I DIDN'T DIE! by Julianna Rowe

 I Am Not Under the Dirt! by Julianna Rowe

I was driving to work this morning feeling a bit tired of too many things. My phone was ringing. My house had a mouse or three. My family had opinions and my body and brain had a few obvious complaints causing my mood to start heading downhill faster than a runaway shopping cart.

I was driving the same route as usual but when I turned my eyes to the left I saw that huge Cemetery I passed every day.  But this day I saw it differently. Row after row of gravestones. Big and tall granite markers, sweet little ones, faancy ones and plain ones.  Some had fresh flowers, some had planted flowers, others weeds surrounded their resting home. It was then something hit me and for some reason I blurted out loud:  

"Oh dear, you guys are all under that dirt!!  I'm so sorry.  But.... I AM NOT UNDER THE DIRT! I had to pull over and take a picture the spiritual message was so strong!

And after aplogizing to all those under the dirt, I immediately started laughing when it sank in further that my problems didn't seem quite so dramatic or FINAL. The mouse issue was alive, not under the dirt and manageable. My aching back was alive and thriving and also not under the dirt. The family drama from those I love was definitely not under the dirt. The upcoming surgery meant I was quite assuredly alive and apprehensive.... 

Sometimes life isn't about having everything go right.  The victory is simply realizing you're still above ground, still moving, still laughing, and still getting another chance to figure it all out. Not under the dirt.  

Today wasn't perfect, but I wasn't under the dirt and that felt like pretty good news to me. 

Actually I was a hit in the side of the head with a spiritual 2 x 4 of which I am thankful for!  

www.TheHappyNewsLady.com

Have You Noticed the Crazy Facebook Ads Lately - by Julianna Rowe

Have You Noticed the Crazy Facebook Ads Lately:    By Julianna Rowe

If I see one more miracle ad on Facebook, I may need medication. Actually, scratch that. The ad is probably already pushing medication.

Every day I scroll through social media and discover that some poor woman who weighed 300 pounds on Monday became a size 3 by Thursday using an ancient secret discovered in a remote village where everyone lives to be 127 years old. Or is doing Tai Chi. Apparently all she had to do was drink a purple liquid, stand on one foot, and think positive thoughts.

And what about the meals delivered to my door.  Mediterranean, Korean, Spanish, all protein, big man’s meal, Factor, Home Chef, Goldbelly, and buy now pay later.  What?  Why I can even order human grade dog food that comes in dry ice with packaging that melts in water. At this point the hardest part isn't cooking. It's choosing.

Then there are the doctors who "don't want you to know." Know what? And that is after "follow below in first comment." And then an hour and a half video with an ending:  Order here.

If there is a secret cure for wrinkles, fat, arthritis, debt, loneliness, and mice, I promise you doctors know about it. And there is a belly shot you can order and its fat free.

Then there is the fellow who made $87 million from home while working only 12 minutes a week. Twelve minutes. I spend longer than that looking for my reading glasses.

Wait, I almost forgot the people who worked for ten years for the company who had gathered a portfolio of hundreds of clients but the new guy did it in four hours using AI.  The husband goes home and tells his wife he got fired and will have to door dash.  Wife says, oh no, you are going to learn that AI course and it only cost thirty thousand.  

The next ad tells me my knees hurt because I am missing a rare mineral only found in a Himalayan cave guarded by monks and goats.

Then I learn my belly fat is not my fault. It is apparently caused by a mysterious sleeping parasite, hormone imbalance, toxic liver, slow metabolism, hidden inflammation, bad gut bacteria, and Mercury being in retrograde. I am beginning to think my body is hosting a committee meeting.

And let's not forget the miracle gadgets, miracle mushroom coffee, celebrity teeth whitening, reverse-aging gummies, and a 104-year-old woman who swears her secret is eating buttered raisins while standing barefoot in the dew.

 Wait:  There are more: Neck stretchers. Belly patches. Magnetic socks. Copper bracelets. Electric shoes. Pillows that cure everything short of bad relatives.  And sheets that ground you to the earth as if you were hugging several trees all at once. One ad promised I could erase twenty years of aging in fourteen days. At my age, I'd settle for finding my car keys.

Some of the ads at the bottom of the page are so ridiculous I won't even click on them. No thank you. Grossville. Those photos do not pull me in they push me up up and away. If curiosity killed the cat, Facebook ads would finish off the entire litter.

The truth is, most of us know there are no magic shortcuts. Health takes work. Relationships take work. Money takes work. Even cleaning out a toaster takes work. Trust me on that one. At this point, if every miracle product actually worked, we'd all be skinny, rich, wrinkle-free, debt-free, pain-free, and living to be 147 years old. Instead, I think I'll save my money, drink my diet coke, and keep scrolling.

Although I have to admit... If I see an ad promising to get rid of mice, medical bills, and political arguments all at the same time, I might click it.

p.s.  That photo is of my Granddaughter, and she is single.

My Car Wouldn't Start!.........by Julianna Rowe

The Day My Car Wouldn't Start      by Julianna Rowe

I had a moment this week. One of those moments where you begin questioning your age, your memory, and whether you should still be operating machinery.

I came out of my chiropractor appointment, climbed into my car, and pushed the button to start it. Nothing. I pushed it again. Nothing. Immediately my mind went into financial panic mode.

"Oh no. Battery, Starter, Alternator, Thousands of dollars! Homeless? Guess I'll be living in the chiropractor parking lot." I sat there for a few seconds trying to figure out what disaster had just struck. Then I happened to glance down an see that I wasn't pushing the Start button, I was pushing the Volume button on the radio the entire time. 

My car was perfectly healthy. The only thing getting more powerful was the radio. I had spent several minutes diagnosing a catastrophic mechanical failure while turning up the volume.

Now, before anyone starts sending me brochures for assisted living facilities, I would like to point out that modern cars have approximately 4,276 buttons.  The Start button sits right next to other buttons. The other buttons all look important and apparently one of them looks important enough that I mistook it for the Start button.

The good news is my battery is fine. The starter is fine. The alternator is fine and the chiropractor is fine. The only thing that may need servicing is the driver. I finally pushed the correct button. The car started immediately and I drove away laughing. 

Well... eventually laughing. First I looked around to make sure nobody had seen me. Because some stories are funny and some stories are funny only after witnesses leave. That's my modern car syndrome for today.

Back in my day a car had: A key, a steering whee,l and a radio. 

Now they have: A Start button. A Stop button. A Volume button. A Screen button. A Button To Explain The Other Buttons. And naturally the two most important buttons are right next to each other. Fact is I feel like I am driving an oversized computer on wheels.  There are buttons and guages I have never used because I do not know what they are for. And the manual is likened to the Websters Dictionary.  I only use it when I have to figure out how to re-fix my headlights when my son turns them off the automatic section.  

Go ahead and image that in an 8x10 glossy!  I get in the car.  Push. Nothing. "OH DEAR GOD. Not today." Push again. Nothing. Now my mind was racing.

 

"Starter?" 

"Alternator?"

"Battery?"

"Transmission?

"Will I be living in this parking lot? Kitty litter in the back seat?"  Meanwhile my radio volume is quietly going:  2... 4... 7... 12... 18...

NOTICE MY LICENSE PLATE SAYS:   ALSWELL!!   

(Yes, I am aware I my creative urge met up with my license plate.)

Garlic Breath! An Outhouse Might be Easier and More Helpful! by Julianna Rowe

 

Garlic Breath: An Outhouse Might be Easier

I have a question. Has anyone else noticed that some people can eat one clove of garlic and create a fifteen-foot exclusion zone around themselves? I'm not talking about a pleasant hint of garlic. I'm talking about the kind of garlic breath that arrives three minutes before the person does.  You know the type. You're sitting in a movie theater minding your own business. The lights go down. The previews start. Then suddenly something drifts across the room. At first you think there must be a plumbing issue. Then you wonder if a skunk somehow got into the building. Then it hits you. Nope. Row 7, Seat B. Garlic Man has arrived. The amazing thing is that garlic breath doesn't travel in a straight line. It swirls. It lingers. It seeks out innocent bystanders. It creeps over theater seats and around corners like a low-budget horror movie. Scientists should study it. The military should probably not. And don't get me started on onion breath. Garlic breath is at least trying to be Italian. Onion breath is just angry. You can be standing in line at the grocery store and suddenly find yourself wondering if someone is carrying a sack of onions in their mouth.  The worst part is that nobody knows how to handle the situation. There is no polite way to say:

"Sir, your breath just peeled the paint off my shopping cart."

Or:

"Ma'am, I believe your lunch is still actively participating in this conversation."

Instead, we smile politely while slowly backing away like we're negotiating with a bear. Personally, I think movie theaters should hand out emergency mints with every ticket purchase. Forget 3D glasses. Give me breath insurance. Because if I'm paying twelve dollars for popcorn, I shouldn't have to spend the entire movie wondering whether the smell next to me is garlic, onions, or something that escaped from an abandoned outhouse.

Just saying.  "An outhouse might be easier and more useful."

(Photo by chatGPT)

I Knew Something My Physician Didn't! by Julianna Rowe

 I Knew Something My Physician Didn't!  by Julianna Rowe

This morning driving to work I noticed the leaves on several varieties of trees were turning over. Now before you young folks run to Google, us old-timers know exactly what that means. Rain. The leaves flip their little undersides up like they're trying to get a better look at the sky and ask, "Are we doing this today?"

I mentioned it to my doctor once by saying, "Its going to rain today, the leaves on the trees have flipped over." She looked at me like I had escaped from school without my diploma.   

"Really? I have never heard of such a thing." she said.

"Yes, really," I replied, adding with a hidden hint of arrogance that maybe she should Google it. Then I added the leaves know more than the Weather Channel. She doesnt always appreciate my sense of humor and I do try to remain business like due to the fact every fifteen minutes cost me another several hundred dollars. Yet I continued anyway adding my weekly woes to our appointment...... which at the end of she commented I may need Prozac. 

"Matter of fact," I said, "I think nature has been trying to warn me about the last week of my life." That is when she interupted with, "Do you feel like you want to harm yourself?"   I said, "No! It's just life! The extreminator says the mice have "probably" disappeared, but I will believe that when I don't see it. My son's car battery died and his car key went missing. The police had to come open the car which is one of the advantages of living in a small town. A boyfriend of a friend called his parents and moved out, takin the furniture with him. And somewhere in the middle of all that, I was trying to schedule surgery while carrying on a serious conversation with my cat  Bob. 

At this point I don't need a weather forecast. I need a crisis forecast. The leaves weren't predicting rain in fact they were predicting a full-blown weather event of which my physician, who is supposed to know everything that I don't, somehow missed that one. And No, I don't need Prozac.  

Bob, meanwhile, remains calm. I suspect he knows more than he's telling me.  Every time something goes wrong, he sits there washing his face like none of this concerns him. A battery dies? Bob blinks. Family drama? Bob blinks. Mouse infestation? Bob blinks. The stock market could collapse and Bob's biggest concern would still be whether his dinner arrived on time. Bob the cat has seen enough around here to qualify as a licensed therapist, if he could only talk.

Maybe that's the lesson. When life starts flipping upside down like the leaves on the trees, maybe we don't need all the answers. But we do need to realize that baramentric pressure affects  more than the weather. Put pressure on your brain and watch the results. 

Maybe we just need to find a patch of grass, put our feet on the ground, and remember that eventually the storm passes.

Although if another boyfriend moves out and takes the keys, all bets are off.  Somewhere in the family lineage this surely has to be my fault? Or it's simply: "The leaves knew trouble was coming. They just forgot to mention it wasn't weather."  I am still tickled I knew something my Physician didn't!!  That'll keep me going for quite a while. By the way, its the Silver Maple, the Poplar, and the Willow tree's that will give you a good twelve hour heads up.  

"Feets on the Ground?" by Julianna Rowe

 

"Feets on the Ground"

Everyone says we need to "ground ourselves." Walk barefoot in the grass. Stand in a stream or hug a tree. They say it will connect you with the earth and you will feel its energy flow through your body.

Wonderful idea, but I have a few questions. Where exactly is this magical patch of grass? And where is this crystal-clear spring-fed stream that will cleanse me to my core and send me skipping through life with renewed energy and purpose? The grass near my apartment has been visited by every dog in Middleton. It is also monitored blade by blade by a guy in a truck called "Tru Green" or "The Lawn Doctor."

I find that an interesting play on words.

"Tru" Green isn't very true if I can't wiggle my piggies in the grass without worrying about what was sprayed on it last Tuesday. It's true alright that I might turn green from being poisoned before I absorb enough earth energy to float home.

And The Lawn Doctor? Really? That doctor spends a good portion of his career killing everything that naturally belongs there. Dandelions, clover, and all the little things that bees seem to enjoy a whole lot more than perfectly manicured lawns. Then there is the grass near the road. That patch has spent forty years absorbing exhaust fumes, road salt, and whatever else gets tossed at it by passing traffic.

Somehow I don't think Mother Earth intended that to be my healing sanctuary. Let me add that I'm not entirely convinced I want to stand in the stream either. The stream probably contains three shopping carts, a bicycle, and at least one mystery item nobody wants to identify.

And these feet aren't twenty years old anymore. By the time I walk barefoot across a gravel parking lot to reach this magical stream, I'll need grounding from the pain alone.

Yet I think there may be something to the idea. Maybe grounding isn't always about bare feet and hugging trees. Maybe it's about remembering where you are.

Looking up at the sky.

Petting a cat.

Drinking coffee or sweet tea on the porch.

Watching flowers bloom.

Calling your son on his birthday before you completely forget and have to scramble for your phone.

Taking a shower and washing away a hard day.

Maybe grounding is simply returning to yourself.

And if that's true, I think I'm overdue.

Still, if I'm driving along someday and happen to spot a patch of clean, untouched grass that hasn't been visited by dogs, treated by lawn doctors, or marinated in traffic fumes, I just might pull over and give it a try. Then again, before hugging a tree, I would probably look around first to make sure nobody was watching. Because while I am interested in reconnecting with nature, I am not interested in becoming the topic of conversation at the local coffee shop.

"Did you hear about that woman hugging the oak tree over by the highway?"

"Yep. She looked very grounded."

Maybe that's the secret after all. A little sunshine, a little laughter, a little fresh air, and a reminder that no matter how crazy life gets, we can still find our way back to ourselves. It's all about energy, isn't it?

The Space Between Time..... by Julianna Rowe

The Space Between Time:  by Julianna Rowe aka Nana D

The other day my precious granddaughter Kennede got engaged. I saw the photo of her showing her best friend her ring. The smiles, the excitement, the future all stretched out in front of her. Then I found another photo. A little blonde girl sitting beside me, grinning at the camera. The strange thing is, in my mind those two pictures were taken about six months apart. Reality insists it was much longer.

I don't know where the years went. One minute I was rocking a tiny newborn to sleep. Then tying ponytails, buying Christmas presents, baking cookies, playing dress up, wiping tears due to a skinned knee. swimming in Nana's pool, and always wondering if they'll ever pick up their toys. 

The next minute its Prom pictures, drivers tests, a first car, college, finding a good job, and then... bingo... they're picking wedding colors and talking about forever. 

People always tell you to enjoy every moment because children grow up fast. I never believed them. Turns out they were right. 

Congratulations, Kennede. May your future be filled with laughter, friendship, and the kind of love that still makes you smile years from now.

And if you ever have children of your own, don't blink. Trust me on that one.  

I love you forever, Nana D.