Countdown: 35, 20, 15 and 1

First, don’t freak out.

Second, you know it’s coming, so we might as well count it down together.

35 days away. Seems like plenty to prepare for a train wreck, if you were expecting one.

I’m not wholly sure if you should be expecting one or not. I don’t know if I should be, either.

I’ve set aside 14 days. Just in case.

I’ve also put myself out there – every day – since that day someone I didn’t know said something that changed everything.

Followed by that day, I thought I was safely anonymous amongst 66K people; letting out what I’d learned on that something someone said day on inspirational site.

Trent Shelton. Remember when I suggested y’all follow him?

Well, no one told me they did. So, I found out the hard way that I hadn’t been honest with the universe as stealthily as I imagined. That night I wrote to no one but myself. That morning I found out my words had been seen.

Notification: 2 likes.

?

Clicked out of curiosity; hoping to find a kindred discussionist or two, only to nauseously realize I’d inadvertently let my private cat out the bag.

Those two likes? My brother and my brother-in-law. Cowardly non-addressed, at least, until now.

Since then, though. Since October 2020, there’s been this reoccurring theme. Everywhere I turn.

Books I’ve read, motivational quotes, inspirational stories, sermons I’ve heard, songs I’ve taken to, have all been telling me the same thing:

“You’re not the one who died.”

Obviously, I’ve been well aware of that. What I haven’t been aware of is… anything else.

It’s entirely mind boggling. 35 days until 15 not 20. 20 is the sun eclipsed by the 15 moon, because. My God. 15?

It’s going to be a bit of a non-chronological heap. I’m almost out of time, but I wanna get the good stuff in or get it out or just share it dammit.

.

One request: If you’ve got a JSK story, share it on Knabble. Or email it to me.

I’ll get it out there for you. For us; for all of us.

The C’s, One More Thing (Only Me)

I made it back to my home desk an hour later than planned. Luckily, I have a thick vacation bank and sometimes the energy to flex an hour or so longer to find a clean place to stop.

Sliding into my seat, I felt the death-glare before I located the source. Gray cat on a gray carpet throwing laser beams. I apologized to HBlu, again, but fore-warned him. “We’re going back. Because, I love you. Amendously.”

While I was trying to figure out a prioritization balance between what needs the most attention and what seems most urgent, my phone flashed in a weird disco-ish way.

Two calls at once. Quite the anomaly for me. Ringer one was a colleague. The other was the vet’s office. I took the coworker call. At the end of our brief check-in, the vet called, again.

The caller asked me to go take a look at Harley Blu’s med that we’d picked up at the visit. She aske if HBlu’s name was on the bottle. It wasn’t. There was name there, but it was followed by ‘canine.’ It had already been determined that the medication contained was the correct one, but I compared it to the pills left from the last Rx and confirmed that for myself, as well.

I was asked if I could bring them back, because one of the prescriptions given was a narcotic and they needed to correct the owner’s names for their dispensary records. I explained that I had been one of the front-row right-outside-the- front-door sitters waiting for a jump and had already dropped my car off to be examined.

Oddly enough, the other car with the canine got my label and I got theirs. Maybe our difficulties were some sort of cosmic delay so that the office could notice their problem while we were still there. If so, the universe failed us, all.

But, that’s not the important part. Or maybe it was, because it became a catalyst for this revelation.

I’ve mostly adjusted to the odd and unusual situations I find myself in.

I think there’s a pre-programmed, mental-shrugging mechanism that becomes active in over-accepting, mid-life minds. I mean, by the time you’ve heaved over the hump, you’re aware stuff goes wrong and freak outs aren’t really worth the effort, anymore.

Quote for the Week:

ps. amendously isn’t a real dictionary word. It is, however, a 100% original Knabbler word.

Stay Safe Home Mode

My Foodsaver  and my freezer are my god-sends. So much so, that I truly believe I could go another 3-4 week in Stay Safe mode.

Not quarantined, not anymore self-isolated than usual, it’s pretty much just business as usual for me, except for the shortened commute.

Working from home has taken some getting used to. I’ve always imagined that I’d love it, and I do. The thing is, I imagined it with better equipment.

Downsizing from two huge monitors at work to my tiny laptop has been a challenge. My mini mouse requires a lot more maneuvering. Although, I’m not sure why since I’m sliding over a smaller surface.

My micro set-up unfortunately lends itself to completing one task at a time. I’m more of the handle-it-right-now-if-possible type. Too many windows can be a bit too much for my 5-year oldie to handle and too many layers for me to keep track of.

HBlu’s noticed that opening and closing files to limit electronic desktop clutter requires a lot of clicking.

At least, that’s how I’m interpreting the increase in those huffy cat-sighs while he lounges in the office recliner. Honestly, though, he might be sighing in the lounger because I wouldn’t let him squeeze into that small spot reserved for my mouse and pad. I cleared off the whole other 2/3 of the desk for him. But, no. He must occupy that corner.

Anyway, the point is, still working full days.

Don’t have any more free-time than I had. My 10-minutes-on-a-slow-day roundtrip commute gives me 5 extra minutes in the morning.  Plus, another whopping 5 in late-afternoon.

Still, somehow, I’ve been managing to get up 30 minutes earlier than norm. I made in onto the treadmill 4 out of 5 days before work my first week. A trend I plan to keep up.

It doesn’t hurt that I’ve cut down on unnecessary glamour. (wink, wink.) Mascara and lipstick-free isn’t as freeing as I imagined. Being truly comfortable, however, is.

I’ve uniformed into jeans and a t-shirt; a comfy sweater and no-shoes sock-footed feet. I do wear my trusty Fitbit to remind me that good leg circulation is just as important at home as it is in the office.

My super cool two-person office desk has been used more this month than all of last year. Face it, we all sofa and laptop when we can. But, real desk work requires, well… a desk.

Sturdy good-posture invoking chairs have been inspirational. Early morning pre-work workouts admittedly encouraged by the “Gee, shouldn’t these chairs be a little wider in the thighs?” question the slightly sore sides of my legs are asking. It’s really more about the shape and style of the chair, as opposed to, you know an actual ergonomic office chair.

The most repeated online advice for home-bound, self-protective or mandated work-at-home isolation has been to stick to your normal routine.

That’s good advice. Get up, get showered, get dressed, go to work.

My personal advice? Loud music will help you ignore the 4+ hours of springtime edging and weed-whacking, whine and buzz in your neighborhood.

Lessons on Working From Home:2020 03 31 working from home lesson 1 music jakorte2020 03 31 working from home lesson 2 jakorte

ps. recessing from my year of  memories. just seems now isn’t a good time to add to the sadness.

Keto Parking

So, I didn’t fall off the wagon. I wasn’t involuntary tossed. I didn’t jump for fun. I simply parked my luge along the trail and wandered off believing I’d be keto-back shortly.

By now, a snowfall of sugar in various forms has covered up my tracks. I haven’t slid far enough away to lose sight, though. Which is one of those blessing-curse situations. It turned out to be a comfortable sleigh as far as rides go. I guess you could say I didn’t realize the smooth way an adaptive lifestyle works.

I thought the things I missed the most were good summer fare. Fruits and vegetables way too loaded with sugars and conversion complexity. I ate a pear one week; I bought 3 bananas the next. I added an apple, after that. As silly as it seems, initially, those things are truly cheats.

I can’t say I’m cheating, now. I can only say I’ll walk right by any piece of meat if there is an available cookie. Because, cookies are temporary. At least, they should be. Yeah, they are, actually, but not until I run out. The beauty of running out is non-replenishment. Unless, of course, you’ve got another oven ready round.

Then, it’s decision time. I’ve learned this much: if it’s there and easily available, whatever it is, it will be eaten. So, here’s how it’s going to go. What’s going to go down is all about what’s going to go down my gullet.

I was absolutely resolution-less last year. On purpose. I mean, I made an effort to come up with the resolution to just not resolve. I won’t be doing that again. 2018 will be my vague resolution year.

I don’t know that it absolutely necessary to buy into time/action/result formalities. Mostly because they haven’t helped all that much. Setting even a realistic goal, then realizing despite full-out effort from the outset, you’re not going to reach it too easily degrades to disincentive. Knowing where I want to be is pressure enough without adding a finite end.

Besides, an end isn’t the goal. The goal is just beginning. I don’t doubt I’ll make it back to the place I left it all waiting. Sometime soon. After New Year’s, of course.

Quote for the Week:

2017 12 26 It is absolutely easier to resist temptation jakorte

Enjoy This Week’s Discovery Links:

Food Spend:  Increases After Holidays

Detox without Gimmicks: Naturally, Seriously

The Cycle of Carbs: Processed and Processing

believers & broken snow globes & christmas ferrets

I love Christmas. In a completely different way than ever before. Before Jeff, I mean. And before after Jeff, too. Especially, in the middle.

I wish I could have spent a believer’s Christmas with Sally and Nannee. It’s only being a believer that makes it ok now. Well, more than Ok. My Christmas’s now are Thankful.

Oh, it’s still about the presents, but with a difference. I enjoy being the Christmas ferret. I’m sure I’m not the one out there trying to find something that will mean something more than just a gift. I listen all year in a kleptomaniac sort of way, hiding away personal tidbits. I suppose you could say I hoard memories.

One of which came to mind while I was drafting this week’s entry. The only thing that broke on our move from the townhouse was a Christmas gift we had purchased for Sally. I discovered it while my mother was helping us unpack in our new home. I didn’t grow up with snow globes. I know it sounds silly, but I didn’t know they could easily break.

It was irreparably broken. Another thing I didn’t know about real snow globes – the bottoms don’t twist off and globes aren’t always replaceable. I immediately burst into tears, and Jeff immediately promised we’d get another. It wouldn’t be hers but it would still remind me of her.

We made the trek to Bronner’s in Frankenmuth. It wasn’t winter but it never even crossed either of our minds that we wouldn’t find one there. Or that the particular one we were looking for would be discontinued. Still, we were well into the days of internet, so Jeff consoled me with the backup promise of finding it on line. He scoured, I scoured.

We both came up empty; just like the place in my heart I was sure would never mend from losing this piece of Sally.

In fact, it still bothers me so much that I interrupted my story myself just now, opened a new tab, and searched. My heart did a funny flip-flop as the very first image to pop up was my missing treasure. He was perfect. Just as I remembered. Even came with the original box. I couldn’t wait to buy him, my mind already jumping ahead: I’ll put it in my cart and then I’ll go get my wallet. I clicked on the image and a whole lot of other items came up. I carefully scrolled through and reviewed all 2 pages, twice. My shoulders slumped. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy.

But then again, it was. Just that easy to remember how much I thought it looked like her spirit. Easy to remember how her eyes lit up. Easy to remember her laugh. Just that easy to remember, it’s the memories that matter, not the matter of the memories.

Quote for the Week:

2017 12 12 Its not the matter of your memories jakorte 12 12 2017
Enjoy This Week’s Discovery Links:

Why We Hold On: Sentimental Items

Snow Globes: All About

And Just Because: Frosty the Snowman