Jubilee's Jottings

   For several months, my money felt very tight. My expenses nearly matched my income, leaving just about nothing left over. Well, several weeks ago I sold my car, which freed up a lot of money. I bought the shoes and clothing I needed, stocked my dog supplies, and bought ice cream for my family. And then, I noticed how money leaves much faster than it comes, so I decided to do a no-spend week. Last Saturday I wrote a list of the things I could buy this week, namely food and gasoline. That expense would not total more than twenty dollars for the whole week. I wasn’t sure if it would be very hard, since I don’t particularly care to shop, but it was surprising. The first two days I came up with several items I wanted to buy. I wrote them in a list and forgot about them. By Wednesday, I wasn’t thinking about everything I wanted to buy, but I switched to a different topic. “I want to go write at a cafe.” Writing at a cafe would cost a three-dollar  drink, and I hadn’t put it on my l

  I’ve been doing a lot of writing. On the days when I get everything done, I do about 1,800 to 2,000 words. On a really crazy day, I did around 3,500, because I wrote an entire newspaper article in one sitting. That was a lot. I have written between 60 and 70,000 words for my non-fiction book, generously equivalent to a 200-page book. For all those words, my story is not half written. I have written all of this in the last three months with a couple week-long periods with little writing. I have a lot of work to do before the book is ever published. They say that once you get 60,000 words into a book, you start to wonder about the project, or have some doubts. This number is definitely a milestone for me. This is the largest number of words I have ever written in three months. In the year I have spent working for the newspaper, I estimated writing 70,000 words. Over three years of publishing the magazine, my entire writing combined could equal that amount as well. Before

  As I often say, I noticed something about myself—something to do with the topics I bring up in conversation and even writing. The topic I bring up of my own accord may be something I can't solve or understand. I may be bothered or frustrated.  I rarely bring up topics of things I am satisfied with to a degree of monotony.  I really enjoy cooking. Other than a passing mention about liking to work with food, I don’t talk about it. I have my likes and dislikes, my ways of doing things, and the equipment and (a lack of) recipes I use. Probably no one besides myself (now you know too.) knows I only like one kitchen knife we have. It has a rounded tip, a loved handle, and it’s the perfect size for most everything. The cooking saga people hear about is when I ruined a box cake—which is actually possible.  I write for a newspaper. I really like my job; it is awesome, and other than my standard four sentences about what my job is, I don’t really talk about. I do talk about the subje

It all started when my sister graduated and became a certified EMT—Emergency Medical Technician. I had to stay home while my mom and sister went to a humanitarian aid packing even due to my tremendous lack of energy from Lymes. I wanted to do a surprise for my sister's completion of the EMT course. What a better time for a surprise than the three days when she would be gone? Before my sister left, I managed to get her badge without giving away my secret, but she was suspicious. For once in my life, I didn’t give up my secret when pressed, because this was a good one I desperately wanted to do. The day she was to come home, I baked a round cake, studied her badge and recreated it on the top of the cake. I unveiled it when she returned, and she was surprised and pleased in her own quiet way.      I enjoyed making e dible art, so I found every opportunity to do it. I made cake for my own birthday, using a pink ombre finish on the sides and top of the cake. Then, I made a cake for

Now that I’ve had my dog for a month and a half, I get to enjoy being with her, rather than just being nervous that I have no idea about having a dog. She still mystifies me with her appetite at times, but other than that, I really like having her as a dog.  Before I got Bella, I really wouldn’t have considered myself a dog person. In fact, I am scared of other people’s big, barking dogs. I would have said that I was a cat person, because we have actually had nice cats in my life, while dogs have always seemed like a nuisance.  But dogs are reputed to be great companions and excellent health partners.  Since getting a dog, I still don’t consider myself a dog-person. I like my dog. I will pet your dog, but I don’t want your dog. I just want mine. I have started to feel a little excited when I come home, because I know the dog will be excited to see me.  This was a transition from being annoyed at having to calm her down when I get home, to appreciating that she wants to see me wh

        I am a type 1 diabetic. I was diagnosed when I was 11 years old, and I have been working on managing my blood sugar ever since. Most of the time, I don’t have to worry about managing it, because I have the most wonderful pump in the world, the T-slim x 2 , which integrates insulin management and blood glucose monitoring all in one handy device connected to me.         My life has truly gotten a lot easier, as they promised, since getting the pump. I can say that from experience, because I did the conventional shots and finger sticks for six years. But, for all the convenience of less pokes in a month or even a day, I still have diabetes.      I describe managing blood sugar with diabetes to driving from the wrong side of the car. It is definitely possible, but obviously harder than usual. For the most part, managing is so second nature to me after 9 years of dealing with it, but sometimes things pop up that remind me just what I am dealing with.      I got a dog, an

  About every twelve months I update my wardrobe, out of necessity. It’s a rather annoying feature of life that clothing wears out. While people in the “days of yore” made clothing that lasted for years, today’s items seem to not make it past a few years or months, depending on how it’s worn. As I alluded to in my post about pajamas, I am very hard to suit when it comes to clothing. It has to be comfortable, look decent, and also meet my clothing standards. Some of this is helped along by my ability to make clothing. For many years I sewed most of my clothes. Then, I got tired of making things I didn’t like to wear, and I changed my clothing style. Now, I make my skirts, buy my tops, and save my sewing expertise for my mother and sisters.  My clothing should be rather easy to find in a thrift store, as I wear t-shirts with a vest, but they can elusive. I don’t feel particularly partial to buying Walmart’s new version, as a used item is often a better brand like Old Navy or even C

When I lived in Harrisburg, I bought a table—a perfect little brown one with two little drawers in it. I perched it by the window in my room overlooking our creek. The creek is not really visible from my seated vantage point, but I enjoy the green trees in the woods along it. A bit of golden rod is trying to peek up from the ground several feet below my window, so a splash of yellow interrupts the endless green intertwined with brown. That is what I see when my gaze wanders as I ponder what to write next.  The window is the next closest thing in my line of vision. A glass butterfly dangles in the window. It’s not quite a sun-catcher, because the sun has almost no opportunity until 4 pm or later. On the windowsill is an ivory colored pot holding a fern. This angel plant is nearly bursting from its confines, spilling over the pot in all directions. My gaze rests on the fern most often, taking in the gentle green more than the intricate leaves.  But, sometimes, I need a little more

  The days of the week seem to never go as planned, unless one lives in a Utopian universe where plans set in stone are easily accomplished. Such was last week.  I sold my car and got a scooter. A cute little thing which barely reaches 30 miles per hour up a steep hill. I should say, more literally, I got the scooter first, but I had to decide about the car before making that purchase. I reasoned that the car was giving me more headache than it was worth, and I only go to the library, and occasionally the grocery store. So, there was no need for four wheels and a guzzling gas tank to take me the mile and a half to town.  All went well, until I slipped on the wet grass pulling into my parking space at home. I was fine, but a bit of oil spilled out of the engine through an escape valve. Of course, I would need to refill the oil before I could ride it again, as the oil level was subsequently rather low. I planned to go out the next day, so I found oil and after looking up where the