I went to see a movie today with my oldest son. We had a thoroughly enjoyable lunch, followed by a viewing of “Christopher Robin”.

My son grew up on Winnie the Pooh books read to him at night, and watched TV specials, and the occasional movies. Just like Christopher Robin, he is all grown up now…but of course, the simple truths remain.

The one that really struck home in my heart is living in today. Don’t worry about tomorrow, or yesterday- your favorite day should be today.

When I was working full time, commuting, and taking care of my home and family, I was not enjoying my “today”. I was frazzled. I was not 100% anywhere – I was fractured everywhere.

I’m glad that I can breathe now. I’m grateful that today I could enjoy an afternoon with my son. I love that the chili is in the crock pot, that I got to sit on the porch with my dog, and that I am blessed to be writing as I do my laundry. I’m looking forward to an evening with my husband and our youngest son.

No worries. No stress. No life and death.

Just today.

And that’s enough.

I spent several years in Alabama when I was growing up. Daddy was career Air Force, and his career path took us through Montgomery when I was 4, 9, and 12.

My Mama was born and raised in Alabama, and I’m sure my childhood upbringing had a lot to do with her memories of summers in the south.

We didn’t spent any time indoors, that’s for sure. We would get up, eat breakfast, and head outside. Many days we were off and rolling on our bikes, and we knew not to come home until lunch time. Once we had lunch, we would go out again, not to return until Mama called us for dinner. After dinner, we were outside until the street light came on, playing kick the can, or hide and seek.

When I was 9, we lived in a new development. The air was heavy with the scent of red clay mud that was being moved around to make way for new homes.

We’d listen for the call of frogs and toads, and find puddles deep enough to be swarming with tadpoles. Often, the hot humid days would dry up small puddles, and we’d rescue the squirming tadpoles from a certain, muddy clay death.

We’d scoop them into flat Tupperware containers, lined with creek bed silt and rocks, and filled with water from the garden hose. We’d deposit the slimy dark amphibians into the water, and they would immediately swim all around. When we got home, we’d settle them on the back porch in the shade, where we could watch them as they developed. Every evening after dinner, we’d sprinkle dry oats over them to feed them.

We would spend our days racing our bikes, stopping beneath the wild and heavy laden plum trees. In the relative coolness of the shade, we’d eat plums until we were sick, juices running down our hands. Sugar bees would soon spoil this respite, and we’d wipe our hands on our shirts or shorts, and race off to our next adventure.

After dinner, we’d check on our tadpoles. It was always amazing to watch their tails get shorter, even as little legs began to sprout. We’d place bigger rocks in the plastic home so they could climb them, and in what seemed was no time, they’d be hopping out to a new life.

We would just refresh the Tupperware, and begin again. There was never a dirth of tadpoles.

Such was my childhood made of.

I have purposefully put my office and writing nook on the second floor.

In this state with so few trees – and the ones we have are not be full, lush, towering beauties of Northern climes – this room looks out over a large live oak tree in the front yard.

Light filters in through white sheer curtains, further occluding the view of the suburb I live in.

I go upstairs to escape – escape noise, stress, and people. I escape this populated area I live in. For me, it’s my modified tree house.

My dream is to live in a small home on several acres. I want to cultivate my own vegetables and fruits, and I want chickens. I want long country lanes to walk, where the weeds grow tall, and the butterflies and dragonflies dip in and out of the wild flowers.

In the mean time, I’m blessed to have a two story home, where a walk up the stairs can transport me out of the cultured lawns of the neighborhood. When I look out, I see branches unpruned. I watch squirrels chase each other, hopping from branch to branch. Where rain showers are loud on the roof above my head, and dip the oak leaves down, to bounce up and wait for the next plop of water.

It brings clarity of mind, when I can’t escape the humid grip of endless summers in suburbia. A cool color palate and soothing decor in the room also help to calm my soul.

Now that my mind is clear, untroubled, and I’m breathing in this portal to nature, I’m ready to write.

I’m ready to go where my imagination takes me.

I’ve had an interesting life. Of course, I need to write a book to document five decades of living, so I’m just reflecting today. It’s something I find myself doing a lot, now that I’m of “a certain age”.

I had some challenges as a child – but we all have our story. I have ADD, which back then was called daydreaming, if you were a girl.

Due to my strong personality and impatient temperament, I made some poor choices as a teen. I ended up pregnant at 18, and had to drop out of college to support myself and my son.

I worked 2-3 jobs at a time, at all times. I did whatever it took to keep a roof over our heads. There were no trips to the tanning bed, the nail salon, or vacations. I lived on cheap food, and thrift store clothes.

My next bad decision involved my first husband, a serial adulterer (who is heading into marriage #6). Marry in haste, I did – and repent at leisure, I most certainly did. I eloped and spent six years trying to make the impossible work. When he decided he liked the company of a pregnant stripper girlfriend more than his pregnant wife and two children, I kicked him out.

My parents were always there to catch me when I fell on impossibly hard times. A roof over my head, a vehicle when my string of junkers collapsed – they bridged the gap. There were no frills attached – they helped us survive. There were no vacations and expensive toys.

In 1997 I graduated nursing school with a 2 1/2 year old, a 6 year old, and a chronically ill 12 year old. That year my parents paid for my childcare, and I was on food stamps. The church donated food when times were lean. I slept on a mattress on the floor, with no furniture, except the crib my youngest slept in. My kids had thrift store furniture and hand me downs for clothing.

We were happy, though – there was an abundance of love, and security, and belonging to the family of God. We appreciated the beauty in nature, and the simple pleasures of life.

My kids didn’t get to do all that other kids did – I just couldn’t afford it, and they didn’t expect it. When I became a registered nurse, my oldest joined band, and my middle became a swimmer. They were all involved in church and youth group. They didn’t feel like they were lacking, because they were grateful humans. They are now very giving and thrifty as adults, because they knew the value of money.

My first vacation with the kids was to Disney World in 2005 – paid entirely cash, saved for, with all the bills paid. It was less than $1000 for a four day vacation for four. (This could never happen today. WDW prices are out of control).

I remarried in 2008 to a very financially responsible spouse. All our kids had their needs met, and from this house, reasonably limits on gifts and trips were set. On one side we had no financial input from the ex, and the other we had exorbitant lavish birthdays and vacations that were well above the ability to pay for them. It was hard to watch the kids have the world handed to them on a beer budget, as their expectations rose as fast the money spent on them did. We did eliminate the excess on our end, and we pray that their life will reflect this restraint for them, soon.

Financially now we are stable enough to live on one income, and I’m freelance writing. I also plan to get back to painting and art. My main priorities are my kids and my grandkids, and on regaining my strength and improving my health.

Now that the kids are grown, there are pangs when they have struggles financially. We are realistic with they make bad choices, and we let them have consequences. As the Bible says in 2 Thessalonians 3:10, if you don’t work, you don’t eat. Able bodied humans should work to support themselves, and especially so if they have children to support. If they choose to live for themselves, they choose to pay for it.

It was not easy being the breadwinner for most of my life, but it was reality. Regardless of exhaustion, illness, or lack of child support, the bills had to be paid.

I’m grateful that my parents kept my head above water more times than I can count. Their support helped me get to work, and helped me complete my degree. They were never Disney parents, and I’m grateful. My life was hard due to things out of my control as well as my poor choices. Because of this, I learned a lot.

I have a giving heart – but I also have discernment. I don’t give to those who have the capacity to do for themselves but choose not to. I do not believe in supporting irresponsibility. I will give and help a child with what is necessary, but I don’t give my kids or grandkids trips and vacations. Our home is open to visits, but not bounce backs.

There is a difference between wants and needs, and the way you learn this is the hard way sometimes. It is a vital lesson to be learned.

In this day and age of rabid consumerism, it is a lesson more important than ever.

Less is more.

I’m glad my kids know this, and I pray they will live a life of moderation and self control. They are young, but we hope to be an example to them of living within your means.

Being a registered nurse for over twenty years, I am very health oriented. Having been diagnosed with insulin dependent diabetes has made me even more conscious of my health. I’ve learned a few things along the way, and I’m learning more daily. One thing for sure, your health must be approached holistically.

When you look at health holistically, you take into account your mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual health. It’s impossible to be truly healthy if you are only addressing one facet, while neglecting the others.

This is understandably daunting if you have not lived mindfully. Your life can change for the better if you take care of yourself in every area, every day.

It does take mindfulness, though. Every action, thought, or behavior has to be examined. It takes time. It takes effort! It means being realistic of where you are, and where you need to be.

I’m at a place where my primary concern is stable blood sugars. I know food affects my blood sugar – but so does stress, sleep, illness and medication, to name a few.

I can only control what I can control – so I remove myself from stressful situations, if possible. I’m getting more sleep. I literally am accountable for everything I eat. I drink a lot of water. I take the medications I need to.

I also am increasing my exercise, as I am able to with my blood glucose. I’ve bought books and am learning all I can about the diabetes.

I’m also taking care of myself for the first time with an eye toward good stewardship. I spent years emotionally eating, and it’s been a hard habit to break.

It’s all about balance – being kind to myself, but not falling into the unconditional love of self trap. Self care to take care of the temple God gave me, but not worshipping the vessel.

Poor choices on any one area will impact my life, regardless of how successful I am in another area of my life.

It really is about the big picture.

…to Miss New Orleans.

We are lucky to be within driving distance of New Orleans, Louisiana.

This city, celebrating her tricentennial this year, is a treasure. I love to visit NOLA, and look forward to my next visit.

If you go to NOLA and don’t eat amazing food, you’re doing it wrong. This weekend, everything we ate made my foodie heart sing. We started at Cochon, which is a celebration of all things pig. I love the Star Wars and 80’s memorabilia that decorate Cochon Butcher. It’s a visual and culinary delight.

We also ate at Mr. B’s, Maspiros, Cafe Du Monde, The Gumbo Shop, Brennan’s, and Fleur de Lis Cafe. Everything we ate was delicious, fresh, local, and made with love.

We bought pralines for family at Laura’s and Aunt Sally’s. We ate an exquisite macaron from Sucre. We had a Lucky Dog from a street vendor. Each experience represented different aspects of the city.

NOLA is a walking city, and we wandered all around the French Quarter, ducking into art galleries, pausing to admire the greenery of the balconies full of ferns and trailing, flowering plants. The buildings are full of history, and if you take a few minutes, you start to appreciate the beauty in the wrought iron, exposed brick, and gabled windows.

Music permeates the city, rolling by through open car windows, wafting out of corner bars, raucously blasting from brass instruments in the square.

Every sense is involved and at times overwhelmed by the sights, scents, and sounds of the city.

Let me clarify – I love to visit, but I would never live there. There is a lot of crime, homelessness, and drug use. The local government is more worried about erasing history than fixing infrastructure and addressing the crime. You have to be wise and thoughtful as you approach NOLA, and understand there are real dangers here.

We travel here with our eyes open, and we miss her when we are gone.

I can’t wait to go back!

I really love flowers…of all seasons and zones!

I went for a walk this evening and, as always, stopped to smell and appreciate the flowers.

Every place that I have lived has flowers laced throughout my memories of living there.

From my childhood and high school years living along the Wasatch Front in Utah, my memories are strewn with iris blooms, and lilac bushes. My room was tucked into a fence on the side of the house, and the fence was lined with purple iris. In the early summer, I would open my windows so I could let the breeze carry in their candy sweet smell. Royal, ruffled purple petals traced with bright yellow – I love them. So did my mother in love, who is now deceased. I can’t see iris without thinking of her.

A few years ago I sent some iris bulbs to her widower, my sweet dad in love. He planted them alongside the cabin they had brought back to life, from roots over a hundred years old. I bought the purple blooms she loved so much, but when they blossomed the next year, they were pure white. I am humbled to see these pure blossoms, which now represent her freedom from this life.

Lilac bushes were absolutely cherished by me as well- every year I longed for them to bloom. I can still see them waving in the breeze, floating their warm perfume in the air. I’d make a vase of cuttings and bring them into the house, so I could enjoy them both inside and outside.

Try as I might, I cannot get any variety of either flower to grow in the hot sauna I live in – but I have a dream list of flowers I will be planting when we retire and move north of here, God willing.

In the mean time, I look for the beauty around me. The crepe myrtle that prolifically scatters it’s petals like confetti all summer. The honeysuckle that winds its way through the kudzu. The Rose of Sharon bush that mimics the luscious hibiscus potted nearby.

I celebrate life in the beauty of the seasonal blooms.

I want to start by saying I’m grateful for insulin that keeps me alive.

I’m thankful for the Dexcom and Omnipod technology that helps me manage my type 1 diabetes.

But. I’m. Exhausted.

The last three nights I have battled dangerously low blood sugar. Friday I told my husband that if I pass out or start seizing, give me glucagon and call 911. Not amusing. Scary!

My Dexcom has been loudly alerting me to my low blood sugar. Waking me when the rebound hours later goes to high. Repeat.

I’m exhausted.

I’m trying to at least meet my Apple Watch fitness goals daily. I am staring at my Bellicon rebounder right now, trying to get the gumption to get on it and get to work.

But I’m exhausted.

This by far has been the hardest part of diabetes – I want to not feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, but I’m wrung out almost all the time. I’m eating low carb, I’m adjusting my pump settings, I’m trying.

There are hundreds – if not thousands – of things that affect my blood sugar.

It’s daunting.

I’m not giving up.

I’m getting up and exercising.

Then I’m going to bed.

It’s a very rainy day today. On days like this, my favorite thing to do is disappear into a book. Sitting on the couch with a lap quilt, drinking tea, and listening to the rain in the background as I read is my happy place.

My mother instilled in me a gift that will keep giving all of my days – my love of reading.

As far back as I can remember, my mom has been a voracious reader. She always had a book that she was reading – always.

As a small child, I began to mirror her behavior. I started reading a lot as soon as I was able. It was my favorite summer pastime.

I had a ritual that I modeled after what I read in “A Tree Grows In Brooklyn”. I didn’t have a stoop under a spindly tree to read beneath, but I did have an adult sized bean bag chair. I would get a small plate down, put a few saltine crackers, some cheese, and a pickle on it. I’d get a tall glass of water, and the current novel I was reading, and I’d nestle into the bean bag, until I found a cozy spot. There I spent hours reading, snacking on my salty snack, reading as fast as my mind would let me.

I still reread some of my favorite books from my adolescence, as it is like visiting an old friend. It’s always bittersweet having to say goodbye to these fictional characters as I come to the end of the story.

Reading is a great gift – and a love of reading is a wonderful thing to foster in your children or grandchildren.

Alas, anxiety and worry go hand in hand.

I struggle sometimes with anxiety. Knowing this, I practice a lot of mindfulness. I am careful to avoid triggers that will set my mind off. If I’m feeling anxious, I avoid caffeine. Keeping my blood sugars as stable as I am able to also helps, as well as doing some light exercise.

Sometimes, however, I get blindsided. Out of the blue I see or hear something that jolts my mind, and then it’s off to the races.

If it gets bad enough, more problems ensue – headaches and insomnia being the main players.

This is why I try to nip it in the bud when I am able.

Worry makes its entry when I’m caught off guard. My mind begins going around, ruminating on the worst case scenarios. Often, I will pray silently, or sing hymns, if I catch myself worrying. This tends to be a much repeated tactic.

It’s much easier said than done.

It’s taken years of therapy, meds, and experience to deal with acute bouts of anxiety that lead to worry.

The struggle continues.