Mr. Gray, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde…

I love these stories because they’re really about the ugly side of humanity - whether it’s taking a formula to unleash the darker side or selling your soul to the devil.

In A Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde - Mr. Gray makes a Faustian Bargain. Keep him beautiful and let the portrait take the abuse.

Have you ever thought about what you would do in his shoes? You’ve already shaken hands with the devil, now what? If you keep the painting unharmed, you could technically live forever and therefore get out of final judgement with God.

Does that give you the “permission” to misbehave on a grand scale? Murder, mayhem, maliciousness. To become completely morally corrupt. Is it in you to be that way? Does a tiny part of you want to go out for a joy ride of no morals? What, if anything, would hold you back?

Sometimes I look at people doing appalling things and wonder what their portrait would look like in that moment.

How bad is bad? Would purposely being rude to an unsuspecting person leave a mark? If you feel bad about it, does the mark get prevented or removed?

I don’t think I would have it in me to have felony fun, but maybe - maybe - a little misdemeanor fun.

I will admit, I am not a perfect person. By the end of my run I’m sure my portrait would have a couple dings in it.

The truth of the matter is that I cry when I accidentally run over chipmunks. I laugh when I see children laugh. I like making my elders smile by a kind word or gesture. I love deeply and fiercely. 

PS - Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth. ~ Oscar Wilde

Touch of Grey…

 Still half asleep, I peer into the bathroom mirror. My image scowling back at me. My inner voice telling the person glaring back at me, “Oh yeah? Well, up yours too.”

I am not a morning person. Clearly if I’m ready to start something with myself in the mirror.

I laugh at the thought of the ridiculousness of me.

Brush, brush, brushing of my teeth. Scrub, scrub, scrubbing of my face clears out more cobwebs and potential provocations.

My hair appears to have been brushed with an egg beater yet somehow I’m ok with the look of “feral, yet clean” vibe.

One hair in the front does not wish to be a mess with all the rest and I struggle with forcing it to comply when I see it.

The once blonde hair is now white and oddly kinked. As if it were a hair from somebody else’s head.

Uh. That was NOT there yesterday. 

Is that what happens? You just go grey overnight? No warning? It’s not like it’s short and just growing out. It’s long and white to the root.

Do I pull it out? Why would I pull it out? If I get on the kick of yanking all grey hairs I’ll be bald at some point. I don’t think I’d look good bald. 

Excuse me, is there a manager I can speak to about this issue? I didn’t order this grey hair in some other texture that doesn’t match the rest of my head. I’d like a refund.

My brain starts to spin. As a kid I thought grey hair meant you were OLD. I’m not old. And then I start thinking about my friends, they’re all mostly my age and they all have grey hairs or are completely grey - and they’re not old.

And I just got my 1 this morning.

Now I feel like maybe I was not part of the club and now I am. I’ve finally earned my space at the table.

Always late to the party.

It’s because I’m not a morning person.

PS

It must be getting early

Clocks are running late

Paint by numbers morning sky

Looks so phony

Dawn is breaking everywhere

Light a candle, curse the glare

Draw the curtains, I don't care

'Cause it's alright

I will get by

~ Grateful Dead

Winter Olympics…

 I am not a sports watcher by any stretch of imagination, but the Winter Olympics has me ensnared.

Do I root for my home team? Yes for the most part. 

But I tend to also root for the underdogs, the people with amazing stories.

I find these athletes unbelievable. What they can accomplish with what looks like such ease.

Figure skating? Blows my mind. Ski jumps? I can’t imagine flinging myself down a steep hill and then jumping. I’d be that one person screaming the whole way down.

Cross country Nordic track - it looks exhausting.

Luge, bobsledding, skeleton races look like fun until you realize they’re going 90 miles an hour and people have been killed doing this “fun” sport.

And Curling. I can watch Curling all day. Maybe because it’s the only sport I think I could do with some practice. It seems to be shuffle board with big slippery rocks.

I watch the snowboarding with awe. These people who do these amazing tricks with the potential of serious injury are literally just kids. 

As a parent I’d be terrified to have my child want to do something like that.

So, I root for everyone. I feel bad for the athlete who falls, when they come in last in a race, when things go pear shaped. Because I know they got to these games because they are amazing and that day was their worst one in front of a watching world. Because reality is that even on their worst day, they do what none of us can do.

Maybe the Olympics make the world a bit more connected, less angry. Competitive, yes but I’ve seen true sportsmanship which is encouraging.

A person who lost a race and still congratulates the winner. With a smile and a hug most times. Are they disappointed? No doubt, but they have the grace to say “nice job.”

So, yes, Go Team USA!

And, Go Other country’s teams. I’m watching and rooting for you as well!

Ps. I might be weird, but I really like hearing other country national anthems. Some are just so beautiful.

2026…

 Here we are again, the New Year.

A blank slate to start a new. 

Reflecting back on 2025, I find my year chocked full of life. By life I mean ups and downs. Joys and sorrows. Bumps and bruises, both physical and mental. 

But here I am. Still standing. Still living my life. 

I look back on all that I accomplished. It was no small feat. At times like this, I wonder how I did it. Where did I get that fortitude to just keep pushing forward?

Maybe it was a hard deadline I couldn’t avoid. No amount of procrastination would suffice. I had to do what I had to do to help get us out of this mess we didn’t create or cause. We were the hazmat crew.

One year ago this month we were just starting the process of clean up. We had no idea what we were in for. Maybe that was the blessing. The job was massive and we didn’t know until we started to peel back the layers and dig. And dig and dig and dig.

By then it was too late for us. We were stuck. 

Autopilot was our best mental friend.

Today we are changed people. For the better I think.

We were able to find humor when there didn’t seem to be any. We learned patience and compassion when we were pushed to our frustrated limits. We gained an understanding we didn’t have as we dismantled 60 years of a married life and family home. And we solidified our bond with a deeper friendship and love.

Was my year difficult? Hell, yes.

But sometimes that’s how it goes. Hopefully I can learn a little and carry that with me as I live my life.

Happy New Year. Happy 2026.

"There are far better things ahead than any we leave behind."  ~ CS Lewis

Sonnet 73…

 As the summer winds down. I head into my favorite season.

Crisp nights welcome good sleeping and mildly warm days take me outside to soak up some sunshine.

The cicadas have left. Their songs just an echo in my mind. The evening background sounds of crickets still rise and fall in a calming rhythm. But there are fewer in number every night.

The lightning bugs have been long gone. Their magical hovering in the shadows now dark.

The trees aren’t as green as they were only a week ago. Tips of the branches a little more yellow than they were yesterday.

I get excited with the coming Autumn. I always have. 

I’m not a pumpkin spice girl. I’m not a pumpkin anything girl. Pumpkin is gross, but I do love apples.

Maybe I love this season because there’s a whisper in the air of cinnamon and cloves. Warm and inviting.

It almost makes me giddy.

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang… Wm. Shakespeare 

Maelstrom…

I watch her as she spins.

Spins with her nasty hooks flailing about hoping to snag an unexpected bystander.

I’ve removed myself from her reach. No matter how hard she tries, I do not find myself caught in her angry snare.

I got caught once and that was enough for me. I snipped the cutting tendrils and never looked back.

The scars have healed, but her present day actions remind me she hasn’t changed, she has only gotten worse.

Hate.

She hates you. She hates me. She hates everyone - even herself.

I don’t hate her.

I feel bad for her. 

The hate eats away at any happiness she could have.

And that’s sad.

I could have been a great friend for her. 

I am not the only person who has left her to her own destruction. Everyone fled once her biting words and awful actions damaged them.

Her self fulfilling prophecy of not having any family when her parents died is slowly coming true.

“You’re not even family” yelled at me made me understand.

I’m not her family.

But I am his, and that’s all that matters to me.

Ps. A situation or state of confused movement or violent turmoil.