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How does pummeling heavy axes at a wall sound for a girls night out? Or a boys night out? How does axe throwing sound to you as a way to let anger and frustration out? Or, how about axe throwing for a fun, family weekend activity? The Sweeney/Garde family spent last Sunday afternoon heaving heavy axes at a wooden wall target, just down the road from where we live in Atlanta.  BadAxe If chucking axes with all your might sounds crazy, rest assured I thought the same thing.  What? Who? Where? Why? I gave serious thought to sitting the axe throwing adventure out, but the Savanna and Diana gave Jeff the gift of axe throwing for his birthday so, of course, I wanted to join them.  And as it turned out, a lot of fun was had by all! Arrival – We barely had one foot in the door before being asked to finger-nail sign liability releases via our cell phones.  Of course none of us read a single word of the contract. But we were confident that no matter what happened, how heinously bloody, how painful and unexpected, how accidental and unintended, Bad Axe would be responsible for zero of it.  Got it…sort of…. The inside of Bad Axe Throwing is similar to a large barn with stalls lining the perimeter.  It’s a large, open and airy space with plenty of room to move around — a nice feature but I couldn’t help imagining someone “losing it” whilst axes flying all over the place. Heaving an axe against a wall takes some getting used to. I figured it out quickly and rather enjoyed watching and hearing the intimidating blade gouge it’s way into the wooden target by way of my strength and energy.  It wasn’t long, however, before I discovered that you shouldn’t wear new, unsupportive shoes. The weight of the axe overhead eventually caused me to slide around in my never-worn-before, slippery shoes. Tip: Wear sturdy shoes. THE WHAT & THE WHO – Axe throwing is an athletic, coordinated, challenging, [social] activity for men and women. THE WHY – Axe throwing is something NEW to do!  Along with socializing, you get to satisfactorily pummel anxiety, frustration and aggression against the wall and leave it there. THE WHERE – Atlanta, GA and many other cool cities! (I’m not surprised a fun axe throwing venue is in our backyard. Westside/ATL is the center of the universe (IMHO).  Disagree?  Please share where you think the center is because we want to explore it! Here’s Savanna’s thoughts on Axe Throwing: What a Bad Axe I am BAD at AXE throwing Thank you for reading! Love, Shelley Everybody stand back!

Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone!  Do you have special Valentine memories? I hope February 14, 2020 will be “Happy” for you indeed.  Jeff and I are double-dating on V-day this year. More on that, after the fact. For some reason, I always manage to think about people who don’t have a “Valentine” to be with on 2/14.  Forced holidays such as V-day can be a bummer for some. Valentine’s Day was my favorite holiday to celebrate when I was in grade school.  Do you remember your mom buying a flimsy, cardboard box of valentines so you could give every student in your class a greeting on “party” day?  The cards were so darn cute back then. And everyone received one. Some kids randomly stuck nameless envelopes in boxes. That wasn’t my cup of tea, so to speak.  I always addressed mine carefully choosing precisely who got which card.  How embarrassing it would have been if Jimmy received a big, red heart reading: “Be My Valentine”…instead of Mark!  (I can feel my face turning bright red right now!) I also remember the excitement and suspense of opening a card from my crush-of-the-day.  Annoying butterflies swirling as he walked by and dropped the tiny envelope in my box, hoping [praying] he bothered to print my name on the outside.  Further hoping that the card had a kitty, princess, pony, flowers or other pink brickerbrack on it. And then, of course, there was adapting to various disappointments.  For instance, if I received an unaddressed envelope containing an astronaut telling me that I was “A-OK,”  that would not exactly make my day. So…to save myself from broken-heartedness, and as a last resort, I’d scrutinize the pencil-printed signatures on the back of the sensitive card in question.  My 8-year-old brain would try valiantly to decode for instance: an over-sized M, hard-to decipher A, an unusually small R, and even smaller K.  Maybe, just maybe, Mark was trying to tell me something with his cryptic penmanship? Ahh, life goes on and now I have my favorite and forever Valentine, Jeff, to celebrate with.  But, sadness for others still visits. I received little, black, heart bracelets at a Church of the Apostles concert a few weeks ago (below). If you’re Valentine-less, I will send you one (triangleparkatl@gmail.com). The message is simple: you’re never alone, Jesus is always with you and loves you more than any human has the ability to. Thank you for reading! Love, Shelley My next Flash Fiction story is in the works.  Here’s a sneak peek:  “GoAhead”

Uno-Universe (1U) is what it boiled down to. There is and always will be only one universe that we all exist in. After I invented 1U, I could face and understand the scary, crazy realm my friend, Elliom and his obese ego lived in. But, don’t call me a genius yet. I basically coined 1U from the ‘ol: face your fear and you’ll discover there was nothing to fear at all, which is what I did in the bathroom mirror. And, you can’t conquer fear until you name it, which is why I named it, IU. So, I can’t take full credit but I will take most of the credit because it was me, after all, who saved Elliom from his fake self. Elliom had been driving me nuts for about five years. Every second of every day he thought the world revolved around him, and to a certain extent, in his mind, it did. But, I couldn’t deny or take it take it any more. No, the world and everyone in it isn’t functioning around your ego cravings: where you go, who you’re with, what you think, what you do, what you say, what you eat, what you wear, what you buy, what you sell, what you know, who you know. No! Just NO, I tried telling him: you’re not all that and a bag of chips. But, he wouldn’t, [couldn’t], listen to me. Once, I asked Elliom if he thought he was Jesus? Of course he said no, but get this, he paused. The son of a gun paused; he had the audacity to ponder whether or not he thought he was as important as Jesus is. I couldn’t make sense of Elliom’s self-assurance. It didn’t add up. Because, when no one was looking or listening, Elliom admonished himself up one side and down the other: you’re a loser, a wannabe, and an insecure baby. It wasn’t only Elliom’s day-to-day associates that stayed in check; newbies caught wind of his lofty, enigmatic energy and swiftly followed suit. Pledge Team Elliom or clash, I say! But, slowly, gradually his buried sorrow burned hot and melted his confidence armor away. Elliom’s self-assurance was as real as a plastic pistol. Like a 3-year-old with a toy gun, on an unsupervised playground, with nine other 3-year-olds around, Elliom had everyone in his universe thinking he was all that and a big, bag of salty chips. So long as all nine kids think the “big kid’s” toy gun is real, he reigns supreme. Likewise as long as Elliom’s crew stayed swayed by his lofty guise he remained on his throne. Here’s what stopped Elliom’s marbles from rolling every which way. A single soul cracked the code. This one guy (#1) pushed back on Elliom. #1 uncovered that Elliom wasn’t the self-assured, walking-talking success machine that he purported to be. #1 put Elliom’s fake haughtiness front and center by confronting him first thing in the morning every couple of months over five years time: “Good morning buddy, here we are again and I’m pleased to tell you it’s going to be a good day; a very good day. I’m here to tell you you’re not as great as you think you are, Elliom. I’m here to tell you it’s going to get better. You’re no different than the rest of us. You’re no better than a bag of chipped marbles. Face it; you’re chipped like the rest of us! Get going Elliom! Work on keeping the polished marbles you have left snug in your bag. Otherwise, your marbles are going to roll out all over the place, maybe crack. You’ll lose your marbles if you don’t face your fear, my friend. And who knows who else may crack and get hurt by you? It was that simple. I couldn’t take it any more. The show mustn’t go on. I couldn’t act even one more day. There I was facing my biggest fear in the world, [Elliom], in a bathroom mirror that needed cleaning, at 5:49 a.m. Fear lost. Elliom won; I won. There is one and only one universe. It is safe to be who we Truly are. Thank God. Sincerely yours, Elliom, 1U Thank you for reading. Love, Shelley Savanna’s latest blog Heated workouts: It’s getting hot in here

Hi Everyone, I hope you’re doing great! How are your ’20 Resolutions shaping up? Have you conquered them? Failed? Decided to forget about them? I hope the answer is: VICI! I just happen to have an update on mine: Pickleball – I continue to challenge Jeff and I continue to lose. But, please don’t forget I did beat him uno time! My motto is: be challenged, work thy booty off – there’s reward when the playing field is leveled. I’m just grateful that he plays with me. I can’t speak for him, but I hope he’d tell you that his wins have been hard fought! Narrow Down Empty Nest List – Presto: a narrowed down list: Artistic Endeavors (blog, flash/short stories, draw) Travel far away so I don’t think about it so much Volunteer Get a job bit the dust Go back to school bit the dust Beg girls to blog with me until I die bit the dust Hope to be a babysitting Grandma soon bit the dust Two out of three of my 2020 resolutions are VICI! If it sounds like I’m bragging, forgive me. It’s not because I think I’m amazing and have this “goals” thing figured out. Hardly! My third resolution: Get Mom Using Cell Phone – Is far from conquered. And worse than that, I haven’t a speck of confidence it ever will be, especially by midnight December 31, 2020. In fact, I’ve been waiting to write this blog because I’ve been very so hopeful to report fantastic news: Y’all! Mother called me from her cell. I have her number in case she loses power in her home. Which, btw, happened a few weeks ago. Thunderstorms and tornadoes blew through Atlanta knocking out power from Buckhead to Dunwoody. We couldn’t get in touch with Mother and though we weren’t terribly worried, there was concern because we couldn’t reach her. My sister, 3,000 miles away, called Mother’s neighbor who walked over to her house in whipping wind and rain. Long story short, I/we recently insisted upon Mother activating the antiquated cell phone that she has. Monitoring this task is similar to asking a toddler to rearrange their bookshelf. [She likes it the way it is and sees no point in doing it.]  Prayers accepted. Stay tuned… Thanks for reading! Love, Shelley Add In: I’m adding flash fiction stories to blogs. Originally they would be 333 words or less, but I’m adhering to overall flash rules of under 1500 words (never over 2,000). A while back, I completed a creative writing course through The Writers Bureau/UK. The attached is a second place winner in a recent competition that I thought you might enjoy. FamilyMeal  All I can say is, it stuck in my mind. I had to read it more than once and even asked my family to weigh in before fully grasping what the heck was going on — comments, thoughts, and opinions? If my stories are unpolished and not ready to share (like this week), I’ll seek others. I hope you enjoy them! Diana’sBlog Apartment Hunting in NYC Fotos For Fun: Heated workouts: It’s getting hot in here Simple Contact FormPlease enable JavaScript in your browser to complete this form. Name * First Last Email * Comment or Message * Message Submit

Spoon-feeding, baths, and writing to communicate weren’t something I envisioned when we married. She didn’t envision mothering me either, let alone reading sloppy penmanship for my thoughts and feelings. My dexterity and articulation prowess lacks impressive function lately, I’m 87. Learning basics all over again fills space, more for her than me. Frankly, she’s a good teacher even though she knows I’ll never fully grasp what she’s teaching me. We promised each other we’d never kiss goodnight with one of us driving out of an old-folks home while the other stayed behind, lonely. We couldn’t afford a “good” old folks home. Is there such a thing as a “good” one? I’ve been in more than a few and can’t say that one of ‘em was better than bad; different measures of bad, maybe. I’ll give you that, but bad all the same. Today she cooked Wheatena, egg whites, and turkey bacon for breakfast; lunch was tuna and celery, sweet potato tots, cottage cheese, and canned pears; we haven’t had dinner yet. She feeds me like an athlete in training. I’ll never die at this rate. I’m hoping she makes spaghetti and chicken meatballs for dinner, with a can of Kraft Parmesan on the side. I can’t lift or bend my arms past my collar bone, but I can shake hell out of Kraft cheese onto spaghetti with only a little of it landing on me. I can write too, sloppily, and sometimes angrily. Pencil stabs on my desk prove it. The wood is cheap. If I wanted to, I could put a hole all the way through the son of a bitch. I stab it when I want to be alone. I can’t tell her that though. Seeing her expression as she read the words would hurt more than my whole body hurts every second of every day. She thinks pain makes me to stab it. She’s right about that, when you think about it. Almost every day she says there’s “nothing in this world” she’d rather do, than care for me. I believe her, but wish I didn’t. Who would want to do what she is doing for me. We were 24 when we married. We share the same birthday, August 8. Ok, not true. Hers is August 8, mine is August 9. If I’d stuck my stubborn skull out 92 seconds earlier my birthday would have been the 8th. And that’s not the only thing I regret not truly sharing with her. I promised her I’d care for her ‘til death. Stupid. Nobody knows that’s a lie more than she does. [I’m laughing right now but not because that’s funny.] Truth is: I don’t want her keeping me alive, but I don’t want to kill her by writing that on this stabbed-to-death, cheap wooden table either. I just wish she knew that once I become a bloody dust speck, which I might as well be now, she’ll be free to live; and, frankly so will I. Deep down, I hope she dies first. I can’t bear thinking about her suffering because I’m not here…her purpose. Worse is thinking about no one being here to care for her. I’m not denying that for more than two years there has been joy around here, even today: her joy. Our son comes to visit every other month for an hour, rarely more than that. Today is the last day of the second month. It was the first time he waited until the final hour to visit us. I don’t blame him though. Like me, he’s frustrated. He wishes I’d pass so his mother can rest — he doesn’t tell me that, I just know it. He’ll be here in an hour or so, before dinner. Last night, I dreamed my son slipped odor-less, liquid poison in my tea and spoon-fed it to me. We were in my bedroom except there weren’t any walls, only blue-green-purple time and space with yellow and white ribbons streaming down into a quiet, shallow river that was the floor. The teacup he used was the size of a German beer mug, huge. It took hundreds of teaspoons to transfer the poisonous tea from the mug to my mouth. I tasted lavender, spearmint and cardamom, heaven. I never closed my mouth. He just kept spooning and spooning the liquid into my stomach. I wanted more, more, more. Sometimes it would drip down the sides of my mouth; I’d turn my head and hunch my shoulders trying to save it from falling, savoring every drop my tongue could reach. When the mug emptied we stared eye to eye, my son and I, like hungry dogs standing off over a dead deer. He said over and over “shhh, shhh” as he glided his hand over my face, pseudo closing my eyes. I laughed out loud once, loudly, and woke up. But soon I fell back into the dream relishing poisonous sips on my lips from the giant cup. Then suddenly, I resisted him and spit it back on him. Thrashing and kicking I woke to her lying across my chest whispering “shh, shh.” My son arrived at 4:03 p.m. He was standing at the foot of my bed when I woke from a nap. He softly squeezed my ankle, told me I was lookin’ good and gave sport and social updates on his family, then he left my room. I could hear murmurs of conversation in the kitchen. She smiled the whole time he was here today. He helped her around the house carrying groceries here and there, cleaning up lunch dishes, prepping for dinner, sweeping, laundry, and tidying. She made spaghetti and chicken meatballs for dinner! I covered it with Kraft Parmesan like a blanket of off-white snow. After being fed, I could hear her shifting dishes around the kitchen, washing pots and pans, cleaning up and boiling water whistling. I fell asleep and dreamed that I was 30 years old, healthy and had good penmanship. I wrote her a letter thanking her for all she had done for me and saying I wished our rolls could have been reversed and that I loved her more than I could write in words. As I slept my arms thrashed in the air and my legs fidgeted as I moaned, groaned and prayed for the dream to come true. I tried to scream thank you, thank you, more, more. My lips determinedly moved but nothing came out. “Shh, shh, shhhh” I heard her saying as I woke. She was on top of me in the fetal position, her cheek felt cool pressed on my chest. She needed sleep. My heart lumbered, struggled. The weight of her body released pressure on my joints, spine, and muscles. She was resting…finally. Looking at my desk I saw a cup of tea and a spoon. I kissed her goodbye.

Hi Everyone, Thanks for stopping by.  As mentioned in previous blogs I’m going to share flash fiction stories from time to time.  I hope you enjoy this one: You Never Know It was a balmy Friday night in May. Val was inspecting Fuji apples at a grocery store when Bo’s text came in. Five months had passed since she’d heard from him. “Hey. What are you doing?” Bo texted. “Hey, getting ready to go out. What are you doing?” Val texted back regretting how quickly she hit send. Admitting she was grocery shopping — in sweat pants and a faded Coldplay shirt Bo left in her car the last time she saw him — was out of the question. Val put a Fuji apple in her basket then set it on the ground to check her phone for Bo’s reply. Nothing. She headed to dairy with her phone in hand so she wouldn’t miss a notification. She leaned against a cooler door that someone left opened and set her basket down to check for Bo’s reply. Nothing. The baking aisle caught her eye. Homemade chocolate chip cookies suddenly seemed like the whole point of Friday night shopping. Organic flour, Ghirardelli chocolate chips, walnuts, and baking powder added weight to her hand basket so she headed to checkout. In aisle #9 Val was sandwiched in between a cart piled high behind her and a customer with only a couple of items in front of her. She set her hand basket on the ground and pushed it away with her foot so she’d have space to check her phone. “Just wanted to say hi” Bo texted 90 seconds earlier. Val texted back “hi.” Her phone pinged back immediately after she sent her reply. But when she looked at her phone she noticed the sound notification wasn’t for her after all.  A minute later another notification sounded, “I’m about to go out too” Bo texted. “Where are you going?” Val texted. Like before, the second after Val sent her reply a notification pinged, but it wasn’t her phone; then another ping that was hers. “Wait, give me two seconds,” Bo texted. The line was growing longer and customers were getting antsy. The piled-to-the-sky cart behind Val rolled closer and bumped into her purse causing her to move it to the other shoulder. Val thought it was a coincidence that the customer in front of her had the same notification sound that she had. Annoyed at the store’s slow pace and not thinking clearly, she texted Bo, “?!” Ping, she heard. Then, her phone pinged, “?!” appeared. Is that Beau in front of me? Val’s heart raced, her face flushed, and butterflies swarmed her stomach. She had never seen the over-sized plaid shirt the man was wearing, or his gray ball cap. His hair was much longer than Bo’s too, hanging at least three inches past his hat. And he had a beard, or at least needed a shave. I thought that guy might be homeless, she thought. Bo and Val had the same text notification sound ever since last New Year’s Eve, five months earlier. They were at a party in a swanky hotel where they felt out of place. They’d been drinking champagne for hours and hadn’t eaten any lunch that day when they started making fun of each other’s texting sounds. Val’s was Presto and Bo’s was Blues. They joked and argued that the other’s was too long, boring or offensive to others, especially if the volume was high. For two hours, before midnight, they carried on with sloppy drunk, nonsensical bantering. Finally, they called a truce saying that if they couldn’t at least agree upon and share the same text notification sound they would never be able to share or agree upon anything together. When the clock struck midnight they clumsily cheered, drool kissed and switched their ring tones to: Complete. But after the party their friends relentlessly reminded them of embarrassing details: you were so loud, remember when Val laughed and choked at the same time saying she “hated Bo more than smelly fish,” and the manager had to ask them to quiet down. By mid January Val and Bo were no longer a couple. The line stopped moving because a new cashier came on duty. Val noticed Bo was buying Cabernet, Boars Head, potato salad, and hoagie rolls. She wondered why he hadn’t chosen any sweet items; dessert was Bo’s favorite. The conveyor belt moved an inch. “I didn’t know you liked Cab?” Val texted. She heard Bo’s phone ping and smiled watching him look at the wine bottle move on the conveyor belt. Bo looked up at the ceiling, then at the floor, then left and right. He looked in the window reflection and could see the line behind him, but not who was standing directly behind him. His heart pounded like a drum as his groceries started scanning. Val inched closer to him. He felt her energy behind him. He ran his hand over his unshaven face and adjusted his ball cap. The checkout clerk asked, “debit or credit?” As Bo turned to answer he saw frozen pizza, baking supplies and a Fuji apple out of the corner of his eye. “Bo?” Val said. “Debit or credit?” the checkout clerk asked again. The piled-high cart behind Val nudged her again, this time a little harder. She pretended not to notice. “Debit, add her things too” Bo said pointing to the chocolate chips. “That’s not necessary” Val said. He whispered, “You caught me. I wanted to ask you out but didn’t know how.” Val whispered back, “You caught me too. I couldn’t admit I didn’t have plans.” “Tomorrow night?” Bo asked. “Why not tonight?” We have everything we need in these bags. I noticed you skipped the bakery? I’ll make cookies.” “Ok, sure, why not…if you’ll take me looking like this?” he said rubbing his chin and adjusting his hat again. “Look at me,” Val said tugging at Bo’s old Coldplay shirt. What began as a dull Friday night trip to a grocery store, turned into an evening of sandwiches, chocolate chip cookies, Cabernet and Coldplay at Val’s apartment, just like old times. They talked about missing each other and maybe getting back together. They laughed about their epic argument on New Year’s Eve and the miracle that they both still had the Complete sound on their phone. They re-lived the coincidence of texting and running into each other in a grocery store on a Friday night, not knowing the other was nearby. As they sat comfortably slumped, shoulder-to-shoulder on Val’s worn out sofa with half-full wine glasses on a wobbly table in front of them, Bo sent Val a text, “What will be will be,” he said. Val texted back, “lol, you never know…” Completed Savanna’s latest blog: flytographer Flytographer is fly

Hi Everyone, Happy New Year! Do you have 2020 Resolutions? Please share, we’d love to hear them and check in with you at the end of the year to see if you succeeded. I have three. Typically “resolutions” is singular. Why not make it plural? That way the odds are better for satisfying at least one, albeit I’m aiming for all of my 2020 Resolutions this year. Beat Jeff at Pickleball Have you heard of Pickleball? Pickleball is a fun social activity and a vigorous workout, if you play singles. Doubles is great too, but not nearly the cardio workout as a singles game.  2020 Resolutions IMHO, Pickleball is best played indoors with fierce competition. My husband, Jeff, is my favorite competitor.  He played competitive tennis (a big advantage), and he’s eight inches taller than me, another advantage. Suffice it to say, I run and work my *** off when I play Jeff. The first time we dueled Jeff ’bout killed me. The best I can say of four games I lost that day: I didn’t leave with bloody zero on the board. The second time we dueled it was much closer (ptl). In Pickleball you have to win by two; games go to 11 points. We ran each other mercilessly; I suggested that if we both reached 11 points we’d call it a tie. So, there we were at 11 each, panting like huntin’ dogs. But we kept going because our brains were so endorphin stoked we forgot to stop. – Until…Jeff got to 12. Then I said, “oh ya, remember, we were going to call ‘tie’ at 11-11.” This past weekend we dueled a third time. History repeated itself until FINALLY I won the fourth game! The glare on my face in the picture below is from dripping sweat and a red as Santa’s suit complexion. Facts indicate that Pickleball is played by 75% over 55ers.  That doesn’t mean it’s for the laziest among us. First resolution conquered: Beat Jeff at Pickleball 2020!! Info Get Mother using cell phone If you live in Atlanta you know that an unkind storm blew through last Saturday night knocking out power for many. As mentioned in a previous blog, Mother doesn’t use a cell phone (she has [antiquated] one and is more than capable of using one mind you). Jeff and I couldn’t get in touch with her on the night of the storm. My sister, in Oregon, helped out by getting in touch with one of her neighbors. There’s no need for elaboration on this one…the time has come for Mother to learn and utilize the cell phone that she already has. Or, better yet, it would be a blessing indeed if she’d upgrade to a senior friendly [sophisticated] phone such as the  Jitterbug. The Jitterbug for seniors Narrow empty nester list to 3 Two options on my Empty Nester list bit the dust this week. I decided no matter what the list narrows down to, it’s best to be my own boss. Volunteer Get a job Go back to school Draw and paint again Beg girls to blog with me until I die Hope to be a babysitting Grandma soon Travel far away so I don’t think about it so much If you made it this far, I invite you to read a blog that I spent all day last week writing but never published it.  When I sent it to Triangle Park counterparts (daughters) for review, they unequivocally refused to let me post it. “You will ruin our lives” they told me. Email: triangleparkatl@gmail.com  Not only would I love to hear from you, I’d especially love to send you the blog to get your thoughts. Thanks for reading! Love, Shelley Savanna’s blog: New Year’s resolutions Europe in Wintertime 1 Peter 2:1 Therefore, rid yourselves of all malice and all deceit, hypocrisy, envy and slander of every kind.

Hi Everyone, I hope you’re doing well and had a very Merry Christmas whether Empty Nester or not. As some of you know, I’ve written about life as an Empty Nester lately. I’m sort of manic with planning the rest of my life. Getting old, gray, sedentary, fat and frumpy are not options for this chick. A day doesn’t pass that an options tape plays over and over: Volunteer Get a job Go back to school Draw and paint again Beg girls to blog with me until I die Hope to be a babysitting Grandma soon Travel far away so I don’t think about it so much Around Christmas this year an eighth prospect was laid on my heart: Mother my 90-year-old Mother. Recap/Backstory: In 2020, the girls and I are seeking a stable blog theme for Triangle Park ATL (TPA): Empty Nester/Newlywed Professional/GATech/Patent Law(?)Student is our evolving foundation. Intermingled within will be whatever else intertwines our lives. While we were coming up with our focus I got to thinking…I did a pretty good job raising my girls…with Jeff…if I do [humbly] say so myself… But, then I asked myself: at what point do we truly stop raising them? When they leave the nest When they’re financially independent At 25, when they’re brains fully develop Never?? Mom, Diane, turned 90 on December 27, 2019. Holy 9-0-oly! She is a fit, independent woman who loves people, animals, antiques, life and God. Things mom still does: Pays bills Manages her home Prepares her meals Sends Christmas cards Drives herself everywhere Things mom doesn’t do or never* has done: Use a cell phone* Use the Internet* Eat sugary sweets Drive to my house Plan beyond an hour or two Mom and I go out to dinner from time to time, just the two of us. A couple weeks ago as we prepared to leave for a restaurant she had difficulty tying her shoelaces. Her finger dexterity isn’t what it used to be. I offered to help but she insisted on doing it her self. This past week we had another girl’s night out. As we prepared to leave she had trouble tying a drawstring. She declined help. After a few minutes she changed her mind and let me tie a bow for her. What to do for the rest of life as an empty nester? Like flying into Hartsfield-Jackson in inclement weather, I’m in a holding pattern. But having a new, eighth prospect (Mother my Mother) makes it all very exciting – an unexpected Santa surprise. I never taught my children what to expect and how to proceed when mom and dad reach – uhh — 9-0, time to get busy teaching. Our nest may be empty, but the teaching by example part is alive and well. Thank you for reading! Love, Shelley “Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it” Proverbs 22:6 Savanna and Diana blogs: New Year’s resolutions Europe in Wintertime https://triangleparkatl.com/2019/12/11/my-holiday-season-in-a-nutshell/

HAVE YOU CONSIDERED A WEB HOME OF YOUR OWN? Family Website Friends have asked me why I’m investing time, money and frustration in an on-line, fixer-upper, Family Website to call home. Maybe you’ve wondered why, too? I hear inquiries like: “your girls have moved out…aren’t Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, etc. sufficient [free] platforms to stay connected?’ Great question that made me ask the following: Are you comfortable and relaxed kicking back in a [free] space that you don’t own? Have you ever thought about [owning a virtual home], a Family Website? PERSONAL RESEARCH – Family Website Yes, Savanna and Diana have flown the coup of their literal home.  But I desire to stay connected in modern fashion, virtually. The girls know they can “move out” of Triangle Park any time they want to.  The cool thing is, if and when they decide to move out, they’ll take with them experience of building a personal (Family) Website of their own.  They’ll leave with an understanding of sharing their voice from a platform that they own versus a free web space that a corporation owns and profits from (more power to the corporations!). Over the past year, I noticed reluctance from the girls to “share” posts on their own. They’re fine with me doing so, but hesitant to upload them independently. Now that Triangle Park has passed the one-year mark with a decent cadence, I felt it necessary to explore their reluctance.  We discussed various awkward aspects of mostly Facebook (Instagram, Twitter, Pinterest, Snapchat appear to not be as socially flustering as Facebook). The most compelling aspect of my research that validated my intentions to continue enhancing our family website, was when I asked Savanna: “What are you more likely to share on Triangle Park as opposed to Facebook?” Her answer was: “Everything!” Diana agreed. FINALE Obviously, Facebook is a fabulous, amazing, genius marketing/socializing vehicle and platform of the 21st century. Duh. But, dare I say sometimes it infuses dejection in the heart of the most self-assured among us. And, save for hilarious shared videos, gifs, spoofs, etc. some voices of people I know well are sometimes hard to recognize. Mine included. Triangle Park is not leaving Facebook or any of the other social media platforms. Heck, that’d be like leaving Buckhead, or Atlanta, or Georgia, or the United States. Life would virtually end.  But, TPA hopes friends, family and others will continue to visit our family website too. It’s here that we feel most comfortable being our true, creative selves.  After all, we own it. Everyone is welcome! Thank you for reading, Love, Shelley Note:  I’m not suggesting purchasing and designing a family website is easy. It is not. But, step-by-step hard work has proven to be advantageous. We look forward to sharing stories of our Family-Website journey in the future. Once they leave, you gotta get creative to stay connected: Family Website! As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another – Proverbs 27:17

Hi There, I hope everyone’s Labor Day weekend has been non-laboring. While my girls are blogging about college experiences, I’m chatting about Botox.  Check out Savanna and Diana’s blogs at the end. Topic:  BOTOX (Botox: Beauty or Blues) Have you heard of Botox . I’m not talking about the illness caused by Clostridium botulinum bacteria — the one that paralyzes your face [first] then creeps down to your arms and legs and, if it makes its way to your breathing muscles, well then, kiss your respiratory system good-bye. No, not that botox. I’m referring to the beauty-enhancing (or is it) botox that, chances are, you have indeed have heard about. Maybe you’ve tried it? I have. One time. Why only one time you ask? Because I experienced downright terrifying side effects, that’s why. My Experience I sought botox from a highly regarded dermatologist in Atlanta who was recommended by a concierge doctor to see what the hype was all about. My objective was to remove an expression line between my eyebrows. The following side effects hit me almost immediately: Fainting Severe diarrhea Migraine Headache Numbness in jaw Excessive tearing Deep sadness Each of the above had a depressing story all its own.  Although admittedly, after a couple weeks the symptoms wore off  and in spite of the dreadful reactions, I ended up liking how I looked. I knew deep down it was pure insanity for me to consider going back for round two. But, shockingly, I contemplated doing so.  Thankfully, two people who “went through” the terribleness with me insisted that I was out of my mind to even consider another round of the toxin. Alarming Facts Amidst my botox journey, I discovered that much younger women are advised to begin injections before wrinkles emerge. This fact stunned me.  Did you know that 21,000 injections were administered in 2017 to 13 -19 year-olds. Omg! Read about it here: botox-experts-warn. I’m 57-years-old. As I said, I liked how the result looked. And I think it looks pretty good on much older women. But teenagers; women in their 20s; 30s; even 40s? Have you noticed young women in your neighborhood who have undergone botox injections lately? You can tell who they are from the puffed, frozen, lack-of-expression look on their otherwise perfectly beautiful [underneath it all] faces. How can there not be a detrimental psychological effect when the paralysis wears off for good should a young woman decide to bag botox? Side Point (BOTOX: Beauty or Blues) I’m a pencil portrait artist, or used to be. Wrinkles are my favorite thing to draw. They offer a way to get to know the person by crease-mapping their soul with graphite. I would zone out drawing the lines on the faces below. A beautiful woman. A handsome man. Another handsome man. Another handsome man. Wrinkles represent laughter, sorrow, confusion, excitement, joy, life experiences… something to understand the person with. If a 13-year-old starts botox and has no wrinkles when he/she is 70-years-old, there’ll be no interesting soul map. I’ve found other ways to look healthy and young(er) while embracing character lines as souvenirs of laughter, sorrow, confusion, excitement, joy, life experiences, etc. For example: exercise, organic food, water, dogs, cats, friends, love, simple stuff.  And, then of course, there are filters to give one an imaginary lift.  Paralyzing poison?  No thanks. Thank you for reading! Love, Shelley But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The LORD does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart” ~ 1 Samuel 16:7 Diana’s blog Savanna’s blog

If this is your first time visiting Triangle Park blog, welcome.  We are a mother-daughter/family blog designed to keep in touch online by sharing tastes, travel and time musings.  Having friends and others read is many times more fun. INTRO Every fall, young college women filter through “houses” hoping to impress other young college women with their personalities, conversation prowess, GPA, athleticism, philanthropy purpose, pedigrees, style sense, hair, skin, body-fat ratio, etc. in order to gain entry into various societies and to secure “sisters.” BACKGROUND Most of you know:  I am not a sorority expert.  There’s no way I could be. I did not rush for a sorority, nor were sororities even at the college I attended in Portland, Oregon.  What I am, however, is a mom of two daughters, Savanna and Diana. Both of my girls attend(ed) college in the southeast United States where sororities are prevalent. They both rushed-to-be-judged, one time. CASE IN POINT Savanna went through the rush process at the University of Georgia, a Greek-life capital in the U.S. She had her reference letters in place, skillfully chosen dresses, houses scoped out, 4.0 in tact, etc. Savanna’s ducks were in an enviable row.  She survived several rounds with a final call back to her choice house. Then she dropped. Diana’s story was different. She didn’t rush freshman year but decided to give it a shot sophomore year (the older you are, the tougher it is). Diana did not seek recommendation letters, didn’t dress-to-impress, nor did she attempt to impress otherwise, thus no cigar to her liking. In spite of D not “going for it” or caring about it, ostracizing at the end of the game provided ample dejection. Imagine those who desperately want acceptance and get cut. INSERT This blog is not to discredit sororities. My niece is in a sorority! I have friends who pledged.  I understand the benefits that Greek life offers and appreciate the discipline it requires.  But I do have an issue with female judgment and exclusion. One doesn’t have to be rejected from a sorority to experience rejection. It happens in families too (trust me).  Here’s the thing, exclusion is scary.  It tells me you think you’re better than I am.  Scarier than that is , it tells me you might be jealous of me thus may exclude me from your society in order to feel superior, better than? RECAP Indeed, sister season is upon us. There are many girls who appear happy to belong to various Greek groups. Congratulations! I’m happy for you (and sorry for others — especially if you don’t have a real sister).  Similarly, I hope you’re happy for my girls choosing not to identify with such. GOING FORWARD… The sea of people God provides the world with is limitless.  He offers us people to meet, people to befriend, people to connect with, people to call brother, sister, people to love, perfectly imperfect people to cross paths with every day — the whole process is designed and judged by only Him [phew].  And, it’s free.  Welcome to the club whoever you are, whatever you look like, however much $ you have, whether you gain or lose 10 lbs, whether your GPA is really 3.0 or you cheated, whether you wear Target or Prada, whether you’re delusionally superior or heart-healthy humble.  Welcome — You’re in the only society that truly matters, God’s. Thank you for reading! Love, Shelley Triangle Park Sisters There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus – Galatians 3:28 On a Foodie Note First batch of fall chili sprung from the Sweeney kitchen last weekend.  Unfortunately Sav and Joey couldn’t make it but Diana and her star boyfriend indulged with us.

Greetings Everyone, This week, I’m sharing an inspirational suggestion that might help you or someone you know that is struggling with addiction, rejection, depression, isolation…whatever SatanRx it may be. Have you heard of Hosana Wong? Hosana is a young pastor and spoken word artist from San Francisco, California. She caught my attention when I heard her talk about the myriad of social media untruths that deplete young people of their true individual identities, the ones promised by God. Hosana is young and talented.  She is reaching her generation in ways that are difficult for older [cough-cough] people to. But we can ALL be inspired by her. Why the Topic of Inspiration Last week, I read a tragic announcement about a young man who died of an accidental overdose. A friend shared the news and it quickly spread stirring similar stories. One thing is for sure, we all know someone struggling with “something” difficult [keyword: “something”]. Just imagine how many something’s there are in the world. Why Share Hosana Wong’s Talent and Journey I have watched two of Hosana’s videos (below). Hosana struck a cord in me when she used the following words in her video: I Have a New Name: Ugly Unworthy Discouragement Forgotten Garbage Addict Forever broken Second place Gross past Disgusting Those words, coming from a young person (or old), are unfortunate and remind me of words that someone who accidentally or otherwise lost their life might have been listening to just prior.  They also remind me of words that a lot of pressure-packed, confused, wonderful young (or old) people just trying to get by might hear — not knowing why, where they come from, or that they’re lies. My intention is not to reiterate Hosana’s messages but to raise curiosity to watch the videos and hopefully to share them with someone you know who listens to untruths.  I shared them personally with someone I know. The Truth will set you free! Thank you for reading! Love, Shelley Inspiring Spoken Word Video by Hosana Wong Inspiring Spoken Word Video by Hosana Wong P.S.  As Savanna says in her latest blog click here Triangle Park is excited to be working with a friend on renovating our website.