<![CDATA[Sassy Sentiments and Other Random Rants!

<![CDATA[Sassy Sentiments and Other Random Rants! - Blog]]>Thu, 04 Apr 2024 03:55:01 -0400Weebly<![CDATA[Connect The Dots]]>Fri, 29 Mar 2024 04:00:00 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/connect-the-dotsI am under the express opinion that Mother Nature needs to get back on her meds. We have jumped from Winter to Spring and back again more times than I care to reiterate.

Yet amid all these atmospheric calisthenics, it has been an eventful “whatever this season is” for me. For the first time in 15 years, I took a vacation. I flew on the wings of a dove to paradise. It provided a refreshing spiritual renewal coupled with a disturbing look into the bowels of humanity. Sounds precious, right?

Okay. I am prone to exaggeration. Guilty as charged. It wasn’t paradise, it was Sin City. And my dove wings were just a huge metal cylinder fabricated to thrust packed humans through space like cattle to slaughter. Oh, how times have changed.

The seats were tiny, the tray tables minuscule, and the experience less than stellar. Not to mention that a single can of beer would have set me back $8.00.

And as I walked through the airport it became apparent that most people don’t travel anymore to relax. Heads down lost in electronic hypnosis, I felt like a human pinball executing dodgeball-like maneuvers. Whatever happened to walk on the right, pass on the left? People walked wherever they damn well pleased with next to zero regard for anyone sharing that space. It was illuminating.

But I did have fun. I was lucky to be able to reunite with friends that I had not seen in what seemed like a million years. I am amazed how forever friendships are always a safe harbor that echoes only the fondest of memories. They fill a void in your heart that you had forgotten was empty.

I found myself transported through a timeless portal into a beautiful moment when life was genuinely good. Where the essence of time held no boundaries.

As a kid, do you remember those connect-the-dots books, filled with pages of numbered dots that looked like nothing until you drew lines between them? Life is one of those puzzles.

There are dots of happiness, pain, love, grief, disappointment, joy, sorrow, fear, and ecstasy. And only when you connect them all do you see the masterpiece that is your life. It would never have been complete without all the elements of the puzzle.

This trip connected the dots for me. I have endured every emotion known to man over the years, but without every peak and every valley, in its entirety, it would simply be a mass of dots.

Even when I cry, and complain, and bellyache, and throw hissy fits, I am one very blessed woman. We all are really. It takes only one rational moment to see it.

I say take off your blinders, grab a pencil, and connect the dots of your masterpiece. Who knows. Maybe you’re a Mona Lisa too. Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[The Cat and the Canary]]>Mon, 04 Mar 2024 05:00:00 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/the-cat-and-the-canaryOk, so today is my birthday... Yay me! BUT the big news this week is that I am on vacation from work! The funny news is that I had to pull out my dictionary to remember what a vacation is supposed to be.

Yes, it has been that long... And yes, it is more than overdue.

My life these days is absolutely nutzoid. Settling into full-time work again has been invigorating but challenging. Had anyone told me that walking from my bedroom to my Home Office to work an 8+ hour day would exhaust me, I would have belly-laughed in their face.

But I have learned that work is work. It does not matter where you happen to plop your boney little ass.

I have found new ways to lighten my load though. It is the utter decadence of grocery delivery. For months I have listened to friends tout this ridiculous offering and could not even begin to fathom why anyone would pay for such a service.

And then our notoriously inaccurate weather reporters started dangling threats of a winter apocalypse. Hmmm? Maybe just this once… just in case.

It’s a drug, I tell you, and as addictive as potato chips with French onion dip. Once, and you’re hooked. Get a load of this...

Snuggled under my heated throw, wine in hand, with fuzzy slippers adorning my ever-so-tired feet (from walking that horrendous 70 feet to my office), I open the app on my phone.

While I am pretty much a boring, same-stuff-every-week kind of buyer, I allow my head to lean back in my overstuffed chair to ponder on what delicacies I might splurge on this week. No waltzing up and down aisles looking for . . . something.

I just let my mind wander, escape in the velvety softness and floral delicacy of an indulgent Pinot Noir, and let my fingers do all the work.

People, this is as calming as transcendental meditation for me. It totally rocks! Without a doubt, it is the best $6.95 I will ever spend on myself. And to quote my beloved grandmother, it is the greatest thing since sliced bread.

And if that didn’t validate the price of admission, imagine 20 lb. bags of birdseed, bags of heavy canned goods, and anything else substantial in size and weight, all delivered to your doorstep. No more hauling it from store to car and from car to kitchen.

Can you see my devilish little grin? I am the cat that bagged the canary.

So, during this time of lollygagging and dilly-dallying, I will arrange for my necessities to be on my doorstep at my leisure. And this time I think I will order with a Foo-Foo cocktail in hand. I wonder if they can deliver those cutesy little umbrellas too?

Now, if I could only get them to put it away and start dinner. I am the birthday girl after all. Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Fractured Fairytales]]>Tue, 27 Feb 2024 15:08:32 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/fractured-fairytalesGood grief… Did you happen to notice the date of my last blog? I think that 2024 either flew in through a wormhole and upset the entire time-warp continuum or Father Winter just kicked my sorry soul into oblivion for fun. In either circumstance, I have been less than normal.

Have you ever had a moment when the inanest of dialogue, a song, taste, or a smell threw you into a daze? It happened to me last week.

Alexa was delivering a Mellow 70’s playlist when an old John Denver song started to play. Now, I have always enjoyed John’s music, but I would never call myself a starstruck fan. If I was going to spend one of my hard-earned quarters on the jukebox, this song would have never been a choice.

But on that day, Take Me Home, Country Roads sent a weird rush over me. I felt goosebumps tingle all over my body. I instantly stopped what I was doing to listen intently. Why? Exactly what button did it push?

I am sure you all know this song… “Almost heaven, West Virginia, Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River.” And I bet you all just sang that line as you read it too, right? Hard to just speak those forever famous words without some musical cadence.

But it was the refrain that seemed to hit me the most: “Country roads, take me home, to the place I belong…” Something tugged at my heartstrings, and I needed to know why.

It only took a single internet search to make butterflies land in my stomach like a 747 on a short runway.

This song was originally released as a single on April 12, 1971 – two weeks before my father died. I can only presume that I heard this song over and over again on the radio during one of the most difficult times of my life. Moments that I had forgotten.

Hindsight speaks to me so passionately. I believe my dad would have taken country roads home, and that heaven was the place where he belonged.

Our lives are truly fractured fairytales, aren’t they? It only takes a tiny nugget of truth to make our once-upon-a-time dreamscape come crashing to the sidewalk. When our stories come full circle, and enlightenment is upon us, perhaps we will understand it all.

I feel refreshed. Did the wormhole close? Or did Father Winter abandon his clutch? Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Never Too Old]]>Tue, 09 Jan 2024 00:02:07 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/never-too-oldOK. So, let's jump-start a new year, and just for the fun of it let's not focus on the year.

Let's not even focus on the quarter or even the month. Let's start focusing on every single day. What a concept, huh?

As kids, we wished our youth away. As adults, we beg it to slow down.

Yes, it has been a slow start. Already a week in the books and I’m still struggling to find my voice. I fell back to ground zero. What could I possibly say that would be of interest? All I do is eat, sleep, and work. Who am I to speak to the world?

OK. Most of that is BS (although a plausible excuse, right?). Over the holidays I found a subscription service available through Prime Video called BroadwayHD. Oh, be still my heart. I now have 24-hour access to music and theatre heaven.

While Phantom of the Opera and A Chorus Line remain my all-time favorites with Hamilton rapidly gaining ground, I have added Miss Saigon and The Prince of Egypt to my list.

The music, the talent, the stories, the staging – all raging with spectacular energy.

In my youth, I dreamed of being an entertainer, specifically a singer on Broadway. I had a voice that could knock worshippers off the last pew in church. It was a God-given gift. I would open my mouth and music would pour out.

The rest of the package didn’t follow suit though. I was not a blonde bombshell cutie pie. I was a short freckle-faced redhead with hips. That gave me a comedic edge, but not star quality.

And that’s okay. I was way too independent to take orders and be molded into a marketable asset. I would have been a Director’s worst nightmare.

But watching the talent of today, the dream still lingers. These professionals can not only sing and dance but also act, play instruments, and compose. They are remarkable.

So, I say, this year find strength in your dreams – be they old or new. And build that strength one day at a time. We are never too old to dream.

I think someone should write a musical based on my life. It would be fabulous until the end. I mean, who likes to watch people eat, sleep, and work? Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Cocktails with Rudolph]]>Sun, 24 Dec 2023 15:25:58 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/cocktails-with-rudolphI sit here on a quiet Christmas Eve watching the lights twinkle on my Grinch-themed tree. While it may seem frivolous to some, the magical sugarplum visions dancing in my head are just as reverent as if antique ornaments, lace-trimmed angels, and homemade popcorn garland adorned my tree.

The true meaning of this blessed holiday lives in our hearts, doesn’t it? It simply has nothing to do with how many lights are strung, how much holiday décor we flaunt, or how many inflatable characters illuminate our December lawns.

Today, I am lost in memories of Christmases past. I have one memory of an older brother and his sister huddled under a frosted window searching desperately for a glimpse of the Jolly Old Elf himself.

That older brother denied any such activity, noting that he only pretended to watch to appease me. Yet I remember a sparkle in his eye that was as innocent as mine.

When I think of Christmas, I see families gathered with voices raised in song, laughter, and prayer. I see masses of wrapping paper icing the floor like frosting on a cake. I see hope and joy tearing the eyes of parents and grandparents.

And most importantly, I hold tight my dreams of peace on earth and goodwill toward men across a planet heartbreakingly littered with sadness and strife.

Cherish your bountiful good fortune. Hug your children. Give praise and thanks to the master of your heavenly faith. And when your Christmas wishes are fulfilled, pray for those less fortunate, who have yet to see their Christmas dreams come true.

Be it Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Blessed Kwanza, or Happy Holidays, may the season's joys embrace you with everlasting peace and enduring love. Heartfelt blessings to each and all.

Now… Rudolph and I have cocktails to enjoy! Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Road Signs]]>Tue, 12 Dec 2023 00:51:56 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/road-signsSilence is perfection sometimes, isn’t it?

It is early on a Sunday morning. With delicious hot coffee in hand, I watch the lights twinkle on my tree. They accompany a hush that is cozy and comforting.

It is ironic that I grumbled and cussed all the while I was dragging out this Christmas crap. And now I am thanking my lucky stars that I am still alive and healthy enough to enjoy it all.

This entire week I have pondered about how it is not only holidays that toy with our ability to see positivity in our lives. The hype surrounding this blessed celebration though almost always focuses on how we must share with family if we are to be fulfilled.

I cannot speak for you, but that adds to my fear and loneliness. While I have a wealth of friends and a small circle of loving family, I wake up every morning and go to bed every night alone. Oh, and did I mention I work alone all day too?

Yes, you can say that is a choice. And I will beg to differ.

And just like that WHAM. Did you feel the hard turn to the left? The question of destiny is flashing like a Vegas road sign. Now, this is a way to spend a quiet Sunday morning!

Okay. Whew. Just clear your throat and spill it, lady.

I have always believed that our lives are predestined. Oh, I am certain we have choices (i.e., the roads less traveled), but I also believe that both or all of those paths are predestined as well.

My soul is a metaphysical energy that has traveled beyond the realms of my understanding. It has walked hand in hand with a higher power guiding my choices to envelop exactly what it is I need to learn on this journey around the sun.

I am not here at the hands of fate. I exist for a reason.

No, I am not crazy. We all embrace theories that give us comfort. And believing that I need to learn how to live alone – and accept it – strengthens my being.

And no, don’t go there. I know my higher power is always with me, so “alone” is a contradiction of sorts.

But suddenly, I am at peace with it all once again. No, that doesn’t make it easier. But it does cleanse the mind and open channels of intellectual possibility.

Today’s truth is a holiday brunch with a best friend. Surely goodness and mercy will surround us with friendship, fellowship, and copious amounts of food and libation.

That’s worth a ‘Ho Ho Ho’ and all that jazz, don’t you think? Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Jingle Jangles]]>Tue, 05 Dec 2023 23:12:48 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/jingle-janglesOh my. It is already December, and I am already late with this blog. The words balderdash, poppycock, bologna, dribble, bollock, mumbo jumbo, BS, and similar descriptive phrases come screaming to mind.

It is apparent that December will be a b...east of a challenge. Why?

Oh, I have no idea really. The year has just blasted by and left little room for holiday anticipation. How can it possibly be December? The sparkle is dull; the magic is unimpressive; the hype is nauseating.

The onset of sickeningly sweet holiday blubber is feeding my Grinch alter ego. And we all know I can look stunning in green.

I am usually more elfinly elfish than anyone on the planet. Crazy Christmas baubles, award-winning ugly Christmas sweaters, and holiday music blaring so loudly that neighbors are guilted into hanging lights and stuffing stockings with wacky little trinkets and gifts.

Maybe it is just too early. Maybe I am lost in a daydream of sand and sunshine. Maybe I just don’t want to dig through the closet and drag out all my holiday garb.

Maybe I am just not in the mood. How does my favorite time of year become an annoyance?

My Christmas countdown usually includes nonstop holiday movies on autoplay. “White Christmas,” “It’s a Wonderful Life,” and “Miracle on 34th Street” always speak to my heart. Their messages never fade.

And I simply love the “Santa Clause” and “Christmas Chronicles” series as well.

Don’t be confused. The reason for the season lingers prophetically in my heart. But a jingle without a jangle leaves my Ho Ho Ho’s echoing in a vacuum of emptiness.

Although truth be told, it could be I need the never-ending flow of brandy-laced eggnog and champagne to boost my holiday spirit. Or maybe, just maybe, a soulful rendition of “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” will push me over the edge.

Hmmm. I wonder if I might be able to convince Alvin and the Chipmunks to sing it? Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Searchlights]]>Wed, 22 Nov 2023 09:44:49 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/searchlightsI have been so busy and tired this year, that this holiday week has crept up on me like a lion in the night. How does anyone begin to corral their thoughts of how blessed and thankful they are? I am frozen in reverent silence.

I am relentlessly perched atop a mountain of knowledge and love that surrounds the birth of this time of Thanksgiving. I wrote about this last year too.

We all know the tradition of this holiday is modeled on a harvest feast in 1621 shared by the English colonists (Pilgrims) of Plymouth and the Wampanoag tribe. Rich in legend and symbolism, it is said that about 90 Indians joined the 50 colonists for a celebration that actually lasted three days.

Most of us do not know that when the Mayflower ship left Plymouth, England, in September of 1620, it carried 102 passengers. Their treacherous journey lasted 66 days.

Most of the colonists remained on board the ship that first brutal winter, where they suffered from exposure, scurvy, and contagious disease outbreaks. Only half of the Mayflower’s original passengers and crew lived to see their first New England spring.

The past few years have blanketed us with fear, and loss, and unspeakable suffering. The sacrifice of our forefathers renders me emotionally speechless every year.

No matter your age, the year, or the path of struggle you walk, life is not only a blessing but a challenge. We harness the energies of faith, family, and friends to endure the hard times and embrace the good times.

If you pause to imagine the possibility of losing half of your own personal universe like those on the Mayflower, your inner vision becomes a life-saving searchlight. And in that illuminating moment, you smile and realize – no, you remember – how incredibly blessed you are.

I am thankful for each of you who take ten minutes a week to share in my journey. It has given me hope, direction, and vision. May your harvest feast be bountiful with joy, love, and enlightenment.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Gobbly Goop]]>Tue, 14 Nov 2023 00:56:57 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/gobbly-goopWell. Alrighty then. What can I find to bellyache about this week? No matter the content, know that I am in much better spirits now that the DST time bomb has completely obliterated my body clock. I’m officially good for another six months…I think.

I do believe I am becoming a cranky old lady though. Why? Because I only have one last nerve, and everyone is getting on it!

The first item of contention is the constant attack of creepy predators on my social media. Not only are these nut jobs ridiculously apparent in their intentions, but often they even use the same profile pictures with different names over, and over, and over. Is anyone really that clueless?

I know you have seen them. The sugary sweet gobbly goop of hearts and flowers emoticons, accompanied by an ostentatious declaration of their love for your…everything. Ninety percent of them show photos of handsome men in military garb with dogs, American flags, and apple pie. Ok, just kidding about the apple pie.

Try to imagine my index finger halfway down my throat. These predatory beasts of prey make me gag. It breaks my heart to think that some lowlife sitting in a Bombay internet café still has the ability to engage any lonely soul in need of attention, and maybe even affection.

They are not welcome on my page. I report them and block them constantly and I encourage all of you to do the same. The fact they are still doing this ruthless act – most likely to endear someone enough to milk them for cash – must mean they still find clueless souls or they would stop, right? Sad…

Round two: Facebook cracks me up. Recently I posted a self-made meme of a sweet old lady with a walker that touted, “I’m so old I remember when vodka only came in vodka flavor.” Isn’t that hilarious? True, and hilarious.

The problem is that "Fakebook" rejected that post as follows: POST CAN’T BE BOOSTED. Your post can’t be boosted because the ad doesn’t comply with our Alcohol policy. Uh… what?

I can’t make this stuff up, folks. Alcohol policy? What the hell is an alcohol policy? I belly-laughed for hours. All the sad, hateful, inciteful crap I see on this site, and they won’t post my giggle. I wonder what dastardly dumb duck makes these decisions. (Thank you autocorrect for saving my image.)

So, that is enough grizzly grumbling for one week. My love of autumn is insatiable, and the peak of fall colors can turn every grumble into a superfluous sigh. If ever you feel overwhelmed, just allow Mother Nature’s Fall Frenzy to soothe your soul.

Onward to another week, my friends. Ugh. The holidays are rounding the corner. Didn’t Santa just devour all those cookies yesterday? Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Babbling]]>Wed, 08 Nov 2023 03:55:33 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/babblingAnd in my next life… Here I go down the rabbit hole again. Do any of you do that too – throw in the towel for a moment? My brain becomes this mishmash of discombobulated thoughts and I think it would be easier to just call it a day rather than try to make sense of it all.

I think it’s the dang time change. You wouldn’t think that one lousy hour could affect you so dramatically, but it does, doesn’t it? The onset of darkness in what we know as late afternoon just does not compute. There ought to be a law…

But winter is on its way, and we cannot stop it. Life proceeds with or without our approval. And for me, it is proceeding at an alarming rate. Grandma was right – she promised me it would fly as I got older. What a wonderfully wise woman she was. Oh, how I miss her.

It is going to be a short blog this week, my friends. I am void of anything resembling intelligent chatter. Of course, some of you may think that already. I wasn’t born yesterday – I know I am very adept at babbling.

I am about to embark on my third anniversary on this personal journey of discovery. Three years? That is 36 months, 156 weeks. How does that happen in the blink of an eye? Be it a very finite amount of time, it has given me an infinite amount of joy, insight, and personal growth. Wow. Just wow.

Those who have followed me religiously all these years – and you know who you are – have to realize that I dawdle in and out of sanity more often than stars twinkle in the night. It is my lot in life to question every ounce of my being. It’s a curse for certain.

And this past week I surpassed 14,000 followers. I am sure that many follow me for the daily giggles posted on my page, and not for the nonsense that I relay in this blog, but it is a vote of confidence that lifts my soul, nevertheless.

For what it is worth, I appreciate every single one of you. Now, if I could just get my brain to focus long enough to harbor an intelligent thought. ***SIGH*** It is not going to happen today, is it? Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Misguided Ambition]]>Tue, 31 Oct 2023 09:04:04 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/misguided-ambitionAutumn is just inspiring, isn’t it? Truly. The balance of the season’s crisp and rejuvenating elements with its spectacular splash of color always brings my train of thought to its knees. It is a rush of awareness and I love it.

As I was out walking last week, I was captivated by the vision of leaves floating aimlessly all around me as if suspended in time. Serendipitously, I wondered what it would feel like to dance in the wind without meaning or direction – to be able to think, move, love, or laugh without bending to the expectations of someone, something… anything.

Why do we selflessly abandon a hope, dream, or personal need for someone else's enlightenment? We have all done it, right? Oh, you can deny it, but you know you have. It takes no forethought sometimes to manipulate our actions to please others. And sometimes, those “others” may not even be deserving of that sacrifice.

Sure, you can lecture me on the benefits of giving and the healing nature of kindness. And I will agree with you wholeheartedly. But sometimes, even if only rarely, we give of ourselves not out of kindness, but expectation.

I have written here a lot this year about how our moral centers appear to be careening out of kilter – that our thoughts and intentions are far too self-centered, even to the detriment of life as we know it.

I wonder – did my parents and grandparents think the same thing? Did they too believe we were all going to hell in a handbasket? The answer to me is obvious. Of course they did.

But autumn washes away all concern. Maybe the fresh air just sweeps away all of our cerebral cobwebs. I work harder, sleep better, and worry less. It is an aberration that defies common sense.

But whoever said I was sensible? I thrive on misguided ambition (or lack thereof).

Recently, I saw the storyline of a new series where a young girl was making out her bucket list. Oh wow, did that send shivers down my spine. My immediate realization haunts me. I do not have a bucket list. And I do not know if that is good, or bad.

You see, my “Once Upon a Time...” became a bucket list I have lived on all my life. I have laughed and loved, wined and dined, and traveled to some of the world’s most romantic and exotic destinations. While I felt like I never got everything I wanted, I have honestly never wanted for anything.

How could anyone so blessed be so arrogant as to have a list for more?

Now, how does this tie in with autumn? Your guess is as good as mine. I suppose it is the analogy it holds with graceful aging (i.e., the autumn of our lives). My leaves are falling, and there is nothing I can do to stop them.

Fine. I admit my psychological tangents run amuck at times. So just grab a cup of hot tea or a potent cocktail and try to keep up, okay? Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Movers and Shakers]]>Mon, 23 Oct 2023 23:49:08 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/movers-and-shakersSome may think diet, exercise, medication, and good clean living keep us alive and kicking. Ok, so I will relent those elements may play a part. But it goes much deeper, don’t you think?

My vote lies defiantly in the belief that friends and memories are the treasures that keep us both young at heart and vibrant of mind. Not a single day passes that a beautiful friend, or a funny, touching, or poignant memory does not lift my spirits and unburden my heart. Lord knows I am rich with both.

The brilliance of this concept is that many of our best thoughts and memories come directly from friends. It is a win-win proposition as long as you take the time to bathe these treasures in a sea of positivity.

My best friend and I became family in elementary school – the 5th grade to be exact. While there are memories I would not dare share in a public forum, thoughts of adventures yet to come give me the most joy.

She has always said she wants to be remembered as the little old lady comfortable in a bright purple hat, with a billowy striped top, flowered Capri pants, and bling-encrusted flip-flops – in other words, a classy human incarnation of the cartoon character Maxine.

She has earned every right to put a flamboyant stamp on her retirement freedom and I not only applaud her individualism but will gladly join her. How fun would it be to celebrate our elder years as quirky movers and shakers that no one could possibly forget?

And while friendships are the cornerstones of a healthy lifestyle, think about how strangers enhance our lives too. Every time we open a video on the internet and find ourselves belly laughing and giggling at some kind of nonsense, we boost our immune system and strengthen our heartbeat. It is a known fact. Find a way to laugh and sunshine will follow you all day.

The human spirit is amazingly resilient, isn’t it? No matter how devastating the loss, the failure, or the disappointment, we as a species eventually just grab the reins of life and move along.

For many, that step forward is easy; for others it is hard. Some find strength in the divine; some find strength from within; some just flounder until it gets better.

Personally? I think it is life’s imbalance that balances us. Emotional pendulums do sway but in a syncopated rhythm.

Even in the throes of discomfort, we continue to grow. And lately, it seems I have been growing a lot…

My advice for the day is to make friends, make memories, laugh at yourself, and repeat. Add a cup of coffee, a fruit smoothie, a Bloody Mary, or a glass or two of wine, and let your innermost sunshine wash away all the shadows.

Hmmm? Could it be I follow that advice a little too much? Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[What The.....?]]>Tue, 10 Oct 2023 13:22:17 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/what-theWhat is it that sends us down a rabbit hole? Recently, for no known reason, I got a bee in my bonnet to reignite my infatuation with Harry Potter. I searched and found all seven films available on demand.

Out came the pj’s and the popcorn as I settled in for a Hogwarts marathon. By part seven, there was the impetus (the buzzing bee) that compelled me to relive the magical imagery of witchcraft and wizardry – a forgotten message.

Subconsciously, I knew what I was looking for. A statement of literary gold had lodged itself deep in my memory and was working overtime to resurface. Today was the perfect day to remember.

Headmaster Dumbledore, as a heavenly incarnation, enlightened Harry, “Words are, in my not so humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic, capable of both inflicting injury and remedying it.” That was the piece of wisdom I longed to recover. Words are magic.

And so here I am, self-submerged in the magical business of words. Now, the true beauty of that message is that those are not the words of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. They are the wonderfully wise incantations of literary genius, J.K. Rowling through her delightfully mystical character.

I will be forever starstruck by her mastery of visualizing illusionary phantasm and transporting us with such imaginary precision.

The meaning of any action is always open to interpretation, isn’t it? Someone throwing a plate against a wall can represent anger, jealousy, disappointment, loss, entertainment – totally dependent on the context of the story.

But words alone, chosen carefully, can pinpoint and expose every human emotion without any need for interpretation. Our actions are important, but our words are powerful.

I have always loved to write. My father was my proofreader and I loved watching his eyebrows raise and forehead wrinkle when my subject matter bordered the bizarre.

I always thought I would produce massive volumes of books, letters, and poetry as I got older, none of which came to pass. Life always got in the way.

I have come to realize during this journey just how liberating it is to write and how extremely important it is to rid yourself of pent-up emotional baggage. The vehicle you use does not matter. For me it is words. For many, it is cooking, gardening, crafting, photography, exercise, or any activity that gives you inner peace. Self-advocacy is a path to emotional freedom.

It is amusing that this discovery took me so many years. And believe me, some days the words just do not flow. Writing is a pompous beast. Thoughts ebb and flow often without logic. I jump from rant to rant as my brain dictates and can only hope I will eventually unravel each puzzle with some sort of clarity.

Some of you will concur that I do, while others will scratch their head and say, “What the…….?” Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Crash Test Dummies]]>Wed, 04 Oct 2023 02:04:56 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/crash-test-dummiesWhy do people believe that living alone is the best of all worlds? Yeah, so okay, sometimes no distractions paired with the freedom to think, play, and sleep at will is a cozy little place called Dreamville.

But when Murphy’s Law meets the Law of Averages, Dreamville becomes Amity Island. And big ass sharks are the least of your worries.

Okay, so I have a knack for overexaggerating. But I have lived that dreamy little nightmare for years now and the highs and lows are hardly an even split.

When there is no one to please or motivate it is ridiculously easy to do nothing. Who cares if I run the vacuum today? No one knows but me. And those dirty dishes in the sink? They can wait until . . . who cares?

That might sound unbelievably tempting, but procrastinating today's needs bleeds uncontrollably into all aspects of your life. Trust me. I am an expert.

Dining on chocolate for breakfast, popcorn for lunch and Cinnamon Toast Crunch for dinner (half a box as a finger-food snack) sounds delicious, right? It is until your blood sugar drops to the neglectful idiot stage and your energy level resembles an overfed pig.

With no kids of my own, no grandkids wanting to bake cookies with Grandma, and next to zero chance of a surprise knock on my door, it is too easy to become self-indulgent on whims without consequence.

And boy, does it ever play havoc with emotions. We often forget that intimacy is more than a romp in the sack.

Companionship has always been paramount to personal fulfillment. The phrase “no man is an island” originated 400 years ago by English metaphysical poet John Donne. As the Dean of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, it is said he penned those thoughts while alone on a grim Christmas Eve amid a deadly pandemic.

Even Aristotle once said, “Man is a social animal. He who lives without society is either a beast or God.”

I am a far cry from anti-social, and God knows I am not a beast, but lack of interaction with the masses sometimes toys with my ability to evaluate situational intent. Seriously. I can over or under-react in the blink of an eye. Isolation dilutes emotional aptitude and so in public, we become bulls in China shops.

Have you ever noticed that fish float aimlessly in an aquarium and never crash into anything? Humans are seldom that perceptive and solitude disrupts anything resembling that kind of radar. We really are more like crash test dummies than conscientious observers. Why?

Because social skills are not inherent. They are learned through communal experience and will falter equally as fast without human contact. Without sharing all of life’s little quirks with someone special, life takes on a completely different landscape.

Life as a single woman – I love it; I hate it; It is exhilarating and debilitating. Be thankful I didn’t pontificate on the subject of boredom. Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Shock and Awe]]>Tue, 26 Sep 2023 00:53:23 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/shock-and-aweWhat a beautiful week! Cool mornings. Warm, humidity-free afternoons. Plus, a twinge of color that promises the acceleration of autumn’s bold deliverance.

Why, amid the wonders of Mother Nature’s good graces, is there always something that kicks us to the curb of reality? Why can’t life cut us some slack when we need it the most?

So, I’m calling this Culture Awareness Week. I cannot say that I’ve led a sheltered existence – not in the least. Nor do I tiptoe through life wearing blinders. I don’t. Yet twice this week I found myself engaged in a battle of shock and awe.

Sunday mornings are my grocery days. Even though I am a social butterfly, I just do not like to shop with strangers. I go early, hustle through the aisles, and get out before half of the public is even awake.

This past week, in my attempt to escape, I noticed a young woman by the clothing donation bin in the parking lot. Surrounding it was an overflowing mountain of black trash bags. This young woman was ripping all the bags open and examining each piece of clothing to salvage anything useful.

While my first thought was, “All power to you, girl,” I still found myself drowning in melancholy. Even in my worst of times, ravaging through public clothing donations would never have occurred to me. I was raised to make the best of whatever I had.

Understand that I found no fault in her actions. It takes courage, strength, and maybe even a little creativity, to survive adversity. I was just mortified that her reality was so different than mine. How dare I ever complain?

And if that was not eye-opening enough, I was watching something on TV – I seriously cannot remember what show – when an educator who was mentoring a youth group asked a young girl about her hopes for the future.

“What are your plans after graduation?” he asked. Without any deep thought whatsoever, the young girl replied, “I guess I’ll get pregnant so I can go on welfare.”

My heart broke; my stomach turned; my eyes welled with tears. How, in 2023, in the greatest country on earth, can anyone not have a dream bigger than that? How does that happen? How?

I may be blessed beyond belief, but I am culturally ignorant. I know this wasn’t just a scripted scene. This happens in many walks of life. We often become what our environments dictate. And without a guiding light to illuminate our path, we merely follow in the footsteps of others down a long, dark road.

Now, I can’t change the world overnight. None of us can. But we can be empathetic in our understanding and acceptance of others. There but for the grace of God go us all.

Life may not make sense sometimes, but each day still amazes me. With the beauty of every sunset comes the hope of another sunrise. If only it were that simple, right? Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[A Hot Mess]]>Tue, 19 Sep 2023 13:12:19 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/a-hot-messSo, I woke up in another funk. Here we go again, right? I slept well, and I feel rested, but there is still an emptiness that I cannot explain. I did not want to get up and I did not want to stay in bed. Perhaps it is just the end of summer blues.

I had to turn on the heat last week. It only ran for a few hours, but I was freezing. How can you be so cold when it is only 53⁰ outside? I am going to be a popsicle when winter finally darkens my doorstep.

Is it the colder temperature that is rendering me so apathetic? Not one single topic is dominating my thoughts. I feel indifferent about - well - everything.

On a normal day, any day, and all day I am usually playing psychological ping pong. My thoughts used to bounce from life’s scathing inequities to chores that needed attention and were bolstered by a meaningful dialog with Alexa to determine what day it was.

But now that I am back in the employment scene, my thoughts scurry on the brink of utter chaos. My Federal access is finally coming to light, but now I live in a panic zone about what an old woman’s brain will actually remember and retain.

It is a self-righteous journey that defies all rules of propriety. In other words, I am a hot mess.

Perhaps I underestimated the value of boredom. Now there is a curious word. My dear friend Webster identifies it as the feeling of being wearied by dullness, tedious repetition, unwelcome attentions, etcetera. My, isn’t that interesting? It doesn’t even mention the lack of intellectual stimulation.

Even my evening channel surfing lacks any specific focus. I usually allow myself to be swept away with mindless entertainment. But lately, I haven’t been able to find anything worthy of my unwavering devotion.

Geez, I can’t even seem to find anything that just yanks my chain.

I wonder… What provokes the brain to be compelled into action? Is it visual stimulation, inciteful dialogue, mindless distraction, or fear of failure? I have long lost my ability to reason with any kind of normalcy.

And, with all that being said, who really cares? Why am I babbling on about boredom? Why does personal satisfaction only come with energy-zapping hustle? Furthermore, why are we always asking “Why?”

Yep. Hot mess. I warned you. Yet, in this crazy moment, I am wrenched in cynical laughter. I am a certifiable basket case. Isn’t that a hoot? I have concluded before that lack of intellectual stimulation does not equal boredom. But it may contribute to the psychosis of neurotic old women.

And, of course, I am now hot and sweaty. Why did I turn on the heat? Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Pontoons and Boxcars]]>Mon, 11 Sep 2023 16:54:37 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/pontoons-and-boxcarsThere are days that are just…blah, right? I know you’ve had them. Times that are not really bad, not really good, just not much of anything. You only know that something seems to be missing.

Chores are done. Dinner is in the Instant Pot. TV programming is pitiful. My thoughts are amiss with “if only” or “I wish.” Why do we do that? Why do we always need more?

I was out front replacing the newly filled hummingbird feeder when I heard a clatter. I looked up to see a decrepit old van about to maneuver the speed bumps.

I was instantly entertained and expected to see a Laurel and Hardy moment when a bemused Laurel bounces out of the van to watch all bumpers crash to the ground.

And just when you need to remember something funny for a change, the memories come flooding back.

I was a newly licensed 16-year-old. Our family vehicle was a 1965 Pontiac Bonneville 4-door sedan. It was a boat. Learning to drive in it was awkward at best. Parallel parking was next to impossible.

My older brother got his own car – a sweet little Corvair. But I was expected to drive the family pontoon.

Our family were avid tent campers. We would whisk away almost every weekend on an adventure to a nearby campground. Our transport vehicle was a less-than-perfect, gaudy green, snub-nosed, Chevrolet Greenbrier van.

Oh, it wasn’t a boat. It was a bloody train car. It was a six-to-nine-passenger window van with a manual transmission. On a normal day, I wouldn’t be caught dead in it.

But this day, my dad was having minor chest pains. I have no recollection of where my mom or my brother was, but he needed a nitroglycerin prescription from the pharmacy now. The Greenbrier was my only option and I had never even tried to drive it.

Laughingly, I remember Dad telling me it was easy. He had been a teacher in his younger years and expertly instructed me on how and when to shift gears. “No problem, pop. I got this.”

Yeah, sure. Guided by what I now know to be God’s hand, I made it to the pharmacy and was feeling a bit confident in the big green atrocity. Until I got stopped behind traffic at the railroad tracks on the way home.

You see, before the tracks, there was an incline of, oh let’s say, 20% grade. It was a big damn hill. Have you ever tried to get past first gear on a steep hill when you have no clue what you are doing?

The farmers at the grain elevator by the tracks were laughing hysterically at me. It must have taken me 20 attempts to cross those tracks. I am almost certain I never drove that ugly beast again.

Dad knew I had struggled because a 15-minute trip took almost an hour. He laughed so hard at my story, he had to hold his chest. But I got his pills. And on that day, he was fine.

So… “What if” today you just find a fun memory and let it transport you to wherever it takes you? Who needs Laurel and Hardy? Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Frames]]>Tue, 05 Sep 2023 10:21:59 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/framesSince it was Labor Day, it was only appropriate that I start my spring cleaning. Yes, I know. It is September (tomato, tomahto). I am only a little bit late.

First, I decided to clean my kitchen cabinets. Not the inside, they are clean. But the doors, with all the panel decoration, had gathered dust and dirt in corners that only a good scrubbing could fix. And for the record? I killed two completely innocent toothbrushes for this task.

What a feeling of accomplishment! Onward to some office cabinet drawers.

This chore brought a plethora of thoughts. “Why did I keep this?” “Huh, am I daft?” Until I reached the bottom. There it was. One of my most treasured possessions. You will need to know a little history to understand why.

When I moved back to Indiana, I was in a mess of sorts. A broken relationship, lost income, and questionable self-esteem darkened my path. With the help of my best friend, I managed to somehow land on my feet. Yet I was certain it was number nine of my nine lives.

I have always surrounded myself with special people. It is what I do best. When I make friends, I generally make them for forever. I had lost touch with one of those dear friends, and on a lonely night in 2007, I decided to reach out.

You all know that true friendships never fail, right? It might be days or months or years between contact, but the connection never wanes. I dialed the number and waited for him to answer.

When he did, although it had been a couple of years, it was like yesterday. We immediately found perfectly reasonable excuses for why it had been so long, and we laughed and cried for hours. Resurrection does a body good (no pun intended).

Although I cannot remember the exact details, he humorously scolded me about not buying something. Gosh, I wish I could remember what it was, but it cost $43.00. I do recall telling him that frivolous purchases were not in my budget, and we laughed and laughed. It was a great chat.

A week later, I received a letter from him with – you guessed it – a $43.00 check. Oh my, I giggled for days. And when he asked me a few weeks later why I had not cashed it, I told him I wasn’t going to.

I was going to frame it because it was, without a doubt, one of the most thoughtful, funny, and loving things that anyone had done for me in a long time. I never wanted to forget it.

We kept in touch often after that call. But you know how it goes. Time just flutters by so fast that things get lost in the shuffle. It had been a couple of years since we talked when I found that check in the drawer.

The phone number was disconnected. So, I let my fingers take a Google walk. That’s when the lump in my throat fell like a rock into my heart. I found his obituary from May 11, 2023. I cried and cried, alone this time. Much like my spring cleaning, I was a few months too late.

So, if you have a friend, and it’s been a while, pick up your phone and call, text, or what the heck, mail them a $43.00 check. Let them know you’re thinking of them.

That is all for now. I have a frame to buy. Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Whizbang Kid]]>Wed, 30 Aug 2023 02:37:48 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/whizbang-kidWhat makes your week successful? Do you require a handful of major life-altering events to define it, or just seven wakeups without moans and groans?

It is really hard to define, isn’t it? And trust me, that definition dramatically changes over time. As a kid, it was a gold star for a job well done, or as an adolescent, a nod and a smile from that nerdy guy in English class.

Adults don’t have it quite that easy. A single downer can hinder even the best accomplishment in the world. We are a fickle breed with often nonsensical expectations.

In my world, however, tiny steps equate to huge victories. And I love that I can find satisfaction in the littlest of things.

For months, I have stared at a drooping shelf above my washer and dryer. Oh, it was sturdy enough, but how it looked was a pain in my a…rmpit. This week, I went on a mission. I have no idea what tipped the scales.

There wasn’t much on the shelf – my laundry detergent, some pesticide spray cans, a few old license plates (???), and in the back corner an old bread machine. And here is where it gets good.

Trying to figure out how my brain works is a futile exercise. I remembered putting the machine on this shelf because the kneading paddle was missing. I think my intent was to locate a new one when I found the time. That was 17 years ago. Go ahead, laugh. I did.

When I pulled it down? Well… look at that. The paddle was in the machine. How did that get there? And why did I virtually retire it in the first place?

Now, this bread machine comes from my California days. More specifically, from the mid-late 1980s. Do the math – it is ancient! What in the bloody hell is wrong with me? Why would I keep this thing?

It worked beautifully for years. I even had my own sourdough starter and made bread from scratch. Instantly, I could almost smell that bread…

So, I did what any quasi-normal person would do – I plugged it in. Son of a gun if it didn’t power up perfectly. I wonder…? They say that curiosity killed the cat, right? But I'm a brave superwoman.

I bought a bread mix and decided I had nothing to lose. Four hours later I had this perfect loaf of hot sourdough bread. It was freaking amazing!

Bread flour and yeast are now on my shopping list. Why use a mix when making it from scratch is easy and healthier? I now have a new weekly challenge to stimulate my dilapidating brain cells. Yeah, baby. Old people can rock too.

And oh, I am a whizbang kid with a power drill and a hammer too, so the shelf got fixed as well. What could I possibly do next week to beat this? Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Yada Yada Yada]]>Tue, 22 Aug 2023 13:28:25 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/yada-yada-yadaI am in a weird place. Ever been there? Memories, memories, memories have flooded my thoughts and dreams this week, and I honestly don’t know why.

Isn’t it bizarre how we can dream vividly about activities from 50 years ago, but sometimes can’t remember what we did on Monday?

My dreams were about my father’s funeral – like it happened yesterday. I woke up in a cold sweat with a racing heartbeat. What in the world?

I do not have a lot of memories from that day. The shock was too traumatic for an 18-year-old. But I remember sitting against a wall with two dear friends at my side - Randy and Mike - both holding my hands so tightly. No words were spoken. A caring touch was all the comfort I needed. Or maybe they just couldn’t find words…

Beyond that, I only remember the High Masonic Rights performed by grown men wearing white gloves and the nauseating stench of flowers – primarily roses. He was loved by many.

I would love to think that the dream was a message from my dad reminding me that he is always with me. Or, at least, that is what a psychic told me 30 years ago – that he was my guardian angel and with me all the time.

And of course, I exacerbated the problem by watching the Hallmark Channel all weekend. You know what I speak of – syrupy sweet hypothetical perfection about families and love and adventure that ultimately makes me crinkle my nose and think sarcastically “yada yada yada.”

Once, I think I actually snarled and stuck my tongue out at them.

It is like your favorite song, right? Sometimes it makes your heart flutter and your cheeks hurt from the expanse of your smile. Other times it brings heartache and tears. It is beyond comprehension.

But today, all is good. I slept like a rock (hmm, do rocks sleep?) and rose for the first time in days without a crick in my neck.

Maybe memories are just tools of acceptance. When we question our mortality and wonder what in the hell life is all about, someone or something jolts us back to reality. It is a gift, pure and simple, from a Master Designer that knows all and guides us mysteriously down paths of righteousness.

Today I saw a picture of my best friend and me donning caps and gowns on our High School Commencement night. It was one month after I lost my father, and the look on my face was so telling. It was devoid of emotion. Maybe my dream was a subconscious act to empty the pain of that moment from my head and my heart.

It is good sometimes to just let go, agreed? And oh yeah. I really can’t remember what I did on Monday. Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Osmosis]]>Tue, 15 Aug 2023 11:24:15 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/osmosisUntil recently, weekends were just days of the week. When you are not working, they all seem to run together like an endless circle.

But now that I am reinstated in a full-time grind, weekends are back to being mini vacations. Even though my body clock blares an internal alarm at the usual time, it is still supremely satisfying to know I can turn over and enjoy the morning solitude.

And while I love my private time, finalizing plans with friends or family on the weekends makes me childishly capricious these days. It is a good thing.

What could be better than great Mexican food and a tall, cold Modelo Especial on an oppressively hot and muggy Saturday afternoon? Not forgetting the rejuvenating finesse of fresh chips and salsa. We are talking miracle drugs here.

Until my booth seat was attacked by a jumping and kicking kid on the adjoining side. I am talking about nonstop bumps and jumps for what seemed like an eternity. Have I mentioned before that patience is not my most redeeming virtue?

So, I ask. In any universe, when is this acceptable behavior? And no, I’m not talking about the child’s actions. I am talking about the parents, grandparents, or caregivers who allowed this toddler to act like a demon child.

Yes, I am one of those. I do not believe there are any bad children – there are only bad parents. And no, hold your judgments. I am only speaking of healthy kids, not those sadly afflicted with conditions well beyond their control.

Cantankerous conduct is learned behavior. None of us were born with an innate understanding of acceptable etiquette. It must be taught and reinforced. Contrary to popular belief, it does not happen by osmosis.

Okay, so maybe that is too rudimentary. But surely some of you will understand and agree. Not once did I hear this child’s companions ask them to stop or sit down. Not once was an expectation explained. Not once was a warning presented. I could only shake my head.

I chose to respect the privacy of those people and kept my nose out of their business. After all, I had the right to request other seating. I was just saddened that the adults were disturbingly clueless about the impact on surrounding customers.

Now, please know, there is simply nothing more enjoyable and inviting than the innocent giggles of a politely playful child. I will engage them every time and revel in the sparkle of their innocence. But – and it is a big “but.” Rude is rude.

They left as our food arrived and my remaining vacation was delightful. I guess even through the sunshine, a little rain might fall. Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Rhymes and Reasons]]>Mon, 07 Aug 2023 13:24:54 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/rhymes-and-reasonsOk, so how many of you come across something that you know is going to add both insight and direction to your life, so you watch, read, or access it, and then realize you are not the salt of the earth you thought you were? Ugh…

Now, I am not a follower. I am not an insecure shrinking violet. I am not a person who makes decisions based on the thoughts or interpretations of others. But once in a while, I fall into the pity pit of personal doubt. Fine. It is more often than once in a while, but who’s counting?

I started listening to an audiobook by Amy Lupold Bair, “Blogging for Dummies.” The excitement I felt about finding this treasure was nearly titillating. Any person who writes, be it for business or pleasure, always needs to find inspiration somewhere.

It started out pretty rudimentary (as “for dummies” would imply). Yet there were still immediate entries that provoked avenues for clarity and creativity.

But the waters started to muddy for me. I realize this author intended to reach all audiences, especially those bloggers looking to create a business venture. But one statement shut me down emphatically.

She suggested that if you write only for yourself, you should perhaps just keep a daily journal and not blog. What? Even Kurt Vonnegut once said, and I paraphrase, “…write according to your purpose.” Uh, my purpose is me.

Why did this impact me so much? I have declared many times I am not here to become a renowned writer. I am not here to establish a platform for anything. I only blog to get irritants off my chest that might make someone else laugh, cry, applaud, or whine. Geez, sometimes they even boo.

But words do impact us, don’t they? The funny part is that she, obviously, was not even talking to me. This was a blanket statement that could well motivate someone to give up the blogger dream – someone who probably should not be blogging in the first place.

It did, however, remind me that we are all affected by the thoughts and actions of others. Yes, I know, this is not a mind-boggling revelation, i.e., sticks and stones and all that bologna.

It is wise when searching for your voice to understand that every word you choose may influence the emotions of others. But it is also wise to understand that words used by thoughtful writers are most likely chosen for a reason as well.

I will never be able to please every reader every time, and more importantly, I have no intention of even trying. But I will respect and applaud your right to voice your thoughts and opinions every time.

Funny…I had decided to write about the essence of friendship this week. Without the support of friends – and you know who you are – I would not survive the insanity. While I do believe in divine intervention, sometimes there is no rhyme or reason for misguided trepidation.

I may need to find “Self-esteem for Dummies” next. Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Gladiators of Nature]]>Tue, 01 Aug 2023 13:09:14 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/gladiators-of-natureMy thoughts have been all over the place this week. When nothing specific challenges me on any given day, I am always intrigued by how brainwaves get filtered into nonsensical tangents of absurdity.

This past week my best friend and I were engaging in the often-addressed topic of weight. Most of you know these conversations intimately. We talked of plateaus, water retention, and why cookies have to taste so much better than celery when all of a sudden it hit me.

Why do we allow this topic to have control over so many thoughts, feelings, worries, and actions? I understand that health is paramount to the quality of life, and we do actually feel better when we weigh less, but the intensity of it all is laughable to me.

I currently weigh less than I have in the last 20 years – a lot less. It started with the onset of gallbladder surgery last year, and I have persevered diligently to lose even more. Most of you know where this is headed.

It is hard – no, it is next to impossible – to lose weight and maintain it on a consistent basis the older we get. No surprises here, Einstein. Our activity levels tend to diminish as well, adding to the dramatic change in the body’s physiology and chemistry.

So why are we obsessed with it? Why isn’t being ‘sensible’ enough? I have only so much time left for love and laughter. Should I not just enjoy it as opposed to worrying about it? I honestly doubt that ten pounds will truly change my self-image. Maybe I need an intervention.

And just as quickly as the wind changes direction, I was off on another tangent.

Last week I hung a hummingbird feeder right outside of my office window and have been waiting for those enchanting little creatures to find it. This morning, I watched one stop and circle it, land, and take a long drink.

Then, right on cue, it flew to the window, hovered, and stared at me as if to say thank you before flying back for another sip. It was magical. And so, I thought, “Oh to have such a simple life.”

But who am I to judge their existence? Their lifespan is only three to five years, and they must consume approximately one-half of their weight in sugar daily. On average they feed five to eight times per hour. That hardly computes to simple.

With a heart rate of more than 1,200 beats per minute and wing flaps between 50-200 per second (yes, per SECOND!), these aggressive little gladiators of nature work – as we would say – like a dog just to survive.

I guess all facets of life are subject to interpretation, right? We all fall prey to the fallacies and pitfalls of expectations, be they real or imaginary.

Since these tiny, feathered friends also have big brains and superior memories, I hope my new friend will remember the smile I returned when they so graciously thanked me. Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

Share your thoughts! Click the word Comments below and tell me what you think!

]]><![CDATA[Rite of Passage]]>Tue, 25 Jul 2023 12:04:00 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/rite-of-passageOh, snap! I just had an epiphany and know exactly what ushered in my antiquity status. They are called Compression Socks – otherwise known as articles of Death by Calf Strangulation.

So, I was having an issue with an ache on the front of my left shin. It was not a pain, but a feeling that my skin was being stretched to the point of tearing. It even hurt to touch.

Since I am now back sitting at a desk all day, my self-diagnosis, courtesy of WebMD, posed the possibility of blood clots forming in my legs. Rather than pull out my trusty insurance card and make an appointment with a professional, I opted to first try the obvious – boost circulation.

Sounds like a righteous plan, right? After scrolling through thousands of Amazon pairs, I purchased the open-toe version. Why strangle my toes at the same time?

When they arrived, they looked innocent enough. I had ordered them responsibly, measuring my ankle and calf as advised. The instructions read they should be worn first thing out of bed in the morning. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I started what I expected to be a less-than-a-minute task.

I felt tremendously good about my choice until the dang thing put a choke hold on my ankle. Good heavens, that little sucker had to be made from threads of steel. I had trouble getting my thumbs under it to even start the pull-up process.

Can anyone else attest to this rite of passage? It was like engaging in a tug-of-war with about a dozen Schwarzenegger wannabees. It felt doomed from the onset.

I even fell back on the bed, kicking my legs in the air, thinking that gravity might help win the war. It did not.

But after multiple sighs and a couple of muffled screams, they reached my knee. I had no doubt my toes would be numb in a matter of seconds.

Yet strangely, they weren’t. As a matter of fact, the immediate sensation was a cooling, much like rubbing Bengay into a tired joint, without the nauseating smell.

As the day progressed, and while I hate to be a wimpy advertisement for something as simple as a pair of socks, I honestly felt uncommonly energized. The achy “stretched skin” phenomenon disappeared. Wearing them became a pleasure instead of a life sentence.

It is not recommended to wear them when in a reclining position. So, the best result is because of this day-time fix, I have also not had a leg cramp or leg discomfort overnight since I started this commitment.

These blasted things are definitely keepers. Who knew? Don’t you think I should be awarded an honorary Medical Degree from Harvard University forthwith? Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

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]]><![CDATA[Get Off Your Cinnabons]]>Tue, 18 Jul 2023 13:12:07 GMThttps://sassysentiments.com/blog/get-off-your-cinnabonsHow many of you have quiet days when your brain will simply not shut up? My brain has a mind of its own (yes, I know that’s redundant). It sometimes does not listen to reason, pleas, or threats.

And unlike my body, it also does not respond to chips, ice cream, or Snickers bars.

I think the hardest part of being alone is battling your inner demons. And you have to know those demons are not always angry and nasty. But they are incessant. For me, they always second-guess my every action.

It is this voice that nags and nags and nags. It is reminiscent of those days when my Mom would repeatedly remind me to clean my room. And in my mind, it was clean. I mean, why chase away dust bunnies when they just come back?

But as an adult, these voices are more antagonistic. Why are you being so lazy? Why are you crying over spilt milk? Why can’t you lose those last five pounds? Get off your Cinnabons and do something.

Every once in a while, though, I do hear, “You’ve got this girl. You’ve earned a break. Take four and a half minutes but no more than five!”

So, in the last five minutes I was awarded I found myself yet again lost in yesteryear remembering a magical time when I was starstruck by a certain young man.

I remember attending a junior high track team pool party and holding hands for the first time. In reality, I was probably petrified, but in my memory, I grinned like a mischievous Cheshire cat. I felt like the luckiest girl there. Even though we were two of the least likely kids to be envied for our connection.

Oh geez, I loved the innocence of my adolescence. Memories often serve us well, don’t they? If we manage them efficiently, they can melt away all of the day’s misgivings. And I have become a master of memory management.

But then, the break is over, and life dangles its challenges again ever so relentlessly. You stand up, listen to your knees whine, and hope that soon the touch of a loving hand will give you new memories for future breaks.

And you smile. No matter the hardships we endure, life is an angelic gift. If you ever forget that, just look around you. As soon as you learn to kick the voices to the curb, I am confident blessings will abound. Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.

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