It Is My New Theme Song

So I’m buying a sailboat. Do I know what I’m doing? Of course not. In my defense, there have been tons of things I’ve done when I had no clue what I was doing. Tons of stuff before google, YouTube, and smartphones. Like, my car. My car is a stick shift. I didn’t know how to drive a stick when I bought it. 10 years later, automatics throw me off. This will be fine. 

This is absolutely going to be fine. I’ll take some classes. On the east coast it is $1500 for a sailing course, $2500 in the Bahamas, and only $500 out west. Obviously, I’ll go west and take some classes. If I hop from California to Hawaii then I’m debating keeping going on to Asia. In my head, I’m already over that way…I should just go on over to Australia…take all kinds of sailing classes! Not actually sail to those places. Take sailing classes in those places. 

The particulars will have to wait until I get dates. I’ll need warm weather for learning (no mas winters!), but no sailing during hurricane season. It would be my guess that buying a boat in the summer is probably a bit more expensive than the winter months. Again, I have no clue. And that’s the point. No, not that I’m winging it. The point is I think I need a boat broker. Does that exist? Big, huge red flags start waving anytime I find a boat that I like in my price range. Since I’m not keen on dying, bringing in an expert is probably the better plan. Research begins. Adventure awaits! 

Scare Off The Deer

Do you ever wonder about forgetting the subtleties? If you creep quietly, the approach is longer but the result may last longer than that. That is my struggle. I have the hardest time biding my time with patience. Sure it’s possible that one day with time I could finally get close enough to the deer he might take a grape from my hand. It is also possible that that deer would never let me near him even if I spent every day from dawn til dusk for all of time, still as a statue, hoping to gain his approval. 

Have you ever seen a deer burst across a field? Hop over a brook? It would be just a moment, but it would be a glorious moment. And it wouldn’t require any patience at all. You could rush on over to him because even if it scared him off, you’d have that moment of white tail prancing away. 

I Really Need a Calendar 

Son of a biscuit. It’s Friday. Did y’all all know it was Friday? Of course y’all did, you’re not isloated in a thawed tundra. Last week was a roller coaster of emotions thinking I was going to run on out to Charleston. Turned out, I was not. 

As a consolation prize, an old friend made the trip here. Then promptly Saturday, he left. Turns out he is this huge, mondo racist bigot. No holds barred on alternative facts and fake news. I may be starved for human interaction, but I’ll pass on the debate on the use of the N word. 

After turning in a piece (and getting paid for it!) somehow I was mentally drained. Where did all my words go? All my genius moments I get washing my hair? And I am mostly washing my hair every day! Side note, I’ve recently discovered bubble baths. Do people wash their hair in the bath? Isn’t the water already gross from you? I’m baffled. 

There was a story, a pitch, I just knew it was something that I couldn’t form. My stupid heart kept getting in the way of my words. That is supposed to be the complete opposite, by the way. Heart encourages words. 

Last night, it fell into place. Unfortunately, it was 3am when I randomly got up for the restroom. Stumbling to the office to find my notebook, it got scribbled down in the semi darkness. It just lurked on my notepad all morning and day. One starter. That’s not nearly enough. 

With a week gone, I need a whole bag of pitches ready for Monday. Shake it off brain! Shake it off! 

Then it just cleared. The void started to fill (while brushing my teeth, the usual). Bam! Like 6 solid pitch ideas! Knocked 4 of them into developed ideas with outlines! 

For the record, I brush my teeth multiple times a day every day. I have no clue why that genius moment routine has been clogged. I feel good sleep coming on with an early morning awaiting a fresh eyed and bushy tailed me. Notebook in bed beside me, ideas on the horizon. 

So yeah, it’s Friday. I forgot. I also haven’t talked to humans in weeks. I’m allowed to lose track of the days. 

Today is Tuesday?!!

This whole isolation and solitude has thrown me. Today is Tuesday! Did you know that? Good news, I left the house and was social. Bad news, I have a massive hangover. This kid isn’t in her prime anymore. 

So in honor of me being old and struggling with a massive hangover, this week the Travel Tip is a reminder to always be prepared. Remember you can bring a wine bottle opener in your carry on if it doesn’t have a mini knife. Travel smart. Drink lots of water! And for the love, if the bartender says you should eat something, eat something! 


I like Danville. I just never liked any of the feels that I had to deal with in coming here. I didn’t even know my mother wasn’t living here. That would have made the last couple of times I came through much less awkward. 
A few years back when my family moved from the house to the farm, I was traveling home for Christmas except I didn’t know how to get there. No one was answering their phones and I had no clue how to get home. Later I discovered that even if I had the address, it wouldn’t have helped. GPS doesn’t pick up the farm. 
How do you not know where your home is? That’s a lot of what I’ve got going on right now. 
I kind of feel like I missed the boat. When did Danville stop being my family’s home? How did a whole family and life leave without telling me? 

Now I’m here closing up our home by myself. All kinds of feels on top of feels. 

The same reasoning is why I had kept telling my grandmother no when asked to come back. I wasn’t ready to deal with this yet, I had other things on the list to deal with that took higher priority. Time ran out. 

I get it. I sound like major Danville Debbie Downer. Probably because I am. That’s just what we’re dealing with out here. 

The other day I got mad at my mom and hung up on her with the reasoning I could just call my grandmother for the answer to whatever I was asking. But, I can’t do that anymore. I’ve lost my center. 

So I’m out here going through all the feels without any distractions. This could be really good for me or I could go completely insane. Jury is still out. Upside, I’m not losing my stance on what I believe in, I found hangers, and I’m going out for a bit this evening. 

Let’s all expect long, waxy prose for the next little bit. 

Light of a Racist

“What do you do here all by yourself?” he asked me. 

I just write. Nonsense. Stories. Articles. Quick whips. Grocery lists. 

I just write. 

Most of it is probably nothing anyone will ever read. None of it tapped in to where I should be yet. 

Eventually, it will tumble into place like a lock being picked. I just have to toy around in my head until I break open the lock. 

Most important, kick the racist out. Bye Felicia. 

Friends From Far

As I await houseguest, I started to notice a few things. 

1. I’m living like a weird hermit in the master suite. It’s probably a good thing I never moved that mini fridge in the garage in here. With the house empty, literally empty with no furniture, I haven’t ventured out of the suite much. 

2. Man, I’m lonely. I go days without seeing other humans. When I do it is something house related, not social. 

That’s why not getting to go to Charleston this weekend was so heartbreaking. Even more, I was going to have a party that I cancelled at the chance of Charleston. Work would have brought me to Charleston, but fun would have kept through the weekend. Another time.

Eventually, I’ll find a rhythm again. The loss of my grandmother, my family just in general, the return to Kentucky, pausing the adventure…it all has to settle. 

Writing as healing as it can be, it can go where you don’t want it to go. You can’t avoid it though. The words rattle around in your head, compose themselves in your sleep, on the edges of your thoughts. There isn’t rest until it’s gone. Maybe that’s why it was so hard to get this last article out. Everything else had to move out of the way. 

I’m just emotionally spent. Word exhausted. Thrilled to have company, to do normal things like talk to a human in person for more than 5 minutes not about flooring. And oh my God, we’ll go out to eat at a restaurant! Maybe a movie. Human interaction. Ah, I can’t wait. 

circles and loops, numbers and memories

I keep being pulled back into a loop. Circling around to the beginning that I thought had been the end. Numbers with dollar signs, if only I could feign a right instead of a constant left to claim them. 
Everyone is gone and somehow I’ve ended back here. This home that they cherished, this town that they adored, this place I ran from the moment I could. How is it I ended up the one to have to return? Asked to circle back, lured in by numbers. 
A few years here and a few years there, certainly nowhere long enough to plant real roots. One by one I’ve returned to them these last few months. Each home was a memory that the reality of visitng has destroyed. Memories keep better tucked away and not brought out to explore. 
Nights spent circling 4,000 square feet flipping light switches, turning locks. Numbers on an alarm to mark the end of a day. The same thing on a constant loop.
Memories of a tiny dog and a tiny house tucked away. Better to plan a future to explore than remember a reality that was destroyed. 
Maybe that’s the draw of the sea, maybe that’s why I miss the ocean when I sleep. There are no roots to be planted out there, the water always on the move. But then even the tide circles back, a constant loop even it can’t break. Better to be pulled by the moon than a memory I suppose.  

Travel Tip Tuesday: Fall In Love

Even before this journey, I would have preferred to catch a flight than feelings. That doesn’t mean I am not romantical. In fact, I am all kinds of crazy romantical, big fan of falling in love. Out here, I am getting to fall in love all the time. In fact, on this trip I have become an expert at falling in love.

Things, places, people, cities, transportation…all these things have me falling in love over and over again.

Sometimes, it’s an idea that loses the sparkle in reality. There have been sparks revisited that fire up or just needed the chance to burn out. New experiences and old.

All of it has lead me to fall in love with me and this mission I have sent myself on. There is so much that I am learning about myself, so much that I am remembering about who I am.

We’re not going to get all mush-mush, there has been enough of that in the world today. This week, my advice is simple:

Go fall in love.

Fall in love with yourself, a city, an experience, or even just a memory. Get out there and love it.

If you’re reading this you’re probably home with a glass of wine, like me. Close on out of this and find somewhere to go. If you need inspiration of the Valentine’s inclination, try out one of these heart shaped islands.¬†


Travel Tip Tuesday: The Weatherman and Planned Alliteration *EDITED*

**The contents of the original post Travel Tip Tuesday: Weather & Planning has been edited to the new post titled Travel Tip Tuesday: The Weatherman and Planned Alliteration**

Todd, the weatherman, requested his post be permanently deleted because he said I was being “petty.” I was patient when he critiqued. I was polite in pointing out when he was condescending. I was put off when he mainsplained. I attempted to be personable in my replies when he lectured me on a public forum. I stopped being passive and asked what his deal was in private where I did call him pompous for thinking he is always right. To which he responded that he was right.

No one needs that kind of provocation. Pass on that noise. It isn’t petty, it is preservation.

While I have left the weather radar links from the original Travel Tip post at the bottom, I’m adding one more:

Ladies, persist.

You hold your own as you travel around the world. I read about how proud you are of how you carry yourself on solo travels. I hear you tell tales of keeping your guard up for predators. Don’t stop just because you aren’t traveling.

We live in a time where simply being a woman makes you prey. Defend your mind, opinions, and thoughts with the same fierceness you call upon when walking through deserted parking garages. Don’t tolerate poor treatment under the guise of being polite.

Betty White once talked about how she didn’t know why wimps were called “pussies” since they are stronger than a man’s balls. Her words, “they take a pounding.” They withstand pain and pleasure. They are the place of life. They punish some of us each month for skipping the latter. They are a powerful thing.

I don’t know when the defining anatomy of a women became dirty. I don’t know why it’s forgivable for a man, any man regardless of if his title starts with a p, to discuss grabbing a pussy, but that the world can declare the word vulgar. I do know that I am proud to be who I am and all the parts that come with it.

Do I think Todd is a parasite? No. Nor do I think he put thought into how his comments, remarks, or his attempts to constantly push his perspective were being perceived. I just have lost patience in tolerating it. Does that make me petty? No. Does this post? Possibly, but with greater intentions. Besides, Todd explicitly told me to go write on my blog about how he’s “pompous” and I told him excellent last words.

Resources for weather and not keeping quiet anymore: