summer sessions

 Or tigers. 

Every few weeks I have a snippet of a dream where I am in a room with a cat. The cat saunters about to and fro as cats are wont to do.  Surveilling the cat for several minutes, trying to figure out where it came from and more, where it is going---I take my eyes off it for a minute only to then see a tiger stroll toward me.  

The sight of the tiger not only renders me speechless but I also find that I am rooted to the spot I occup.

The stately creature continues to advance.  

The end is always the same, I wake up.  

Hello, Again

JOY - Tawny Chatmon 

There are about a million songs with hello as a title or as a lyric or a principal theme.  Several of the million are in regular rotation in one or more playlists I have created over the years.  Suffice to say, it is a popular theme; happy, sad, ironic, sarcastic, ethereal, literal, or metaphoric--hello can cover many grounds.     

So, hello, it's me, I'm still here.  

Opal (fiction)

Day one hundred and forty-six opens with the sun peaking through the blinds, snow falling lightly, 

landing upon the outstretched branches weaving in the growing winds.  The forecast calls for more snow, adding a substantial amount to the snow already on the ground.  

Opal sat stewing over her peppermint tea, which, according to Ida, is the only tea suitable for this weather.  "Peppermint is a pondering tea, and this, my dear, is pondering weather." Opal could hear Ida's voice as if she were sitting across the table this blustery morning.   

The small things, getting up, getting dressed, and steeping tea, are accomplished daily.  However, not much else. Opal sits at the weathered kitchen table, churning the events that led to Ida walking out the kitchen door, over in her mind. 

Day one hundred and forty-six hasn't diminished the sounds of the frozen ground crunching beneath Ida's boots, the Jeep Wrangler's revving engine as Ida makes her way down the path leading to the county road.  The souped-up truck can be heard even as it creeps further and further out of Opal's view.  

Out of Opal's life.  What word or words turned the disagreement into a departure?  Were the events of that evening premeditated or pre-ordained?   

As Opal sat, peppermint tea cooling as time elapsed, the questions roiled around, over and over, with no resolution in sight.  Soon, though, the contractors will be making their way up the path, set to begin the work contracted over two hundred days ago.  

Soon, Opal will be charged with answering new questions, making innumerable decisions; primary among them, what comes next? 

01/11/2026 Middle Girl 

************************************************************************************

The beginning sat in drafts for many months, changing shape and focus many times over that time, only recently taking this (not quite "final"?) shape.  This version was motivated, inspired, and driven by a quote attributed to Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye: "Lonely is much better than alone."  I sit with the concepts, conditions, alone and lonely. 

Welcome to Sunday, January 11, 2026.  

  

 

  

Today

Welcome to 2026. 

One day, one step. 

 

The Decades

I am 7:

What I remember: Not much except that times were tumultuous. I was forced to change schools between second and third grade because of redistricting. I was in an integrated school, and then, I wasn't. I'm sure the impact of that would have been felt seismic if my family wasn't imploding. My mom and dad separated between my seventh and eighth birthdays--as memory serves.

I am 17:

What I remember: My graduation from high school. It was a glorious time. Beyond the excitement of graduation was the elation of the next steps, being on the precipice of my future and freedom. Or so I thought. Long story short, my planned move to the dorm was cancelled, and I spent the next two years commuting to college and fighting to survive the onslaught of my brothers' antics and my mother's growing medical and mental anguish.

I'm 27:

What I remember: Kindergarten. My son had two orientations in two schools. The first orientation was rendered moot due to an argument his dad had with the landlord of our apartment building. We were evicted. Thankfully, another apartment, only a few blocks away, was available, so we moved in. Despite the second apartment being geographically closer to the first school, we were out of the district. Hence, the second orientation at the new school. My daughter was entering the parenthetical terrible twos. Twenty-seven was a blur.

I'm 37

What I remember: Upheavals. In the workplace, the CEO of the parent company died. Two years later, the executors sold the family of businesses, ending one era and beginning a new one (for me). On the home front, my marriage was crawling toward its eventual end. My 15-year-old son and my 12-year-old daughter had their eyes, hearts, and hopes trained on me for guidance.

I'm 47:

What I remember: Being in a relationship. My mind was falling in love with the idea (and the act) of falling in love. It was a long-distance affair, meaning it wasn't without its logistical challenges.

Dance Me To The End of Love

I'm 57:

What I remember: Nothing super specific; my mother died four years prior (my dad, five), and judging by my archives for the year, blogging was not a top priority. Between over-arching grief and focusing on the newish job in a new (to me) industry, I was putting one foot in front of the other and just moving right along.

One of the November posts from that year contained this quote:

"It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences."   -Audre Lorde

and creatives

I Didn't Want To Know Anything (More)

A couple of months ago, I decided to go out to lunch with one of my many cousins (Pam) from my father's side.  For context, we hadn't seen each other in several decades. Her mother and my father (both deceased) were siblings. My relationship with my father, his siblings, and their offspring suffered when my parents divorced when I was a kid.  There was, over the years, some effort to reunite the families, but mostly, they were all out of my life.  

Enter social media. Pam and I became friends in that realm. We exchanged phone numbers. We texted and IM'd every now and again.  She has tried to get me to meet face-to-face before this summer, but I always begged off, as we were, in my view, virtual strangers despite our ancestral heritage. 

Enter a death (Sqr), another cousin.  His sister (Dot) was in town for the memorial service.  Pam invited Dot and me out for an afternoon of reminiscing some days after the service (which I had missed).  I hesitated but eventually agreed.  On the day of, I discovered that Dot had begged off, so it was just Pam and me. 

      

 For context, we hadn't seen each other in several decades.  And while we are close in age, we have people and experiences in common, the second half of our childhoods and a large chunk of our adulthoods were spent in separate worlds.  Her memories and my memories did not align. 

She shared stories of her parents, our grandparents, and the epic family divide, most of which I had never heard or experienced.  It became clear that what she sought was someone to bear witness to the trauma and toxicity that permeated our separate but equally fraught-filled child and young adult lives.  

At the end of the afternoon, I told her I'd keep a good thought for her upcoming surgery (she'd shared a devastating medical diagnosis--I was the first cousin to know) and said our goodbyes, hugging it out.  

We haven't spoken since.  Enter social media.  Pam and I are still friends in that realm.  

Happy Autumn! 

Story in Drips and Dips

My daughter gifted me with a Hear Your Story book for Mother's Day.  I'm determined to complete the prompts and extra pages to expound, as one does, by her birthday (a milestone one) in five weeks.  My initial thought was that this was an easy assignment, which is why I didn't start right away. 

It has proven to be anything but.  

It wasn't long before I realized I hadn't said (a lot) out loud.  

Also, I realized that there were limbs of the family that are completely unknown to me and likely to remain so.   

Still, I'm happy to fill in these pages for her.  I hope she follows the nuggets to this space and perhaps whatever journals I still have on paper at the end, but she is not likely to do that.  It will be okay, she'll discover what may offer comfort, I trust.  

Me, Kindergarten

Happy September! 

hop skip jump

Amanda Gorman / The Hill We Climb

And just like that, it is July.  

The last several weeks since my previous post have been full on ...full. 

A few deaths, a few birthdays, a first international trip for my son, workplace goings on for him, me, and my daughter; in short, life. 

All that and then some, plus, well, you know, the dumpster fire that is this country. 

I am unable to report that I've worked on (or better yet, finished) the story of Janice*. 

I am unable to report any measurable improvement in Spanish.   

I am unable to report sketching consistency. 

On the flipside, I can report that I am still chug, chug, chugging along and still trying to tame my wild and woolly salt-and-pepper mane. 

Take gentle care, gentle folks.  

*Janice has been renamed Opal.  

And away we go.                                                           

Thoughts

*Photographs and memories 

Christmas cards you sent to me 

All that I have are these 

To remember you . . . 

May is my mother's birthday month.  Before my mother's death, the first part of May was always full of preparing Mother's Day celebrations and, of course, the impending birthday celebrations.  

Since then, the month is flooded with memories of times gone by.  

This year has had that same dynamic with one exception.  This year, I can't shake the sense of longing for the relationship I wish had developed between my father and me.   

He and I weren't close. We had made peace before his death.  

And since then, I've been able to... compartmentalize the mixed emotions.  

Or, so I thought. 

It feels weird to be weighed with memories of his presence (or lack thereof) while remembering my mom in the shadow of her 85th birthday. 

Photographs and memories...   

This song is about the longing for a loved one, a romantic partner.  It has always hit me differently, these last few weeks, more than ever.  

Photographs and memories 

Christmas cards you sent to me 

All that I have are these 

To remember you . . . 

Take very gentle care,  

*songwriter: Jim Croce

Happy Birthday

A cousin recently celebrated her 70th birthday.  Her three daughters hosted a grand party, with immediate family, extended family, and friends, from near and far were in attendance, lending to the festive vibe.    

There were games, food, music, dance, and lots of laughs.  

A joy-filled event.  

Love in action! 

A Story, Not (Yet)

 

Toni Morrison: Song of Solomon* 

Hello, 

I've been working on a story for the last few weeks, intending to craft it with tremendous care.  However, I seem unable to get out of the starting gate.  My mind wanders, my heart pounds, and my legs...let's not talk about the aches in my legs.  

Physical pain, mental and emotional anguish, I am in short, stuck.  Or rather, I feel askew. 

The story is about a woman who is on the brink of change.  She is excited, yet afraid; undecided about how or even IF to lean into the circumstances.  

My own lopsidedness is likely one reason I can't give voice to any definitive choice or action for Janice.  

Rest assured, I will work through my physical pain, find sustainable solutions for the anguish, and discover the crux of Janice's tale.  

In the meantime, let us have sketches; old and new.

Kindly, 

Middle Girl 

*you wanna fly you got to give up the shit that weighs you down.  

New Year, Same Me

 

Well, not 100% the same, but mostly.  

Wednesday, January 1st looked a lot like Tuesday, December 31st.  

But, there is a shift, of sorts.  A change toward developing (or rather, re-developing) more positive habits toward more positive goals and outcomes.  

We are seduced by the "new" in Happy New Year! Or, I should speak for myself.  "I" am seduced.  

Or, should I be? 

I feel an urge, but not a sense of urgency. 

But, I do.  

Kind of.  

New Year, same me.  

Cheers! 

Art

A few years ago I resurrected a long-dormant practice.  In my latter high school years, I majored in art.  It was the intent to major in art in college.  I did create a portfolio as part of my application to the department.  My emphasis was drawing (over textiles, sculpture, or painting). I was accepted to the department. Had I continued, I would have entered the department as a degree candidate.  

I didn't finish college.  A long story for another time.  However, I continued drawing and exercising other disciplines as time and materials allowed.  There was, though, quite a lull during the child-rearing years.  

The 80s and 90s were a virtual blur.  

Bremen, In

It took until 2018 to begin a more regular sketching practice.  Since then, I've completed 5 sketchbooks.  I am weeks away from completing the sixth.  I've joined groups that prompt, motivate, and inspire. I've shared the sketches publicly and have endeavored to grow artistically.  (charcoals, y'all)  

A friend tagged me in the Mural Mosaics Global Roots program which allowed me to paint, which I hadn't done in decades.  The final product isn't exactly as I envisioned but sits in a little easel, on display, in my living room. I am grateful for the opportunity and happy to have finished.  

If you're in Bremen, IN visit the mural there.  If you're in any of the other cities (or countries) where other murals are situated, visit those too.  If you're of a mind, complete a registration for your own tile, and give it a whirl.  

Big fun.  

Thank you, friend.      

Tell Me A Story

I had a dream about my maternal grandmother. 

Except she wasn't in it.  

In the dream, I was at the two-flat she called home rescuing some kittens.  

Not her kittens, for she never had kittens (any pets for as long as I'd known her).

This was the most vivid dream I've had in a long while.  

The vivid dream compelled me to look up the address (of course I remember it).

According to the street view, the building is empty and boarded up, for sale—"investor's special!"

I know not what any of these means.  

I do know that now I want kittens that I absolutely cannot have.  

                                                                 

                                                                         Buttah (flashback) RIP

Love. Like. Life.

My last romantic relationship ended four-hundred and seventy-five years ago.  

That's an exaggeration but that is what it feels like most days.  

Most days I do not lament the presence of a significant other.  

Some days I do.  

Most days I feel ready to dip my toes in those waters.  

Some days I do not. 

Most days I am too busy with family, friends, the pooch, work, and related stuff to feel any emptiness.  

Some days I am not.  

In between time, I do things I need to get through the day: talk, laugh, cry, think, throw, catch, sleep, and dream. 

Different things, different days.   

Take gentle care.  

Happy Autumn. 

 

Laundry

After our last cat died, doing laundry jumped to the top of the heap as my least favorite chore. Aside from the chore itself, is the fact that we have to tote said laundry, bag, detergent, and for me, a crossword puzzle book to the public facility--laundromat. *

Due to our respective schedules, we have chosen Sunday morning as laundry day.  

The kids, the cacophony of multiple TV screens playing different programs, the random folks who choose to present as pesky--it is a difficult place to sit and concentrate. 

More often than not, I close the book and walk about outside if the weather is agreeable. 

All things considered, it could be worse. In fact, I've experienced worse in my lifetime.  This laundromat, over many others I've visited, is clean, has mostly operational machines of various capacities and prices, and has attendants on-site to address any issue that may arise.  

So, while I do not like the chore nor much of what goes on in that space where it must be done, I am grateful for the convenience of the location and other factors that make the morning weekly chore not suck super bad.

Happy October! 

For Now, This

Of course, I did not intend to stay away for so long.  

Of course, I won't regale you with all that didn't happen, namely my thoughts solidifying into a comprehensible mass. 

Of course, summer has bled into Autumn.

May kindness rule over the next few days, leading to the next post.  

Asked and Answered

Growing up my friends and family called me Debbie. At some point in adulthood, I became, Deborah and I corrected folks who slipped to call me Debbie or . . ugh, Deb.  

There was a regime change at my work a year or so ago. My new supervisor began referring to me as, Deb.

Other colleagues followed suit (mostly in emails and IMs).  I never made any moves to stop/correct them, convincing myself it wasn't that it wasn't a big deal.  

It isn't.  Really.  But, . . . .   

If you ask my name or what I prefer I say, Deborah.  Deb o rah

Last week a patient insisted on changing the pronunciation from Deb o rah to Dee BOR ah when she noted how I spell my name (the context being my name is part of my work email).

For the record, I detest the Dee BOR ah pronunciation; though technically many folks accept that way of saying Deb o rah. The conversation with the patient was more frustrating than the dozens of emails and IM messages that begin, "Hi Deb" . . . 

The saving grace was knowing I wouldn't have to speak with her again; her problem was solved, and her case was closed. 

It will feel weird to add in my reply to the Hi Deb emails with...oh, by the way, my name is . . . 

All things considered, there are greater issues with which to take umbrage.  

But if you ask me my name, I'll say . . . 

DebOrah

 

Thank You. 

On Theme

 

This photo was uploaded on 07/24/24 with the intent that I would have written and then posted the subsequent post. 

Here we are some days later, well into August and here I am writing and posting.  

In the interim one aunt celebrated her 94th birthday (she, the mother of an only daughter) and another, celebrating birthday number 87 next month expressed extreme frustration with her only daughter.  

This only daughter celebrated and mourned for deep, deep reasons in conversations with both.  

For the record, when I talk about family, aunts, uncles, cousins, it is primarily my maternal relatives I speak of. I don't really have a relationship with any of my dad's side.  I am virtually connected to a few cousins but we haven't spent any face-to-face time together in decades.  When they speak of our grandparents, their parents, and our shared cousins, I'm at a lost.  I don't have the comfort of the history they enjoy.  

Also in the interim of the posting of that lovely sunflower a neighbor died.  Our across the hall neighbor, with whom we had a companiable relationship, had gone silent to her distant (she didn't have any relatives in town) relatives. After a couple of days of her not responding to messages, they called our local police for a well check.  

Her brother (driver of a vehicle with Texas plates) is here to . . . do what needs doing.  He's been here for two weeks.  Neighbors who have seen, met him outside the building report he isn't doing well; he is deep in the grips of grief. 

I can relate.  Deeply.

For also since the posting of that lovely sunflower yours truly celebrated another birthday. Conversations with my brothers (one actual phone conversation the other a conversation by proxy--my older brother and I do not talk) along with conversations with other relatives and friends kicked up a bunch of memorial dust. m

Here I sit on August 14th . . .  well, basically it, here I sit.  I'm not making plans beyond the next 24 (okay, maybe 48) hours.  I am living in the moment, taking it all a day and a step at a time.  

My knees will not allow much more than that.  

In other news I have posted at least one post a month save June.  What happened in June?  Still, on pace to hit 1,130 posts before years' end.  (I'm at 1,128 LOLOLOL) 

Take gentle care, gentle folks; life is a celebration, Celebrate Life.  (of Fame -the TV show, fame).  

Verano

Some time ago I started working with one of the language apps to learn Spanish.  I have had some success but I have also stalled. I have been unable or unwilling to fully commit; I haven't done more than two lessons a day (though I do log in daily) I haven't (seriously) sought out other learning methods, no Spanish language listening apps, no written stories beyond that which is provided for free through the free app, and as important, no serious efforts to connect with other learners for real-time conversation.  I discovered that our local library has a group that meets once a month or so.  But short of finding and investigating sources, that has been the extent of taking the learning to the next level.    

I languish at the basic learning level. 

What will be the catalyst to move the meter? 

Mientras tanto disfruta tu verano.  

I am going to enjoy mine.  

Take gentle care, 

oxox