Tag: writing

Good bye Polly Cat

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I can hear the sound of the little bells that adorned her collar when she first came home with us. She hid in our laundry basket. She started as what appeared to be a normal-sized kitten, but within a week, her feet grew. She loved when we would make the bed, and she’d be under the sheets. She loved to sneak up on you and loved chirping at the birds in our big window in our first home. You could see the river in the distance.

She was our Maine Coon and would soon be a fixture in our lives for over 14 years.

When my husband went to law school and would study, she remained by his side, a constant study partner and companion. When we brought our oldest home, she stood on her hind legs and peered into the portable cradle at the newborn. She loved chewing on ribbon and our fake Christmas tree. She loved the challenge of a laser light.

She had a routine. Every morning, she’d be up by 6, singing the song of her people, indicating that it was time to eat. Her meow sounded more like a “hello?!”

She tolerated both boys during their toddler years and mustered up as much patience as she could. Near the end, she hissed more but never struck out. She’d grown arthritic. I knew that we were living on borrowed time.

Her favorite spot by her favorite person, my husband, is where she took her last breath. She did not ring in the new year with us; she left with a few hours to go before the new year began.

This morning was eerily silent. The routine was now broken and replaced with a new normal in which we will have to adjust.

Animals are a blessing from God, and boy, were we blessed to have her- Polly, the Maine Coon Princess Warrior. Arrived as a birthday gift from my mother-in-law to both my husband (and me) and left this earth on New Year’s Eve 2025.

We will miss you! Enjoy naps on clouds and a renewed sense of energy. Keep St. Peter on time when it’s time eat. Look after us and wait for us.

We love you.

Cancer Things

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Episode 1: Medication Side Effects

Warning: This blog is not suitable for all audiences. Viewer discretion advised. This is my effort to understand my feelings and emotions as they relate to Stage 4 Cancer. I love Stranger Things.

With all treatments with all chronic diseases comes the dreaded side effects. If the disease was not enough, now you have side effects to deal with it too. Like those God awful side effects read and are portrayed in commercials, cancer medications are similar. This medication may cause drowsiness, weight gain, picking your nose in public, uncontrollable urge to slap someone, etc.

Okay, so it doesn’t cause nose picking or the urge to slap someone. But, the medication does cause one side effect that is not fun. It leads to irregularity- which means I can’t go or I have to Go. And not I can wait until I get my grocery pick up but now which means going into the store which was what I was trying to avoid. The lady in front of me, I am sure who is very kind, is taking her time headed to the same location. Bless her sweet soul, she doesn’t know but I’m dying, slowly and praying no one runs into me and ask how our Christmas was. Gosh, I love my small town but in these moments, I need to save the Hallmark moment for another time.

Whew, I make it by the grace of the Lord above. Part of the problem is that I need to calcium because I’m in menopause but can’t have too much because then I can’t go. Then, I am borderline diabetic which means I can’t eat a lot of carbs and you know what I love that doesn’t have a lot of carbs- cheese. I love cheese.

Therefore, I’ve got to do better but everything I love is bread, pasta and cheese. No no’s. Breaking habits is hard. Weight loss in early menopause even harder. I’m not complaining just explaining my reality.

So, what does one do, but get up and keep trying. Exercise, make new recipes that call for whatever the hell almond flour is. Choose to fight another day against the Mind Flayer, aka Cancer. Stay tuned to learn more about Cancer Things. Hopefully, I will defeat it once and for all, be an Eleven or sorts.

I’m living my own version of the Upside Down but I’m going to keep fighting. I’m going to turn on the 80’s and fight.

It doesn’t hurt me (yeah, yeah, yo)
Do you wanna feel how it feels? (Yeah, yeah, yo)
Do you wanna know, know that it doesn’t hurt me? (Yeah, yeah, yo)
Do you wanna hear about the deal that I’m making? (Yeah, yeah, yo)

Dear William Michael

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I watched in awe as you got up at 5:30 before school to practice soccer. Then, you asked to practice on Saturday, and I watched you practice. Neither of these times includes regularly scheduled practices with the high school team on Sundays and Mondays, nor games on Tuesdays and Thursdays with the league.

Your grit and determination at such a young age are truly inspiring. I told myself I’d start getting up when you do during the week to prepare myself for the next year when I plan to attend UAB and get my doctorate in Healthcare Leadership. My reasoning is that when I add coursework to my mom life and regular work, I’d have an extra hour to study, do laundry, pray, or whatever.

I remember the feeling I imagine you are feeling. The rush of playing a sport you love. For me, it was tennis. Like you, I’d get up early and play with Poppy. I loved how the racquet felt in my hand and the feeling of smashing the ball onto the other side or down the competitor’s throat, where they couldn’t return the shot. As the sweat poured from my brow, I wiped it off and reset to serve again, again, and again. I see this in you. I see your footwork, research in the best angle. You reset the ball again, again, and again. I think to myself, “Where did this kid come from?” Surely, not me. I’d like to take all the credit, but you are you.

I write this for myself selfishly, as I do not know what the future holds, but I do know I am here for whatever your plans may be with this sport or whatever you choose. I daydream that one day I am watching you in the stands when they call your name, and they happen to mention mine in association.

I am writing to let you know that I am incredibly proud of you. I cherish every moment we have together- in the car, watching scary movies, and watching you play your sport. I pray God gives me all the chances in the world to be a part of it.

You have inspired me to pursue what I’ve always wanted to do: a doctorate. Now, I have to muster my grit and prepare for the following year. I look to you for that motivation.

Together, at 5:30 AM, we will follow our dreams. This old lady will get her doctorate and maybe have an opportunity to teach college kids (a dream come true). You, my son, will play soccer at a higher level. I feel in my heart and know it in my mind.

Thanks for the inspiration and the reminder that dreams can come true, but they take hard work, perseverance, and determination. Something you already encompass. Don’t lose focus, my son. Don’t lose focus.

I love you, Mom.

Team Conrad vs. Team Jeremiah, a Wicked Weekend and rambling thoughts from a 40-year-old millennial…

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Team Conrad versus Team Jeremiah has been around since the beginning of my 8th grade year, when I once wrote on my notebook C or W with a question mark. For fear of finding out my two crushes, I secretly coded them by only placing the first letter of the prospectives’ first names. How brilliant was I? Lol. The Summer I Turned Pretty is a millennial dream. I think it’s Conrad’s hair as it mimics many of the covers of my Seventeen magazines in those days. Maybe it’s how the music intertwines the episodes much like the soundtrack of Dawson’s Creek. I was Team Pacey.

Maybe it comes from a need to find peace in this chaotic world that drags us millennials in. Since 2001 we’ve felt an uneasy that has not subsided. Whatever it is, I am here for it!

It’s nice to get caught up in something else for even a short period of time. After it ends next week, I’ll be searching for the next binge.

Whatever team you are on make sure you choose you too. I am learning that even at 40. Sometimes, we have to do things that bring us joy. It’s hard with work, family, kids but it makes you better when you can make yourself smile every once in a while. Team Ashley is going with friends to see Wicked on stage with friends. In college, in my attempt to be cool, I would have never admitted that I liked this story but as an adult, I have fallen in love with the characters, their development, etc. I watched Wizard of Oz (taped off television with commercials and all) a gazillion times according to my mom, so I guess it’s only fitting that I like Wicked.

Another lesson I’ve learned lately is that I can’t be everyone’s cup of tea because, “darling, I’m champagne!” It’s okay that things don’t always work out the way you planned because God has something better in store.

Spoiler alert, at the end of 8th grade, I chose C then ended up marrying a W. Life is like that. What may seem important at the moment changes as you change. I cherish every moment I have on this earth and the memories that made me who I am. For the most part, I don’t have regrets. Because to live is an awfully wonderful adventure, and I am glad to be here- the good, the bad and all of it. I am soaking it all in.

Let it Be

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I found myself this afternoon in a melancholy mood. I found The Wonder Years on Hulu and watched the first episode. In the first episode, Kevin Arnold starts his first day of Junior High. Winnie loses her brother to the Vietnam War. I wanted to cry. I had seen this episode at least a dozen times. It hit me differently today as I could see the loss of innocence in the death of her brother. I felt like innocence in today’s society has long been dead. When AI calls and threatens an elementary school on the first day, it’s a sad state of affairs, which we Demopolites all know too well from last week.

In these moods, I find myself yearning for a simpler time, pre-Columbine High School. I long for my children to grow up in the same world. Alas, when the towers came down in 2001 and the iPhone was created in 2007, there was no turning back.

I found myself ripping down old shingles off our shed that I’ve been wanting to knock down today. The only problem is I am a 5 feet 1 inch tall, 40-year-old woman who has no business ripping away at an old shed. With each swing and whack of the hammer, I released some frustrations out Twanda style. I am not sure why I get into such a state of unrest. I believe it’s genetically passed down from my grandmother, through my father, and to me.

Maybe it’s the anticipation of the next round of shots and visit to see the oncologist that has my mind in a mood. Perhaps it’s the menopause I was put in at 36. I’m not sure. I’ll get out of this funk. I talk to God about it. He knows already.

For now, I’ll reminisce, dive into writing, or into a book. I’ll miss the sense of wonder that existed so long ago. I might cry, laugh, and smile, or do all three. I’ll hug my boys, protect them a little longer. I’ll do what Paul said and let it be.

Yea! Alabama!

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I didn’t know what a straightener was until 2005. I moved into the sorority house in the fall of my junior year. I bought one and have been using one ever since. Gasp, that means I survived Rush with just a blow dryer. Aw, the inhumanity of it all! Living in the sorority house meant sharing a room with a roommate that contained your clothes, computer, personal belongings, and sleeping in a sleeping porch (basically a room with nothing but beds). The bathroom had multiple showers and sinks. We watched a lot of Sex in the City in those days in the sorority house from DVDs borrowed from a sister. All of a sudden, the guys I dated got nicknames like Carrie’s men. Once upon there was a “John” and another time a “Bartender”. Real names were not used to protect the guilty. I didn’t call long distance until after 9 PM when it was free. There wasn’t much texting, and Facebook was only available if you had an @bama.ua.edu or any other college address. You weren’t checking Facebook on your phone because it was probably a flip phone, a crackberry (my favorite), or a Razor. Pictures were blurry at best on your phone, and no one was posting their life story online- only a bunch of “poking” and writing on people’s walls. I miss old Facebook- no politics, just college fun.

Going out meant jeans and/or jeans skirt with a spaghetti-strap shirt, think The Hills from MTV. Game days meant cocktail dresses with heels, with flip flops in tow. We frequented the original Houndstooth, then the Red Shed when it came into town, the Booth, Venue, and, as freshmen, the Jupiter and 4th and 23rd. Wednesdays after chapter meant half wine and pizza downtown at Cafe Venice. Thursday nights were for El Rincon. One margarita would kick your tail. Some weekends, you went to Harry’s for a crazy bucket or to Nick’s in the Sticks for a Nicodemus and an $8 filet.

The Fall was the best time of the year at UA, even in the pre-Saban era of many coaches named Mike. You went to the game- you wanted to be there- win or lose. It didn’t matter. Homecoming pomps actually covered the front of your house and not some small side piece. You worked stuffing those holes in that chicken wire like your life depended on it as freshmen. Being an overall winner in Homecoming was a big deal in my sorority. We lost one year to another sorority and were mad. All I can say is that particular sorority had a ringer- daughter of the legendary Joe Namath; he rode on their damn float. All we could do to console ourselves (which was petty) was to say she looked like Joe, and that provided some type of solace. I apologize, Joe, and to your daughter. I cannot be held responsible for my 19-year-old self.

Formals meant Zaps and decorating a cooler and/or cup for your date and you. Pregaming happened before the bus, on the bus, and most of us slept on the way back. Chants at parties between classes were a thing.. Here’s to the Seniors, the Seniors in hopes we get laid! We were classy.

I met some of my closest friends back in those days, and I still talk to them today. Every time I do, I am transported back to Dixie Land Delight, Sweet Home Alabama, and Sweet Caroline. I am walking down sorority row, headed to class, at a bar with friends, or eating at Buffalo Phil’s because they take dining dollars. I am yelling “Roll Tide!” praying for a win and singing “Yea! Alabama!” I am eating at the Crimson Cafe (dining dollars), City Cafe, or the Waysider. I am dreading standing on a chair trying to clap in time with a dress on and doing a damn door song. I’m learning from my favorite professors in my favorite program in HES.

I’ll never forget my time at the University of Alabama. I’m grateful for that experience, and as the days count down to the Fall, I will remember a time and a place. I’ll smile. I’ll text my friends from those days. I’ll thank God for them. Roll Tide and yea, Alabama!