There are two kinds of neurodivergent people: those who obsessively need order in their environment... And me. As far back as I can remember, I've had a problem with clutter. My bedroom always looked like the aftermath of a Category 5 hurricane. People always said, "When it's your own place, you'll care more and keep it neater. " Nope. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

There is a song from Sweeney Todd that sort of sums up my experience with baking- "The Worst Pies in London." In it, Mrs. Lovett laments (to the first customer to visit her shop in weeks) that "times is hard" and her wares are, to be blunt, gross. Is that just disgusting? / You have to concede it / It's nothing but crusting / Here, drink this, you'll need it…

Happy 2026!

Ya'll, I wasn't sure I was gonna make it! Living through 2025 was like surfing in a hurricane - if you survive, it's one helluvah ride. And believe me, it was one helluvah ride. I made my first post in February, 2025, not knowing what the year had in store for me. The White House was occupied, and the scent of chaos was thick in the air.

A quick note: If you are enjoying this content, please take a moment to hit the “like” and leave a comment. If you are really enjoying it, why not subscribe? That way, you’ll never miss a post. Thanks – Deb

It looks like the Winter Warlock and The Miser Brothers had a knock-down, drag-out rumble in my apartment.

The monkeys won this week, an I forgot to wite today's post. Mea culpa! I did, however, get this month's podcast episode edited, broke down several cardboard boxes, and dealt with a bunch of Real Life Responsibilities. I even made Christmas cookies. So, I'm good with giving myself a bit of grace. I'll be back on track next week.

We've got about two weeks left in 2025, and I feel I should be wearing a crash helmet. There is no denying this has been a crazy, weird, and often frightening year. I'm trying to keep a positive spin on things, but the End of the Year Celebrity Die-Off has been particularly hard this year. Loni Anderson, Tony Geary…

Alas, poor sleep, I knew it well…

Alas, poor sleep, I knew it well... I've never had a great track record with sleep. Like most dysfunctional relationships, we have had our ups and downs over the decades, vascillating between too much and not enough . We love each other, sleep and I, but we just can't make our relationship work. For a while, I had it mostly under control.

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to pay our final respects to my give-a-damns. All of them. About four hours into my workday, I was done. Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. I woke up too early. My computer gave me drama. Customers were crazy. I don't know how it happened, but everything and everyone ticked me off.

My cousin Ann posted the following to her Facebook account the other day with the comment, "What??? They don't know?" Yeah, I had to read it a couple of times, too. This isn't The Onion. It's Axios. Now, I haven't identified as a Christian since I was in 12th grade, warbling the Hail, Mary by rote in French along with the rest of the class.

Yesterday I ate a leftover turkey sandwich. Granted, the turkey was a Quorn Meatless Turkey-Style Roast, but it still hit all the right buttons to give me that warm, fuzzy holiday feeling. Back in 1999, I made the decision to stop eating meat (I shited to a pescetarian diet around 2003). I've never regretted the decision to stop eating land animals and poultry, but I did miss certain comfort foods for a long time (like the aforementioned leftover turkey sandwich).

Busy eating plant-based turkey products! See you next week.

This month, Debbie and Deb finish up their conversation on Thanksgiving by discussing radical gratitude, radical kindness, and the two sides of the generosity coin.

I spent much of my early life feeling like a failure. I was never smart enough or talented enough. I certainly wasn't successful enough. And for years, I agonized over my self-proclaimed mediocrity. Why? Because in fifth grade, I was pulled out of class and driven to the local college where I sat in an auditorium with a couple hundred other fifth graders and took a test which labeled me "gifted."