A Changed Life

Aging.  Knowing that it's happening to all of us is not very consoling.  I see the effects of the years of living on myself, especially when someone takes a picture of me.  I definitely don't like it and I wonder how I arrived at middle age so quickly.

 

I know that sounds so cliché but it's true.  I see those grey hairs working their way out of my scalp and for now those bad boys get dyed.  I also see lines starting to form on my face in places where I don't want them but I don't hate them so much that I would get botox injections or go under the knife.  Too scary.

 

As my mother says, "Every year is just a little more maintenance, and then a little more and then suddenly it takes you an hour to do what it used to take you ten minutes to do."  Okay Mom.  I am working to accept it for I know it's inevitable. 

 

That said, I do try to take care of myself and work hard to stay in shape and minimize the effects of the sun and other bad health decisions on my body; particularly my skin.  My personal theory about getting older is that it's all about your physical and mental energy: walking with a purpose, thinking good thoughts and approaching each day with a certain amount of zest!

 

I'm thinking of this subject today because a friend emailed me a recent interview NPR did with British author Penelope Lively (love her last name!) about her new book, Dancing Fish and Ammonites, a book that 81-year-old Lively says is about her "view from old age," a place I don't think about much because it once seemed to be a place so far, far away.

British author Penelope Lively

In particular in the interview, Lively talks about how it felt like to adjust to the unfortunate death of her husband, Jack, at 69-years old from cancer and her keen observations on how women and men adapt differently to going on with life after the death of a spouse.

Lively also notes that she is part of a new demographic in the Western world: for the first time, there's a large segment of the population over 80 and she notes that the effects of the additional time and attention it takes to care for such a large population of older people on the rest of society are yet to be seen.

Here, for all to read, and also listen to if you wish, is the link to Lively's NPR interview and pages from her insightful book:

http://www.npr.org/2014/03/17/290855933/author-penelope-lively-shares-the-view-from-old-age

Widow Chick

I don't know the woman who writes the amazing blog called "Widow Chick" but I feel as if I do.

 

She (aka Catherine) is to-the-core honest and humorous in writing about her daily travels as a widow and a woman who is trying to be Mom and Dad to three young children.  I regularly read her blog and it always gives me a boost!

Widow Chick's Husband

 

Yesterday she wrote a particularly touching post about an important anniversary in her life and I would like to share it with you because she is right on point in expressing her thoughts and feelings about what happened.

 

Please read this link which will take you to Widow Chick's blog post:

http://widowchick.blogspot.com/2013/07/my-6th-anniversary-to-yall-its-just.html

God bless you Widow Chick!

What Am I About?

One of the presents that my insightful son gave me for Mother's Day is a book about blogging.

From the very first post I wrote, he has always been my biggest supporter.  I love it!

He is always asking me what I am going to write about and I run ideas by him to get a younger point of view and I also ask him for permission to write about him or something he said or did.  Some writers would disagree with requesting permission from him but I feel it is the polite thing to do and asking also prevents angry or hurt feelings. 

At 22 years old, my son has very good instincts about life plus he visits completely different websites than I do.  He is happy to give me a heads up about an idea that he thinks might translate into a timely post and I am glad he does.  He has given me some great ideas! And so has my son's book!

One of the first exercises the book suggests is to make sure that you know who you are as a blogger.  Are you a baker? A decorator? An athlete?  I am a little bit of all of those things but that's not why I chose to start writing my blog.

 

 

I started Cry, Laugh, Heal in December 2010 because my husband died in 2003 and I was raising our son by myself and working a full-time job.  I had spent two years attending a support group for widowed persons and then decided that I wanted to contribute to the online conversation about grief.

 

In the beginning, I only wrote once a week and I only wrote about grief.  As I started to work my way through some major grief feelings, I began to see that I was doing more than surviving and getting through a day.  I was slowly but surely, with the help of others, rebuilding my life.  It's not the life that I thought I would be leading, but it's a life I feel good about and a lot of it has to do with blogging.

 

I am still working a full-time job but I always find time to write.  I too am still working through my grief and just like you I need support.  In every post, I try to be as honest and as straightforward as I can be.  It is important to me to call things what they are, for that is when you truly start to untangle a feeling, a problem or a situation.  I love the comments that readers leave and I look forward to all the different kinds of feedback that blogging makes possible.

So to answer the question of the exercise in my son's book asking who are you as a blogger?  I am a widow, a mother, a former journalist and a dancer.  I love life and I try to do something every day that scares me, that challenges me and that I am passionate about.  I try to stay authentic about what grief is and how I deal with it; how sometimes it just pounds you down.

 

But you can't give in to the pain for there is so much in life to discover anew and it's usually on the other side of the pain.

 

Thank you so much awesome readers for visiting my blog, Cry, Laugh, Heal.

I'm not sure where life is taking me but let's travel together.

 

Being A Mommy

On June 25, 1990 my life changed forever.

 

I gave birth to a magical baby boy and I discovered a kind of love I had never known before.

 

A fierce, unconditional and wonderous kind of love that continues to take my breath away!
 

I say surprising because I was totally unprepared for the depth and the size of this love for my son.  As the oldest of six children and one of 35 first cousins, I grew up constantly surrounded by babies and toddlers.  Also, there is only seven years separating me and the youngest of my siblings, who are twins.  That's a lot of bottles and diapers but also a lot of fun!

 

I adore children and find them to be exhausting but special little creatures who I automatically love for their spontaneity and ability to constantly reveal the world to you in fresh and exciting ways.  I thought I had figured out what motherhood would feel like because I had been taking care of children since I was six or seven years old.

 

Until I gave birth to my own child. 

 

Holding my baby boy after giving birth was a truly powerful and emotional experience.  All those feelings of love, protection, hope, joy and expectations came at me all at once as I gazed down at his beautiful face!

My son is now 22 years old and I can definitely say that I love him more than anything else in the whole world!   But I also can definitely say that I like him as a person and enjoy hanging out and talking to him whenever we can.

I love this picture of my son!!! He is so happy!!

Raising my son with his father and then later as a widow, has made me dig down within myself and try to work on the twisty sides of myself and put him first.  In other words, to consider what life is like from his perspective, not in an indulgent way, but in the way of trying to understand that he has been dealt something in life that is entirely different from what I knew as a child.

He has brought out a different side of myself and helped me become a better person.  Being mother and father has not been easy but I have to say that I wouldn't trade one second of it because those jobs are the most important jobs we are ever asked to do.

Today I think of those early days when a sticky kiss and a hug from my son as a baby and a toddler where the best things I could ever receive to the current days of animated and quiet conversations about life that end with "Thanks Mom! I love you!"

Thank you Ryan!!!!!!!!  Being your mom is the best!!!!
 

A Solid Sistahood

When I am with my good solid girlfriends -- women whom I have known for years and years and years -- I know I am blessed.

When we get together we may be going on about our children, our hair color, a new diet or some story we heard about on the news, but the under current of all of that warm wonderful and familiar chatter is the inner knowledge that we are sistas who have each other's backs and always will!

Through beautiful and great times, times of trauma and then those other ugly times when you need to just pull up your big girl pants and get on with your life as you heal and rebuild, my girlfriends have been there for me and I have been there for them.  Life is richer with my amazing friends for they are the glue that holds me together and in turn, I hope I do the same for them.

Whether you have girlfriends from childhood or adulthood or if you are extremely lucky you have a mix of friends from diffferent ages of your life, please read Ann Hood's compelling story recently published in PARADE magazine that takes us to her mother's house on a Friday night where a group of women known as "The Girls"  have gathered to play cards.

Photo: Tim Klein/Gallery Stock

Loyal, loud, tough-talking—these were friends impossible to replace.

The Girls
By Ann Hood

 

Every Friday night, they gathered at one of their houses in a cloud of cigarette smoke and Aqua Net. They came in twos or threes, dressed in velour sweat suits, skirts with matching sweaters, elastic-waist jeans, and shirts that said BEST MOM or DECK THE HALLS. In their hands: coffee cans filled with pennies that clanked as they walked. Some wore wigs, big bubbles of fake hair. Or wiglets or falls, bobby-pinned in place like the mantillas they wore to church on Sunday. There were 12 in all. The Dirty Dozen, they called themselves. But more often, they were just The Girls.

Most had grown up together in Natick, R.I., a small village in a small state. Their houses all sat within a mile of each other. Yet they arrived in station wagons, the ones they drove to and from school, the beach, and the park, overloaded with kids.

Their husbands were foremen in factories. Others worked on the army base or ran the produce department or the deli counter at the local store. One of The Girls—no one could remember how she came to join them—was married to a doctor. She wore a blond fall, cat-eye glasses, drank Chablis. She didn't fit in, really. The Girls married young and stayed married. This one had an affair and left town. Then they were 11 around the kitchen tables covered with plastic cloths.

My mother was part of this group. For as long as I can remember, Friday nights were sacred, hers. The hurried dinner—maybe tuna casserole, eggs in purgatory, fish and chips from the takeout place. Then her disappearance to get ready. She left my father in charge for the evening, which meant popcorn and Dr Pepper and staying up late. But never late enough for me to hear her come home.

Best was when it was my mother's turn to host. She began cooking on Wednesday. Marinating. Peeling. Simmering. Friday we were banished to the TV room so she could set up metal trays with small bowls of chips and dip, platters of cold cuts or fried chicken or meat loaf. Always a salad. Always cake or pie.

On my mother's nights, it was impossible to fall asleep. The excitement of The Girls, so many of them! All squeezed around our small table, laughing and smoking and playing poker. I would creep down the stairs and sit on the harvest gold carpet, listening. They shared worries: about husbands and children and money, always money because there was never enough. They told each other "I hate you" and "I love you" with equal passion and frequency. They were not like mothers on television. No, they were rough around the edges, high school dropouts, secretaries, and assembly-line workers. They spoke with a hard accent that dropped r's and added s's. Kmahts, they said, instead of Kmart. "Your deals" instead of "your deal."

Years of Friday nights passed. Three of The Girls moved away. Then cancer struck. Colon. Lung, twice. The Girls dwindled from 11 to eight to five. Alzheimer's dropped them to four. They broke hips and had cataract surgeries, knee replacements, and lumpectomies. Still, they met every Friday night.

After their families were grown, they took trips. To Atlantic City. To Foxwoods casino in Connecticut. Overnights and weekends and afternoons. They met for coffee and counted their pennies and planned more trips to more casinos.

Then one day, one of them was driving home from my mother's when she was hit broadside by a teenager in his brand-new car. She died instantly. That Friday was the first Friday that The Girls didn't play. The next week, another one was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer; she lived only four months.

Unsure how to help my mother heal, I signed us up for bridge classes with my 19-year-old son. I imagined finding a fourth player, setting a new routine. I imagined I could convince her that things weren't as bad as they seemed, even though I knew they were.

The day before the last class, the teacher announced that we were all bridge players now. "You can go home and teach your friends," he said triumphantly.

"My friends are all dead," my mother said softly.

I glanced over at her. She had turned her head so that no one could see her crying. How foolish I was to think that a new foursome, could replace The Girls. I realized in that moment that there are some things for which there are no substitutes. There are some things that we must mourn and cherish and say goodbye to.

Every so often now, on a Friday night, I drive to my mother's. I bring her treats that make her smile: a bouquet of zinnias, an apple pie warm from the oven, a bunch of flat-leaf parsley. I drink coffee with her and talk about things that don't matter. She'll look around the empty table and say, in a voice filled with wonder, "Just yesterday, we were all here playing cards." I take her hand, bent with arthritis, rough from hard work, and I hold on tight. Or as tight as I can before I let go.

Ann Hood's new novel, The Obituary Writer (W. W. Norton & Company), will be published this week.

Unplugging & Tuning In To Each Other

Today we have a guest blogger, a fellow writer, Melissa Knights Bertrand.  In the interest of full disclosure, I work with Melissa's brother, Aaron Knights, and through being Facebook friends with Aaron, I am familiar with Melissa's writing for her local newspaper, The Buffalo News.

Melissa is the mother of three young and dynamic children and she has a beautiful writing style.  I have no idea where she finds the time to reflect and write about the unique things that happen to her and her children, but she does, and we are happy readers because of it.

 

Two stories she previously wrote that I shared on Cry, Laugh, Heal were Melissa's story about the memorial walk/run that was established a little over a decade ago to honor and support the memory of Melissa and Aaron's Dad who lost his fight with cancer (December 2012) and another story Melissa wrote in July 2012 about a handwritten letter from her Dad being a timeless memento (July 2012).

 

Today Melissa writes about the cellphones, iPads, iPods and Blackberry devices which are everywhere whether we like it or not.  Yes, these devices can improve the amount and the speed with which we receive  information from one another but that doesn't mean that we should use them 24/7 with no regard for others. 

 

We can't let electronic devices replace our much needed human connection.  I'm not talking about the casual and annoying connection I get when I am in the check-out line at the grocery store and I get to hear the conversation of the person behind me with their spouse or friend that gives me WAY more details about their life than I ever wanted to know.

 

I talking about the connection between people who care about each other or who are trying to be polite with each other.  Nothing can replace a face-to-face conversation.  That is when we look into another person's eyes and see the true meaning of their words, hear their tone of voice and pick up on the gestures they use to communicate with us.

 

And don't forget about quiet time.  No chirping, no tweeting, no loud and sudden ringtones.  No electronics is quiet time.  No electronic is healing time.  A time to myself, when I can think, when I can read, when I can breathe.

 

Off is not a permanent state.

 

You can always turn them back on.

Don’t Let Electronics Replace Real Interaction
By Melissa Knights Betrand
The Buffalo News.com
March 29, 2013



Melissa Knights Betrand

“It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity.” –Albert Einstein

After weeks of Christmas prep, school functions and charity projects, I scheduled a little “me” time late one afternoon and snuck out for a quick mani/pedi.

Armed with my cellphone, I looked forward to a full hour plus of Words with Friends, reading email and replying to day(s) old texts and Facebook messages. As I surrendered my hands to the angel before me, I had an experience that stopped me in my technological tracks. Another escapee, in full wet-nail mode, took an incoming call on her cellphone and proceeded to have a personal conversation … via speaker phone!

I listened to her chat with her hubby about whether she had picked up the raspberries and where they should meet to exchange cars, among other things. No shame or whispering that she would call back in a few minutes. They had an entire conversation, complete with irritated voices, and never a mention that he was conversing in front of an audience.

Upon reflection, I feel compelled to throw the tiniest of pebbles from my little glass house by proclaiming that I do believe cellphones and iPods are adding tremendous stress to our lives, destroying manners and short-circuiting the properly developed social skills of children at tender, young ages.

Look around any public place, from waiting rooms to restaurants, and you will be hard-pressed not to see most everyone with some sort of handheld electronic device. Instead of talking to one another, the world has become programmed to expect, demand even, instant gratification, often mistaking immediate electronic feedback for true connection and authentic relationships.

For many, this begins well before basic social skills and manners have been age-appropriately and fully developed.

Consequently, the unfiltered thoughts and knee-jerk reactions of children and adults can and do go far beyond what is typical of face-to-face interactions, often wounding, leaving scars and causing social repercussions that are sometimes irreparable.

As the mother of one teenage son and twin “tweenage” girls, the introduction of cellphones and iPods – which are thinly veiled iPhones when connected to Wi-Fi – into our household has added a heaping dose of drama and nearly driven me crazy.

Though these devices do entertain and make communication a breeze, I find myself in an almost constant policy-making position; policing, paring down usage and eventual docking times and locations almost daily.

In the midst of this madness, I’ve discovered that when infractions occur which result in the loss of electronic privileges, my children (after a period of withdrawal) become softer, nicer human beings who actually play and interface the good, old-fashioned way. Imagine that? I now find myself actually looking for reasons to take them away and, at times, I think they are as relieved as I am.

I must confess that what began as an attachment to my cellphone has blossomed into a full-blown love/hate relationship, causing me to evaluate even my own behavior. I am striving to walk the talk, however, and have begun to set firm boundaries about when I will and won’t let the demands of the outside world into my present personal time and relationships. Though I am a work in progress, the results continue to be eye-opening and have convinced me that we should all try a little harder to keep technology in its proper place.

If we strive to power down our electronic addictions, humanity just may prevail.

 

options

“It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity.”

– Albert Einstein

 

After weeks of Christmas prep, school functions and charity projects, I scheduled a little “me” time late one afternoon and snuck out for a quick mani/pedi.

 

Armed with my cellphone, I looked forward to a full hour plus of Words with Friends, reading email and replying to day(s) old texts and Facebook messages. As I surrendered my hands to the angel before me, I had an experience that stopped me in my technological tracks. Another escapee, in full wet-nail mode, took an incoming call on her cellphone and proceeded to have a personal conversation … via speaker phone!

 

I listened to her chat with her hubby about whether she had picked up the raspberries and where they should meet to exchange cars, among other things. No shame or whispering that she would call back in a few minutes. They had an entire conversation, complete with irritated voices, and never a mention that he was conversing in front of an audience.

 

Upon reflection, I feel compelled to throw the tiniest of pebbles from my little glass house by proclaiming that I do believe cellphones and iPods are adding tremendous stress to our lives, destroying manners and short-circuiting the properly developed social skills of children at tender, young ages.

 

Look around any public place, from waiting rooms to restaurants, and you will be hard-pressed not to see most everyone with some sort of handheld electronic device. Instead of talking to one another, the world has become programmed to expect, demand even, instant gratification, often mistaking immediate electronic feedback for true connection and authentic relationships.

 

For many, this begins well before basic social skills and manners have been age-appropriately and fully developed.

 

Consequently, the unfiltered thoughts and knee-jerk reactions of children and adults can and do go far beyond what is typical of face-to-face interactions, often wounding, leaving scars and causing social repercussions that are sometimes irreparable.

 

As the mother of one teenage son and twin “tweenage” girls, the introduction of cellphones and iPods – which are thinly veiled iPhones when connected to Wi-Fi – into our household has added a heaping dose of drama and nearly driven me crazy.

 

Though these devices do entertain and make communication a breeze, I find myself in an almost constant policy-making position; policing, paring down usage and eventual docking times and locations almost daily.

 

In the midst of this madness, I’ve discovered that when infractions occur which result in the loss of electronic privileges, my children (after a period of withdrawal) become softer, nicer human beings who actually play and interface the good, old-fashioned way. Imagine that? I now find myself actually looking for reasons to take them away and, at times, I think they are as relieved as I am.

 

I must confess that what began as an attachment to my cellphone has blossomed into a full-blown love/hate relationship, causing me to evaluate even my own behavior. I am striving to walk the talk, however, and have begun to set firm boundaries about when I will and won’t let the demands of the outside world into my present personal time and relationships. Though I am a work in progress, the results continue to be eye-opening and have convinced me that we should all try a little harder to keep technology in its proper place.

 

If we strive to power down our electronic addictions, humanity just may prevail. 

options

“It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity.”

 – Albert Einstein

 

After weeks of Christmas prep, school functions and charity projects, I scheduled a little “me” time late one afternoon and snuck out for a quick mani/pedi.

 

Armed with my cellphone, I looked forward to a full hour plus of Words with Friends, reading email and replying to day(s) old texts and Facebook messages. As I surrendered my hands to the angel before me, I had an experience that stopped me in my technological tracks. Another escapee, in full wet-nail mode, took an incoming call on her cellphone and proceeded to have a personal conversation … via speaker phone!

 

I listened to her chat with her hubby about whether she had picked up the raspberries and where they should meet to exchange cars, among other things. No shame or whispering that she would call back in a few minutes. They had an entire conversation, complete with irritated voices, and never a mention that he was conversing in front of an audience.

 

Upon reflection, I feel compelled to throw the tiniest of pebbles from my little glass house by proclaiming that I do believe cellphones and iPods are adding tremendous stress to our lives, destroying manners and short-circuiting the properly developed social skills of children at tender, young ages.

 

Look around any public place, from waiting rooms to restaurants, and you will be hard-pressed not to see most everyone with some sort of handheld electronic device. Instead of talking to one another, the world has become programmed to expect, demand even, instant gratification, often mistaking immediate electronic feedback for true connection and authentic relationships.

 

For many, this begins well before basic social skills and manners have been age-appropriately and fully developed.

 

Consequently, the unfiltered thoughts and knee-jerk reactions of children and adults can and do go far beyond what is typical of face-to-face interactions, often wounding, leaving scars and causing social repercussions that are sometimes irreparable.

 

As the mother of one teenage son and twin “tweenage” girls, the introduction of cellphones and iPods – which are thinly veiled iPhones when connected to Wi-Fi – into our household has added a heaping dose of drama and nearly driven me crazy.

 

Though these devices do entertain and make communication a breeze, I find myself in an almost constant policy-making position; policing, paring down usage and eventual docking times and locations almost daily.

 

In the midst of this madness, I’ve discovered that when infractions occur which result in the loss of electronic privileges, my children (after a period of withdrawal) become softer, nicer human beings who actually play and interface the good, old-fashioned way. Imagine that? I now find myself actually looking for reasons to take them away and, at times, I think they are as relieved as I am.

 

I must confess that what began as an attachment to my cellphone has blossomed into a full-blown love/hate relationship, causing me to evaluate even my own behavior. I am striving to walk the talk, however, and have begun to set firm boundaries about when I will and won’t let the demands of the outside world into my present personal time and relationships. Though I am a work in progress, the results continue to be eye-opening and have convinced me that we should all try a little harder to keep technology in its proper place.

 

If we strive to power down our electronic addictions, humanity just may prevail.

It's A Girl!

 

 

 

The daughter of a very good friend of mine gave birth early yesterday morning to a baby girl!

I am very excited for the parents of this beautiful new baby and my friend and her husband who now are grandparents. 

 

It's so magical to me that on Wednesday morning she was a mother and a wife (and lots of other great things too!) but by Thursday morning she had become a grandmother and met her first grandchild.

 

You really never know what life has in store for you! 

Becoming a parent is the adventure of a lifetime.  I mean this in the best of all ways.  I have loved every minute of it.  There is a lot of repetition and hard work involved in raising a child, either as a single parent or as part of a couple, but the rewards are priceless.

 

When we are with babies and young children we see the world in a fresh and new way for their reactions to the world are spontaneous and unfiltered.  I also discovered that being with my own son when he was a child, or other people's young children, could be healing in the sense that everything else that has happened to you that day falls away and the time spent with a child highlights what is really important in life.

 

Taking their hands, comforting them, teaching them right from wrong and helping them to learn how to take care of themselves is repeated over and over, the stuff of everyday life.  But it's also the stuff of a super love that you feel for your child and that super love never decreases even as they need you less and less.

 

I think the parents of this new baby girl are going to be great and I look forward to watching them take their journey together as a family.

 

P.S. Don't forget to have fun!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Happy Birthday Mommy!

Mother and Child
 By Pablo Picasso

Today is my Mom's 81st birthday and I truly hope she has a relaxing day.

I've always thought it was funny that my parents birthdays are a week apart.  We've never celebrated them together because my parents are Aries and their strong personalities need separate birthday celebrations.

My Mom did an incredible job of raising six children who were born close in age.  There is only seven years between me (the oldest) and the youngest child.  There is a set of twins in our family and one of my sisters and I were born in the same year so we are the same age for a month.  Think about taking care of six children all by yourself: the logistics, the time, the energy, the patience and the imagination.  You're tired just thinking about it, aren't you? 

My Mom is the ultimate mother.  I can honestly say that she loves all babies and she adores their spontaneity.  She was a hands-on Mom who would get down on the floor and play with us and think up games for us to play.  She showed us how children should be enjoyed and let us dance around or sing or tell stories to entertain the family.  There were many nights when my parents admit to turning off the television just to watch all six of us perform.

You paid your dues, Mom, and today I send you big birthday hugs and kisses!

Life According to Winnie the Pooh

“What day is it,?" asked Pooh.
"It's today," squeaked Piglet.
"My favorite day," said Pooh.”

I have a soft spot in my heart for Winnie the Pooh and all of his friends in the Hundred-Acre Wood.  It reminds me of a more innocent time when my son was a child and he would sit in my lap or his father's lap and we would read Winnie the Pooh aloud to him.  I'm going to date myself now, but we also had Winnie the Pooh tapes to pop in the VCR (no CD's then) and watching Pooh and especially Tigger together as a family is a wonderful memory.

I write about my old friend Winnie the Pooh because the above dialogue from A.A. Milne, the author of the Winnie the Pooh books, reminds me that simple is better.  When I begin to think of all the things I need to solve or accomplish, putting myself on the proverbial human hamster wheel, Winnie reminds me to stop.  Oh, bother! Oh, bother is right!

Problems need solutions and work needs to get done but Winnie reminds me that I don't need to think about ALL of it at the same time.  When you are alone in raising a child, taking care of a house, and working full-time, it it easy to fall into the trap of trying to do everything at once because you can't hand things off to a spouse or a mate.  I take a deep breath and calm my mind.  Today I will do my best to finish the most important things and then I'll move on to the next round of responsibilities.  That's all I can do.

Whether Winnie ate too much honey, or couldn't sleep, he always knew he could count on his friends to get him through the difficulties that came his way.  Don't laugh at Winnie's philosophy towards life.  There is a sweet wisdom to his musings and Winnie reminds me that every day is special and not to be rushed.  Every day is an opportunity to spend time with family and friends, to learn something new or move closer to solving a bothersome dilemma.

If you find yourself alone in the Hundred Acre Wood, don't despair.  Reach out to others.  Find people you trust and with whom you feel comfortable.  Take the next small step.  We don't always understand why something sad has happened to us but we must choose to be hopeful.  Life can get better.