life

Relics From The Past

Let me preface this by saying: I am not a hoarder. I’m actually deathly afraid of becoming one. But somehow, I’ve ended up with an attic full of memories (read: buckets of stuff), a garage that can’t fit both cars, and a house full of furniture that could probably tell a better life story than I can.

There’s a fine line between “sentimental” and “featured on an episode of Hoarders: Emotional Edition,” and I’m walking it.

There’s a beast of a dresser that’s been with me since the beach house days. It’s roughly 40% wood and 60% pure sentiment. One drawer sticks, another only opens if you bribe it with a candle and a soft song, and the side door swings open on its own like the ghosts of my past are trying to get my attention.

It’s heavy as sin, scuffed to oblivion, and borderline haunted—but it reminds me of a different version of myself. A different season. And no matter how many times I curse its weight while moving it (again), I just can’t bring myself to let it go.

My grandmother’s sewing table matches absolutely nothing in my house. It doesn’t even pretend to go. And I don’t sew on it—I have a modern table with wheels and storage and cupholders and probably Wi-Fi. But every time I think about getting rid of Mom’s table, I get a knot in my stomach the size of a humpback whale.

Suddenly, I’m back in her sewing room, small and wide-eyed, watching her whip up curtains, costumes, and magic with just fabric and a foot pedal. And just like that, I find yet another random corner in my house for this table that serves no purpose, clashes with everything, and will—without a doubt—outlive us all.

So why do we keep these things? Because they’re not just things—they’re time capsules. They hold memories, emotions, versions of ourselves we’re not quite ready to let go of. Letting them go feels less like decluttering and more like deleting chapters of a story—or worse, throwing away someone else’s.

And maybe, deep down, I’m clinging to the hopeful (if slightly delusional) idea that these items will mean something to my kids someday… even though, realistically, they’re probably walking through my house right now mentally cataloging what they’ll have to haul to the curb when I’m gone. Or worse—carrying the guilt of tossing it that I can’t stomach now.

I get it. I really do.

But for now—the haunted dresser, the attic full of memories, the sewing table with no purpose—they stay.

Because I remember. And that’s enough.

They remind me where I came from. They make my house feel lived-in and loved—not showroom perfect, but memory-perfect.

Blessings y’all – Amy

Vacation Hangover: A Cautionary Tale of Sunscreen, Mai Tais, and Sad Reality

You know that glorious, giddy feeling when you’re heading out on vacation? That “I’m about to become a new person who doesn’t answer emails and feels completely free of life” kind of energy? Yeah. That person is gone now. She was radiant. She had SPF in her soul. She believed in naps and mid-morning cocktails because it’s always 5 o’clock somewhere.

Now? I am a shell of a human who walks around the house spraying the hotels signature scent hoping all the amenities are in that little bottle.

I have a vacation hangover—and no, I’m not just talking about the lingering effects of drinking obnoxiously strong Mai Tais that came with pineapple on the rim and flowers in the drink. I mean the full-body grief that sets in when you trade paradise for your inbox.

Symptoms include:

Trying to greet your boss in the office with a “mahalo” and a shaka sign.
Checking your suitcase to see if sand and happiness are somehow still in there.
Wondering why no one brought you a piña colada at 10am. Again.

I had big plans, people. I was going to bring vacation-me home. She was going to cook more, stress less, and somehow figure out how to infuse paradise into her everyday life. She was going to Marie Kondo her life. She was going to do all the things on her list and live every day like it was a cruise buffet breakfast.

Instead, I came home and immediately fell face first into month end at work and a folder with 100 invoices to be entered.

The worst part is how fast it happens. One minute you’re floating in a pool with no idea what day it is. The next, you’re in traffic being tailgated and cut off by an idiot who wants to exit from the left lane at 75 mph.

I unpacked my suitcase and found:

Three swimsuits
A full bag of laundry
And my dignity – still on vacation apparently

Here’s the thing: I love traveling. I love escaping. But re-entry into regular life should come with some kind of emotional parachute. Maybe a transitional period where I still get breakfast buffets and someone else makes my bed while I sob softly into a beach towel.

I’ve considered writing a letter to my vacation destination. Something like:

Dear Paradise, I miss you. I miss waking up to the sound of waves instead of construction in my neighborhood. I miss tan lines and fruity drinks. I miss housekeeping. Take me back…please? I can change. But until teleportation becomes a thing, I’ll just be here. Drinking sad weak rum and cokes. Scrolling back through vacation pictures every five minutes looking for that feeling. Searching for flights I can’t afford.

And maybe… just maybe… shaking the sand out of my shoes and smiling a little. Because even though the vacation is over, the stories, and the glow? Those stay with me.

Forever. Or at least until the next trip.

Lesson Learned: Next time, schedule an extra day off after you get back. Or just move to the beach and open a hammock store. Either way.

Blessings Y’all – Amy

Hawaii Stole My Heart

From the sun-kissed sand that sparkles both onshore and beneath the waves, to the breathtaking sunrises and sunsets—and every unforgettable moment in between—I’m pretty sure I left a piece of my soul in Hawaii. I honestly can’t remember ever falling so completely in love with a place. There were a few moments when I think Tim wasn’t entirely sure he’d get me on the plane to come home! Truth be told, I seriously considered finding a local realtor while we were there. I may have just discovered my retirement destination. I’m fairly confident Tim and I could work out a schedule like the whales—summers in Alaska, and the rest of the year in paradise.

We stayed at the Royal Hawaiian in Waikiki, and for our first trip, it was absolutely perfect. Everything was within walking distance, and there was never a shortage of things to do. That said, I think next time we might opt for somewhere a bit more remote—maybe the North Shore—for a different pace and feel. We had intentionally left some gaps in our itinerary so we could go with the flow when the mood struck, but we also made sure to plan a few dedicated beach days, even going so far as to pre-rent umbrellas in the hotel’s reserved beach section.

I think the days I spent playing in the water were probably my favorite—though the day our private guide took us to a hidden local beach might top the list. That’s where I sat and watched my beloved sea turtles until Tim finally made us leave because I was burning in the sun. You all know I’ve always been obsessed with sea turtles, but seeing them in their natural habitat was absolutely magical. Watching them effortlessly move with the ocean’s rhythm—their sheer size, their grace—it took my breath away. That moment is forever etched in my memory. Honestly, I think we could all learn a thing or two from sea turtles about how to roll with the waves of life.

I’ve never really been one to spend much time playing in the sand and surf, even with my lifelong love for the ocean. In the back of my mind, I’m always aware that I’m not a strong swimmer—and just how powerful the ocean really is. But the water at our hotel was something else. I could walk way out and still only be in water up to my hips. The ocean was, of course, salty—I told Tim I needed a margarita to go with all that salt while we were splashing around—but it was so incredibly clear. And in the afternoons, when the sand got stirred up, it sparkled beneath the surface like glitter. Absolute magic.

View from the water looking back at our hotel

Of course, we met some truly kind souls at the hotel bar—because you know me, I never go anywhere without picking up a new friend or two. Despite the volume of guests they serve every day, each of the bartenders made us feel genuinely welcome and right at home. I also discovered that Mai Tais aren’t really my thing… but a blended coconut mojito? Absolutely my jam. And definitely a certified nap inducer!

I had some fish tacos that were surprisingly delicious—especially considering how far we were from the South—and I’m pretty sure I ate my weight in pineapple over the course of the week. I’ve never had pineapple that good in my life. It got to the point where I was asking for a plate of it as my breakfast side every morning. And funnily enough, despite eating and drinking whatever I wanted, I came home a few pounds lighter. Tim says it’s because we were so active… but I think it’s more likely my body was just in its happy place. LOL.

Tim’s promised we’ll go back—and soon—but for now, I’m content to channel a little Hawaiian magic into some corner of the house and keep dreaming about the day we return. If you haven’t been yet, do yourself a favor: book the plane ticket. It’s truly a magical place.

Blessings y’all – Amy

At The Intersection of Joy & Grief

I made a decision about a month or so ago that I was slowly going to come off the anti-depressants I’ve been on since PawPaw died. That we maxed out after Fred died and had to change completely during COVID because they weren’t working. I’ve reached a chapter in my life where I have such a strong support system and I’ve done so much work in counseling I felt like it was time.

But it’s that time of year again. The month or so I spend holding my breath each day as I open TimeHop and each time I talk to my kids. The memories of him that are in my oldest daughter’s smile, in my son’s laugh, or in my youngest daughter’s tender heart. The anniversary of Fred’s passing is today and, as this new season of my life progresses, the time of year I am so besieged with emotions I can barely sort them.

Guilt is constant because I have found joy again. I wouldn’t ever want the kids to think I’ve forgotten the life we had with their dad. Yet I made a promise to Fred that I wouldn’t be sad too long and that I would marry again. Grief because no matter what I still miss him. Confusion over missing him when I have a man in my life now that loves me to a depth that is indescribable. Sadness because he’s missing out on momentous occasions in my children’s lives. Our first grandchild will make an appearance in September and I know his presence will be missed even more than it already is.

I know that it’s been long enough since he’s been gone that most days I choose joy. I choose to thank God each morning when I do my prayers for the life I have now and the blessings he’s given me. On days like today I feel like I’m standing at an intersection of joy and grief and while I know I need to choose joy more today than any other day the sadness of grief is so deep it’s hard not to give in to it.

Trying to focus on joy I think back to that last “perfect” Lanford Saturday we shared with Fred. It was May 20, 2017 and Fred had been home from the hospital for about a month. It was one of those days where none of us could sit still and were so joyous from having gotten Fred through rehab and home that we just wanted to be out in the world. It was still spring and the weather was gorgeous. We spend the day doing some of our most favorite things. We went to Grapevine and had wine and snacks on Main Street. It was Main Street days in downtown Grapevine and we wandered around different booths for quite a while. The kids each got to have a cast made of their hand holding their dads. Something we didn’t know how very soon would be an irreplaceable treasure from the day. We finished in Grapevine around 3 pm and by 6 pm were back out headed to go see live music at The Truck Yard. With Tigre in tow.

Those are the days I look back on and remember how very much he lived during his time on earth. Those are the days I hope bring a smile to each of my kids when they are sad. And that is the Fred I remember with a heavy heart on the days I am sad. He was a good man. He gave me my family and for that I will forever be grateful.

If you have a favorite Fred memory I’d love to hear it today.

Blessings – Amy