Biking
One-Word Wednesday 11/24/21
Tag: Life experiences
Hello, Anxiety: “Two Definitions, not Wun”
This blog category is the journaling and journey-ing of my quest to say (with cautious sincerity) “Hello, Anxiety” and to take a look at the condition from my “me-andering” views.
Here are two definitions of ANXIETY. First, from Oxford Languages:
Well, Oxford Languages summed it up pretty well: “Worry, Unease, Nervousness,” otherwise known as WUN. (Truth in blogging: I just made up that acronym.)
Unnecessary sidebar: Did you know that “wun” is an actual word?! At least according to the unrivaled urbandictionary.com.
Uh oh, “Walking with the occasional burst of running for a few seconds, or minutes at best,” not to mention “let’s hope I survive” both sound eerily, anxiously familiar.
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A “hypothetical“ convo between Anxiety, Developing Truth and Me:
Me: “Anxiety ain’t gonna wun over me. I’m gonna wun from it.”
Anxiety: “We’ll see.”
Developing Truth: “Neal, it’s not about being adversarial, combative or managerial with Anxiety.”
Anxiety: “Again, we will see.”
Developing Truth: “Breathe and try again, Neal.”
Me: “Okay. I ain’t gonna wun from it. At least I’m gonna try not to.”
Developing Truth: “That’s enough for now.”
Anxiety: “We. Will. See.”
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The second definition of Anxiety is from “my sister,” Anxiety Girl:
Whew, that’s enough defining for wun day.
My Saturday Evening Post: “Who Let the Fish Out? A Trawling Adventure on the Sea Dawg”
Last month, Robert and I took our second day trip over to the University of Georgia’s Marine Extension and Sea Grant on Skidaway Island.
“By advancing research, education and training, and outreach, UGA Marine Extension and Georgia Sea Grant promotes the economic, cultural and environmental health of Georgia’s coast and prepare citizens to become good stewards of coastal ecosystems and watershed resources.” — Marine Extension and Sea Grant website
A cloudy day, with rain threatening, we braved our away onto the Sea Dawg, UGA’s 43’ research vessel.
Here’s how UGA described our adventure …
Here’s Robert looking excited and normal (and a little bit like a dark Gilligan) …
And here’s me with a sort of seated and crazed I’m-not-so-sure-about-this-floating-Dawg-thing look …
We did two trawls, and although at first glance each catch looked like it held basically one type of little fish, upon closer inspection there were a couple of dozen different fish species, as well as sting ray, jellyfish, sponges, coral, etc.
Thankfully, these trawls on the salty Wilmington River brought up very little trash.
We can’t wait for the next adventure on the water. Thanks, UGA. Woof.
Five Friday Happy Bringers 11/19/21
Today I’m resurrecting an old blog category I used to publish each Friday where I listed five things which bring joy to my life. I ingeniously named the category “Five Friday Happy Bringers.” It’s a weekly gratitude journal of sorts.
So here’s today’s listing.
1. Brilliant fall, even in Savannah.
2. Our body’s natural ability to breathe.
3. Old shoes which fit so comfortably.
4. Robert’s homemade chicken pot pies.
5. This little blog, which is enabling me to reconnect with a small but significant sense of purpose.
FABULOUS FRIDAY AND WEEKEND TO YOU ALL!
“Robert and …” #4
A blog category of pics I’ve taken of Hubby Robert and … well, just about anything.
Robert and a Really Big Steak
A few years back, Robert and I were in Atlanta to celebrate our anniversary. On previous trips, we had passed by this architecturally interesting building off I-85 just north of the city.
Wait. What? You don’t find it all that interesting? Well, Robert didn’t either. But in the spirit of blissful anniversarial celebration, I insisted that we go for our dinner festivities.
You can see why, right? Doesn’t the name itself make you happy? All circque du soleil-ish and island-drinky!
We walked through the classy daiquiri bar to get to our table. Walked too quickly, if you ask me.
Robert wouldn’t let me stop. Even though they had a wonderful selection …
Robert was hungry, so we quickly perused the menu, and my eyes immediately found the Tomahawk for two. It WAS our anniversary after all.
Here’s Cirque’s menu description of the big steak:
Neither of us being very good with numbers, 36 ounces sounded like enough for both of us.
After endearing anniversary chit-chat (“But why don’t you want to celebrate with that pretty blue daiquiri?”), 36 ounces finally made their way to our table.
We were both simply shocked. (Why didn’t we do our math homework in eighth grade?!) Here’s my husband, with a somewhat crazed and confused look on his celebratory face, holding our dinner soon after it arrived. It was far too heavy for me to pick up, but I wanted a scrapbook pic for posterity.
Hours later, and 36 plus ounces heavier, we slowly waddled back past the daiquiri bar (I was too stuffed to take a final longing glance at the “Blue Mutha”—the Tomahawk had “Shut my Mouth”) and into the Atlanta midnight.
A BIG anniversary celebration.
T-Shirt Tuesday: “Abu and Rbu”
Some fourteen years ago, when older daughter Amy announced that she was pregnant with our first grandchild, I was both ecstatic and a tad nervously hesitant. A grandfather?! Seriously?! At this stage in my life? Am I even old enough to be a grandfather … officially?!
The old blog post below explains (in excruciating detail) how I ended up being called “Abu” (Abuelo = Grandfather) by that first grandchild Daniel—and all the other ones who came later.
Younger daughter Emily is a whiz at making custom t-shirts, so she recently created these two for Robert and me. Grandson Daniel came up with the idea of calling Robert “Rbu” to go along with my “Abu,” making us a weirdly matching set.
The old Abu post …
And here are a few early pics of Daniel and me …
And Daniel today …
Yes, my favorite word is “Abu.”
Neal’s Post from the Past: “Solitude & the Absent Smile”
Here’s a rather messily photographed past post from back in 2014. I may still have had a flip phone. I’m loath to change.
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Yes I admit it, I’m an optimist. Pollyanna’s a very good buddy. We take tap dancing together.
What I actually mean is I’m USUALLY a somewhat cheery person. But not always. A while back, I underwent a fairly unpleasant medical procedure. (I’m a big baby when it comes to anything that hurts at a .5 or higher on a 1-10 pain level.)
Here I am in the waiting room, reading about blogging:
Finally I was called back to the eerily quiet and humanly empty procedure room where I had to wait in nervous solitude for quite a while. The doctor was running way behind.
I got bored pretty quickly and started playing with the IPhone’s … reverse camera capability. Doesn’t that sound better than saying I took a bunch of selfies?
I looked at these terrible pictures, grimaced at their muted and otherworldly haziness, realized I wasn’t smiling–and started to delete them.
Then it hit me.
“Get real, Neal. It’s okay not to smile. It’s okay to be muted and hazy … and to be by yourself for a while. Being out of focus doesn’t mean being out of life.”
“Robert and …” #2
A blog category of pics I’ve taken of Hubby Robert and … well, just about anything.
Robert and my Father
Neal’s Post from the Past: “Sometimes I Get What I Deserve”
Here’s an old post from way back in 2014 (when I was still late middle-age).
So today I ate lunch at Savannah’s hip Green Truck Neighborhood Pub on Habersham Street.
Here’s how the story went down.
As some of you know, I no longer bring meat into the house–it’s all vegetables, fruits, legumes, nuts and seeds there. But I occasionally indulge while eating out. And for some some reason, today I had an all-too-powerful-to-ignore-or-resist hankering for a hunk of grilled meat. So I pulled up to the Green Truck, belly-ed up to the bar to avoid the table wait and ordered the Green Truck Classic Burger, described in their menu as “plain and simple as an old truck: lettuce, tomato, onion and our soon-to-be-famous house-made pickle.” (I added cheddar.)
Yum. No, double yum!
I kept furtively looking around to see if any of my vegetarian friends might have followed me inside. I was nervously poised to slam my meaty plate in front of one of the folks on either side of me at the bar.
Anyway, I savored every moment, every bite. (Do Not Tell Anyone About This! It’s Just Between You And Me.)
Well, when I finished, (and be forewarned, the rest of the story is probably TMI, so stop right now, if you like, and you will still have my burger story), I went to the non-gender-specific bathroom–I’m so 2014– before waddling back to the car.
There was the coolest retro sink inside.
And the typical cabinet.
But for some reason I glanced at the cabinet again …
… and thought, “I wonder what’s in that little cabinet? And if the contents are also non-gender-specific?”
(P.S. When inviting me to birthday or Avon parties, put some of those plastic child resistant lock things on your cabinets. I’ve never been able to figure them out.)
So, of course I reached up and opened the cabinet door. Wouldn’t you? No?! (I also opened a door in a huge hallway in the Biltmore House in Asheville some years back, and a piercing alarm went off, terribly embarrassing my family and friends. Me? When things like that happen, I just try to go to my Happy Place inside and block out externals. There might have been an “Alarm Will Sound” notice on the door, I can’t remember, but really, how often would the Biltmores have changed the batteries?)
Lo and behold, an alarm of sorts also went off when I opened the cabinet door inside the Green Truck’s non-gender-specific bathroom. Here’s what was scrawled on the inside of the door:
I walked out of the bathroom beet red.
(P.S. II: I was so taken aback by the message that I completely forgot to see what was inside the cabinet. If someone wouldn’t mind, would you rush over to the Green Truck, pretend to have to use the bathroom, and snap a pic or two of the inside of that cabinet so I can go to sleep tonight? Thank you.)
