There was a time in my ilfe

There was a time in my life when I lived in Effie, Louisiana and traded city sidewalks for feathers, feed buckets, and a little pond at the curve in the road. For a girl raised in Houston, it felt like stepping into another world.

I had three breeding pairs of ducks: Muscovy, Mallard, and Pekin. We also had several kinds of chickens, so there was always something clucking, waddling, splashing, or fussing about.

@bayou_quack_pack

They had a small pond and an open pen, but the ducks mostly flew free. They would wander where they pleased, then come gliding or waddling back home. 

It was noisy, messy, lively, and so much fun. For this former city girl, country life in Effie, Louisiana was an adventure full of experiences I never could have imagined.

Type 1 Diabetes Struggles

 

@https://negativespace.co/black-coffee-cup-breakfast/

Some mornings with Type 1 Diabetes don't ease you into the day—they grab you by the temples and squeeze.

Today is one of those mornings.

I woke with a tight, pressing headache, the kind that feels like it’s wrapping around my head in a slow, stubborn grip. My brain is foggy, as if someone pulled a thin gray curtain over my thoughts. And my pump? It keeps chiming at me—insistent, impossible to ignore—because my blood sugar is high. Not just a little high. 268.

For anyone who doesn’t live this life, that number might not mean much. But it explains the headache, the fog, and the slight wobble when I stand up, as if my balance is just a step behind me. It means my body is struggling to use the fuel it has, even though there’s technically plenty of sugar in my bloodstream.

I haven’t eaten yet. Just two cups of coffee—comfort in a mug—and insulin to try to keep up. But diabetes doesn’t always follow the rules. Sometimes you can do the same thing you did yesterday and get a completely different result.

That’s the part people don’t see.

They see the numbers, the devices, the routine. They don’t feel the hesitation when I think, I should go for a walk to bring this number down… but what if I get too shaky out there? They don’t feel what it’s like not to quite trust your own body in motion.

Last night didn’t help. I didn’t sleep deeply. A rash—one of those annoying side effects that shows up uninvited—kept my head itching just enough to keep me from resting fully. Six hours of sleep sounds reasonable on paper. In reality, it left me waking up already tired, already behind.

So now I’m sitting here, doing the quiet calculations that come with Type 1 Diabetes:

Do I correct again?

Do I wait?

Do I move or stay still?

Do I push through—or go back to bed and hope my body resets?

Sometimes, oddly enough, sleep helps. I’ll wake up later and feel… not perfect, but closer to normal. Like my system found its rhythm again without me hovering over every number.

That’s another truth about Type 1 Diabetes—it’s part science, part instinct, and part sheer patience.

I often say I’m grateful, and I mean it. If I had to carry a major illness, this is one that can usually be managed. Insulin works. Technology helps. There are tools, knowledge, and options that didn’t exist just a few years ago.

But there’s another layer to my story: I’m what they call a brittle diabetic. My blood sugar doesn’t like to stay in line, no matter how carefully I try to guide it. It rises when I expect it to fall, and it drops when I think I’ve planned everything just right. It keeps me humble, that’s for sure.

And yet, here I am.

Headache, fog, numbers, and all.

I’ll take a little more insulin. Sip some water. Maybe rest. Maybe try again in an hour. Living with Type 1 Diabetes isn’t about getting it perfect—it’s about staying in conversation with your body, even on days when it doesn’t make much sense.

And if I’m lucky, by this afternoon, I’ll feel like myself again. 

More later ... 

A New Home for Bonnie Rae (#TBT)

When Bonnie Rae first came home from the rescue, she was so tiny… all bones, a little rash, and eyes full of uncertainty. Every sound startled her, every movement made her pause. You could feel how hard the world had been on her.

Fast forward to today—she’s filled out into a “big, healthy girl” but that timid heart still lingers. Most people only see her quiet, cautious side.

But there’s this whole other Bonnie Rae… the one that only comes out when it’s just the two of us. That playful, silly, full-of-life spirit that makes me laugh every single day. I wish I could bottle that version of her and share it with the world.

Maybe one day. 💛

Then and now

More Later ,,, 

Wish this was still True

I don't have much to report. It's a nice rainy day here, which my garden needed. I have one of those stretchy hoses that hooks up to the sink, so watering is not really difficult, but I find I am INCREDIBLY LAZY when it comes to watering. 

If you haven't visited my new photo blog, come over to 101CapturedMoments.com and see what the Squirrels and I have been doing. 

I bought a cheap used guitar at the thrift store. It does not have all its strings, so I have to take it to the shop to get it fitted and tuned. Hopefully, this will be inexpensive. I took guitar lessons in junior high, but I did not like it because the strings hurt my fingers. I don't know if it will still bother me as much, but I thought I would try. Wish me luck. 

No word about a fine from Management for walking Bonnie Rae without a leash. Whew! Squeaked by on that one. 

More later ... 

Rabbits, Geese and Tulips

More later ... 

 

Don't Canadians speak English?

I’m trying to wrap my head around why Canadians are so upset about Air Canada CEO Michael Rousseau giving a speech mostly in English.

Maybe I’m missing something, but I always thought Quebec was the main French-speaking hub, with pockets of French sprinkled elsewhere. Not exactly shocking, then, that English might… show up in a speech.

This whole thing kind of reminds me of the uproar over the Super Bowl performance by Bad Bunny who, from what I heard because I didn’t watch it, performed in Spanish. And people were upset… because it wasn’t in English? 

Meanwhile, here in Texas, I can’t even read a street sign without getting a mini language lesson. English, Spanish, Asian, and Indigenous languages can sometimes appear all on the same pole. And nobody faints. We just keep driving.

That’s kind of what happens when you live in the real world today. It’s big, it’s mixed, and it doesn’t come with subtitles.

If we want smart, talented people from all over the globe to come here, work here, and contribute (wherever your here might be), we might have to loosen our grip on the idea that everything should feel familiar all the time. Comfort is nice—but growth usually isn’t.

Now, does that mean I personally embrace every cultural difference with open arms? Oh, absolutely not. I’ve got my limits (Burkas, for instance). But there’s a difference between “that’s not for me” and “that shouldn’t exist.”

At the end of the day, maybe the goal isn’t to make everything sound like us but to stop being so surprised when it doesn’t.

And if a little French or Spanish in the mix is the worst thing we’re dealing with… I’d say we’re doing just fine.

More later ... and comment if you understand the bruhaha.