m inspired by their emphasis on healthy living. What a wonderful way to spend time as a family while modeling exercise as fun. Hiking, biking, swimming, skating, skiing…the list is endless.

A dear friend’s dad used to say: “Most people rust out before they wear out.” It may take a whole lot of Advil and Biofreeze but I’m up for the challenge.

💪💪💪

A few years ago, a friend and I took a road trip throughout Colorado. We went here, there, and everywhere. We saw the Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park, Crested Butte, Summit Lake Park, and Mt. Evans, just to name a few of the many sites. I wouldn’t begin to guess how many pictures we took along the way.

Upon our return, my friend asked, “What do you do with your pictures?” To which I replied, “I just leave them on my phone.” To which she replied, “You should get a digital picture frame.” To which I replied, “You mean like the one I got for Christmas 2 years ago and never opened because I don’t know how to set it up?”

Long story short, after about 15 minutes at the most, she had my digital picture frame set up and loaded with pictures from my phone. I am so grateful for her encouragement. My digital picture frame is one of my most treasured possessions. Since our original download, I’ve added hundreds more. At last check, the frame has 518 photos downloaded. There are pictures of my kids, gbabes, family, friends, flowers, trees, and quotes. Some pics are of favorite people who are no longer with us, and some are of favorite people living life to the fullest. I have pics of special events and every day happenings. I keep the frame in my kitchen where I pass by it several times a day. I don’t think there’s a day when I don’t stop and smile at whatever random pic is being displayed.

My friend has given me lots of valuable advice over the years, but none more appreciated than the digital picture frame. IYKYK. If not, I highly recommend purchasing one at your earliest convenience. You will not be disappointed, I promise.

I thought I was invincible. Actually, I thought I was a medical miracle with immunity the CDC would want to research and replicate. No offense, but I was pretty sure I was the next Henrietta Lacks. (IYKYK)

For three years, everyone around me succumbed to Covid. I have friends who have actually had Covid multiple times. Not me. I took every vaccine and booster available and remained bullet-proof. (My friends took every vaccine and booster too, and still got Covid, but I didn’t let that deter me from thinking I was the exception to the rule.) I will, however, admit to taking countless tests over the years. A random cold, headache, or hangnail would necessitate a test, but nada, they were always false alarms. Until February 26, 2023.

I came home from a trip and immediately became sicker than I’ve been in a long, long time. Ironically, I didn’t even think to test for Covid; I was pretty sure I had typhoid fever or malaria. For about 36 hours, I thought I might not survive (slight exaggeration). The details are boring but the illness was not. There didn’t seem to be a single part of my body that wasn’t affected. The fact that I did not check for Covid was, no doubt, due to my delirium. Finally, the thought dawned on me, “I wonder if this is Covid?” And just like that, my reign as Queen of the Strongest Immune System Known to Womankind had come to an end.

PSA: “Research shows nearly 100% of planes have Covid in their wastewater after any given flight, which means at least one person on the plane is Covid-positive.”

It’s almost here…the day I’ve been waiting for since November 6…one hundred and twenty five long and bitter days to be exact.

Tomorrow when we wake up, the sun will shine longer, the days will be warmer, and life will be brighter. Running will be easier without wearing 3 layers of clothes and there will be no more ice patches to avoid or frozen snot to contend with. Bike rides will include warm breezes instead of artic blasts. Hikes will showcase the first signs of Spring, waterfalls will be flowing, and there will be tulips and daffodils aplenty. It’s almost time for picnics, swimming, and shows at Red Rocks.

Those ghastly winter coats will be hung in the back of the closet to be replaced with sundresses, swimsuits, and shorts. Luckily, the boys in middle school and high school won’t have to change their wardrobe at all since they’ve been wearing shorts sans coats all winter. 😒

We are about to embark upon the absolute most wonderful, beautiful, fantastic, amazing, time of the year, and if you could not tell, I’m so excited!😎