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Take Care, Week Twelve in the No Longer New Abnormal
This past week I heard of the death of two people from my past. I heard from three people presently who are ill, and we are all hearing about too many in our world who are in pain, who are suffering, or who have experienced significant losses. Life is precious.
Ahhh, Naps, The Forty-Eighth Week in the Second Year of the New Abnormal
Napping was my top priority this past week. They were usually twenty to thirty minutes max. They made a tremendous difference in my mood. I was able to get through the week with a greater capacity for patience. I had more room for the things that usually get under my skin, like loud car horns in grid lock, or the annoying overspill from packages protected with shredded paper or other messy stuffing.
Spilled Coffee, The Forty-Seventh Week of the Second Year in the New Abnormal
I spilled my coffee earlier this week. And I then let out a loud string of expletives to vocalize my frustration. I cleaned up the mess and then rushed to work. Not the way I had wanted to start my day. My reaction, though provoked, made it clear that I need some down time. It may not be the vacation that I’ve fantasized, but even an evening in, or a task free afternoon will do at this point.
Daylight Savings Time, The Forty-Fourth Week of the Second Year in the New Abnormal
I voted early yesterday. I like my councilwoman and I wanted to keep her in office. What I don’t get to vote for is the abolishment of daylight savings time. We turned the clocks back last night, and ostensibly we got an extra hour of sleep. Then in April we “spring” ahead losing that hour. I say, no thank you.
I Am a Jewish Psychotherapist, The Forty-First Week of the Second Year in the New Abnormal
Do I speak of the unspeakable? This past week marks a tragic low in inhumane acts. I cannot get my head around it. As a Jewish psychotherapist I am in a similar position as I was when we faced the pandemic. I am going through something that I am also hearing from my clients. The sadness, along with so many other emotions, have been omnipresent this past week.
What is Self-Care? The Fortieth Week of the Second Year in the New Abnormal
When I was growing up in suburban New Jersey I didn’t know anything about self-care. The first experience I had that felt like self-care was when my mom treated me to a facial at Strawbridge and Clothier. They were having a special promotion. Although I couldn’t control my weigh, we could try to tackle my acne this one time.
Hygge, The Thirty-Eighth Week of the Second Year in the New Abnormal
Rest & Activity, The Twenty-Fifth Week in the Second Year of the New Abnormal
Goodbye Grumpiness, The Twenty-Second Week of the Second Year in the New Abnormal
I noticed that by the end of my work week I was short on compassion. My go to was frustration, impatience, or barely disguised anger. It was simple things. I was missing paperwork that had been promised me. A pair of reading glasses broke. And then there were a string of simple annoyances.
A Full Moon, The Eighteenth Week in the Second Year of the New Abnormal
It was a full moon this week. I love looking up on a clear night and viewing the magical, mystical moon between the high rises. Ever since I was a child I’ve found the moon an enchantress. Myths have their place, and for many years I counted on myths to justify my outsized love of a full moon. In times of feeling invisible I felt seen by the moon.
Our Relationship With the Weather, The Seventeenth Week of the Second Year in the New Abnormal
Growing up we wore rubbers or rubber boots, gently stretching them until they covered our shoes. It was a hassle taking them on and off. But to keep our leather saddle shoes somewhat dry, we sported rubbers over our two-toned oxfords. These days my low rubber boots are the only shoes I need when it’s wet outside. They keep the water from soaking my socks and allow me to walk about in the rain.
Sunrise Reflections, The Ninth Week in the Second Year of the New Abnormal
Unlike many recommendations for sleep hygiene, I do not go to sleep the same time each night. Some nights I work late, some nights I enjoy the theater or other live entertainment. Some nights I’m reading, while others I’m catching up on a television show. I do my best to listen to signs of being tired if I’m at home, and I put myself to sleep accordingly. Inevitably, this leaves me in a perpetual state of never quite catching up with the shows I enjoy.
Bargains Abound, Week Forty-Eight in the New Abnormal
I just deleted 129 emails from my inbox. I’m not that popular, it’s simply that retailers with black Friday weekend deals want my money. Some of the emails remind me that I looked at something I chose not to buy in case I need to see it again. I do not.
Busy or Not; Week Forty-Two in the New Abnormal
As Autumn has created an uptick in activity, I am both excited to get out more and apprehensive as well. The surprising outcome of the pandemic was that I enjoyed my quiet time. What was surprising about it was that I lived a busy life and enjoyed juggling a schedule that allowed me to partake in the best New York City offers. The theater and museums were a mainstay for me. When everything shut down, I questioned how I would get on. The answer was very well.
Make it Quick, Week Forty-One in the New Abnormal
Life is Beautiful, Living is Hard; Week Thirty-Eight in the New Abnormal
I woke up this morning to a stunning sunrise. I slept well and was in a better mood than I had been the last couple of days. Sunrises bring hope. They help me to begin the day with gratitude. The day is lovely. It’s warm enough to avoid outwear, but cool enough to enjoy the breezes on my walk. The outdoor cafes are filled with happy brunch diners. The city is moving along nicely.
Scaffolding, Week Thirty-Four in the New Abnormal
Pre-Covid, I took a wonderful writing workshop with Emily Raboteau at the Key West Writer’s Workshop. Not only was it a beautiful setting, but the guest speakers and the workshop itself were invaluable. One thing Professor Raboteau taught us was the necessity of proper scaffolding to support the writing. It took time, but I built my scaffolding. It’s been more precarious than proper, but I worked with the materials at hand and I’m finding my way.
A Good Morning, Week Thirty-Three in the New Abnormal
Dashed Plans, Week Twenty-Five in the New Abnormal
Happy Halloween, Week 27 in the Time of Transition
The first time I wore a mask I was three years old and was aware of the tiny holes for my nostrils, and the slit for my mouth. Not easy breathing, but so exciting to this little girl. I was a cat, Felix the Cat, to be precise. My one piece, highly-flammable costume had a small tie in the back of the black and white jumpsuit. I held a small paper bag for my trick or treat goodies next to my sister Sharyn and my dad who came home from work early to escort us up and down our New Jersey suburban block.