Taking off

I am trying to travel more.

It goes against my frugal sensibilities to travel, seeing as it means a bunch of eating out, a bunch of gas-use (or worse - plane tickets), and paying to sleep in a bed when I'm already paying the mortgage on my house.

Everybody's Free...to be Well

I embrace the concept of wellness. Not just from a grammatical standpoint. When people ask me how I am, I tend to say, “I’m well!” (Exclamation point intentionally included, I’m a very enthusiastic person.)

My husband, the English major, whom we fondly refer to as “The Editor” (with emphasis on the third syllable, like a comic book hero or villain) tells me I’m presumptuous in my remark. “I’m good,” is more conversational and acceptable. (He would also now tell me I have used too many parenthetical asides.) Meh.

I work with a lot of massage therapists and personal trainers. Through osmosis, I have absorbed the concept of total wellness and seek it in my life. “Wellness” means “healthy,” and “healthy” includes mind, body and spirit.

I digress...

WTF, October?



I saw a tree today that was completely yellow. Every fall I have this moment… a yellow or red tree, the slant of the sun, the blue of the sky…it momentarily takes my breath away and I think “Hey, when did this happen?? It’s fall?”

The word "positive" takes on a whole new meaning

This is the first post (of hopefully many) by Stephanie, who is here to talk to us about a unique challenge and her process of meeting the kind of goal that isn't entirely up to her. No budget can really solve this problem. Thank you, Steph, for showing up with this.

I was one of those girls that was always ‘really careful’ when I was younger because I didn’t want to get pregnant. Every time I thought that though, something else went through my mind – watch me not be able to get pregnant once I’m ready. Fast forward a few years to present day –

Leaving the pity party

On Tuesday night, I fell apart.

I walked in the door and set down my purse, barely able to mumble a hello to my husband who was patiently feeding our teething and temperamental baby his dinner.

I had been at The Yacht Club, having a beer with some co workers as a farewell to my boss. My beloved boss. The nicest, most supportive, funniest, sweetest boss on the face of the entire planet.

I left the party early because I found myself sitting there with my mouth twisted into a grimace, trying to talk with the others about my boss's new job, where he'd live, and what our office plans to do in his absence - all the while feeling like I might have to make a mad dash to the bathroom.

When I got home, I laid on the couch and a few tears escaped. What was this? Was I crying for my boss? Seemed unlike me. I like him a lot, will miss him, but really? This overwrought show of emotion? A little overly dramatic for my taste.

Growing Pains

I walked across my living room floor, strewn with textbooks, Chuck Taylors, Sun Chips, and a dizzying mix of settling hormones and Smith’s songs. My thoughts? Maybe I should have had more children. Earlier, teenagers had filled the house. Laughing, eating, joking about school, comparing stories about classes and teachers, and exuding the powerful force of rawness and youth.

I floated on the periphery, in the kitchen on a rare evening off, cooking some meals for the week so the leftovers wouldn’t go bad. I soaked up their energy. I worked five feet away, yet they seemed unaware I could hear them.