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Fear, Grace and Silver Linings in the Age of a Pandemic

I wanted to write a piece on having grace in this pandemic, but I’m literally the last person who should do that. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve said, “I hate everyone” in the last month. Grace seems to be the one quality that eludes me. I’m swimming in the feelings of anger, betrayal, superiority and self righteousness. Those emotions have, over the last week, settled into their base components of fear, grief, disappointment and despair. At the bottom of it all, I am so sad. Sadness is my least favorite emotion. I never know quite what to do with sadness, but I feel compelled to sit with it for the moment. I feel like sadness may be the one emotion that can propel me in the right direction.

I am going to try to steer clear of politicizing this or fall into the trap of trying to debunk the myriad of conspiracy theories we’ve all seen on social media and YouTube. Greater minds than mine have offered analysis to those theories and if you don’t believe them, I can’t imagine anything I say will make a difference. However, I would like to introduce a presupposition for the rest of this blog. It’s simply that COVID is an actual disease, and that it is contagious and has a higher mortality rate than the flu. I know people are still debating the later part of that statement, because we don’t have our arms around how many people actually have been infected with COVID. But that problem is hardly unique to COVID. We never have a real number of people infected with the flu each year either. So hopefully we can at least agree on that. Additionally, context is important to perspective, and I’d like to give you a little insight into why I feel and believe the way I do.

When I was 29 years old I contracted viral meningitis. I was in the best shape of my life. I was single and childless and I worked out like it was my second job. I was rocking. I was pretty sure nothing could knock me down, and then one day I got a headache that didn’t go away. The headache spread into a backache and I quickly found myself overcome with fatigue. Within days, I was having lapses in memory and trouble with word finding. The pain was like nothing I’d experienced. I would be on percocet round the clock for the next three months. I remember my brother talking to me and I kept asking him to repeat himself. Although I knew he was speaking English, I could not understand what he was saying. I cried in my neurologists office and asked if I’d be stupid forever. He assured me I would not be, but that it would be a long road. I couldn’t work full time again for almost three months. My first day back I remember trying to put things in alphabetical order seemed like a monumental and exhausting task. It was devastating and humbling and it was the first time I realized how quickly things can be taken from you. It was the first time I realized that you can only mind over matter until your mind doesn’t matter, and your body betrays you.

I became a hospice nurse in 1999. I’ve spent the better part of the last two decades watching people die. I have a short list of diagnoses I don’t want to die of. I have a shorter list of diagnoses that might make me see suicide as a viable alternative to the disease process in front of me. COVID does not fall into the later, but it does fall into the former. When it is severe it is devastating. You know of the respiratory issues. We are learning about the associated hyper coagulation leading to strokes and blood clots in the lungs and extremities. Just as people begin to feel they are recovering their own immune system goes into hyper-drive between day 7 and day 10, leading to a number of inflammatory processes that are life altering if not deadly. People have ended up in burn units, because their skin seems to inflame and unravel off them. People have lost limbs. People have gone into multi system organ failure and end up on dialysis. People are on the vent for days, weeks, months. Multiple hospital systems have the same shared data that 30% of COVID patients that enter the ICU never leave. Those that do are not going home back to life as it was. They are looking at months or years of rehab and are likely forever altered. They will not be the same. Their family will not be the same.

Luckily, in most of the United States we have not exceeded our capacity to care for them. If we do, bedside providers and administrative staff will be tasked with navigating how to decide who receives the resources and who doesn’t. It’s a bio-ethical nightmare. The moral distress of those choices will never leave the healthcare workers involved. We will carry it with us always. Already healthcare systems are preparing for this. Policies and practice are being developed for when we may have to take someone who is benefiting from artificial ventilation off the vent, because the guy in the next bed has a better chance. It will be battlefield triage. It will be necessary and it will be reasonable, but it will be an avoidable death. In my mind it will never be right.  The time to do what is right will have passed us by then. You may find comfort knowing that you have a clean health history and you are young and strong, but it’s not that simple. If you are a police officer shot in the line of duty or a firefighter who falls off a roof and you need a vent, but the COVID patient next to you has a better chance, you will not get the vent. I think people fail to realize there won’t only be a shortage of resources for those unfortunate enough to have severe COVID. There will be a shortage for everyone. Trauma patients, cancer patients, postpartum moms who hemorrhage, everyone will lack resources. It will come down to who has the best chance of good outcome. We are not moral police and you don’t want us to be, that is a slippery slope for healthcare. We treat the drunk driver and their victim the same. If you need heroic medicine your chance of getting it relies on who is in the bed next to you.

In the beginning it truly did feel like we were all in this together. I think it’s obvious to everyone that is no longer the case. There seems to be two factions with variations within them, but for the most part there are the Skywalkers and Yodas. I keep thinking of that scene in Empire Strikes Back where Luke wants to go save his friends and prepares to leave even as Yoda tells him he is not ready. Luke say’s “I am not afraid”. To which Yoda replies “You will be”.

As a member of the Yoda faction let me be clear I hope to God I am wrong. I have never wanted to be wrong so badly in my life. I hope this is an overreaction. I hope it’s never as bad as I fear it could become. However in the face of nearly 100,000 deaths in four months and a skyrocketing unemployment rate I feel there is much to fear, for all of us.

The paradox of these factions is that moving forward with the supposition that there really is little to fear in relaxing infection control measures, and we have a catastrophic outcome with an overloaded healthcare system and rolling shutdowns. Those who preached sustained early shutdown will claim they were right. Alternatively the supposition that there is much to fear, and acting on that notion by sustained masking and social distancing will likely lead to the health system not being overwhelmed, and there will be no second wave that shuts us down again. Those who believe it was all an overreaction can claim that they were right all along. Sometimes we become victims of our own success. I hope that those of us who error on the side of paranoia suffer that fate.

Fear. We hate it. It’s weak. Losers are motivated by fear. It’s completely un-American. Or is it? Fear is instinctual. Fear keeps you alive. Fear keeps you from making some bad fucking decisions in life. I am admittedly terrified by COVID. I am so frightened for those who have already been affected either in health or economics. I am fearful that I or a loved one may suffer the same fate. Unless you’re delusional this is not a “buck up camper” moment. It’s been proposed by a particular news station that now is the time for courage. We should be brave and get back out there. I never understood how painfully dismissive it is to hear things like “it will be OK” or “don’t be afraid” until things weren’t OK and I had good reason to be afraid. Such easy words are most often spoken by someone who either has an agenda, lacks empathy, or has never known loss. They are the words of someone who leads from behind. It’s not necessarily from bad intentions. I know that. The intention is to push you forward, and keep you from getting stuck in fear. But when you put it in such simplistic terms you lead from behind, and no one is ever really following the person who leads from behind. So, when you are not afraid but your friend is. Please ask them why they are afraid. They may have very good reasons to fear. Then, if it isn’t already obvious how you can ease the fear, ask how you can help. It’s likely there is something you can do. That is how you lead from the front.

I realize some people still see no reason to fear in this pandemic. Some people think it’s politically motivated and perhaps a hoax. I suspect they are the most afraid of all of us, or they wouldn’t resort to that level of denial and magical thinking. I’m not knocking it. I wish that is where I was right now. I have utilized both coping mechanisms as a respite in times when I needed an escape. If you are one of those people, I don’t blame you, but I’ve got nothing for you. I wish you were right, but all evidence points to the contrary.

Grace has been so hard for me. I hate that grace eludes me, because I am so grateful for the grace others have given me. I try to pride myself on being liberal with grace when it comes to others. As we grow we see life through all of our experiences. It filters our perceptions, and when we are healthy we view others from a high place with no obstructions. We can pull in all of our experiences and knowledge to view those around us. When we are in crisis, it’s as if we fall into a hole or narrow canyon and our view is obstructed. We can only see others through that narrow view and sometimes that view does not include grace.

I am in that hole. I see the person and their offensive action and I see nothing else. When people advertise on social media that they are not wearing masks and are not social distancing, from my hole I translate it into a very personal “Fuck you, I don’t give a shit if my actions kill your husband. This is convenient for me, I think public health is stupid, and I do what I want.” I realize that I am the last thing on their mind when they do this. They certainly have no intention of putting Garry at risk. Some of these people have gone above and beyond to show love and support for us through Garry’s cancer, but now all I see is a person who seems to have forgotten that there are people like Garry out there, and I feel betrayed. As a wife, as a mother and as a nurse, I feel betrayed. It’s not reasonable. These are not people we are even going to see for probably months, and I love them. I respect them. I’m closely related to some of them. But I am so hurt by them because I’m so in the thick of it, and I feel forgotten. I feel like my plight has been abandoned.

My New Years resolution was to rest. I didn’t want to be challenged or take on anything new. I am battle weary from cancer and grad school. I am so tired. I’m broken and altered and in many ways lost. But then COVID happened, and I feel I must battle on. I’m not even sure what or who I’m swinging at. I want to get out of the pandemic with relationships intact, and it’s really hard. So what do I do? Well, I started by going off social media. I’m not in a place to receive other people well. I’m doing all of us a favor by not looking. I’m not sure I am presenting well either (maybe not the best time to write a blog, but hey, I’m not on social media, so no one will ever read this). I also changed my voters registration. Sorry Dad, please don’t come back and haunt me but I’m officially unaffiliated. My previous political party hadn’t aligned with my faith or values for a long time. It actually feels amazing to be free of that yoke. I’m social distancing for real. I’m not just physical distancing. I’m really distancing myself, because I’m tender right now. I don’t trust myself to not cause hurt, and I don’t trust myself to not get hurt. It won’t last. I’m an extrovert and I love too many of you to not reengage sooner than later. But for the moment it feels safer. If my adulthood has taught me anything it’s that I crave safety above all else. I don’t function well if I don’t feel safe. I guess that even if I can’t find grace now, I’m doing my best to be able to salvage it in the near future.

Silver Linings

When Garry got sick our lives hung on one word. Time. Would we ever have enough time. Time with each other time for him and our son. Time became the most precious commodity in our lives, and there was never enough. I told our son the other day, “I think we will all look back on this time with great fondness”. He looked at me like I had just grown an extra head and said, “I don’t think I will”. He’s ten and misses his friends, but I’m sure when he is grown he will think of it differently. This time is a gift. I don’t want to miss it because I’m angry and frightened. That would be tragically regrettable.

Aside from time I have learned to lean on my husband again. I think when he got sick, I stopped. Survival told me I needed to be fully self sufficient sooner than later, because at any point I was one bad scan and weeks away from being a widow. So, I stopped letting myself need him, and I didn’t know how to reverse that once he got well. Then COVID showed up and handed me my very first existential crisis (good God I hope it’s my last). COVID dropped me and Garry caught me. The man is an oak. He always has been. He’s beyond fair. He’s so reasonable it’s irritating. He grounds me, and for some inexplicable reason he adores me. The English language lacks the words to explain how good it feels to lean on him again. I feel safe. It’s a beautiful silver lining.

Does Trick or Treating Lead to Devil Worship? (a case study of me)

My son loves to hear stories about his parents childhood. I grew up somewhat less conventionally than my husband, because I went to christian school, and was largely sheltered from the life most of my peers experienced. My social life was pretty exclusive to school and youth group. I knew very few kids that weren’t similar to me in faith, ethnicity and so on. My life was full of restrictions. My parents closely monitored behavior, diet, wardrobe etc. My mom has always tried to dress me as if I’m the pastor’s wife on Little House on the Prairie. To this day she loves to buy me puritanical nightgowns as a gift. I relish modeling them for my husband. I give him a come hither look while being swallowed by a Victorian neckline and yards of linen and lace. He usually takes one look at me and says “Your mom clearly doesn’t want us to have sex” and walks away.

These restrictions were also applied to our holidays. Christianity or the perception of it was in the driver’s seat. But it wasn’t always that way. When they got married, my parents loosely identified as Christian or even agnostic in my dad’s case.  I was a couple years old before my parents would consider themselves born again. The shift on how this new embrace of faith would affect my childhood happened gradually. From my viewpoint as their child, it represented a slow erosion of freedom and fun.

I went to public school and was allowed to trick or treat up through second grade. During that time I counted myself one of the normal kids in the neighborhood. As a normal kid I had the right to pity/judge the family of 7 down the block who went to christian school and weren’t allowed to trick or treat. I had the benefit of being saved by faith, but we weren’t social pariahs like those other kids. Yet.

Sometime during the summer between second and third grade we became “that family”. I remember being at the breakfast table and hearing my older brother cry and yell. I thought he was hurt, but it turned out my mom had just told him we’d gotten into christian school. I guess I’d been vaguely aware we were on a waiting list, but hadn’t cared that much. At the time I wasn’t concerned. My mom let me know the third and fourth grade classes were so big that year that they added a third and fourth grade combination class,  and I would be in that class. My only thought was of one room school houses I’d read about, and I was certain I’d be happy there.

I started having second thoughts when we learned they did not celebrate Halloween at my new school. Instead we were allowed to dress up as Pilgrims and Native Americans the week of Thanksgiving and have a special music program for parents. This was starting to seem pretty crappy. I should have seen it coming. The year I was in second grade my parents threw us for a loop when they suddenly decided they’d let us trick or treat under the condition that we say “happy Halloween” instead of “trick or treat”. I remember asking “why?” and being unsatisfied with the answer I received. It was something about Halloween having a history in the occult and devil worship… I’ve always been skeptical and didn’t see what that had to do with today’s rituals.  Halloween night I stood my ground and said “trick or treat”. My brother said “happy Halloween” and kept whispering to me to get with the program or they’d take trick or treating away forever. I did not believe him. Our parents were strict, but they weren’t insane.

As the next Halloween approached, I could tell my parents were building up to a disappointing announcement. They didn’t engage on requests to shop for costumes and would say things like “aren’t you getting too old to trick or treat.” To which we would respond “no way”. Everyone knows you are not too old to trick or treat until seventh grade and we had some solid years in front of us. Eventually they broke it to us that this year we would go to the “hallelujah party” at church instead of trick or treating. They insisted there would be costumes and candy at this party. We really weren’t given an option about it so I tried to keep an open mind.

We did not get a lot of candy growing up. My mom would buy us carob from the health food store instead of chocolate. Albeit, we were forever finding empty peanut m&m wrappers in her purse. ADHD was not a diagnosis when we were growing up. They used the term hyperactivity, and my mom was convinced my brother had it. She was also convinced she could treat him by not allowing him (or me by default) to have artificial flavoring or colorings. One Halloween she actually went around to all our neighbors and gave them packs of peanuts and raisins to give to us. It didn’t take my brother long to figure out the treachery. He insisted on doing extra blocks and going to strangers houses to make up for it. My brother found all kinds of ways to get candy. He always had money and even when we were in preschool he would take me to the ice cream truck when it got out of site from our house. He’d buy something for him and a bomb-pop for me. My silence was for sale and it was cheap. Halloween was a respite from our sugar deprived lives, and this swing to religious based celebrations was only going to be tolerated if candy was involved. Sadly, I don’t remember any candy at these church parties.

The greater issue for me was the costumes. I loved to dress up. I still do. It’s fun to be and look like something else. I was super girly and wanted to be any variety of ballerina-princess out there. Needless to say it was a giant disappointment to learn that costumes had to be based on Bible characters. My mom quickly convinced me to be Mary the first year we went. I ended up being one of a hundred girls wearing bed sheets and carrying a baby doll. The following year I was in fourth grade and desperate to be an individual. The Bible is loaded with hookers, and my parents vetoed anyone who would fall under that umbrella. My mom tried to convince me to be Lot’s wife who turned into a pillar of salt. I didn’t want to be a pillar of salt. I wanted to do the dance of the seven veils.

I settled on a character that I still believe is the coolest person in the Bible (sorry Jesus). I decided I would be Jael. Jael was a heroine in the book of Judges. In her story, the military leader of an army attacking Israel came to her tent to hide. She brought him in, made him a drink, and gave him a place to rest. Once he fell asleep she drove a tent stake through his skull. I could be Jael. She wasn’t a hooker, she was completely badass, and no one else would be her. I think I almost had my dads permission, but was ultimately shut down secondary to the violence level. Out of desperation and spite I decided to be Noah’s ark. As in the actual boat. I made a poorly designed cardboard Noah’s ark that hung over my shoulders like a clapboard sign. It was huge and miserable. Every time I turned around I’d knock at least three kids over. That was the last time I can remember dressing up as a child.

I don’t think we went to the Hallelujah party after the second year. It was too awful, and we decided it would be better to at least hand out candy at home. My mom, by this time, had fully embraced the notion that Halloween was the devils work and she was single-handedly going to take it back for Jesus (sorry Jesus). She bought little evangelical brochures on how to give your life to Christ and made us hand them out with the candy. She had cute cartoon one’s for the little kids, and hell-fire and brimstone one’s for the older kids. We would vet them at the door to decide if they got “love of Christ” or “damnation” with their Snickers. My brother and I did everything we could to beat my parents to the door. We’d chuck candy at the neighbor kids and scream at them to “run”, before my mom embarrassed us by evangelizing their Halloween buckets.

My mom found a way around our interference through the Jack o Lanterns. We had a long cement staircase leading to our front door. There was plenty of room to carve scripture into the pumpkins lining our stairs. One year she carved the full text of John 3:16 into about 15 Jack o Lanterns. There was a single pumpkin with the word “whosoever” carved in it. The problem was people didn’t know if they were supposed to start reading at the bottom of the staircase or the top. No one understood it. I don’t think anyone was saved, but we did wake up to our shredded evangelical brochures and pentagrams drawn in chalk all over the driveway.

Then there was the year my brother revolted by turning his room into a haunted house. He made Kleenex ghosts and had fake spiders and spiderwebs everywhere. The crowning piece was a rubber snake he tied on a string and hung from the ceiling just over his pillow. The day after Halloween we woke to a horrible smell in the house, and my brothers decorations were all taken down. I asked my parents what happened. My mom said she was going to bed and looked in on her son sleeping soundly with a snake slowly spinning over his head, and couldn’t take it. She took down all the ghosts and spiders and finally the snake.

“Where’s my snake?” my brother asked.

My dad sighed and lowered his newspaper. “Your snake is now that horrible smell.”

“You burned my snake in the fireplace?”

“Yes, your mother burned your snake” my father replied. “We are lucky we didn’t die from toxic fumes last night, but at least we are safe from the devil”. He raised the newspaper.

My mother didn’t say anything but maintained a look of sheepish pride.

My brother and I avoided Halloween after this. We lost the battle to make it any fun, and were simply bidding our time until we could celebrate as adults. From the time I was 19 to the time I got pregnant at age 36. I dressed up every Halloween usually as something slutty. It could be a nursery rhyme character or an action hero, but you can bet it was slutty. My brother and I would start planning our new costumes on November 1st for the following year. We loved Halloween. I once told my dad it was their fault, and that they should have let us trick or treat and get it out of our systems. He agreed. My mom stands firm that she did the right thing. I think she turns the light off and pretends she’s not home on Halloween these days. She’s given up on the mission field of trick or treaters.

My brother and I have our own sons now, and they pick their costumes and trick or treat every year. I don’t really dress up, because Halloween is more about the little ones, and I thoroughly enjoy watching my son. Last year he considered not trick or treating because he would have to skip swim practice. I shut that down fast. I told him, “You are 8 years old. This is one night of the year. You can swim anytime!” Besides mommy isn’t halfway done living vicariously through you. I do look forward to a day when he is a little older and doing his own thing. On that day, his dad and I can go to a grown up party or a bar. We’ll be the creepy senior citizens dressed like fools, and have to Uber home. BUT we wont be worshiping the devil.

My lack of church attendance and constant criticism of the christian church may lead people to think I’m a prolific backslider. I’m not. I consider myself a woman of deep faith. I am unwavering in my commitment to the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Life has altered my faith and how I manifest it. However, it’s not a faith that can be lessened by silly things like Halloween and trick or treats, because that’s not real faith in the first place.

Love Letter

Love and acceptance are not the same thing. We can all think of people we love who have things in their lives that we can’t accept. Transversely we can all think of people who we know love us, but we also know they do not wholly accept us. Both relationships hurt. But what’s worse is when we do that to ourselves. We’ve all wexperienced looking in the mirror and not accepting the person looking back at you. When that’s the case it bleeds into all of your other relationships. These waves of love and acceptance travel with us through our families of origin, our friendships, marriages and relationships with our own children. Some of it is defined by our beliefs, but it can all be altered by life experiences and circumstances.

Today is my twelfth anniversary and I want to take a moment to immortalize my love and acceptance of Garry publically. He will hate this, but public praise is my love language and he needs to accept it. See what I did there.

My Love,

Fallin in love is so fun. There is nothing like it, and falling in love with you was amazing. I had a feeling it was the last time I’d fall in love, and I was okay with that. You were so kind to me. You were interested in everything I said and did, but more than anything you made me feel safe. I was safe with you, body, soul and mind. You were my shelter. It was the most mutual relationship I had ever had.

The best relationship advice I’d ever received was from the husband of one of my hospice patients. He was a little gruf and called me Peach, because according to him “as far as nurses go, you’re a peach”. He told me, “50/50 relationships are bullshit. You give 100% and find someone who will give you 100% and that’s the only way marriage can work.” It didn’t take me long to figure you out, you’d give us 100%.

Beyond that you are funny. I’ve always been a sucker for a guy that can make me laugh and tell a good story. The fact that a solid half of your story’s started with “So, I was drunk and naked”, made you irresistible. You are my favorite travel partner, and I love sharing this world with you, especially when we are drunk and naked.

You have a keen sense of fun and adventure tempered with a grounded thoughtfulness and stability. You are my match. You are the earth to my sky, and the ice to my fire. I love discussing politics and religion with you, even if we have different political affiliations and faith backgrounds. We have very different parenting styles but BD needs us both. He thrives when you challenge him, because he knows he can always crash and burn in the softness of mom. We are very good parents and I’m so proud of the work we do with our son.

We have our failings of course. We can’t move a piece of furniture without arguing. We are often better at dividing and conquering than trying to work on a single project together. You are fiercely protective of your privacy and I don’t believe that too much information is a thing. I also lack the capacity to keep a secret, especially my own.

We’ve had a lot of loss in our marriage, two dogs, grandparents, my dad, and a baby we never got to hold. You were my rock through two terrifying pregnancies and the joy of our only child. You took care of me in multiple orthopedic surgeries and a demon possessed gallbladder. Being a caregiver is not your favorite thing, but you’ve done a good job.

Recently you told me, “I’m not the man you married”, and you’re not. You’re better.  You’re refined by fire. You are a polished river rock. Since your cancer we’ve done our best work as a couple, and we’ve done our worst. We’ve come very close to each other and at times very far away. Through it all the love has remained. Love is the easy part.  Accepting ourselves and each other as cancer has molded us and changed us is hard work. Luckily, you’ve never been afraid of hard work. Especially when that hard work is me.

We are not the same, but I still choose you. You are still my match. You still make me laugh and tell great stories. You remain my rock. We have both been broken and mended over the years. I’m in awe of the battle you’ve fought and continue to fight. I’m in awe of the community you’ve built around you, the friendships you build and maintain.

I have had to imagine a world without you, and it terrifies me. You are my best friend. You are my safe place. When I chose my husband I did a really good job. You are my best decision. Making a baby with you is the only thing that equals it. I love you. I accept you, all of you. You’re beautiful to me. Never leave me. Never leave me.

Love is White

I can’t remember the last time I visited my dad’s grave. I used to go religiously on holidays and his birthday. I would tell him all the news of my life, and the ways BD was growing and changing. I used to feel his presence there, but that faded overtime. At some point I knew he wasn’t there, and my visits declined. Plus, I read a terrifying statistic about women being sexually assaulted while alone in a cemetery. I told myself I’d get over my fear of guns and get one. Then I’d go back to regular cemetery visits while packing heat. I’m still scared of guns and still don’t have one. Additionally, life has been busy, and cemetery visits have been the last thing on my mind.

Last night I had dinner with an old friend from highschool. I met her my senior year, and first year back in public school since the second grade. I was a senior and she was a sophomore. We took speech class together. On the first day of school we had to answer a bunch of questions as an ice breaker. One of the questions asked what “what color is love?”. She and I were the only ones that answered with the color white. We were friends instantly. To this day she’s one of the people I love, respect and admire most.

We spent the evening catching up on my marriage, her recent divorce, and how we are surviving everything while trying to navigate the complications of a life we never expected to face. We compared notes on how to make good humans out of our children. She grew up without a dad, and mine died in 2011, so we talked about our moms and their politics. Somehow the conversation wound its way to my dad. She said he was wonderful, and recalled how gentle he was and how rational. He was always the voice of reason. When friends who knew him remind me of who he was it fills me a warmth I can’t explain. It makes my memories real again. I’ve come to doubt a great deal of my memories for a lot of reasons. Confirmation of how I recall him is very comforting.

We had dinner in Old Town and the cemetery was on my way home. I wasn’t in a rush for once. I love that cemetery. It’s old and has lots of big trees. Often I see deer there. My dad is buried under a twisted pine tree that sheds all over the stone bench marking his grave. I used to bring flowers for him and apples for the deer, but last night I came empty handed. I hoped to see deer, but it was just me the tombstones and the mosquitoes. The evening was warm and the sun was low over the mountains. It was quiet and pretty, but it didn’t take long until the mosquitoes got the best of me. I got in the car and as I drove away a thought hit me. It was light at first, but the weight of it grew until I felt it push the air from my lungs, and the tears from my eyes. When dad died, I lost my softest place to fall. I realized I’ve been free falling for three years. In that moment I desperately wanted my dad to catch me, and I let myself slide into the misery of it all.  I’ve needed to have a good cry for a while. It’s been creeping up on me, and I’ve ignored it. I’ve escaped the tears through the protection of a busy life. Last night it wouldn’t be ignored anymore and I guess that’s okay, I’ve earned it.

I didn’t know it growing up but my dad understood suffering in a way most of us never will. He was not a perfect man, but he was the perfect father for me. He was exactly the daddy I needed. He was everything I’m not and everything I wish I was. He was a listener more than a speaker, but when he spoke his words were measured and thoughtful and full of wisdom. His words carried a weight mine never will. His eyes were bright blue like my brothers, deep ocean pools. Mine are blue grey like my mother, but I have his smile. He was consistent and fair. He considered the position and intentions of everyone and encouraged me to do the same. He was a brilliant introvert. He loved a good story and books were his oldest friends. Profoundly slow to anger he would raise his voice once every five years. If he raised it at you it was terrifying, but only because it was so rare. He was gentle, and loving, and kind. I always knew my brother and I were his greatest joy. I knew he was proud of us. He was the person in life that I felt I understood most and was the most understood by.

In many ways I believe he gave me all the tools I needed to navigate his death and life without him. I often know exactly what he would say if he were here, and I were to go to him for advice. I can still hear his voice in my head, but my heart longs to be a little girl again with physical access to him. I loved the comfort of being in his office, back when he smoked a pipe. Vanilla pipe tobacco is still my favorite smell in the world. I love bookshelves full of law books. I can remember the feel of their spines as I’d run my finger tips along them. My bare legs sticking to his overstuffed leather chairs on summer days. To this day I’m freakishly comfortable in an attorney’s office. I haven’t had many reasons to be in one as an adult, but when I am I don’t want to leave.

When I was in college, my dad told me he didn’t worry about me. He said he knew I would always be ok. I would always find a way, and I’d always be happy. So he didn’t worry. In many ways he was right. I will always find a way, and I’ll be damned before I live a life in misery. I still believe that love is white. It’s pure, utterly without an agenda, and full of hope. Like the love of a father for his daughter. Grief is a funny little beast. It sneaks up so unexpectedly as if time and distance from the loss didn’t exist. It’s a jerk that way, but it often brings gifts if you are willing to really look it in the face. Sometimes grief brings comfort. Sometimes it has to bitch slap you in a cemetery to do it, but it’s worth it.  Go to the cemetery, and remember that love is white.

Helping Your Kid Find Resilience and Post Traumatic Growth (PTG) in the Middle of a Shit Storm (at least that’s what I hope we are doing)

Our son, B.D., was six when Garry was diagnosed with cancer. Two months prior to that our eight year old boxer, Dempsey, was also diagnosed with cancer. To be honest if I had the slightest idea Garry would be sick within months I would have gone a very different direction when talking to my kindergartner about his dogs illness and impending death. I’ve been a nurse for over two decades and the vast majority of that time I’ve worked in hospice and palliative care. So, I’m a little aggressive when it comes to conversations about death and dying

Hospice is always palliative care, but palliative care is not always hospice. Palliation is the relief of suffering. All suffering. As a nurse I concentrate on the physical, but true palliative care is comprehensive and covers emotional, spiritual, and so on. Hospice as we know it means end of life. In the true legal sense of the word you are eligible for hospice if your physician can certify that they believe you have six months or less to live. Palliative care, outside of hospice, is not time limited and can and should be accessible to anyone with a chronic or life limiting disease regardless of life expectancy.

This is the world I live in. It’s my profession and my passion. Last I checked the global mortality rate is still 100%, but we all act like its super rare and should only be discussed in whispers. I dated a very sweet guy in college who referred to death as the D-word…. It’s a good thing our relationship didn’t work out. I would have made him incredibly uncomfortable eventually, and although I may have found that immensely enjoyable I doubt he would have.

When Dempsey got sick we had a very direct conversation with B.D. that Dempsey had cancer, the doctors couldn’t fix the cancer, but they could make Dempsey more comfortable and we probably had a few weeks or months before we would have to say goodbye. B.D. appeared to absorbed everything very seriously until we said we would have to say goodbye, and then he looked at us incredulously and said “WHY?”. To which we replied “because he’s going to die”. And that’s when the wailing started… I realized pretty quickly that although he seemed to understand what we were saying he simply didn’t have a real grasp of disease and mortality to connect the dots, and when they were connected for him it was brutal. Not my best work.

That was February. By April we knew Garry had cancer. How do you tell a six year old??? Especially after the traumatizing way we busted out the news about the dog. Dempsey, by the way, was alive and well at this point. Steroids are wonderful drugs and bought us an extra six months with the old bear. They were good months too. He did really well, until he didn’t. I’m actually really proud of how we handled his final days and death with our son, but we can get into that later.

Telling B.D. about Garry. That was impossibly hard. There was no way to do it without showing our own emotion and fear, so we did the best we could. We waited. We waited until we knew how bad the cancer was and until we had a treatment plan, that we ended up scrapping and chose clinical trials instead. But we waited until  were able to say “this is what daddy has and this is what we are doing about it”.

B.D. is little. He was so little in kindergarten, and he sat in Garry’s lap barely visible beyond the giant arms and shoulders wrapped around him.  I could see the trust in B.D.’s eyes and the pain in Garry’s, so I started. We explained that Daddy had cancer, but there was lots the doctors could do, and that the best scientist in the world were working on Daddy’s cancer in labs and hospitals everywhere. It’s not the same as Dempsey or Grandpa Dave. Daddy is not the same. B.D. cried. He didn’t ask a lot of questions. We emphasized how strong Daddy is and what a fighter he is. We told him about people he knew who had survived cancer and we could see him relax. He was quiet the rest of the evening. He didn’t eat much dinner and then he threw up. He’s always had a stress stomach. His stomach was wrecked the whole weekend. I emailed the school and Jiu Jitsu to make sure they knew what was happening at home and could support him. We kept assuring B.D. that we would always let him know what the plan was and that we would tell him if anything changes. I became obsessed with making sure he could trust me. I was worried that soon I might be all he had, and he needed to know I’d be straight with him. No one appreciates a blind side and I needed him to know I’d be honest. I tried to keep things age appropriate, but I know he was the only kid in his class that could tell you what an oncogene was.

I made mistakes that first six months and one of them was putting a premium on Garry and B.D.’s time together. I found myself stepping back and letting their relationship take center stage. I lost time and interaction with both of them that summer, and it wasn’t good. It wasn’t good for Garry and I. Their relationship is important, but I’m part of that relationship.  It was a tactical error on my part. One that I’ve always regretted. There was no permanent damage, but I can’t stress enough the importance of moving together as a family, not as individual relationships. You can not let that family relationship fracture. You can’t. Your intentions may be good, but it’s a dangerous stupid game. Don’t do it.

Garry started his first clinical trial and we knew pretty quickly it was working. We took a four night raft trip on the North Platte and Garry was in his element. Strong and solid. Life was good. We waited for the first scan and it showed improvement on the tumors. They all shrunk, and no new spots appeared. With this disease no growth is a win. Shrinking tumors is amazing. We were teasing out our new normal, because there was no going back. The only way out was through, so through we would go. I wanted B.D. to see Garry in treatment, and meet the doctors and clinical team caring for him. Garry was gifted an Elitches Six Flags pass by his coworkers,  and he and B.D. would go to Denver for treatment every other Friday and then spend the rest of the day at Elitches. That fall B.D. told me “it was the best summer ever”. I disagreed, but I was so pleased that was his experience.

Pro-tip: Life can always be fun. Sometimes “jumping for joy” means you actually need to work for it. It may feel like it’s out of your reach, but jump for it. Get it. Do it for you, and do it for your loved ones.

Midsummer Dempsey started to decline. His mobility decreased and breathing was hard. He dug a hole in the back yard and would go lay in it at night. Garry would carry him inside and lay with him on the floor. Dempsey had been MY dog until I was pregnant with B.D. I spent a few month on bed rest and it was then that Dempsey declared his allegiance to Garry. I had gotten fat and lazy and Dempsey was over it. Garry had his heart now and he never looked back.

Garry was watching his dog die of cancer while battling his own. He kept his heartbreak to himself, but I knew this cut deep and in ways I couldn’t possibly understand. I was at work and Garry called me. I could tell he was holding back tears and he said “Dempsey can’t walk. It’s time.” I grabbed my things and went home.

I found Garry sitting on the floor Dempsey in his lap his breathing labored. Garry looked up at me helplessly. I had called the vet and they knew we’d be coming. B.D. was at the neighbors across the street I told Garry “I want to get B.D. I want him to have a chance to say goodbye”. At the neighbors I dropped down eye level with my son. I said “Dempsey is dying. There isn’t much time. Do you want to say goodbye.”

If you know my son you know he is never in a hurry. He hates to be rushed. The world spins a little slower under his feet. He can spend twenty minutes getting his shoes on, but that day he’s never moved faster. He had his shoes on and was out the door almost before I finished the question. We returned home to Garry and Dempsey still on the floor. Our puppy Rose anxiously pacing around them. I explained to B.D. that we were going to the vet and they would give Dempsey medicine to be comfortable because his body wasn’t helping him any more, and then Dempsey would let go of his body and die. B.D. nodded his understanding and said he wanted to come with us. He stayed in the treatment room with us while they gave Dempsey his sedative, and once Dempsey was sleeping his breathing regular and peaceful B.D. said he was done and wanted to leave. Garry stepped out with our son and I stayed with Dempsey for the final injection. I held him until he was gone. I found the boys outside. I told B.D. how proud I was of him for staying with Dempsey as long as he did, and how brave that was because death is hard, goodbyes are hard, but mostly because he listened to his heart and knew when he was done and needed to leave. I told him most adults don’t know how to do that.

B.D. was only eighteen months old when my dad died, and although they were very close he was much too little to understand death. Dempsey wasn’t the first, but it was the first one my son could process and that was really important to me. This was foundational for how he would process death and dying the rest of his life, and given our circumstances it was really important that we did it right. Everyone should have choices in how they approach the death of a loved one. Control is comfort. Control is safety in the face of something scary. I wanted B.D. to have as much control as possible, and that meant understanding what was happening and being able to decide what he could handle for himself. I didn’t want to deprive him a chance to say goodbye because I thought it would protect him from pain. Studies on children and post traumatic growth show that protecting them from their circumstances inhibits growth. I grew up very protected and not at all prepared for life as an adult, and I’ll be damned before I do that to my son.

A year and a half later, after eighteen months of promising scans, Garry’s tumors started growing. Worse still he had what we call distal mets. That is metastasis or new tumors growing far away from the primary tumor, and it’s a bad sign. We needed a new drug trial and that takes time. We would spend Christmas knowing the cancer was spreading and not actively combating it. It was grim, but we were determined to make it a special time. It was a break from cancer treatment and in some ways Garry felt better. Our son knew what was happening, but we tried to put the best spin on it for him and ourselves. B.D. knew enough to be worried though. He told me one night during prayers that he liked the old treatment and he was scared of the new treatment. We talked about how new things are scary, but how the old thing wasn’t working anymore. We trusted Daddy doctors and knew they had a plan. Again I reassured him that he would always know what was happening and we’d figure things out together, because this is happening to him too and that matters.

Earlier I mentioned that I notified B.D.’s school and Jiu Jitsu gym almost immediately. I knew our son would need a support system outside of us. He was pretty established with the school, but had only just started Jiu Jitsu and we wanted him to stick with it. Physical exercise is so good for coping and mental health. In my twenties I competed in martial arts and I love them. It’s a thinking physical exercise. There’s strategy, there’s defense and offense, and the body mechanics you learn in martial arts translate well into any other sport. Plus you learn to lose and win with grace. You learn to fail and keep trying. You have to get back out on the mat because every time you lose you learn. It’s about bouncing back. It’s resilience, and my kid needed resilience. It’s a life skill that couldn’t wait. They’ve been amazing. The coaches and owners are amazing. B.D. still goes twice a week. It’s consistency and commitment and it’s good for the soul.

As a kindergartener and first grader B.D. told very few friends about his dad’s cancer. I would encourage him to pick friends that felt safe and share with them. I explained how much my friends helped me. I frequently reminded him that cancer isn’t a secret. It’s nothing to be ashamed of and it doesn’t define us. It’s something that happened to us, but it isn’t us. We would talk about how his friends mostly wouldn’t understand what life was like for B.D. and the fears he has, but that many of them understood the concept of uncertainty and may have experienced that in big or small ways. I also brought up that it was a good thing his friends didn’t know what it was like to have a parent with cancer and we hoped they never would. B.D. always agreed with this. Over the past two years he has built a support group of friends who know about Garry, and they share pretty openly with one another. Peers are only going to become more important, and he will need them. I’m glad I pushed. In my exploration of kids and PTG I’ve learned that peer support becomes pivotal to growth especially as he moves closer to his teen years.

Last summer Garry completed a TIL (Tumor Infiltrating Lymphocyte) trial and it meant two weeks in the hospital. He came home home twenty pounds lighter, septic and without an immune system. B.D. given the choice spent most of the time in Denver between the hotel and the hospital. When he’d had enough he asked to go stay at his uncles and we got him there. As the summer faded away, and B.D. was preparing to go back to school he told me he wanted to talk to the school counselor and see if she could help him forget about our summer and what they did to Daddy. I agreed it was hard to watch, but I was so happy we had that opportunity and how it was likely saving Daddy’s life. I suggested that sometimes you can “re-frame” a hard or bad memory and make it a good memory. By Christmas break he was calling the time in the hospital our “Denver vacation”. He re-framed the memory into something fun.

When it’s all said and done, B.D. is much better at this than I am. In no way will that trial ever be a vacation for me. Nor will that first summer after diagnosis be “the best summer ever”. All of it has tested me, and overall I’m proud of what we’ve done as a family. I think I would be proud of that even if we didn’t have the good outcome we are enjoying now. As I see my son thriving, I find I worry about myself. Have I grown? I have over-functioned. I love to over-function in a crisis, but I know it’s not sustainable. Garry got cancer and I handled it by losing 20 lbs, going back to school, changing the course of my career, and starting a blog. I’ve watched my son honor his sadness and grow from it. I have two gym memberships and very nearly have my masters degree, but have I grown? Is it durable? Is this all borrowed and I haven’t really done the work? When school is over and we are living life, real life, not scan to scan life, I think my kid will be ok, but will I? As parents we teach by example and although I do think I’ve given him the best tools I could, have I lead by example? I don’t know, and that’s hard.


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Why I want another baby

Kory is 2.7 years old now (Where has that time gone?!) and I can remember going to the hospital and being in labour like it was just yesterday. Many people say you forget about the pain that you endure during delivery and even afterwards over time but I can honestly say that I have not and it’s something that has stuck with me and i’m sort of glad that it has. It’s not an experience i’d like to forget. Even if it wasn’t always pleasant but despite this, this has not put me off wanting just one more baby.

I think i’ve always wanted one more baby. I can remember feeling so overwhelmed after delivering Kory and even crying because the experience was over with, not just out of relief but because I was sad that I would never get to deliver him again. (I can’t explain this one, crazy hormonal women think crazy things!) But that’s how I felt. When I looked at him, touched him, held him and smelled him for the first time everything just faded away, that moment was so special, nothing else in the world mattered and i’ve always craved to feel that again. Watching him grow up has been so bittersweet. It’s been incredible to watch him learn, grow and reach milestones but at the same time, i’ve always felt a little sad too that I won’t get to watch him achieve these things for the first time ever again. I also loved being pregnant and was sad when my bump disapeared even though the baby that I grew was now in my arms. As well as all of this, I’ve always known that I wanted a sibling for Kory to grow up with, play with and share memories with too.

So call me crazy because i’ve already got my hands full with a very adventurous, independent and strong willed 2 year old that drives me up the wall daily but I want another baby and here are some of the reasons why:

  • Newborn babies smell sooo good. New babies just have this heavenly smell and I could just breathe it in all day. I don’t think I stopped sniffing Kory or his clothes for weeks!
  • Snuggles. New babies with their soft, smooth skin sleep a LOT which is the perfect oppurtunity to dose up on those snuggles. Everything else can wait! I’m so glad that I made the most of Kory being little and snuggled him at every chance I got. Now that he’s a constantly on-the-go toddler, the only time I get to snuggle him properly is when he naps – which is never by the way.
  • Newborn babies are the sweetest. Most people will tell you that the newborn stage is the hardest stage; lack of sleep, night feeds, ect and it is tough but don’t listen to those people. I would swap toddler tantrums for night feeds any day of the week! A newborn baby has never screamed at me because I told them that they couldn’t have sweets until they’d ate their dinner…
  • Re-using newborn items again. I kept so many of Kory’s blankets, teddies, clothes and baby grows from when he was a baby. I even kept his prep machine! I’m not one to be wasteful and just felt like I couldn’t part with them so kept them should the time come that I will be able to use them again. Re-using Kory’s old baby grows and clothes would be so cute to see another addition wearing them, being able to take pictures, putting them side by side and looking at the comparisons.
  • Play mate. I would love nothing more than to give my son a friend for life, a play mate and who better than his own sibling!
  • There is no greater love than the love that you have for your children. Parenting has its challenges for sure but the pros far outweigh any cons.

 So call me crazy but I want another baby and those are my reasons why.

2 thoughts on “Why I want another baby

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Video Try On

Goodnight Macaroon Summer Dress Haul + Try On

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Happy Thursday friends! Today I’m excited to share a Goodnight Macaroon try on with y’all! They are having a huge flash sale right now, PLUS…

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Buying Jeans

November 11, 2011 at 10:15 am 4 comments

Ask any group of 10 women (who like to go shopping) what their least favorite clothing item to shop for is, and I bet at least 5 of them say jeans. At least.

Jeans are supposed to be the American casual uniform, the thing we get to wear as a treat in the office, everybody’s favorite. I call Shenanigans! I propose that jeans are not and will never be as comfortable as slacks, shorts, skorts, skirts, or dresses.

I’m not saying I don’t like jeans. But let’s stop pretending that they’re the ultimate in comfort-wear. And let’s agree that classic-fit-straight-leg-boot-cut-flare-bell-bottom-slim-skinny-boyfriend-carpenter-indigo-dark-stonewash-mediumwash-cleanwash-beachwash-mysterywash-distressed-518-524-535-low-rise-mid-rise-at-waist-high-rise sizing, styling, and fit defy explanation.

The word “Shopping!” for me is usually said with some level of glee comparable to “I just found a twenty in my old coat pocket!” or “It’s my Birthday!” On the other hand, “Shopping for jeans” sounds more like “The dentist says I need three fillings” or “The funeral is at 10:00.”

Shopping for jeans means trying things on beneath bad fluorescent lighting in front of what might as well be a fun-house mirror for all the reality, good or bad, it will reflect; wasting hours and big wads of cash; grinding self-esteem; wandering among teetering stacks of badly folded denim in which scientists calculate that 1 in 1,000 will fit correctly but may or may not turn out to have a great big, ridiculously goofy anchor embroidered on the butt, which you will only discover at home about 5 seconds before your date rings the doorbell.

Aside from a brief period of time in the 90s when I found a brand and style that fit me perfectly, in a material that was comfy, in a shade of blue that was just right, in a line that was soon discontinued, I’ve been in search of the right jeans for about 30 years. Thin and fat, unable or able-but-unwilling to spend a lot of money on jeans, name any department store, it has never gone well.

This week, I had an idea.

Parking was a breeze and I found a spot right near the door. I strolled to a long rack of jeans. Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick and I was walking to the register–where there was no line–with an armful of jeans. I spent a total of $24. The clerk was quick and genuinely friendly. I tried the jeans on in the comfort of my own home. And I ended up with two pairs that fit great.

And, really, except for me noting it here, you’d never know they came from Goodwill.

Entry filed under: Humor - Commentary. Tags: , .

We Hate Potholes More Than You 93.7, The (so-called) Fan

4 Comments Add your own

  • 1. WritingbyEar  |  November 14, 2011 at 4:10 am

    The other 5 women will say “bathing suits.” (Score! on finding the jeans.)

  • 2. boatdrinkbaby  |  November 14, 2011 at 4:16 am

    Oh, gawd, Chris, yes. I didn’t include them in the equation in my mind but should have been more specific, haha cause that is way worse than jeans! :)

  • 3. mel  |  November 20, 2011 at 12:14 pm

    my dear girl, I’ve been shopping almost exclusively at Goodwill and its happy associates (AmVets, Sally Ann/Salvation Army, etc.) since I had the pleasure of leaving my small, small town and moving to a city big enough to buy and wear secondhand clothing without fear of meeting the donator on the street when you’re wearing his/her item… the whole “broken in” concept began there. it’s cheap. and some of them even have dressing rooms. there’s one on Babcock Blvd. where women wear long, loose skirts just so they can shimmy into jeans right in the aisle in front of one of the available mirrors. yes, I’ve done this. yes, I have no shame. I do have common sense, though. congrats, and welcome to my very affordable world! : )

    you’re right, too–if you have an eye and any sense of style, no one will ever be the wiser. I’ve sported secondhand Ann Taylor, Gap, Jones New York, and received many compliments–all to which I proudly responded with my unbelievably cheap price and shocking place of purchase. oh, the true shopper’s high!

  • 4. patty  |  December 13, 2011 at 7:14 am

    Ellen degeneris has a great old bit that is related. She acts out how we take a llook at our butts in that pair we finally like, feelling kind of good about baby’s back, checking all the angles. Then she fains taking off those new jeans ans seeing our actual ass in the mirror…very different expression :) as for shopping vintage, its down right vogue!

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Prozac is a drug taken to counter the effects of depression. Plough through this article for valuable information on the side effects of Prozac (fluoxetine).

Prozac Side Effects

The drug Prozac, in recent times, has managed to soar to the heights of popularity. Prozac or Fluoxetine is basically an anti-depressant that is used to counter the dispiriting effects of depression, panic attacks and premenstrual syndrome. The drug basically works its ‘magic’ by altering the levels of serotonin in the brain. Serotonin is the chemical in the brain that’s responsible for the level of happiness and sadness a person may feel at any point in time. This is exactly why Prozac falls under the categories of SSRIs – Selective Serotonin Reputake Inhibitors. The drug, in the past, has always been known to have myriad benefits. In recent times however, the side effects of this ‘miracle drug’ have been uncovered by researchers and medical experts. Research has even proven that Prozac may not be as effective as people think it is in the battle against depression. Also, most improvements in conditions of patients are noticed or last only as long Prozac is taken. Once the doses stop, the side effects begin. Read on to know more on harmful side effects of Prozac.
Adverse Effects Of Fluoxetine
  • The side effects of Prozac are most obvious when the patient stops taking the drug. However, some side effects are also seen when the patient continues to rely on extended doses of the drug. It first starts off with nausea, nauseating headaches and if left ignored can progress to other serious digestive problems.
  • Prozac is taken mainly to counter the effects of depression, but what happens when a patient stops taking the drug? Simple, the patient is routed back to square one and experiences one of the most common effects of depression — insomnia. The intake and pauses in the intake of Prozac are characterized by insomnia or sleeplessness.
  • Prozac, without a question of doubt, can take a toll on the libido of an individual. It doesn’t matter if the individual is a man or woman, sexual libido has been proven to be ‘indirectly proportionate’ to the intake of Prozac. In fact, this is as the good prime reason for people steering away from large or small doses of this ‘miracle drug’. The use of the drug, amongst woman, has also resulted in painful menstrual cycles.
  • Prozac can cause fatigue. An individual who has been relying on Prozac to battle depression will experience fatigue at the drop of a hat. It may not be too obvious during the first few days or weeks of taking Prozac, but reality will soon dawn on the patient. In time, anyone who has been on Prozac will be able to discover for him or herself that they are clearly caught in the malignant snares of fatigue.
  • As ironical, as might sound it is true! Although the side effect of insomnia is linked to the intake of Prozac, the drug can also lead to drowsiness.
  • Prozac can undermine the functions of the respiratory system and that’s as good as the truth. Relying on this drug can lead to ‘Bronchitis’ and ‘Rhinitis’. Rhinitis is a respiratory disorder, which involves the inflammation of the nasal mucous membrane.
  • Rashes and ‘Pruritus’(inflammation of the skin) are believed to be the allergic and toxic side effects of Prozac.
  • Prozac is known to have strong and harmful effects on the psyche of an individual. Cases of mania have always been linked to the drug.
  • The drug, in the past year, has been associated with the death of at least a handful of patients. However, this is as rare as it gets and occurs only in extreme cases.

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Pebblebrook Hotel Trust (NYSE: PEB) Is Getting Increasingly Hard To Ignore

    Invesco Advisers, Inc. recently announced the acquisition of new stake in Pebblebrook Hotel Trust (NYSE:PEB). The institutional investor has increased its shareholding in the Real Estate company by 7,870.54% to 6.18 million shares with purchase of 6.11 million shares. This fresh investment now brings its stake to 4.73% valued currently at $65.54 million. In addition, EARNEST Partners LLC raised its holdings by 2.53 million to 5.05 million shares.

    With over 1.42 million Pebblebrook Hotel Trust (PEB) shares trading Monday and a closing price of $12.49 on the day, the dollar volume was approximately $17.68 million. The shares have shown a positive weekly performance of 5.85% and its price on 08/24/20 gained nearly 4.52%. Currently, there are 130.56M common shares owned by the public and among those 128.85M shares have been available to trade.

    An analysis of what Wall Street brokers have to say about the expected price targets for this stock gives us this picture: 15 analysts who have offered their price forecasts for PEB have a consensus price objective of $12.65. The analysts have set the share’s price value over the next 12 months at a high of $17.00 and a low of $8.50 should the stock experience a downside. Incidentally, analysts’ outlook for the Pebblebrook Hotel Trust stock is 3.10 for the next 12 months. The average price target is 11.29% above its last price level and an upside to the estimated low will see the stock lose -46.94% over that period. But an upside of 26.53% will see the stock hit the forecast high price target while mean target price for the stock is $12.50.

    Insiders at the company have transacted a total of 22 times over the past 12 months, according to data filed with the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC). 16 of these insider trades were purchases, accounting for 243,246 shares. Insider sales of the common stock occurred on 6 occasions, with total insider shares sold totaling 38,710 shares.

    The top 3 mutual fund holders in Pebblebrook Hotel Trust are Vanguard Real Estate Index Fund, Vanguard Total Stock Market Index, and iShares Core S&P Mid Cap ETF. Vanguard Real Estate Index Fund owns 5.84 million shares of the company’s stock, all valued at over $61.88 million. The company sold 24552.0 shares recently to bring their total holdings to about 4.46% of the shares outstanding. Vanguard Total Stock Market Index sold 2457.0 shares to see its total holdings shrink to 3.74 million shares valued at over $39.66 million and representing 2.86% of the shares outstanding. iShares Core S&P Mid Cap ETF sold 6660.0 shares to bring its total holdings to over 3.48 million shares at a value of $36.87 million. iShares Core S&P Mid Cap ETF now owns shares totaling to 2.66% of the shares outstanding.

    Shares of Pebblebrook Hotel Trust (NYSE: PEB) opened at $11.85, down -$0.1 from a prior closing price of $11.95. However, the script later closed the day at $12.49, up 4.52%. The company’s stock has a 5-day price change of 5.85% and -13.20% over the past three months. PEB shares are trading -53.41% year to date (YTD), with the 12-month market performance down to -51.98% lower. It has a 12-month low price of $5.39 and touched a high of $29.57 over the same period. Currently, 1.42 million shares have been traded, compared to an average intraday trading volume of 2.72 million shares. The stock is trading above its simple moving averages at the SMA20, SMA50, and SMA200, as the current price level is off by 10.39%, 3.55%, and -27.78% respectively.

    Institutional ownership of Pebblebrook Hotel Trust (NYSE: PEB) 130.56M shares outstanding. Mutual fund holders own 44.41%, while other institutional holders and individual stakeholders account for 60.36% and 1.30% respectively.

    It has a market capitalization of $1.63B and a beta (3y monthly) value of 1.64. The earnings-per-share (ttm) stands at -$0.55. The company has a debt-to-equity ratio at 0.72. Price movements for the stock have been influenced by the stock’s volatility, which stands at 6.43% over the week and 5.78% over the month.

    Analysts forecast that Pebblebrook Hotel Trust (PEB) will achieve an EPS of -$0.76 for the current quarter, -$0.63 for the next quarter and -$1.32 for 2021. The lowest estimate earnings-per-share for the quarter is -$0.95 while analysts give the company a high EPS estimate of -$0.57. Comparatively, EPS for the current quarter was $0.17 a year ago. Earnings per share for the fiscal year are expected to decrease by -419.00%, and 56.70% over the next financial year. EPS should grow at an annualized rate of 9.00% over the next five years, compared to -2.40% over the past 5-year period.

    If you are looking to buy this stock, then you may note that the average analyst recommendation by 15 brokerage firm advisors rate Pebblebrook Hotel Trust (PEB) as a “Hold” at a consensus score of 3.10. Specifically, 3 Wall Street analysts polled rate the stock as a buy, while 9 of the 15 advise that investors “hold,” and 3 rated it as a “Sell.”

    Looking at the support for the PEB, a number of firms have released research notes about the stock. Barclays stated their Equal Weight rating for the stock in a research note on June 22, 2020, with the firm’s price target at $9-$15. Evercore ISI coverage for the Pebblebrook Hotel Trust (PEB) stock in a research note released on June 08, 2020 offered a Underperform rating with a price target of $18. BTIG Research was of a view on April 24, 2020 that the stock is Buy, while Citigroup gave the stock Sell rating on April 07, 2020, issuing a price target of $25- $8.50. Stifel on their part issued Hold rating on March 17, 2020.

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Join us for LED’s Wasdale Fundraising Challenge 2020

Join Val and friends for a day in the hills raising money for our work in Nepal and Peru.

This year’s LED Fundraising Event will be held on Saturday 16th May and we’ll be based in the village of Nether Wasdale, in the Western Lake District.

We are collecting donations, sponsorship and registration payments via our page on Just Giving: LED Wasdale Fundraising Challenge 2020.

Saturday 16th May 2020.

A challenging hike around the Mosedale Horseshoe in the Wasdale Valley in the Western Lake District, with an optional evening event featuring dinner, music, a quiz, a small raffle and the option to buy various Peru and Nepal-themed memorabilia.

Shorter walk options may be possible on the Friday afternoon and/ or Sunday in this stunning and remote valley, the home of Englands favourite view, highest mountain and deepest lake.

The start and finish will be at the Wasdale Head (Grid Reference 186084). The evening activities will be taking place at the Strands / Screes Inn in Nether Wasdale at the other end of the valley.

  • £20 per person
  • An additional £25 per person if you would like to join us for dinner after the event. A Nepali / Indian-themed meal will be provided and drinks will be available. We have enough capacity for around 50 people. Please indicate on the registration form if you want to attend the dinner.

For this Challenge all walkers MUST be over 14. If you are under the age of 16 your parent or legal guardian must complete the “Under 16s” details on the registration form and you must be accompanied by your parent or legal guardian at all times.

Further Information & Registration

For further information and the registration form, email Mike Smith at

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Spotlight: Compassion Ministry

What is the Compassion Ministry?

Compassion is the ministry at Lighthouse that helps those who are in need, primarily those within the church. For instance, if a family has just had a baby, or a member is experiencing financial hardship, or a single parent needs help with watching children, the church may step in to provide specific care. This may include meals, child care, home repairs, monetary donations, supermarket gift cards, etc.

How do people tell the Compassion Ministry that they have a need?

There are a couple of ways that people can make their needs known. The most direct way is on the Compassion Ministry page on the church’s website: All people have to do is fill out a form and we’ll get back to them as soon as possible.

But we also really encourage people to directly share their needs with other brothers and sisters in the church. For instance, your small group leaders would love to know your needs and would be really helpful in putting you in touch with the Compassion Ministry leaders to best assess how the church can assist you. Big or small, we want to know!
We understand that many of the needs in the church are sensitive in nature, so we take great care in protecting privacy.
Can you explain a bit about how you meet people’s needs? For instance, how are monetary donations determined? Or, how long and how often would someone be assisted with meals?
Each situation is different and requires careful thought and prayer. For instance, monetary donation amounts are determined case by case and with the help of the elders. We may bring meals to a family 3-4 times a week for 2-3 weeks.
What should people do if they want to serve in Compassion Ministry? What would be expected of them? How long is the commitment?Those who are interested in helping with Compassion Ministry can either contact me directly at, or they can sign up to help at the Compassion Ministry page on the church’s website. You can indicate the specific areas where you feel comfortable helping (meals, childcare, visitation, home repair, etc.), and you’ll be part of a list of people who may be approached to meet specific needs as they come in. For instance, if a mother has just had a child and needs help with cooking, and you indicated that you’re open to cooking, then you just might be getting an e-mail!

We ask that you be willing to commit to being part of the Compassion Ministry for a minimum of two years if you sign up to help. Of course, you can help for longer, but if you no longer wish to be part of the ministry, just let me know and I’ll remove your name from the list.
What has been the feedback from those that have been assisted through this ministry?Very, very positive. In fact, here is a note from a family that we have recently assisted:

“Our family has been so blessed through the Compassion Ministry. When we came to the church about a year and a half ago we were expecting our third child. The compassion ministry provided meals for us for over two weeks. It was amazing to have people we had never even met come and drop off food and encourage our family. Not only did this ministry provide meals, it also provided sweet members to help watch our other two kids while we took care of our newborn. This was such a blessing and answered prayer because we don’t really have family members to help us. It really ministered to us to have the church serve us so lovingly and practically even though we were so new and barely knew anyone.”

Sounds good. Any final thoughts?

Just as the Lord has said in His word, we are to help those in need and the hurting, and it has truly been a blessing to serve alongside the very faithful at Lighthouse. Being able to see God move firsthand within the lives of many through our church is an incredible, undeserved blessing.

tracy-leeTracy Lee serves as a deacon at Lighthouse, and has been attending Lighthouse from the very beginning. He helps oversee the Compassion ministry, so please contact him with any questions you may have about this ministry!

photo credit: cropped image from dany_masson via photopin cc


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Inspection of Ropes Courses, Adventure Parks and Ziplines

The inspection is a technical review of the installation. It is performed by a competent technician who reviews the installation as a whole and the operation and condition of each of its components to ensure user safety and compliance with the relevant standards. As a result, a declaration of conformity and a certificate is issued.

Upon hiring the inspection, the inspector becomes your consultant to offer solutions and technical advice.

LIGNIS inspects ropes courses, adventure parks, ziplines and climbing walls.

We perform periodical (annual) inspections according to EN 15567-1:2015 and 2007 and PPE inspections according to EN 15567-2:2015 – both mandatory according to EN 15567. We are a type C inspection body and we take care and respect the impartiality and independence of the inspector marked by UNE-EN ISO / IEC 17020:2012.

LIGNIS inspectores are certified by IAPA (International Adventure Park Association) and ERCA (European Ropes Course Association), two of the leading associations in this industry. We are also member of both associations.

Our inspections are carried out in compliance with current legislation on work at heights and using PPE in accordance with the PPE directive 89/686/EEC.

Our inspections and corresponding certifications involve coverage by our liability insurance and our technical assistance for possible improvements.

logo erca

Our experience, training and qualifications allows us to inspect your installation and thus ensure its safety and proper operation.

We rely on the experience gained in inspections carried out in facilities in Spain, Germany, the United Kingdom, the Netherlands and Finland. In addition, LIGNIS has participated in several construction projects to build ropes courses, adventure parks, zip lines and climbing walls throughout the last 12 years. In these projects we have contributed our knowledge in each of the different phases: design, structural calculation, engineering project, construction management and assembly work.

LIGNIS, counts with a civil engineer on board, as well as the following specific training for inspections:

– Rope access techniques – IRATA Level 1 (IRATA certified).

PPE inspection for ropes courses and adventure parks according to EN 15567-2:2015 certified by ERCA.

Wire rope inspections according to ISO 4309 certified by ERCA.

– Inspections of wooden poles certified by ERCA.

– Operational inspections according to EN 15567-1 and 2: 2015 certified by Vertex Instructor Training Ltd. and Capstone Inspections Ltd. (United Kingdom).

– Specific course for periodical inspections according to EN 15567-1:2015 carried out by Technical Outdoor Solutions (UK) and Ropes Course Solutions (NL).

Photo Gallery – Portfolio Inspections


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Loading Events

« All Events

  • This event has passed.

Turkey Run Tour – Cancelled

September 13, 2020 @ 9:00 am - 3:00 pm

This event is cancelled and may be rescheduled for later in the fall. Watch your emails for details.

September 13, 2020
9:00 am - 3:00 pm

let's hit the open road together

interested in joining lihac?

Download the application form, complete it, and join us at our next meeting! Or mail it to PO Box 191, Lafayette, IN 47902.

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Ohio diner leaving Lincoln Highway for St. Louis

The Crosser Diner, which has served the Lincoln Highway in Lisbon, Ohio, for more than half a century, is being carted away. The rare Sterling model at 127 W. Lincoln Way has been closed for years, leading to speculation and concern that it might be demolished. The Lisbon Morning Journal reports that Herb Chesney is disassembling the historic diner for owners Gayle Beck and Paul Hammond, who are salvaging as much of the diner as possible in hopes of reconstructing it just outside St. Louis, Missouri. This photo by Patti Schaeffer is from the December 28 Morning Journal.

The Sterling-brand diner was manufactured about 1944 by J.B. Judkins of Merrimac, Mass., best known for their streamliner models featuring one or both ends rounded. This Dinette model is one of only 4 survivors.

Earlier in December, the Journal reported:

Discussion continued about the progress of Crosser’s Diner off Lincoln Way. Lewis expressed his dissatisfaction with the level of communication among the village and the owners and contractor. “Do we have any contact or time frame?” Lewis asked. “We seem to be in the dark up here.” No members of council could give an answer about the progression of the demolition. Solicitor Virginia Barbarak said she did speak with the fire chief but that she “didn’t have a time frame.” Lewis said he’d like to find out when the contractor will be finishing the work. “We need to know,” he said. “A lot of people are upset. I’d like to see it gone by the end of the year.”

With Lincoln Highway tourism rising, the diner could have been an amazing draw for the town, which has a 1950s diner a few blocks away. Here’s the diner in 2007:

OH_Crosser D

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9 Responses to “Ohio diner leaving Lincoln Highway for St. Louis”

  1. Diner News and History Staff Says:

    Thanks for posting and please keep us up to date on items relating to this diner.

  2. Denny Gibson Says:

    That’s not perfect news but it’s better than we had a right to hope. I’d like to see the diner stay in Ohio, of course, but this is much better than reading that it was staying here in a landfill, which is what I half expected. I can’t tell whether “A lot of people are upset” because it’s leaving or because it’s not leaving fast enough although Mr. Lewis seems to hold the latter view. Beck & Hammond forever. Mayor Lewis never.

  3. Mario Monti Says:

    Brian –
    Thank you.
    Nice to hear from you again.
    We now live in the Shell Point Retirement Community in Ft. Myers, FL.
    The winters got to be to much up north.
    I hope you had the chance to see our new book,

  4. dinerhotline Says:

    Hopefully this diner will get rebuilt and used. Luckily these were all wood construction with porcelain covering inside and out. This would make it easier to take apart and rebuild.

    I am glad I got to eat there back in the mid-1980’s once. My last count on these Sterling Dinettes was 5 although this probably might be the most original. I photographed 4 or the 5.

    The one in Fall River, Mass. is unrecognizable, the one in Mansfield, Mass. has been altered to a certain degree by add-ons and I believe the one in Hoboken, NJ does not have much of its interior.

    There was the Rail Diner from Rochester, NY which was moved sometime ago. Was that Al Sloan of Michigan who bought that one? I cannot quite recall.

  5. Diner sleuth drives to Lisbon — news not good « Lincoln Highway News Says:

    […] fan and fanatic John Shoaf couldn’t just read about the deconstruction of the Crosser Diner along the Lincoln Highway in Lisbon Ohio — he had to […]

  6. Jacqueline Says:

    I’m so sad to see it get taken away. I remember eating there when i was growing up in the mid 80’s to very early 90’s until it closed down. I loved the way they made hamburgers. They grilled their buns and they put smiley faces on them with the ketchup. I wish someone would of kept it running. it was a great place and piece of history. It’s sad to see it sit there all these years and more sad to see it being taken apart and sent away.

  7. Robin Leach Says:

    Crosser’s Diner was my very first job in 1975. I really enjoyed working there.

    • Lisa Says:

      Do you know/have (or have you kept in touch with) anyone who would have the recipes from the diner? I grew up in Lisbon, and the recipe for the dinner rolls was one from our family… however, no one in the family has it. I moved away when I was 19, and worrying about recipes was not my priority… LOL. However, nostalgia makes me want to find it. Thanks for any input.

      Kindest regards,

      • Sandra Lee Bilsky Says:

        Lisa I use to be a cook at Crosser’s Diner. If you don’t have to recipe for the rolls send me your e-mail add. & I will give it to you. Everyone loved them!

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Why This SAHM’s Getting Out

The Sam in this picture is not a SAHM, but she is my best friend and baby Sam’s namesake. Her cutie, who is six months older than mine, is Alex. We’ve been reconnecting more since I joined the motherhood club.

There’s a reason stay-at-home moms (SAHMS) are advised to get out once every day. It’s the same reason why all my mommy friends complain that they need “adult” conversation: We SAHMS weren’t meant to stay at home with our children. Clarification: we weren’t meant to stay home alone with our children.

I’ve given this a lot of thought lately. At the risk of sounding like Hilary Clinton, it seems to me that babies are meant to be raised in community. But I’ll take it a step further. Adults, whether parents or not, are meant to live in community. Overall, it’s ideal for everyone to have family and friends around. But I don’t just mean in the next town over, or even around the block.

I am blessed to have many friends and relatives in nearby towns; I even have a couple friends down the block. Out of these, a good number have offered to babysit if I need help; a few have. Still (dare I admit it?), I sometimes wish for more help. An echo of offers, made from miles away, is not the same as having many hands, and many minds, in one house.

Pitfalls of a Single Family Home

Look at this awesome family! This picture depicts the type of celebrations my in-laws are capable of. (Most of the credit goes to my wildly creative sister-in-law, Deborah.) Here, we are celebrating my father-in-law’s birthday, dressing to represent characters from his favorite crime shows.

After we brought Sam home, I never seemed to have enough hands. Merely trying to keep him fed was a fulltime job, not to mention the dishes, laundry, and unsent birth announcements that piled around me. Two weeks later my husband went back to work and I thought I might not survive! It was then that I decided it was not good for man and wife to live alone (with a baby). But upon more thought, I’ve decided the issue is even bigger than that. It’s about more than a new mom and dad having helping hands.

 Personal Struggles

At two months in, I’m starting to feel capable of caring for Sam by myself. But this has not ended my longing for more help. That’s because caring for Sam still takes most of my day. Even when he’s sleeping, I must attend to baby or household tasks: mixing bottles, washing dishes, making supper, or running errands. (Major plumbing issues in recent weeks, now requiring remodeling, hasn’t helped matters.)

This picture, taken with our adorable godkids a couple years ago, could actually look like our family in a few years.

With life settling into a new normal, I am re-realizing what I’ve always known about myself: I want a career, or at least some “me” time, in addition to motherhood. Whether or not that desire comes from feminist grooming or God, I know I don’t feel fulfilled only tending to baby and house chores. I don’t know whether I should apologize for this.

What’s the Real Issue?

Having had plenty of quiet time (minus the baby’s crying) to think about all of this, I’m again questioning my true desire. Maybe I’m wrong about my innate desire to have a career, and what I really long for is regular, meaningful contact with other human beings who measure more than twenty-one inches long.

No caption needed here.

Whatever the roots of my domestic discontent, I know that if my household makeup looked more like that of former, or foreign, societies, with several generations in one house and houses within walking distance from family, life would be better. Work could be distributed according to gifts or penchants. One person cooking, one cleaning, one doing the yardwork, one teaching the children. (Yes, I realize this is utopian thinking and possibly impossible.) And thus freed up from time-consuming duties I don’t like to do (such as cooking and cleaning), motherhood probably wouldn’t daunt me like it did in the beginning—and it wouldn’t frustrate me like it still sometimes does. It would be doable alongside my desires to tangle with ideas, words, other minds.

Here’s one of my favorite SAHMS, my good friend Ashley from church, holding my favorite Sam, along with her delightful daughter.

My Conclusion

I don’t care what a woman’s ultimate desires are, be they to raise a family or have a career or do both. (I have girlfriends in all three camps, by the way.) Life is not meant to be lived in isolation. Maybe the non-mothers out there don’t “need” extra hands as much as the mothers do, but we all, no matter who we are, need other minds with which to exercise our own. There are other feeling elements I haven’t even touched on here, which are harder for many of us to admit, (such as love, compassion, sympathy, and empathy), and we all need those, too. Thankfully, these days I don’t feel a dearth of love, thanks to a wonderfully supportive husband, family, and church family. But what I do lack is adult conversation and adequate time and space in which to articulate my thoughts. Call me a successfully initiated SAHM. It’s beautiful and sad all at the same time.

This SAHM is Julie, the friend I am reconnecting with since having Sam. Can you tell I am having fun with puns?

After wrestling with these ideas for several days, I decided to step outside my comfort zone and ask for the help and friendship that had been offered me. Asking for that help was hard for this “liberated” woman, but yesterday I lined up a sister-in-law who loves babies (that detail was key, so I knew she was benefiting, too) to watch Sam for four hours a week so I can get back to work on my book, and today I lined up a visit with another SAHM friend who became regrettably distant four years ago after the birth of her first child. I realized the desire I have to mix with other adults is a universal one, and there’s no reason we SAHMS should struggle on alone.


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poetry readers writers

Free Book Friday: May 21 – Reading & Writing Sites

The story behind Free Book Friday:

I’ve met many authors and readers during my time marketing, cross-promoting, and blogging. I think writers have a responsibility to inform readers about all the indie authors out there in the very crowded world of book publishing. You can’t do it alone, and why would you when you have a supportive group available?

Readers don’t just read one author – they stick with their favorite genres. There lies the power in cross-promotion. If one of my readers buys a book from an author I promote, then chances are there will be a reciprocal effect, or so is the hope. Do I want to boost sales? Of course I do. Do I want to boost other’s sales? Why not. It’s called karma.

Quick question: Have you used any of the links that I have provided? Let me know if you have found anything interesting.

New this week:

Reading & Writing Sites

I have used the writing sites Wattpad in the past, and most recently, Inkitt to gain some readership for my books by posting my sample books there – with little success. I don’t know how many readers visit those sites vs. how many are writers.

Have you visited either site as a reader? A writer? What has been your experience?

My next posting will be a bit of a test. I am going to post my NaPoWriMo collection on each site to see which one excels in two categories: Reader acquisition and site support.

Before I post I still need a few people to read over the collection:

Do you have an eye for details? I compiled all my NapoWriMo poems into one volume, but it needs a once over to check for errors. Send me a message below. I’ll send a word doc. for editing.

Use contact form below

Those are just the new ones! Click the link below for currently running promotions!

Discover New Authors and Free Books

Do you have a free book you would like featured?

Sign up for my newsletter and receive a free eBook of your choice.

Oh, pick me!
C’mon, space stuff!

By Leon Stevens

I am an author, composer, and an artist. I published my first book of poetry: Lines by Leon – Poems, Prose, and Pictures in January 2020 and a book of original classical guitar compositions. My latest book is a short story compilation of science fiction/post-apocalyptic tales called, The Knot at the End of the Rope and Other Short Stories.

4 replies on “Free Book Friday: May 21 – Reading & Writing Sites”

My pleasure. I hope you find a great platform of readers. What about other online book clubs where persons can review books. I know of Online Book Club. That seems to be a big forum. How’s the one that you’re in? I can’t recall the name at the moment.

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Book Now:

A welcoming sunshine island

The Mediterranean island of Cyprus is bathed in year-round sunshine and a history of over 10,000 years.

As a full member of the European Union, the island is modern and progressive, whilst also retaining its rich traditions and cultural heritage.

From beautiful beaches to fragrant mountain forests, Cyprus offers a variety of experiences, with in-depth information found on the Cyprus Tourism Website


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Thinking of popping the question?
Are you looking for ethical and eco friendly wedding and engagement rings?
You’ve come to the right place!

I specialise in ethical and eco friendly fine jewellery. Your engagement or wedding rings will be made from Fairmined gold or recycled platinum, along with responsibly sourced coloured gemstones, natural traceable Canadian diamonds, laboratory created diamonds or recycled antique diamonds.

Fairmined gold and fairly traded coloured gemstones support artisan miners in countries like Tanzania, Sri Lanka and Columbia. The miners work under safe conditions, are fairly paid, there’s no child labour and the profits don’t fund wars or political unrest. The type of mining carried out in Sri Lanka and Tanzania also causes less environmental damage.

Vegan and cruelty free – I never use any animal products in the making of my jewellery, or my packaging.

I use only ethically sourced, traceable, fairly traded gemstones – guaranteed exploitation and conflict free.

My packaging is comprised of 100% recycled, compostable and recyclable card or wood and is made in the UK.

Gemstones such as sapphires and rubies are a great choice for an engagement ring, being 9 on the Mohs scale of mineral hardness. Only diamonds are harder.
I can source many beautiful and unusual coloured gemstones, for you to choose from.

Recycled metals, lab created and recycled diamonds minimise environmental impact as no new mining needs to take place to make your engagement or wedding ring.  You can even ask me to recycle and reuse your old family jewellery in your new rings.

Antique diamonds are sourced to order and prices vary depending on cut, colour and what’s available. If you’d like an antique diamond in your engagement ring, please contact me, letting me know your preferred ring style and I’ll be in touch to chat over the options.
As there is no traceability with antique diamonds, they can’t be guaranteed to be conflict free.

Take a look below at my collection of wedding and engagement rings. You can buy online with confidence or contact me to arrange to visit my studio and try on the designs.

Would you like a different stone, or a different metal e.g. 9ct gold?

Or perhaps you need a specially shaped band to fit around your engagement ring?

Contact me using the form below and let me know what would make your perfect wedding or engagement ring.

Worried about choosing the wrong ring size?
I can send you a ring gauge, get in touch to find out more

If you still can’t find exactly what you’d like, I will happily make a bespoke ring for you.

Use the contact form below to tell me what you’re looking for, or click the button to make an appointment.

Contact me