Category Archives: Life

A Poem Revisited

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Bright orange and red autumn leaves on a tall tree set against a vivid blue sky, capturing the color and clarity of early fall.

⭐  “October’s Bright Blue Weather”

Some things stay with you your whole life. When I was in fifth grade, we had to memorize October’s Bright Blue Weather by Helen Hunt Jackson for English class. At the time, I didn’t realize how deeply it would root itself in me — how those crisp images of autumn air and bright blue skies would follow me into adulthood.

All these many years later, it’s still one of my favorite poems. There’s something about the way Jackson captures October that feels exactly right: the clarity, the stillness, the sense of change in the air. Every time the calendar turns to fall, I find myself thinking of those lines again, remembering the rhythm of the words and the way they made the season feel bigger than the world I knew at ten years old.

And of course, Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken” sits right beside it in my heart — two roads diverging, choices made, paths followed. Both poems have stayed with me, shaping the way I see autumn, memory, and the quiet turning of the year.

October’s Bright Blue Weather

O suns and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October’s bright blue weather;

When loud the bumblebee makes haste, Belated, thriftless vagrant,
And goldenrod is dying fast,
And lanes with grapes are fragrant;

When gentians roll their fingers tight
To save them for the morning,
And chestnuts fall from satin burrs
Without a sound of warning;

When on the ground red apples lie
In piles like jewels shining,
And redder still on old stone walls
Are leaves of woodbine twining;

When all the lovely wayside things
Their white-winged seeds are sowing,
And in the fields still green and fair,
Late aftermaths are growing;

When springs run low, and on the brooks,
In idle golden freighting,
Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush
Of woods, for winter waiting;

When comrades seek sweet country haunts,
By twos and twos together,
And count like misers, hour by hour,
October’s bright blue weather.

O sun and skies and flowers of June,
Count all your boasts together,
Love loveth best of all the year
October’s bright blue weather

Helen Hunt Jackson

Some favorites never fade. They just deepen.

 

Getting Older Takes an Emotional Toll — And a Sense of Humor

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An illustrated portrait of a smiling white‑haired woman sitting at a desk with a coffee mug, camera, laptop, notebooks, and pie, surrounded by two cats and motivational notes highlighting her creativity, organization, kindness, and love of projects, planning, and cats.

The Shocking Discovery: I Am, In Fact, Aging

OK, I admit it. I’m getting older. Along with age comes the usual aches and pains, but honestly? I’ve been lucky. I’ve made it three‑quarters of a century with no heart disease, no Big C lurking in the shadows, and no organs threatening to resign. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about my remaining life span. There are no guarantees, and my brain has started doing math I never asked it to do.

The Administrative Side of Mortality (Yawn)

I’m finally — and very reluctantly — trying to get my life, or maybe my death, organized so I don’t leave a giant mess behind for my family. Necessary, yes. Fun, absolutely not. But that’s not what today’s post is about.

Today’s post is about a different “getting older” problem, one I didn’t expect to hit so hard: the emotional side of mobility issues.

My Body Says 75, My Brain Says 40

I’ve had hip and knee issues for years. I even had a hip replacement in 2018, and it was the best decision I ever made — instant pain relief, and today that hip is the best joint I’ve got. My knees, however, have decided to behave like they’re made of damp cardboard. Especially the right one.

A person stands on a rocky shoreline facing floating ice and a massive glacier stretching between snow‑covered mountains under a cloudy sky at Mendenhall Glacier in Alaska.

Mendenhall Glacier, Alaska

Stairs? A negotiation. Walking long distances? A comedy routine.
Me — the person who used to hike mountains — now can’t walk around the block.

I use a cane on bad days, but what I really need is one of those walkers with the basket and the seat. With one of those, I could load up my camera, stroll the neighborhood, visit wildlife sanctuaries with boardwalks, and get back to taking nature photos.

It sounds wonderful.

So why can’t I do it?

A blue four‑wheel rollator walker with hand brakes, a wire basket, and a flat tray sits on a floor, designed to provide support and carry items for someone with limited mobility.

The Identity Crisis No One Warned Me About

A red four‑wheel mobility scooter with a padded seat, armrests, handlebars, and a front basket, designed to help someone travel longer distances with comfort and support.Because in my head, I’m still the neighbor who carried everyone’s groceries. I’m the one who hauled trash barrels, climbed stairs without thinking, and never needed help.

Now I’m the one saying, “Are you going downstairs? Let me get out of your way — I’m slow.”

I hate it.

And don’t even get me started on the time Joe posted a picture of me on a rental scooter. He thought it was cute. I reacted like he’d posted my Social Security number. That photo came down FAST.

Gray hair? Love it. Cane? Fine. Airport wheelchair? Practical. But a walker? That feels like crossing some invisible emotional line.

The Real Problem: My Head Forgot to Age

I don’t want sympathy or pity. I want to be seen as self‑sufficient. My head still thinks I’m 40, but my body is laughing so hard it’s wheezing.

How do I take the next step?

And Here’s the Part Where Humor Saves Me

The truth is, aging isn’t the enemy — my pride is. My body is filing complaints, my joints are staging walkouts, and my brain is still insisting we could climb a mountain “if we really wanted to.” So maybe the next step isn’t admitting defeat. Maybe it’s admitting reality… and then laughing at it. If a walker gets me back to the wildlife sanctuaries, the boardwalks, and the camera in my hand, then maybe it’s not a symbol of getting old — maybe it’s a symbol of refusing to stop living. And honestly? If my head doesn’t want to grow up, that’s fine. I’ll let the walker do the adulting for both of us.

Your Turn — Because I Know I’m Not the Only One

Has anyone else been through this? Any suggestions for coping with my reluctant emotional gremlin? I’d genuinely love to hear how others handled that moment when practicality and pride collided.

 

 

A Day in the Life of a Retired, Car‑Free, Cat‑Ruled Creator

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The Big Change: Goodbye, Car

Some people downsize their homes when they retire. I downsized my driving.

After three years and a whopping 5,000 miles, I realized my car was basically a very expensive lawn ornament. Once the daily commute vanished, my driving shrank to quick errands and the occasional entertainment day trip. So I let it go. Honestly, that’s probably the biggest shift in my life lately — and surprisingly, I don’t miss it.

Sleepy person in a robe holding a coffee cup with messy hair, sitting in a chair under bold text reading “Monday 5:30 am.The Weekend Mystery

Here’s the funny part: Even without a job, I still prefer weekends.

My routines don’t change. The schedule stays the same. Responsibilities remain exactly where I left them. And yet… Sunday night still ties my stomach in a knot like I’m about to face a pop quiz on Monday morning. Apparently, some habits survive retirement.

The IRS Incident (A.K.A. The Heart Attack That Wasn’t)

Let’s talk about the day I nearly met my maker.

I use USPS Informed Delivery — a free service that emails you a preview of your mail. Usually helpful. Occasionally horrifying.

At 8 AM, I opened my Daily Digest and saw it: A letter from the IRS.

The IRS! What could they possibly want? My taxes were filed. My refund was received. I hadn’t robbed Fort Knox or started a secret offshore casino. And yet there it was… a government envelope with my name on it.

The mail wouldn’t arrive until 1 or 2 PM, which meant I had five hours to imagine every worst‑case scenario known to mankind. I paced around the room, fretting over every possibility. At one point I even started mentally drafting my own obituary.

By the time the mail truck finally rolled up, I was a wreck. With shaking hands, I tore open the envelope and discovered…

A solicitation.  No audit. No penalty. And absolutely no summons lurking inside. Just a cheerful little note informing me I was eligible for a government match of up to $1,000 if I opened an IRA.

If I had extra money, I’d still have a car — so into the circular file it went. My hands needed a few minutes to stop vibrating.

Morning: Powered by Cats and CoffeeTwo cats sitting on a light-colored carpet near a window, one orange and one black, relaxing beside a cat tree in a cozy indoor space.

But let’s rewind. Before IRS‑induced panic attacks, my day starts with my furry alarm clocks.

Retired people supposedly need a reason to get up in the morning. I have two: Banner and Balboa, who demand breakfast no later than 6 AM. One of them will wake me — gently if I’m lucky, aggressively if I’m not.

They eat. They go back to bed. I log onto the computer and begin my morning ritual.

Step 1: Facebook Patrol

  • Visit my personal page
  • Vote for Joe in the Best of Florida contest
  • Check notifications
  • Make sure the internet hasn’t imploded overnight

Step 2: Creator Duties

I run two pages:

  • Dusty Roads Photos
  • Sights and Scenes of an Everyday Person

I check for:

  • Posts that need to be made
  • Tasks Facebook wants me to complete for “maximum exposure”
  • Anything that belongs on my daily task list

Step 3: Blog Headquarters

Over to AroundDustyRoads.com:

  • Add writing tasks
  • Plan WMEO mayhem
  • Make notes for future posts

Tipped-over laundry basket with colorful clothes spilling out beside two detergent bottles on a white surface.Step 4: Adulting

  • Check all four email accounts
  • Check both bank accounts (because forgetting to log something is my superpower)
  • Check my calendar: doctors, dentists, lawyers, Indian chiefs — whoever wants a piece of me today
  • Check chore schedules: laundry, cleaning, errands

By the time I finish all that, it’s practically lunchtime.

Midday: The Domestic Intermission

I take a break from screen time to:Black cat standing near a sliding glass door looking outside while an orange cat walks across the carpet toward the door in natural light.

  • Clean the kitty litter
  • Bag the trash
  • Hand out kitty treats
  • Make breakfast
  • Shower

Then it’s back to work — creator work, that is.

Afternoon: The Job I Love (Even If It Doesn’t Pay)

Person sitting at a round wooden table using a laptop, with a notebook and small items nearby in a cozy indoor workspace.I tackle my task list:

  • Post photos
  • Write blog entries
  • Manage pages
  • Keep the creator machine humming

Believe it or not, this fills the entire day. Retirement isn’t lounging on a beach — it’s running a one‑woman media empire with two feline interns.

Evening: The Cozy Shift

By evening, I’m ready to unwind:Cover of the book “Fury in Death” by J.D. Robb featuring swirling fiery orange and yellow designs over a dark background with a city skyline silhouette.

  • A book
  • The TV
  • Balboa curled in my lap
  • Banner stretched at my feet like a fluffy orange dog

People ask me all the time: “Aren’t you bored? What do you do all day?”

The answer is simple: No, I’m not bored. I’m busy. My blog and creator pages are my job…

Some people think retirement means I’m available 24/7, just sitting around eating bon bons and waiting for their call. Let me assure you: the only ones who get that kind of access are my cats — and even they have to wait until I finish my morning checklist.

I may not get paid, but the satisfaction is priceless. My paycheck comes in the form of joy, creativity, and that little spark of accomplishment when I finish a post or a project. I work for myself now — and let me tell you, I’m the strictest boss I’ve ever had.

 And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

 

The Alphabet Life

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A hand holds a small paper note with a motivational message about Plan A and the alphabet, against a softly blurred green‑blue background.

A Slogan That Stuck With Me

I found an old photo today — a slogan I saved back in 2017:

“If Plan A didn’t work. The alphabet has 25 more letters.”

It appealed to me then, and it still does. Maybe because my life has never been a single‑letter plan. It’s been an alphabet — one chapter after another, each one teaching me something, even if it wasn’t “the one.”

My Alphabet Life

Since retirement especially, I’ve lived what I call my alphabet life.

DoorDash was my D‑phase — discovering my limits and my patience for stairs.

Affiliate marketing was my A‑phase — adventurous, experimental, and ultimately a “we’ll see.”

Blogging became my B‑phase — building something steady, creative, and mine.

Etsy printables were my E‑phase — exploring creativity and learning what sparks joy (and what doesn’t).

A yellow background with faint paw prints along the bottom and a small photo of an orange cat in the upper left corner, with the text “Printable by Deborah” centered on the page.

Photography tagging is my P‑phase — preserving memories one image at a time.

Facebook Creator is my F‑phase — fun, chaotic, cat‑powered, and still unfolding.

And then there was Welcoming Haven, my online store — my W‑phase. A dream that didn’t quite land, but still part of the alphabet. Still part of the story. Still something I tried with heart.

A logo featuring a house cradled between two stylized hands, with the text “Home Goods & Decor” above and “Welcoming Haven – Love Where You Live” below.

A black T‑shirt featuring a colorful graphic of a rocket launching over mountains at sunset, with bold text that reads “Aim High Fail Big” and smaller text below that says “Go for it!” alongside a crashed airplane and target illustration.Turning the Next Page

I guess I’ve never been someone who stays stuck on Plan A. I just flip to the next letter and see what’s there. Maybe I’m somewhere around Plan R by now. Maybe Plan S is waiting. Maybe Plan T involves cats, photography, or something I haven’t imagined yet.

My online store didn’t work out, but I still catch myself wondering if there’s a little line of merch somewhere in my future. Maybe. Maybe not. The alphabet is long, and I’m still turning pages.

Where the Road Leads

Who knows where that dusty road will take me next.

An illustrated portrait of Deb sitting at a desk with a mug, notebooks, a camera, a pie, and two cats, surrounded by text banners highlighting traits like creativity, organization, problem‑solving, and kindness.

JUST ANOTHER TRIP ON THE ROAD OF LIFE

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Expansive badlands landscape with layered rock formations, rugged cliffs, and grassy rolling hills under a partly cloudy sky.

🌾 Feeling Philosophical Today

I saw a meme this morning, and it stopped me in my tracks. Now, most memes fall into one of three categories:

  • the ones that make me laugh
  • the ones that make me mad
  • and the ones that don’t deserve a second glance

But this one… this one hit close to home.

Older woman with short white hair riding a bicycle on a gravel path beside a lake, wearing a loose red dress, with the quote “A lot of life is just how you deal with the bumps in the road” and a small “Healing Heart’s” logo beneath it.

🚜 Why Around Dusty Roads Exists

White car driving fast on a winding dirt road, kicking up a large cloud of dust in a dry rural landscape with sparse vegetation.I named my blog Around Dusty Roads because the roads I grew up on really were dusty. Dirt roads everywhere — except during mud season or winter, when they turned into icy slip‑n‑slides. That’s just life in the Adirondacks when you’re a kid.

These days, most of those roads are paved, civilized, and well-behaved. But if you know where to look, you can still find a few honest-to-goodness dirt roads hiding out like old friends.

And that meme made me think of those roads.

🛞 Life’s Bumpy RoadsLong straight dirt road stretching across open grassy plains with scattered muddy potholes under a cloudy sky.

Life is full of bumps, potholes, and mud. You don’t get to choose whether they show up — only how you deal with them when they do.

One of my favorite examples? The day my sister Sandy and I got spectacularly lost in South Dakota.

🤦‍♀️ The Pow Wow That Never Was

Straight dirt road stretching across wide open grassy plains under a cloudy sky, disappearing toward the distant horizon.We were on a Native American reservation, trying to get to a Pow Wow. We pulled out of the parking lot and immediately went right instead of left.

The road was dirt. It had rained the night before. So we had the perfect combination: dry dust on top, mud and puddles underneath. A real adventure starter kit.

About five minutes in, we both started to suspect we had gone the wrong way. The plains stretched out around us, wide and empty, and that dirt road just kept going. And going. And going.

Sandy muttered, “Stupid white women,” imagining exactly what the guy who gave us directions must’ve thought as he watched us confidently head off in the wrong direction.

And that was it. The tone was set. We laughed — oh my, did we laugh.

We laughed like hyenas as we splashed through puddles, slid through mud, and barreled down what felt like the Longest Dirt Road in the World. Every mile made it funnier.

We never found the Pow Wow. But when we finally reached a tiny village and a blessedly paved road, we laughed even harder. Sandy wanted to get out and kiss the asphalt.

🌟 A Memory That Sticks

That muddy detour in South Dakota still stands out as one of those unforgettable moments — not because we were lost, but because we laughed our way through every ridiculous mile.

Life throws mud holes, wrong turns, and endless stretches of uncertainty at all of us. But the journey gets a whole lot lighter when you can find something to smile about while you’re slogging through it.

🚲 Just Keep Pedaling

So, like the lady in the meme: Deal with the bumps in the road. Keep moving forward. And whatever happens… just keep pedaling.

Child riding a bicycle through a small puddle on a dirt path, lifting both legs off the pedals, surrounded by green grass and trees.