Well, it’s the holidays again. This year has gone by a lot better than last year or the prior years. I’m busy writing my novels and shoving them into one big happy epic fantasy. I found my ink pen and it’s a hawt mess. It’s just one ugly pen. It’s been with me for a while. It’s been chewed on, cap missing, and squeezed to death. If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it. I’m getting ready to shoot another YouTube video. Someone has to make an ass out of themselves, right? I fixed my webpage *gasp*. I hate fixing the damn webpage. It’s getting easier to manage the SOB. Three of my novels are on Wattpad. We’re getting to the good shit. I’m a slow story-teller. If I knew then what I know now, I probably would have written a short stand alone novel. I’m already committed. I’m past the commitment line and there’s no turning back.

I’ve read five books for the past two weeks. Nothing BPD, Anxiety, or Bipolar-related. Maybe schizophrenia-related. So, yeah.. I’ve been trying to stay on top of novels. If I keep my mind distracted, it won’t let the demons escape. After three sessions with a therapist and no real help, I chose to go AWOL. You go through these periods that you don’t want to talk about anything. You think you’re fine and you’re cured. That’s just the Bipolar and BPD lying to me. I’ve tried to stay as positive as I can be. I’ve been really on top of my writing as of late. No, I haven’t forgotten this blog. I’ve been literally writing and reading books for the past couple of weeks.

Something triggered my BPD. It made me really pissed off. A dude dumped a chick because he could handle the depression but not Bipolar. Dude, really? But you can force people to stay, if they don’t want to be there. I know… I’ve been there quite a few times. It’s hard when you have Borderline. You get attached to people and you don’t want to let go. Let them go. I know it’s hard but you’ve got to. There’s always a more amazing person, who is completely understanding and non-judgmental. It took me a long time and a bad marriage to find mine. You have to land on quite a few dog turds before you find the rose.

Thinking back, I went to Grandma’s house for food. My Uncle George could cook. He would always have fish and I went over for the fish. I hated pea soup but I was there for the fish. He cooked halibut, fresh tuna, tilapia, catfish, and whitefish. He knew how to cook. He also knew how to write and draw. My Uncle George taught me how to think. How to take everything with a grain of salt. He was an intelligent man. He was an ex-priest, too. He’s dead now. He died in February, 2008. He battled with weight his entire life. He weighed in at 500 lbs. He dropped 100 pounds before he died. He caught pneumonia and it killed him. My oldest son, Zachary, is just like him. A smart-ass and incredibly intelligent. Every time my oldest son speaks, I remember my Uncle George. I miss him. I miss my grandma, too. She died in March of 2005. Losing her was the worst. Every time I think of the holidays, I think of them. My grandmother was the first American-German born from our family. She was German as German could be. She was born May 26, 1913 in Chicago, Illinois. Her mother was three years old, when they came over from Hamburg, Germany. My grandma was the first girl born in the family. So, do any of our family members speak German? Nope! My great-grandmother and great-grandpa feared being thrown in the mix with WWI and WWII. They learned quickly, how to speak English. They taught their kids to speak English. Nobody knows German in my family. You will hear them say scheisse (shit) from time to time. That’s about it. My grandmother married my grandfather… I don’t remember when. He wasn’t German. My late grandfather was Bohemian (Gypsy-Republic of Czechoslovakia: aka canceled Czech). Full-blooded Bohemian. They threw all the wild parties in their area. Which is funny, because I didn’t think my grandmother would have hooked up with a party animal, but she did. Her family was strict but his family knew how to have fun. Nobody speaks a word of Czech either.

As for my dad’s side… that’s a whole different post. His blood his heavily mixed with everything from around the world. We’ll just leave it at that. Get a hold of the genealogy book and boy… you’ll raise some eyebrows. I can’t claim those sides, because the pigment of my skin, turned out white. I want to send off my blood to have it tested, before I reveal his complete side of the family tree. I can claim British, Scot, and Irish. That line, I know a 100%. My maiden name is British. His family came from North Hampshire, England. His mother’s side, came from Aberdeen, Scotland. My dad’s last name was changed when they came over here. I think it was misspelled and they went with it. I can trace his line from the 1500’s. Congrats! We’re now from the States. Half of his side has been here since 1600’s. The other half of his side was already here. My mom’s side has been here, since the late 1800’s.

As for holidays… we do the whole Christmas thing. My kids love Christmas. They aren’t obnoxious or act a certain way. They get what they really wanted, something they need, and something educational. I don’t go all out for Christmas. Halloween, we dress up and I take the kids trick-or-treating. It’s hard to celebrate because my maternal grandmother always had the ham out. For New Years Eve, we had pickled herring, pizza rolls, and other stuff. For New Year’s Day, more pickled herring, cabbage, and black-eyed peas. It’s for good luck. Nobody likes sauerkraut or anything German in nature. Maybe German chocolate cake but nah… we Americanized our family a few decades back. Blood sausages? Ick… I get asked all the time, if I enjoyed German food. Not so much. German beer, yes! German food, no! But, I can’t drink anymore. My grandmother ate Limburger cheese and deli meat that nobody touched, growing up. She cooked veal, liver, and stuff… I wouldn’t subject my kids to. The smell alone was like death. Pea soup was her favorite to cook. I still can’t eat that. Bratwurst… nope! I can’t eat it. My husband can but I can’t. Blood pudding, nope! Liverwurst, nope! There was one meat that was mixed in with pork and veal… I couldn’t eat it.

I have a gag reflex. I can’t even stand coleslaw. I can eat cabbage as long as it’s cooked. I also am not a fan of nuts. So that pretty much knocks out anything from the German side. Pickled herring is an acquired taste. It taste like puke, just to be honest. I’m not a fan of ham, sausage, or anything ham related. I only use bacon for the bacon grease. That’s what I cook my fish in. I’ll fry the bacon and give it to my bacon eaters. I know… I’m weird.

My mom was taught how to cook lasagna from an Italian mother in Chicago, Illinois. That was the only thing, my mom could cook. You were eating, when mom made lasagna. Today, I changed her recipe and made it much better. The kids go nuts, when I make my version of lasagna. I have to make three huge trays of it. It will be gone in a week.

My grandmother’s side was good for tea, fish, and sweets. Not so good, when it came to other meals. My dad’s side… fried foods. If you could fry it, you fried it. Yes, I know how to make fried green tomatoes, cornbread, and all that stuff. My dad comes from Eastern, Kentucky and my mom came from Chicago, Illinois. She made friends with Italians. So, every Christmas Eve… we make lasagna. Christmas Day, it’s ham and turkey. We don’t go out to special restaurants or anything like that. I have paranoia, so I like to cook my own food these days.

As for sneaky kids. My husband and I came up with this idea to combat opened presents. For the last four years, we keep the tree empty. That way it makes the kids believe they’re not getting anything. On Christmas Eve, after the kids go to bed, we wrap presents all night long. We have an assembly line going. Someone tapes, another wraps, and another puts the names on them. We take that time and assemble bikes or anything like that. This year, Samara is getting a wooden doll house. My husband is going to be cursing by the time the night is through. We also do the Elf-on-the-shelf thing. Which reminds me, I better move that damn elf. We have a real tree… I know… I’m a tree murderer. We compromised with both white and colored lights. We chose to go with bows instead of beads, garlands, or tassels. Our house is set on automatic. They kick on after a certain time and kick off at a certain time. My mom’s Christmas village is up. We have the stockings up and my angels are holding them down. We have lit garlands over the mantles. Those are in white lights. Husband likes white lights and I love the colored lights. So, we compromised. My angel tops the tree and she’s run by batteries. Under the tree sits a train that goes around the tree and a tree-skirt. We chose to make up our own traditions as we go along. It helps me deal with the holidays better and it cuts down the stress. I also have more family members to pitch in and help.

So… this year, I’m adding my triple-deck chocolate fudge with salted caramel. It’s mixed with dark, semi-sweet, and milk chocolate. It’s topped with caramel and sea-salt. It’s good. Very rich but the kids love it. My mom will be baking cookies all weekend. I have been summoned to make my famous peanut butter pie. Complete with whip cream and chocolate drizzle. It’s rich but my husband will walk off with the entire pie.

I hope this post didn’t make you too hungry. If it did, I’m sorry. I just know what’s ahead of me for the next week. It’s all about good food, good friends, and family, you can tolerate. I suggest writing in a journal or buy an adult coloring book to keep your mind busy. I will be writing and tying off my fourth novel. I’m on page 108. It’s getting good! There’s some fight scenes, erotic scenes, and a cruel sister. Lawd… I love this series!



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