While I was mentally preparing to prepare for Thanksgiving dinner this year, I was silently bemoaning my father's limited palette and low tolerance for any kind of fat or dairy in his food. The dairy kind of makes sense because he's lactose intolerant, but he also really enjoys a giant bowl of ice cream from time to time.

When I got to college, I discovered that most people (not just Southern-fried folk) ate their mashed potatoes with tons of butter and sour cream and salt. Some even added CHEESE and GARLIC. What??!? My mind was blown. So, one night when potatoes were on sale at the Super Walmart near my apartment and I had some time to kill before my roommate came home, I decided to make mashed potatoes to go with our weekly chicken dinner. I figured that if they sucked, we could go back to the box of Stovetop but it was worth a try. We all wound up eating second helpings and scraped the pot with our spoons before we put it in the sink. As I got older, I felt bad for my mother because I realized that she gave up all these wonderful flavors to accommodate my father. If she accidentally put too much milk in the potatoes and they actually tasted creamy, he would accuse her of dumping a bunch of "grease" in them. I began to resent him as my own palette bloomed and grew through friendships with people from various cultures and getting the opportunity to travel. 

Thanksgiving will be sad again this year. After two years in a row of loss, it seems we have also lost the title of "Thanksgiving Hosts". But, after many, many changes of plans, it seems that my parents will be the only ones joining us on Thursday. I'm sad that we won't be able to celebrate with everyone we love, but I'm also slightly relieved that I won't feel as stressed. Mom volunteered to bring something and since Mike mentioned a craving for yams, she's going to make those and her famous cranberry sauce. While I was visiting them on Monday, I asked Dad if there was anything in particular that he usually looked forward to on Thanksgiving. As usual, he responded as if I was annoying him and he had already answered this question 3,000 times, but he said, "It's not that complicated. Some turkey, mashed potatoes, and a roll and I'm happy." While I was annoyed by his tone, I was just grateful to get an answer. 

Since then, I have been thinking about mashed potatoes. I haven't made them much since college and since my darling husband doesn't mind the powdered kind, we keep it simple. But Dad will be looking for the real thing. It's Thanksgiving after all. And, you know, DUHHH, it's not that complicated. Everyone else on the planet gets excited about my hashbrown casserole, which is basically loaded mashed potatoes and therefore, not included in Dad's limited palette. 

Sidebar: I don't know exactly what point in my life I realized that my parents were now the teenagers, but at some point, we switched roles. Wait--scratch that--I do actually know the EXACT moment I realized my parents were human, but that's another post for another day. A looong day. 

Still thinking about mashed potatoes, the first of many hilarious Thanksgiving-themed episodes of Friends popped into my head. As I fretted over making them the way Dad likes them AND making hashbrown casserole, I heard Monica's voice in my head, "Potatoes are ruined. Potatoes are ruined. Potatoes are ruined!"

I turned to my favorite recipe site, Serious Eats, to see if they could give me any guidance on making them smooth, but not too smooth, and avoiding the worst--gummy. Blech. But, their answer to mashed potatoes is similar to everyone else's--BUTTER. I literally laid in bed stressing out about how and when I was going to prepare these mashed potatoes.

Another sidebar (sorry): I have loved potatoes in all of their forms since I was an infant. I've been told that before I had teeth, I loved mashing a french fry in my fist and sucking out the guts. I love the texture, whether it's fluffy or crispy or even burnt. I will top them with anything including spinach, BBQ, turkey, and anything else nearby. I love them boiled, baked, fried, mashed, diced, and even cold--just give me all the potatoes. 

What occurred to me today is that part of the reason I love potatoes (beyond the obvious--who doesn't like carbs?) is that I enjoy their flavor. They don't have a strong or distinctive flavor, but they're earthy and filling and comforting. If I had grown up in a house where the mashed potatoes came from a packet or were crammed full of so much delicious "grease" and other flavors, I may not have noticed the subtle amazingness of the potato. So...thanks Dad. 

My youngest years took place in the 1980s. This decade embraced self-help books and fitness of all kinds, not just physical fitness. I remember that my mother had a few of these books, but I also remember thinking that she was amazing--funny, self-assured, fun, smart, kind, and loving. I didn't really see why she thought she needed that sort of help. Don't get me wrong--I never judged her for seeking a path to more happiness and to be the best person that she could be, but I felt like she should be the one getting paid to help others. I admired her curiosity about spirituality and her desire to be an even better person than she already was, but in my young, invincible, over-confident mind, I couldn't see myself buying those kinds of books. 

In my young mind, I was going to be rich and famous as soon as I turned 18, so I would never need any help.

***insert gravelly, 40 year old smoker's laugh here, complete with coughing fit at the end***

Eventually, I grew up. I experienced more. I felt more. I loved more. I worked hard. I drank and smoked and yelled and held and laughed and cried. What I noticed was that my tank of energetic optimism didn't get filled back up as fast. I'm very grateful that I never (that's a dangerous word--let's go with rarely) saw other people as filling stations who were responsible for bringing me back up to an abnormally high level of child-like happiness. I understand that true happiness comes from within. Cheesy, but true... When YOU take care of YOURself, YOU experience more happiness. It sounds like a simple formula, right? So, why does it seem like more and more adults are less and less happy?

SMARTPHONES!

Well, kind of. That's only another view into other people's lives which I feel is one of the keys to unhappiness. They've also driven us to do everything faster and faster and forego learning something in exchange for just going FASTER.

We're not asking ourselves why we're going so much faster though. And, when you combine speed with too much interest in other people's lives, you're definitely not taking care of YOURself. So, in the hopes of a quick fix and avoiding getting a mental health professional involved (the horror!), you find a book or podcast or blog that promises to give you the fast way to be happy.

You get a few tips to take away and slap them on your psyche like duct tape on a broken pipe. Good to go until you die, now, right?!?

Then, you go to the grocery store and a random child kicks you and their parent doesn't say a word. The cashier ignores you entirely while ringing you up. Someone else's abandoned cart has crashed into your car and scratched it. The bottom of your grocery bag splits when you get home and the milk is now spattered in the driveway. Your partner asks you to change the cat litter so they can take a nap. 

Nope. Wrong. No permanent zen to be found.
At this point, ice cream, vodka, and cigarettes seem to be the only solution. I've been there.

I don't have all of the answers and I'm starting to realize that although those books and podcasts and blogs may have good ideas, they don't have MY answers. And, the answers are different for everyone. 

Here's what I know:

1. This world is a complicated place that thrives on balance. If you understand balance, you understand that it is a constant state of motion between good and bad, happy and sad, abundance and wanting. If you seek balance, it makes the next thing a little easier. 
2. "Be present" is not just a nice thing to say. Being present takes you away from ruminating on the past and the anxiety of the future. And, if you feel a panic attack coming on, connecting with the present in the most literal sense can scare that attack away. (more on that below if you want a new tip! *eye roll*)
3. Teddy Roosevelt said "comparison is the thief of joy." Social media and reality TV create multiple opportunities for you to compare your life and your haves to someone else's, which I think dramatically increases the chance for dissatisfaction with your own life. Do the things that make you feel good even if other people don't get it. 
4. Meditate or create. Both are mind-clearing activities, but in completely different ways. Meditation encourages you to clear your mind. Creation encourages you to use the junk in your mind to make something better. For me, this is writing, but specifically journaling. I just feel better when I take all that brain junk and dump it on the page. I rarely re-read entries--why look through the trash after you've already put it in the bin and taken it to the curb? I scribble until the shitty feelings are gone (or until I run out of time) and close the book on it--literally. It's cathartic.

These are my prescriptions for dealing with anxiety and dissatisfaction and frustration. I carry them with me wherever I go and take them as needed. What works for YOU?

My tips for staying in the present and out of a panic attack:

1. If you can lie down on your back, do that. Rest your hands on your stomach and feel it rise and fall as you breathe. If you are seated, put both feet firmly on the floor and rest your hands on the tops of your thighs--no fists. Inhale deeply through your nose and exhale through your mouth. Count each breath.
2. Look around--name 3 things that you see--out loud. Don't overthink it. Carpet, sky, or cat are all perfectly good things to notice.
3. What do you hear? The air conditioner, a dog barking? You don't have to say it out loud, but it helps. 
4. Keep breathing! If you smell something, name that!
5. Hopefully you're catching your breath at this point and feeling a little less panicky. Tell yourself out loud that it's going to be okay and use your name. It's grounding to hear your own voice and your name. "Heather, it is going to be okay. This will pass. Just breathe. You are strong and you will get through this."
6. Finally, drink a big glass of cool water and give yourself 15 minutes to catch your breath and recover. Your adrenaline and blood sugar likely spiked in the last few minutes, so give your body a chance to level back out--WITHOUT a cell phone! Get some fresh air or relax in a cool, dark place.
7. Call a friend or family member (try to find someone who can make you laugh!). You don't have to share what just happened to you, but connecting with another person in the moment can help keep you in the present. 

Further reading--especially for worrywarts: On Needing to Find Something to Worry About
(via Tim Ferriss)

The last 2 decades of my life (2010 and 2020) were preceded by tough years, end-capped with stressful, painful, frustrating Decembers.

In 2009, I ended my 29th year on this Earth with a bold middle finger to the entire world. I was mad as hell. I was reckless and destructive and I did not give a fuck. I made bad choices, I said all the wrong things, I closed myself off and indulged in every thing that was bad for me. 

I began my 30th year feeling defeated and with little hope that life would improve, but while wallowing in that defeat, I shed a few bad habits and started feeling better. Feeling better meant shedding a few more things (or people) that were weighing me down. 

My 31st year was loud and busy and filled with the joy that true love brings. I had a tan, I celebrated, I drank, I cheered, I cried, I finally found the man that I had been waiting for. The man that I didn't believe could possibly exist. 

The years following were faded versions of the ones before, filled with love and life and work, laughter and good times. We traveled to beautiful places and listened to some of the most amazing music I have ever heard. Once in a lifetime experiences were had and some experiences were gladly left behind. 

The 39th year had many wonderful ups including selling our home in Dacula and finally moving forward with building our forever home. That joy came with extreme stress and some heartbreaking lows, coming to a head the week after Thanksgiving with a car accident that left me whirling in my anxiety and feeling too exhausted to go on. Sleepless nights were followed by days that went by in a blur, but many words were written in the process. 

I believe that every thing happens for a reason and I understand that life is not as sweet without the bitter moments. You just have to accept them and move on to find more sweetness. That said, I'm happy to be saying goodbye to 2019, but not to a decade that brought me the love of my life and some pretty wonderful adventures and friends. 

Cheers to the next decade, may there be many more sweet days than bitter ones. 

My skin feels more like 
velvet than glass. It's a good 
thing he likes my sass.

Today, as I was trying to come up with something to share in this sad, ignored space, it occurred to me that part of the problem is that I am having trouble deciding what I should or should not share on the big, scary internet.

A million years ago when I was blogging daily (if I skipped even one day, people reached out to make sure that I was okay), I just shared whatever was going on in my life with no regard for who would want to read it, if my quarter life crisis antics would get back to my employer and ruin future job prospects, or whether or not my stories would hurt the people in my life that I love the most. I was young and stupid (and usually drunk) (and usually with one of my parents) and social media didn't exist beyond having "blogfriends". I rarely (if ever) named names when calling people out or drooling over a crush (even if I knew they wouldn't mind or even wanted to be named).

Life is different now. I'm not trying to do this alone while my parents watch, hoping that I'll make the right decisions and catching me when I fall.

I share my life with someone that I love with all of my heart. Back in the old days, I didn't think there was anyone out there for me and I was totally okay with that. I never hunted love--just connection. And, when your connection with your friends is better than any connection you've ever had in a dating relationship, you stick with what you know works. But when my soulmate pulled up in the Love Truck, I hopped in and never looked back. We're in this life together and I would never want to open our relationship to the horrors of the internet.

The other big commitment in my life is to how I make money, also known as a job. The internet is a dangerous place for a creative person with a day job... While your art shouldn't represent the organization who provides your paycheck (if yours does, I'm totally jelly), what you do reflects on that organization even if it wasn't during business hours, even if you didn't identify yourself as working for that organization, even if you meant well... If you put something on the internet that someone disagrees with, they will find your employer and call for your job. I've seen it happen and I don't want it to ever happen to me.

While I would love to throw a middle finger to all types of censorship, this blog at this stage of my life requires censorship.

My activity here is stunted by my need to protect certain aspects of my life, so I'm left wondering...

How much is just enough?

Well, that whole structure plan went REALLY well! Hahahahaha! Here's a bit of unstructured whinery to make up for it. 

I have been off work for the last week and it has been glorious. I checked my email occasionally to make sure there weren't any grenades in there and thankfully, it's been a tame week. I have avoided taking holiday weeks off in the past because I rarely have big plans and with lots of people out of the office, it can be a great time to get caught up without being bothered. After this week, I think that with all those people out of the office, there's a much shorter "rebound" time when I return, which might just be better than getting "caught up". In most instances, that getting caught up has more to do with wasting time in other people's offices, snacking on treats being brought in, counting the hours until you can go home. So, why not just stay the hell home? And, with the holiday, I'm not coughing up a full 40 hours of paid time off. This week, I'm only going to have to give up 16 hours. While I didn't get even HALF of the stuff that I wanted to get done while I was off, I did get time to rest, put up my Christmas tree (that I'm still unhappy with), hugged some family, drank amazing Scotch, saw an amazing movie, and bought a few gifts.

I should be finishing up the last few chores as the daylight wanes, but after being away from work for a blissful 9 days, and thinking about what the rest of the year holds, I felt the need to put some thoughts out into the world. 

I have things to offer that I'm not sharing because of reasons that I don't fully understand. I'm scared, but I'm not sure of what. Rejection, maybe, but if I really look at who I want to be, that shouldn't scare me at all. I don't fear rejection from other people because I know that I'm not everyone's cup of tea and I'm pretty comfortable with that. So, why if I don't fear rejection of my personality or who I am, should I fear the rejection of the things I create? I create things because I feel the need to put them out into the world, not so that people will like me more or pay me to create.

I mean, that would be nice and all, but that's not really art. That's creating a product. Or, is art actually a product, just not what we think of art in traditional terms? I guess that doesn't matter as long as I'm creating. 

Is it laziness? Am I avoiding creating because I'd rather watch television or eat or smoke cigarettes or bake?
While that's what's happening, I don't think it's because I'd rather do other things because when I'm writing is one of the few times that I don't feel like I should be doing anything else. 

I know that I will love my life even more if I create more art, but there's something stopping me from being consistent and I simply cannot see what that is. 

While I am comfortable not being everyone's cup of tea, I am completely UNcomfortable with being misunderstood. When I feel like I'm being misunderstood, it makes me incredibly frustrated. I feel trapped in my own brain and unable to connect with people. I don't mind clarifying my thoughts when asked specific questions, but getting a blank face or darting eyes or worse, no response whatsoever, makes me feel lonely.

I see two problems with this related to my art...
1 - If I feel like I will be misunderstood, I will overexplain. And, in the words of my favorite writing instructor (although I think he borrowed them from Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones), "don't complain and don't explain". You put your whole heart out there as a way to share your life experience and connect with other people, but you don't tell them how to feel about it. That's not art, it's a lecture.
2 - I cannot control how people perceive my art. I can embrace those who are receptive, but I cannot force everyone to love it. There's that lovable control freak! *eye roll*

This tells me that I need to let go of my need to be explicitly understood at all times, but I'm not sure how to even start that process. I know that reminding myself that my thoughts are fleeting and anxiety is just a fear of what could be is a good thing to do, but it doesn't feel productive.

Perhaps this little brain dump is exactly the step outside of my own brain that needs to be taken. 

Will I come back again soon? Gosh, I hope so. 

Since today is my Friday (I'm taking my Momma for a well-deserved day at the spa tomorrow to celebrate her retirement and her birthday), I'm throwin' down the randomness tuhday. 

Here we go!

• I am an ASSHOLE. Sometimes my assholeness surprises me like being stung by a bee. I will have a conniving thought that makes me wonder where in my body is so dark that evil shit like that comes from! My eyeballs get really big and I spend a good minute or two scolding myself for having such nasty thoughts. Then I remember it's just a silly thought--it's only really evil if I follow through. Right?
• I HID OREOS FROM MYSELF IN THE FREEZER AT WORK! Monday just got WAY better.
• I have the hiccups and I am purposely not stopping them. #evil
• "We are all museums of fear." - Charles Bukowski
• I use laughter as a weapon. I laugh a lot and most of them are legit giggles! But sometimes...I laugh just to unnerve someone who is getting on MY nerves. I'm creepy like this.
• This is turning into a confession page and it's only TUESDAY!
• If you take better care of the THINGS in your life than the PEOPLE in your life, you might want to check your priorities before you wind up very alone.
• The Ring doorbell has enlightened me to the fact that I walk with the gracefulness of my father... Put me in some jean shorts and you'd never know the difference from the back.
• Someone said "Holy Jesus Balls" as a good thing today and I think I'm going to use it. ​

1. Much needed spa day with MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM. Robes, trail mix, awkward nudity = mother-daughter time.

2. Cook something interesting...or order pizza. Or make one of these kickass tortilla pizzas.

3. Come up with something else to blog about. If you're lurking, what do you want to know?

4. Look at all of the photos of my darling Grandgirl, Sophia, and print them out so I can frame them. #Geemuh

5. Paint ugly toenails.

6. Write a poem.

7.2.19: 

I have been trying to start blogging again for YEARS.

My mom has encouraged me at her own peril.

I have a tendency to avoid 

7.22.19:
​
............FINISHING THINGS?!

My mom/life guru, encouraged me by saying that if I was "successful" with this before, I could be again. My previous blog from a previous life had a few consistent features. One was the Weekend Wrap Up, which was inconsistently posted at some point on Monday after I had somewhat recovered from the weekend's 3rd hangover. Another was the Friday Randomness and Weekend Agenda which lived up to it's title most of the time. While complaining to my mother that I didn't know how to find a rhythm for regular posts, she suggested bringing back the Weekend Wrap Up.

Because I am Eeyore in a Heather suit, I rebuffed her idea and went back to complaining. (Poor Momma.) 

Why would I do such a rotten thing to such a wonderful woman?  Because I was in the throes of an epic quarter life crisis those days and life is much less tumultuous these days as I prepare to ramp up to my midlife crisis, which I'm hoping to avoid since the quarter life one was so goddamned dangerous and painful (thanks for the daily reminders, Timehop app!). 

Finally, after weeks of bumping her suggestion around in my head, something hit me this weekend. My life has changed, but ridiculous thoughts like these still cross my mind:

After reviewing that post, I feel confident that this is something I can return to. That bar is pretty dang low. 
I think my hesitation lies in the fact that blogging is different than it was a decade ago and my style doesn't fit the smartypants nature of today's popular blogs.

But, here's the thing...I don't blog because I fit in or in order to fit in. I've tried. It's very painful when I try and it never works. It might from time to time, but it's like that nightmare where you showed up to take the SAT drunk and you forgot to wear pants and you can't wake up. 

Bottom line, y'all, I gotta be me and frankly, I don't have a lot of opportunity to do that. 

With that in mind, I'm going to give this a whirl by going back to what I know I can produce. The other blog evolved into something with depth (occasionally) and if I did it once, I can do it again. I mean, how hard is it to talk about sleeping and boobs?

Look for some kind of weirdness in this space soon...



....or in about eleventeen years. 
Thankfully, no one is reading this dross, so I don't have much to worry about. If there is a someone reading this something, drop me note! 

See ya on Friday for some randomness maybe?

My paternal grandmother passed away on January 16th, 2018. I was extremely close to her as a child, spending weeks at a time with her each summer before I had to grow up. I think of her every single day and the lessons she taught me have shaped who I am today. She joyfully attended and celebrated every important moment in my life that she could and I will never, ever forget how that made me feel.

We had a memorial service for her last March. I had so much to say, but found myself struggling to speak that day. Below is what I wanted to share with those who took the time to celebrate her life with us that day. 



When I think of my Gram, I see shades of blue and I feel a warm breeze on my skin and the sun on my face. I hear birds chirping happy songs and her laugh floating on the breeze. We're at the zoo, in the park, strolling through the Arboretum, riding in her Oldsmobile with the windows down. We read books, watched movies, laughed, shopped, and even spent some time in the back of a police car. 

I am so grateful for every moment that I was fortunate enough to spend with her. I am grateful for her contributions to who I am today. All those summers of fun made me a reader, a writer, a dreamer, a giggler, a cat snuggler, a photographer, a movie lover, and a strong, confident, independent woman. 

She was so grateful. Grateful for our company, what she had, what she learned, her family, her friends, right down to the tiny birds who frequented her cozy backyard. In turn, I am grateful for her lessons in gratitude. I am grateful for my good fortune to have had her as a part of my life, as someone who helped raise me over all those glorious summer vacations before I had to grow up. I am grateful for our weekly phone calls, the cards and letters (she loved a good thank you note and she taught me how to write them), our shared opinions about whether or not children should continue to be taught to write cursive (they should) and her willingness to give her time, love, and friendship to people (or animals) in need.

Her memory was a treasure trove of stories. My only regret is not taking the time to sit down with her and write them all down so that they could live forever. I hope you will share her stories with those that you love so that she will live on through them. 

Since I can't manage to find time to blog (translation: I'm lazy af), I'm posting an original recipe.

I've been craving my momma's pot roast lately. It is comfort food at it's finest... It's rich without being too filling and totally unpretentious. I asked her to send me her recipe, but she never wrote it down! So, after doing a little research and some grocery shopping, I turned my husband into a pot roast tester. The results were better than I thought they would be, so I'm sharing "my" recipe here--just in case I forget next time. This is off the dome and I am NOT a professional recipe writer, so there's a possibility that this could go haywire...

Sounds like fun, right? Here--make some delicious friggin' pot roast:

• 2 TBSP olive oil, more if needed
  
• Kosher salt & freshly ground black pepper
  
• 3-5 lb. chuck roast (if wrapped with string, do not cut!)
  
• 2 onions/3 lbs. of roast, ends trimmed, cut in half
  
• 2 carrots/lb. of roast, peeled and cut into large, bite-sized pieces
  
• 1 potato/lb. of roast, peeled and cut into large, bite-sized pieces
  
• 1.5 lbs of whole white mushrooms, cleaned and divided
  
• 1 TBSP tomato paste
  
• 1 garlic clove/lb. of roast, peeled and smashed
  
• 1 cup of red wine/3 lbs. of roast
  
• 1.5 cups of beef stock/3 lbs. of roast
  
• 2 sprigs of rosemary
  
• 2 sprigs of thyme
  
• 2 bay leaves
  
• Cornstarch slurry for gravy (if needed--¼ cup water, 2 TBSP cornstarch, whisked together)
  

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
   
2. Heat olive oil in Dutch oven until shimmering.
   
3. Generously coat all sides of roast with Kosher salt and ground black pepper.
   
4. Halve half of the mushrooms.
   
5. Sear chuck roast on all sides and set aside.
   
6. Sear all onions on cut sides until dark brown. Remove from pan.
   
7. Sear half of whole mushrooms until golden. Remove from pan.
   
8. Repeat with rest of vegetables and set aside. Add smashed garlic and tomato paste to pan and cook for 30 seconds or until fragrant.
   
9. Deglaze pan with red wine, scraping browned bits from bottom of pan.
   
10. Place roast into pan with seared onions and pour in beef stock (should reach halfway up the side of the meat). Heat to a low boil.
    
11. Place rosemary, thyme, and bay leaves into cheesecloth or teabag and submerge into liquid.
    
12. Turn oven down to 300 degrees.
    
13. Cover roast and cook in the oven for 1-2 hours. Internal temperature of meat should be around 200 degrees.
    
14. Add seared vegetables to the pan, cover and return to oven. Cook for 30 minutes and check. If meat is tender and easily shredded, remove from oven.
    
15. Move vegetables to a serving dish.
    
16. Set meat aside to rest while you make the gravy.
    
17. Heat the gravy to a low boil and slowly whisk in the slurry. Cook for 10-15 minutes, stirring occasionally until thick. Season to taste with salt if needed.
    
18. Remove string (if applicable), shred rested meat and serve.