WriteOut of Her Mind

With Father’s Day approaching, I’ve been thinking a great deal about the fathers in my life. 

My car is not fancy. 

It was my fault. 

Seconds count. According to research, you will live longer if you and your significant other  kiss for a count of six seconds each time you share a kiss with each other.

No matter what this week throws in your path, just keep your focus: there is a long weekend on the horizon. Just a few short days to go.

You know what they say about best intentions, and therefore you know where that leads. 

Mental health breaks can be as simple as a drive to the garden nursery on a damp Saturday morning, to stand in the sheltered soft light of the greenhouse and breathe in the air of all the blooming plants and flowers that surround you in perfect rows. 

It was 4am and my internal alarm clock decided that sleep was over. A waning gibbous moon shone bright, clear white above the row of homes that stretch out in my neighbourhood. There is something magic in the dark morning before the day wakes up.

I’m not going to ask for Cadbury Creme Eggs this year (the British version, because I’m no amateur). I’m not going to do it. I will not get my hopes up.

On a rare day, I found myself home alone. The house was mine, all mine. Solitude. Sigh. 

I never thought I would say this, but I’d like to thank U.S.  national security officials for proving that I am not, in fact, the most inept user of current technologies, though my TikTok account may suggest otherwise. 

Spring has finally arrived, at least on the calendar, and with it a truth that I have long known but am now ready to formally declare:  I married a marmot. 

One of the key aspects to my successful relationship with my spouse, the Carpenter, is my ability to knock this emotionally grounded man temporarily off kilter. It’s my love language and I express it well.

I do not enjoy grocery shopping because I do not enjoy cooking. Well, to be fair, I do enjoy cooking if I have time and resources to do it properly. I rarely have either, and almost never both at the same time.

Every two years, I prioritize my eye exam. By that I mean, the nice office administrator of my optometrist office calls to remind me it’s time to book my check-up, then books the appointment, and then calls me to remind me to show up for said appointment. And I do.