Life is a Three-Act Play with a piss-poor Third Act. — My friend, Norm Blacksher, a wise Old-Timer who proudly called himself an Oklahoma Okie once told me: Life is a Three-Act Play with a piss-poor Third Act. Some statements stick and this was one I’ve mulled on more than one occasion. Now that I’ve been twisted, shaped, and bent to…

June 2020 by any Other Name — Some days stick out like a bruised thumb in spite of being otherwise ordinary. Although come to think of it that particular day was too damn hot even for late June in Sacramento. Folks here like to chirp “But it’s a dry heat!” …

thank you for sharing your wisdom, ms. jade. your generosity and care for readers/writers like me is appreciated beyond measure. the cosmos is demanding us earthlings to level up, y'all and it's going to take every ounce of our awareness on personal, spiritual, and earthly planes. don't know what i'd do without sages and seers like you, and thank our lucky stars or guides like you. <3<3<3

#preach! that said... 64 and [how the eff did that happen]... i've been fortunate in that self-employed or now once working the kitchen and now the front of the house... with my colleagues... decades younger than me, the abuela... it's been challenging. never a fan of make-up... [i was a production make-up artist among many things] globbing goo on youthful [poreless, flawless] newbie 'talent' or the seasoned generations [genderless] felt heavy-handed and uncomfortable for me.

#preach <3<3<3 and it feels like running back-to-back marathons during a volcanic eruption. and here. we are. #keeprising #cosmictiming ty, louise

i was 63 when the universe came calling. i'm certain it rang me on multiple occasions but i was too busy and too full of fear to answer my damn phone. until one global pandemic and one craven landlord stripped me of 9,000 sq. ft. of what i believed was my existence and my identity, plunging me into liminal space where enduring, facing, and surviving the darkest nights of my soul would become my salvation.

and we are all going off the deep end. we're all human/earthlings as far as i know. i highlighted the hell out of it only not this one. i know i've been screaming about this craven-greed and need for MORE attention, money, privilege, you name-it-toxic-shit a while now...so i, for one won't blame myself for that $500 talking haircut. #SCREAMyourlungsout2023 and #dosomething2023 [pleadingemojiface]

thank you. one of the best pieces i've read on life with and without booze. i'm still drawn to blurring the edges... only once i realized why... i was able to give myself a fucking break. my relationship w/alcohol isn't nearly as complicated, dark, and twisted as the relationship with myself. until i get that sorted—with or without a drinky-poo or two [or three. or more.]—i'm among the walking wounded.

And other bullshit we learn to swallow. — Barn swallow rescue and triage wasn’t on my calendar. Meaning today the To-Do lists, zoom calls, and chores would be deleted or simply ignored. The cosmos had other designs. What should have been a routine morning dog walk would be cut short by Clementine, my ever-curious and hyper-vigilant 5 lb…