The first time I remember feeling threatened by a man was walking a friend home. He pulled up in his car. I don’t recall what he said. I only remember my friend and I running through a field as fast as we could. We were 9, the same age as my daughter today.
Then there’s the time I and another classmate were at our posts for safety patrol, and a man stood across the street taking photos of us. We didn’t know why because he didn’t say a word to us. We simply knew it felt ...
My most recent lesson learned is that giving can be addictive. Sadly, it’s taken me until age 44 to discover that.
Much as I would love to identify myself as a generous person, I can’t honestly say I am. I donate to various charities each year. I volunteer at my daughter’s school. I generally think kind thoughts about people. But true, heartfelt generosity often alludes me, especially if it’s going to take me outside my comfort zone.
But this month, I learned something about giving. I’m fortunate to work for a college that has an ...
NOTE: This post was actually written Saturday, Sept. 23, 2017, but it had been so long since I posted that I had to wait until my husband (a.k.a, personal IT guy) returned from a weekend trip to help me.
Today was supposed to be the last day of StillADancingQueen.com. My URL was up for renewal and it had been one year, five months and one day since I had written my last post. Sounds a bit like a confessional and perhaps in a way it is.
For a month, I had debated whether to keep the site ...
I have never been one to mourn celebrities. Some big ones have
died in the past year, and while I thought their deaths unfortunate and sad, I
never felt compelled to express my emotions on Facebook or anywhere else. It
all seemed a tad silly to me to shed tears over someone you had never met.
And yet, this morning I could barely pull myself out of bed. A fog
has surrounded my brain all day. I am exhausted with overwhelming melancholy I
cannot shake. I want to crawl into bed and wake up to a new day. I haven ...
A friend of mine turned 41 last month, and she mentioned that she wanted her 30s back. I found her comment intriguing because at the ripe old age of 42, I (usually) don’t feel that way at all.
Sure, I wouldn’t mind my 30-something metabolism and lack of age spots, but what I recall of my 30s is that they were some of the most stressful years of my life. You couldn’t pay me enough to repeat them.
As I pondered my friend’s statement, though, I remembered how I felt turning 41. It kind of sucked ...