Category: life long learner

The Joy of Making Things That Aren’t Amazing

When I was in elementary school, we had an optional ceramics class. My parents signed me up, and I gave it a try. Unfortunately, ceramics was not really my specialty, but I did make many, many ashtrays. This was back in the 70s, when smoking was still everywhere.

My ashtrays were not particularly good—or even round—but my parents displayed them all over the house, and I was very proud of my artistic capability.

I never took ceramics again, and my crafting and art misadventures continued through adulthood. Every once in a while, I would try something new and quickly discover that my brain does not really function that way, and crafting tends to frustrate me. There has always been a big disconnect between what my brain imagines the outcome should be and what my hands actually create.

This past year, I started looking for a stress-relief hobby and tried a couple of easy DIY crafts. Most of them were… not amazing.

Then I found soap making.

I discovered that I really enjoy making soap. Creating new shapes, colors, and scent combinations is really fun for me—and my soaps are actually pretty!

Soap making became a creative outlet and a great way to relieve stress. As an added bonus, my house smells amazing despite having a dog.

From soap came resin. The mixing and creating process is similar, but my resin creations are not quite as amazing as my soaps—and my house now has more than enough coasters. These coasters remind me of my ashtray-making years. They really are not amazing, but I am still happy to display them around the house and post them on social media.

Our achievements are not always grand or impressive, but we should be proud of them anyway—especially if they make us happy. At the end of the day, that is what really counts.

So let’s agree to display our achievements and our art projects. Who cares if others think they are not amazing? What matters is that we do.

Short-Staffed and Suds-Obsessed

There is a saying that in life there are no second chances. Luckily, in soap, there are.

I started making soap not so long ago. I never intended to be one of those “crafty” people who makes their own lotions at home; I became one of these soap people quite by accident.

For the last eight months, I’ve worked 12–14 days in a row without a break. Between extreme timelines, a gazillion events, and being short-staffed, I was working with no tomorrow, no extra pay, and no vacation time. I burned out. I was overly stressed and ready to quit without a second thought.

Around that time, a friend hosted a Galentine’s decoupage party. Newsflash: I hate decoupage. Peeling napkins, cutting tiny shapes, and gluing them onto things only made me more annoyed. But that’s when I realized I needed a hobby—something to relax and center me again.

I tried several things, including soap making. I bought a simple kit online and my first attempt was a complete failure. Yet, something in the process made me want to try again. It might have been my brain remembering the chemistry set my parents gave me as a teenager—a set I absolutely loved.

I was hooked. It created a monster.

Now, I’m constantly trying new scents, watching tutorials, and finding creative ways to make beautiful bars. I even keep a notebook next to my bed in case an idea strikes in the middle of the night. I’m by no means an expert, but I am enjoying every moment of the process—even the failures.

With soap, if it doesn’t come out the way you wanted the first time, you get that second chance. You just melt it down and try to create something new and improved.

It might be true that in life there are no second chances—but what if, like soap, we just need to be willing to melt things down and start over?

Bruised, Busy and Still Standing

I took a day off from everything today. Well, almost everything.

Yesterday my day was hectic. I woke up at 6:30am — walked the dog, dropped the Passenger Prince at his doctor’s appointment, ran to get my blood test, ran back to pick up the Passenger Prince from his doctor’s appointment, and drove him to work.

All this before 9am and before my coffee.
All this after I got bitten by a dog on my morning walk, all this with a big nasty bruise on my non–model-worthy leg.

A lady with a new dog approached us this morning and told us how friendly her dog was and let it get closer to us. Turns out her dog was not so friendly, and my Airedale decided to protect me. I ended up between the dogs — and I got hurt.

I called my mom on my drive from dropping the prince at work. I was told to put a cabbage leaf on my leg. Sadly, the only cabbage we had was already in the soup, and there were no extra leaves around for my leg.

My long day continued with going to work. At work I Scotch-taped an ice pack to my swollen leg and got home past 9pm.
Dog walk again, shower, and two painkillers later — I was dead asleep.

So today, I took the day off from everything. Well, almost everything. I still woke up, took the dog on a walk, drove the prince to work, and did laundry.
My leg has all sorts of rainbow colors now, and apparently my non-existent leg modeling career is over.

So yes, I took the day off — if you ignore the walking, driving, and laundry. My leg is now a masterpiece of purples and greens, and my modeling career is officially over before it began. Maybe tomorrow I’ll rest for real… or maybe I’ll just buy a cabbage. 🥬

Puzzling Through BS and RBBB: A (Dark) Humor Guide to Medical After‑Notes

Years ago, when texting was just taking off, I had to teach myself all the lingo—the endless shortcuts, acronyms, and cryptic abbreviations. These days, I find myself learning a brand‑new vocabulary: medical lingo.

I’m not planning to enter the healthcare field anytime soon—this is purely by necessity. My husband had a seizure—at a Costco, of all places—and was rushed by ambulance to the emergency room. A week and a half later, we saw a neurologist, scheduled all the necessary tests, and began collecting the “after‑notes.” After‑notes from the paramedics, from the ER, from the first doctor’s appointment… and I’m bracing myself for more after‑notes from the MRI and EEG.

These after‑notes feel like military orders—packed with shortcuts and initials. Thankfully, I did serve in the military, and I love puzzles. So here I am: deciphering, decoding, trying to understand what happened and what everything means.

Here are a few of the gems I’ve already cracked:

  • BS — not “bullshit,” not “bachelor of science”—it’s blood sugar.
  • BIBA — not a Honda model—brought in by ambulance.
  • NSR — not some sinister government agency—it’s normal sinus rhythm.
  • ED — not the embarrassing kind—it’s emergency department.
  • Hx — not a TV channel—it’s history.
  • RBBB — not about bananas—it’s right bundle branch block.

We’re taking this all very seriously, don’t get me wrong. We’re still waiting for more test results, and until we have clear answers, the dark humor is just part of how we cope. I’m looking forward to meeting the next batch of acronyms with the same dry wit.

Maybe I should launch a TikTok channel just for this: “Medical Lingo Decoded: Episode 1.”

The Sounds We Forget to Hear

The Sounds We Forget to Hear

Hearing is something most of us take for granted. We rarely pause to notice the sounds that surround us—the rustle of leaves, the hum of traffic, the laughter of children. Instead, we walk through life plugged into headphones, filling every moment with music, podcasts, or phone calls. We wear them when we walk, talk, commute, and definitely when we exercise.

This week, my youngest made crème brûlée. She’s been perfecting her recipes lately and this time offered dairy-free, vegan, and lactose-free options. In our household, that’s not just a nice gesture—it’s a necessity. We are a home full of celiacs, lactose-free lifestyles, and IBS sufferers. My children, poor things, didn’t need a genetic test to prove maternity—they inherited all my “fun” genes: the celiac gene, the IBS gene, and definitely the lactose intolerance gene.

But here’s the moment that gave me pause: as she torched the sugar on top of the crème brûlée, I heard it. The delicate, satisfying crackle of caramelizing sugar. That beautiful, subtle sound was only possible for me to enjoy because I had my hearing aids in. Without them, I’d have missed it entirely. That tiny moment of joy made me think about how much we miss when we don’t stop and really listen.

Take Charlie, our neighborhood squirrel. Charlie is something of a local character—and a sworn enemy of our dogs. (They’re terriers. It’s instinct.) Charlie, bold as ever, hisses at them from his perch on the tree. Every time he does it and I actually hear it, I can’t help but laugh. It’s such a strange, small sound—one I never noticed before hearing aids. But now I hear it, and every time I do, I’m delighted.

When I was younger, my mother used to warn me: “Don’t listen to music so loud—you’ll ruin your hearing!” I wish that was the reason I have hearing loss. But for me, it’s just part of the hand I was dealt.

I remember the day I got my first hearing aids. My audiologist looked at me and said, “Just a heads-up—the world is loud.” She wasn’t wrong. It is loud. But it’s also incredible. Hearing the world—even when it’s loud—is a gift.

So if you can hear the birds in the morning, the hiss of a squirrel, or the crackle of sugar on a homemade dessert—pause for a moment. Take your headphones off. Listen. The world has so much to say, and it’s worth hearing.

They Found Me. My Dog’s Still Free.

I recently had to change a picture on my blog—not because of copyright issues, but for privacy reasons.

It was an old photo of me, one I really liked. It showed my face clearly, and it was a genuinely good picture. But the thing is, I’m a private and somewhat shy person. I work in a customer service role, and most of our customers live in the same area I do. That means I often run into them—at the gym, the grocery store, out walking the dogs, or even at dinner.

I try to stay as under-the-radar as possible: hat, sunglasses, sitting in the back, and minding my own business. Still, people have stopped me in public before to ask work-related questions. I usually manage to steer the conversation away, but there was one time a parent stopped me in the feminine product aisle at Target, with her teenage son, to ask me about work. My daughter, a teen at the time, and the boy were both so mortified that it was honestly kind of hilarious.

Recently, my anonymous pseudonym somehow ended up on corporate’s radar—again. There’s no mention of my name, employer, or location on the blog, but corporate still managed to find it. They didn’t like what I wrote. Ironically, they didn’t dispute anything I said; they just wanted me to know they were watching.

So this past weekend turned into a whirlwind of blocking people on social media, locking down my LinkedIn (which doesn’t even list my employer), and generally trying to cut off access to “Big Brother.” Unfortunately, that meant taking down the really good picture of myself, too.

The silver lining? My dog’s profile is still public.

#DigitalPrivacy #OnlineAnonymity #PrivacyMatters #LivingIncognito #BoundariesMatter #OfflineIsOkay #WorkLifeBalance #CorporateCulture
#OutsideOfOfficeHours#NotAtWork#FoundByCorporate#LifeBeyondWor#BlogLife
#WriterLife#PersonalBlog#RealTalk#WritingThroughIt#TrueStory

Surveys, Feedback, and the Silence That Follows

Every year, my employer sends out an anonymous survey to gather employee feedback, but I can’t help but wonder why they even bother. It’s supposed to be a chance for employees to voice their thoughts, yet nothing ever seems to change—and I’m not sure anyone even believes it’s anonymous.

The first time I filled out the survey, I was the only one in the company with my unique position, so my feedback was easily identifiable. In the comments section, I pointed out that the survey couldn’t truly be anonymous for someone in my position. Little did they know, that was just the beginning of me becoming a “thorn” in their side.

Since then, I’ve continued to fill out the survey honestly, even though I know no one really cares about my feedback. I figured out how to make the sections for areas of improvement larger. One year, I copy-pasted my MBA thesis on leadership—full of practical advice for change—just to see if anyone would notice. It was a thesis that earned a distinction, yet still, nothing changed.

I love my job, and I genuinely like the people I work with, which is why I’m still here after many years. But I can’t help but question the purpose of these surveys. Are they just for show so the company can tick a box and say they care? Or are there companies out there that actually listen to their employees and take meaningful action?

I know this conversation has probably been had many times before, and some companies do genuinely care about their employees. But for me, I’m still not sure.

Who Saved Who? My Journey with Shuki and the Power of Patience

Patience is not a strong virtue of mine. In fact, I’m pretty sure I don’t possess such a trait. I’m one of those people who need things done yesterday, even if the idea just crossed my mind three seconds ago.

We adopted a rescue dog several weeks ago, and we have no knowledge of her age or past, other than the fact that she was malnourished, neglected, and abused. With rescue dogs, there’s the 3-3-3 rule: you need a lot of patience. The first three days, the dog decompresses from the transition. The next three weeks, the dog settles into its new routine. And around three months, the adopted dog truly settles in and understands they are safe. Of course, every dog takes their own time and behaves a little differently. But the key to a successful adoption is providing a safe environment, training, and—most importantly—patience.

Patience. Again, not one of my strong suits, but in this case, a necessity. Shuki, the Airedale, has been with us for almost six weeks now. It took time for her to realize that I am safe and won’t harm her. In the beginning, she was afraid of even my smallest movements. She ate her food like a vacuum at light speed. She learned her name, responds to it, and is getting better and stronger every day.

Some days feel like the movie 50 First Dates—every morning, it’s like we’re starting the bonding process from scratch, even though she’s been with us for weeks. Unfortunately, like the movie, I can’t ask her to relive the past through a highlight reel of her last six weeks.

And once again, patience is needed. You often see bumper stickers with the saying “Who saved who?” I’m learning that this is true. Shuki is learning to trust, and in return, she’s teaching me the invaluable lesson of patience—something I never thought I’d master at my age. For that, I am grateful.

Benchmarks or how I became a prune.

A year and a half ago I broke my foot, it was completely my fault as instead of looking where I was going, my eyes were glued to my cell phone and I stepped down a step straight onto my dog’s 3 pronged nylabone and lost my balance. Completely avoidable!

Showering was not fun with a broken foot as I needed to sit in a chair in the shower and where the chair could be positioned meant I could not reach the on/off valve. I am after all  what some people call “fun size” or vertically challenged. That meant that my husband had to be around and turn the water off for me. And here lies the problem, he forgot me. He sometimes had to answer work calls or someone pinged him on teams and he just forgot me. He claims he really did not forget, he was just getting around to it, really. While I was sitting in the shower with the water all over me I considered adding a middle name , Prune. You would think that sitting in the warm water is nice, it is, to a point. I managed, god knows how, to get up on one functioning leg, turn off the faucet and get out of the shower while maneuvering the chair to do this. Surprisingly I did not break any other bones in my body or the shower glass door on my way out. There is something to be said about being short in a tall world, I learned tricks and ways to reach.

We  are finally  remodeling our shower, a shower that is just slightly younger than me but in many ways is stronger than me. After we agreed to compromise and my husband compromised in letting me choose whatever weird tile I wanted, the topic of adding a bench or shelf came up. My husband suggested a bench so the next time I break my foot we will not need to use a chair. My response was, thank you for the vote of confidence but why would you think I am planning on breaking my foot or anything else again? Quiet.

After a while he expanded that we might need to add some support fixtures in the future so a bench is a good idea. Now, it is a good idea as I will be able to put the shampoos and shower stuff nicely on this bench, not exactly what he meant. He suggested we put the bench on one side of the shower and could not understand what my issue was. I explained again that I am short with a very small wing span and will not be able to reach the valve from the bench. Apparently after being together 35 years he never noticed that I am a head and a half shorter than him. 

We are currently at a stand still about this great bench, it will be another bench mark in our ongoing relationship. 

Made my 1st online sale

I made my first sale on poshmark yesterday and I was very excited, no I am not endorsing poshmark and I will not be retiring any time soon. The reason I am excited is that I’m finally moving extra clothes I do not need or have ever used out of my house, decluttering and making a couple of bucks in the process.

Cleaning your closet is an emotional process, at least for me.  It is the process of learning to let go and actually letting go. I have clothes in sizes that will not fit me again any time soon. I kept telling myself that I will use them in the future once I lose some weight , but in reality I was afraid to admit that my body has changed and that is ok.And in reality when and if I will need smaller size clothes I can always buy more.

The other items  I am letting go off are all the great deals I got during the pandemic and boy there were really good deals, such good deals that they were never worn and still have tags on them. Shopping online was very dangerous back then, we got constant deals and free stuff. The 

the only problem with all the good deals was that I did not need them. Like many of us I worked remote and meetings were on zoom and there was no real need for dresses, dress pants or blouses. But like other people I justified it with “ I will use it when we get back to the office” , I was over optimistic. I have yet to use 80% of the items I bought and now I am sending them on a journey to a better home and in the process making enough money for a sushi dinner.