Author: ferylfiles

“…and I’m not sorry.”

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My friend tells a story of when her son was a little boy. He had a rough go in the classroom setting because he was wiggly, energetic, and probably smarter than 90% of the school, including the staff and faculty. One day he was fed up and gave the entire classroom a piece of his mind, ending with the comment “…and I’m not sorry.” I chuckle because I can imagine his impish face and sparkling eyes as he said it. It’s another one of those phrases that often comes to my mind, applied to any number of life circumstances.

This summer I met someone. Someone really smart, kind, funny, warm, electric, dynamic and seemingly very much enamored of me. It was the first time, truly, the very first time since Bryan that I have felt “home” with anyone. I can say without any reservation that I fell in love with him. And while, for reasons that baffle me, it hasn’t seemed to work out, I am so thankful for every minute. How could I not be?

My mama used to say love is never a waste. It changes us. It heals us. It makes us better people. And while heartbreak is a real effing pisser, I’m so glad I got to have this experience, got to meet and know someone extraordinary even if for a brief moment.

I fell in love. And I’m not sorry.

Oh Shit! Praise the Lord!

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This week, I received correspondence from Walla Walla University giving a full report on the memorial nursing scholarship my siblings and I set up in our Mom’s name explaining the total in the endowment (over $34k), how much the interest has spun off and how much was awarded to a student for the 2026-2027 school year ($1k). Included was a lovely thank you note from the student, too, thanking us for the financial help to their education–very heartfelt, very sweet.

I hadn’t been thinking about my Mom’s scholarship much recently. I’m finishing up an art show and looking to get a donation off to the Blue Mountain Action Council’s Food Bank fund here in the next week or so. My 16.5 year-old kitty is nearing her rainbow bridge time and I’m heart-stricken. Other life things have been shaking me up so I’ve kind of been in triage mode. And then there’s home maintenance, the other two cats, a full-time job, and trying to manage my garden, eat correctly, get enough sleep. The works.

The arrival of this update has me thinking about my Mom, of course. I wish I could talk to her about ALL the things. I wish I could get her counsel and her curiosity, her wisdom and humor. She was so smart and wise. She understood heartbreak better than anyone. And she looked for ways to consider other perspectives, the other person’s reasons for behavior. If I have any empathy, it’s because I learned it at her feet. A friend of mine recently said of her mom, “I am who I am because of her.” Yes. This.

My Mom was also hilarious. She wanted very much to be a follower of Christ, to lean into grace, forgiveness, and above all love. She was no saint, but she was such a good teacher. She was known to get speeding tickets, dings on the car in the parking lot from backing up without fully looking, or clipping a corner too sharp. In those moments, I can remember her saying “Oh shit!” followed by a purposeful “Praise the Lord!” She was trying to retrain her brain in real time to take a bad moment and still express gratitude. My teacher. My role model. And I think about those two statements joined together an awful lot because that’s pretty much how I experience life, that and a hearty chuckle afterward. Life’s difficulties definitely merit an Oh shit! now and then, but receiving the update about our Mom’s scholarship fund and so many other reasons for joy merit a Praise the Lord!

[If you enjoy these musings and you feel so inclined, you’re welcome to buy me a coffee or contribute to the art supplies fund: https://venmo.com/u/FerylGal_1 Thank you!]

“No, but it’s consistent.”

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The movie _What’s Up Doc_, the 1972 romcom with Barbara Streisand and Ryan O’Neal, has a scene near the end where a giant group of characters are in front of a very unamused judge. In the midst of an explanation, Dr. Howard Bannister asks “Is that clear?” To which the long-suffering judge replies “No, but it’s consistent.” I’m sure you have many lines from movies that come up as familial or friendly touchpoints–ways to keep connected on an idea in fun and meaninful ways. This was one of ours…”No, but it’s consistent.”

I’ve been thinking about consistency a lot lately. In conversation, I’ve reassured folks I care about that a behavior by someone else is not just directed at them, but an indicator of how that person is with everyone. Does it make sense always? No. But is it probably consistent? Yep. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, though. I hope to always be as consistently me as possible.

When in grief and heartache, I lean toward creation and connection. I hope not to dull my senses or avoid feelings, but to sit with them. Golly, that’s really not fun, but I’ve gotten good practice in the last four years. It’s not just in sorrow that I hope to be consistent, though. It’s also in my joy, the way I love full-tilt, heart on my sleeve, no reservations, all the way in. I don’t want to change that even if the side-effects aren’t always great. I don’t want experiences or circumstances to change my consistency or me. “Don’t go dark on me, Bob.”

Am I going to find the dirty joke in an inappropriate setting? Am I going to share what I have? Am I going to paint and dance in the kitchen and sob my eyes out and tell my sunflower “thank you for being beautiful?” Am I going to try to look at things from someone else’s perspective, to understand, to extend grace? Am I going to be occasionally thoughtless or careless with words or actions because I’m in a hurry or not fully thinking through the consequences? Yes to all of it. And when I lose, I also try not to lose the lesson.

[If you enjoy what you read here, you’re welcome to buy me a coffee or contribute to the paint fund here: https://venmo.com/u/FerylGal_1 ]

Aunt Becci’s Mean Dip

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It’s time to share one of my most favorite things to make at the end of summer–“Mean Dip.” I always like to grow a variety of peppers from mild bell to some version of atomic-devil-death. Jalapenos definitely get pride of place as I find them to be the superior pepper. I ususally grow two or three plants. I also have Hungarian Wax, Pablanos, Cayenne, Anaheim, and something this year called Purple Death. I’ve been sharing here and there with neighbors and friends as the plants have been putting on fruit, but by September, I’m able to do a big harvest. Yesterday, I got enough to make a big batch of Mean Dip.

First step preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Get a baking sheet and drizzle olive oil all over. Next, slice up all your peppers, the more seeds and the hotter the peppers, the meaner the dip. I also do one full bulb of garlic, peeled and each clove halved. I make sure the pan is thickly covered with the peppers and garlic and I top with a little more olive oil and some ground cumin.

Then I bake these beauties for 25 minutes. Once they’re out of the oven, I put them into a food processor and blend with a little more olive oil, some red wine vinegar, and salt & pepper. Don’t ask me how much, I eyeball it. Do what looks good. Once it’s fully blended, I take it all out and then use about 1/4-1/3 c of the pepper blend to one brick of cream cheese. I ended up with four cups of the pepper blend and ended up mixing it a little at a time with eight bricks of cream cheese.

This isn’t the meanest of the Mean Dips I’ve ever made, and I suspect the next round will have a couple more of the Purple Death peppers. This round only had one. My nephew, Brennan, said it could be meaner. Mary, my kiddo, called it “Spicy Nice.” I can tell you this though, it’s addictive and ridiculously delicious. Eat it with tortilla chips, crackers, cut veggies, anything you can think of.

There’s a reason I only make this once a year.

Lucky

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Bryan often spoke about how lucky he felt largely due to the relationships and people in his life. Bryan had plenty he could have complained about–a cancer diagnosis at 50 that he managed with grace and aplomb, another one at 58 that would give him less than five months to live. Even so, he practiced gratitude, particularly with regard to his daughter and wife, his friends, his healthcare providers, the quality of the pork chop served by the hospital kitchen at St. Mary’s. I’ve never heard anyone wax lyrical about hospital food, but he sure did. Bryan was lucky to be surrounded by so much love, but he fostered that in his confidence, his ability to know himself fully in order to put everyone else around him at ease.

I find myself trying to emulate his practice. The more I notice how lucky I am, the luckier I seem to get. In the past two weeks, especially, I’m reminded how the people in my life make me lucky in a similar manner. I have friendships, durable relationships that have lasted decades–friends who have known me since first grade, or middle school, or the whole time I’ve lived in Walla Walla (18 years this month, can you even?!) They have seen me at my best and unfortunately at my very worst (yes I did flip cold French fries off a plate in a fit of pique/temper…I’m not proud of it, but it’s funny to tease me about. And don’t get me started with what happens if I forget to eat breakfast). They span continents and time zones, which makes these middle-of-the-night musings welcome in Australia or to my bestie who works the night shift a few time zones away.

When someone doesn’t believe me, they’re all ready to line up and give testimonials of my character. More importantly, they remind me of myself, giving ME testimonials of how they see me, my heart, my intentions. It’s never fun to have the worst believed of you or to be painted with a brush meant for someone else, but at the end of the day, that’s not my business. What is my business is to tend this garden of friendships, of durable relationships because they’re the ones that see me through when my heart aches, when my person is dying, when the world is on fire. I am lucky because they see me and love me.