"I Am Lady Diana's Effing Twelfth Cousin" by Julianna Rowe aka Diane Ogden

"I Am Lady Diana's Effing Twelfth Cousin"

I recently discovered that I am Lady Diana's twelfth cousin. (I do have the paperwork that follows the line back to England and said Royalty) Now before anyone gets too excited, let me explain what that means. It means I barely have enough royal DNA to fill my left little toe. As a matter of fact, I probably share more DNA with the squirrel that steals birdseed off my porch than I do with Princess Diana. Still, royalty is royalty. I checked and there is no minimum requirement.  Unfortunately, being Lady Diana's twelfth cousin has not resulted in a castle, a crown, a horse-drawn carriage, a trust fund, a private chef, or even a decent parking place at the DMV. 

In fact, the DMV recently informed me that if I wanted to continue being a citizen of the United States, enter a federal building, or board an airplane in an emergency, I would need to produce enough paperwork to prove I wasn't smuggled into the country hidden inside a cabbage cart.

At age seventy-eight. I have three divorce decrees. Three. Do you know how hard it is to find paperwork from marriages that didn't work out? Nobody saves those in a velvet scrapbook with gold lettering. There are no smiling photographs of the happy day I signed away my sanity.  Yet somehow those papers are more important than the fact that I have paid taxes, raised children, worked my entire life, and have a grandfather whose paperwork came through Ellis Island.

Apparently, being related to royalty does not help because I checked on that too. The Queen has never called, the King hasn't either, not even a postcard. Meanwhile, my cat is aging, my upcoming surgery has me making lists on top of lists, one son speaks in thumbs-up emojis, another isn't speaking at all, one granddaughter is having struggles of her own, and my favorite comforter now sounds like Rice Krispies after being struck by lightning because I stuffed a queen-size comforter into a washer and dryer that were clearly designed for doll clothes.

Royalty, my foot. Actually, royalty may be my foot, the little toe, specifically. Still, after giving it some thought, I have decided I do have royal blood. Not because of Lady Diana, but because I survived. I survived things that should have flattened me. I raised children mostly on my own. I worked when I didn't want to. I got back up when life knocked me down. I kept writing. I kept loving. I kept trying. And if that isn't a form of royalty, I don't know what is.

So yes, I am Lady Diana's effing twelfth cousin of which I can prove. And while I may not have inherited a castle, I inherited something much more useful. The ability to keep going even when life is acting like a complete pain in the royal assets. And like I said:  The Queen never called. The King never called. Not even a postcard. But many years ago, while I was delivering newspapers to make a living, a sweet Jamaican restaurant owner, Martin, on State Street would see me coming through the door and announce to everyone:

                                                 "Aaahhh, here come da Hoppy Neus Laadi!" 

That title stuck. And honestly, I think I'd rather be The Happy News Lady than a princess anyway.

The Happy News Lady. Former newspaper carrier. Author. Mother. Grandmother. Great Grandmother. Comforter destroyer. (the next blog)  And apparently...

Lady Diana's effing twelfth cousin. 👑

AI Isn't Always Right! by Julianna Rowe

 "AI is incredibly intelligent. Unfortunately, nobody explained human feet to it."

AI Isn't Always Right by Julianna Rowe

 I've spent some time experimenting with Artificial Intelligence. Some people think AI knows everything. Others think it's going to take over the world. Personally, I think it's a lot like hiring a very smart assistant who occasionally forgets where toes belong and isn't always as smart as we think.

Recently, I was working on a photo for my blog. I usually try to find family photos that might fit with what I write but when I cant, I go to AI.  I did that with one particular blog when I suddenly noticed something odd. The created model in the photo had toenails, on the back of her toes. I stared at the picture for several minutes before saying out loud, "Well, that's not right." 

I am posting it here because I left it as is and didn't change it.  It was too funny to change and would you believe not one person commented or maybe they didn't even notice! 

There have been other adventures. AI has occasionally decided my face should be rounder than a pumpkin after Thanksgiving dinner. I love making photos usin AI with my animals and my children...putting us in camping scenes and or next to the Ifel Tower or standing on the edge of infinity!  Yet AI continues to mess up and has given people extra fingers, missing fingers, and hands that appear to belong to someone standing in another county. Yet somehow, despite all its mistakes, I still enjoy using it.  (Not that I want any of those nasty huge Data Centers.  So please don't crucifiy me on that stance.)  I am sure I will find plenty of judges ready to hand down a verdict after reading my first few paragraphs." But be gentle....we are all full of mess ups.

Why does AI mess up? Because AI reminds me of people. People make mistakes. People misunderstand instructions. People occasionally put things in the wrong place. The difference is that when people do it, we call it being human. When AI does it, we call it a glitch. The truth is that AI has helped me create a couple of the book covers for my novels, chose music for my poems when I do not know much about putting instruments together, graphics, and idea or outlines I never would have attempted on my own. It has also provided some of the best laughs I've had in years. Believe that or not. Odd how a machine can make a joke but it can.  You bet that is scary but things change and I am moving right along with a couple of those things here and there for now.  Just don't ask me to move, or God forbid face any more catastrophe's in this old life yet I am the one that tells my friends, if you cant beat 'em - maybe join them?  So I bought myself one of those "Hut's on wheels" that makes tacos and cooks for everyone I see wherever I go!  That's not true but it is a thought! Or maybe I will help out at a Mediteranian Resturant, or visit and learn how the Monk's live and learn, or....or.....I will just ask AI?  So I can stay home and watch the rest of Season 6 of Whose Fooling You Now?

So no, AI isn't always right. Then again, neither am I. And if you ever see a woman with toenails on the back of her feet, don't panic. It was probably generated by a computer.  Obviously!  

That's why I said:  "So why does she have toenails on the back of her feet?" 

And remember, "If you are reading this, YOU are above the dirt! 💗

"DMV Says Maybe I Will be a Star" - by Julianna Rowe

DMV Says Maybe I will be a Star! by Julianna Rowe

I thought my birth certificate, drivers license, Social Security card, voter registration, three divorces, grown children,  grandchildren, great-grandchildren, tax returns, jobs, surgeries and 78 years of breathing were sufficient proff that I exist.  Apparently I was mistaken. Yesterday (last blog post) I was passing a cemetery telling the gravestones: "I am happy that I am not under the dirt!" Today the government is basically replying: "Can you prove that?" 

I could do without this...A 78-year-old woman has to drive downtown, park, figure out the new parking meters, walk, wait in line, and pay for a piece of paper. Actually, four pieces of paper. Wait... five pieces of paper.  Certified Birth Certificate, 3 marriage licenses, 3 divorce decrees, all with a certification label.  I can only hope they stamp it in Gold.

Why? So I can get the immortal STAR on my drivers license so I can VOTE, walk into a Federal Building and/or fly on an airplane if there is an emergency. At 78, I apparently need permission to fly. Not to forget I have been voting all my life.

I can't walk far. I also have three copies of divorce papers turning yellow in a box, but they wont accept those....they have no gold certification seal or punch, and I have absolutely no wedding books to be found... you know, the cute little books with photos of the happy couple smiling and signing away. Nor did I know I was supposed to rent a safe deposit box and pay for it every year for the last 60 years to keep paperwork from marriage's that made me miserable in the first place.  Actually I did keep some but they aren't acceptable.  So far....I went online and I have gotten two copies at $40 each, and now I need two more, another $40 because I didn't know I needed a single page decree with a seal on it. The other marriage ($40+) took a bit more doing considering it was in another State far away. Those Texas office girls are so sweet.  I got a "Bless your heart" several times. And I took a chance and gave my debit card # to a stranger so I could be a star!

This over the top need for paperwork is something about the government needing to make sure I'm not an illegal immigrant. A paper trail they call it.  And or they, the Government must need more proof that I'm alive. How much paperwork does one old woman need?  I should admit I have a birth certificate with my little feet on it, but they spelled my name wrong so that was a really big deal to muddle through.  Had to go before a judge with all sort of information as to who I am and how its truly spelled. (one little letter was wrong)

OMG!   From the official DMV site: You cannot take an official DMV photo without providing a certified marriage license, divorce decree, or legal name-change court order if you have changed your legal name. Your legal name on your license must match your birth certificate or passport.  (Why did I change my name three times??)

Maybe I should have dug deeper. I do have my grandfather's paperwork from Ellis Island. And what about the elderly women sitting in nursing homes who can vote but have no clue how to get these documents? Or don't have the money to order them? It's such an injustice. I'd picket, as we used to say, if I could walk better. Heck, I can't even carry a sign anymore. But I do have a special sign for the bill so-and-so passed, and it's on both hands.

So...

I will take my grocery and gas money, buy more stamps, make more copies, include the required self-addressed stamped envelope, and wait two weeks for those blessed black-and-white memories to arrive with a grand $40 seal punched onto the page. Then I can be a free citizen who can vote, who can fly on an airplane, who can walk into a federal building in this great land of ours, and finally get a star.  Not on any walk of fame....a DMV star.

Am I angry? Damn right I am. But when it's all said and done, " I am not under the dirt."

So I will do what I need to do and continue to be upset about the many people, mostly women, who won't have the money, won't understand the process, or won't know why they suddenly need gold seals or punched seals on the going into and coming out of marriages that nearly killed them in the first place.

And yes, I still think a man created a "Bill" that caused all of this need for a star. He did.

J.R. is not a happy camper today. And there will be no Happy Father's Day from me because not one of those snakes stuck around long enough to know their children. Not one.

Okay.

I feel better now.
 - J.R.  💗

My Newest Thriller Novel! ''Doll in the Snow" by Julianna Rowe

 My latest release:  A Thriller Novel: by Julianna Rowe     "DOLL IN THE SNOW"

   

She looked innocent. Like a doll left behind in the snow. But some people don't leave footprints behind them. they leave wreckage. This haunting song was inspired by my novel, Doll in the Snow. Listen closely... not everything is as it seems.

   I wrote the words to the song, I used suno.com to put music to my words.  I has become an exciting and interesting hobby.   J.R. 💖 

https://www.amazon.com/Doll-Snow-Julianna-Rowe-ebook/dp/B0H5FPK3Q6

Haven learned fear long before she learned love. Raised beneath the frozen skies of Iceland by a mother feared even within her own bloodline, she escapes carrying secrets she barely understands and a darkness that seems to follow wherever she goes.

Cole is gentle, restless, and far too willing to mistake broken people for people he can save.

When their paths collide, desire quickly becomes obsession, and obsession slowly becomes something far more dangerous. As the two disappear across countries and oceans, strange blood-soaked events begin trailing behind them, while back home a mother searches desperately for the son she knows would never willingly vanish.

But some curses are older than love. And some wounds do not stop bleeding simply because someone survives them.
Told through shifting voices and layered memories, The Doll in the Snow is a haunting psychological novel about manipulation, generational trauma, survival, and the fragile possibility of healing after darkness. Some stories end in justice. Some end in forgiveness. This one ends in home.

I DIDN'T DIE! by Julianna Rowe

 I Am Not Under the Dirt! by Julianna Rowe

I was driving to work this morning feeling a bit tired of too many things. My phone was ringing. My house had a mouse or three. My family had opinions and my body and brain had a few obvious complaints causing my mood to start heading downhill faster than a runaway shopping cart.

I was driving the same route as usual but when I turned my eyes to the left I saw that huge Cemetery I passed every day.  But this day I saw it differently. Row after row of gravestones. Big and tall granite markers, sweet little ones, faancy ones and plain ones.  Some had fresh flowers, some had planted flowers, others weeds surrounded their resting home. It was then something hit me and for some reason I blurted out loud:  

"Oh dear, you guys are all under that dirt!!  I'm so sorry.  But.... I AM NOT UNDER THE DIRT! I had to pull over and take a picture the spiritual message was so strong!

And after aplogizing to all those under the dirt, I immediately started laughing when it sank in further that my problems didn't seem quite so dramatic or FINAL. The mouse issue was alive, not under the dirt and manageable. My aching back was alive and thriving and also not under the dirt. The family drama from those I love was definitely not under the dirt. The upcoming surgery meant I was quite assuredly alive and apprehensive.... 

Sometimes life isn't about having everything go right.  The victory is simply realizing you're still above ground, still moving, still laughing, and still getting another chance to figure it all out. Not under the dirt.  

Today wasn't perfect, but I wasn't under the dirt and that felt like pretty good news to me. 

Actually I was a hit in the side of the head with a spiritual 2 x 4 of which I am thankful for!  

www.TheHappyNewsLady.com

Have You Noticed the Crazy Facebook Ads Lately - by Julianna Rowe

Have You Noticed the Crazy Facebook Ads Lately:    By Julianna Rowe

If I see one more miracle ad on Facebook, I may need medication. Actually, scratch that. The ad is probably already pushing medication.

Every day I scroll through social media and discover that some poor woman who weighed 300 pounds on Monday became a size 3 by Thursday using an ancient secret discovered in a remote village where everyone lives to be 127 years old. Or is doing Tai Chi. Apparently all she had to do was drink a purple liquid, stand on one foot, and think positive thoughts.

And what about the meals delivered to my door.  Mediterranean, Korean, Spanish, all protein, big man’s meal, Factor, Home Chef, Goldbelly, and buy now pay later.  What?  Why I can even order human grade dog food that comes in dry ice with packaging that melts in water. At this point the hardest part isn't cooking. It's choosing.

Then there are the doctors who "don't want you to know." Know what? And that is after "follow below in first comment." And then an hour and a half video with an ending:  Order here.

If there is a secret cure for wrinkles, fat, arthritis, debt, loneliness, and mice, I promise you doctors know about it. And there is a belly shot you can order and its fat free.

Then there is the fellow who made $87 million from home while working only 12 minutes a week. Twelve minutes. I spend longer than that looking for my reading glasses.

Wait, I almost forgot the people who worked for ten years for the company who had gathered a portfolio of hundreds of clients but the new guy did it in four hours using AI.  The husband goes home and tells his wife he got fired and will have to door dash.  Wife says, oh no, you are going to learn that AI course and it only cost thirty thousand.  

The next ad tells me my knees hurt because I am missing a rare mineral only found in a Himalayan cave guarded by monks and goats.

Then I learn my belly fat is not my fault. It is apparently caused by a mysterious sleeping parasite, hormone imbalance, toxic liver, slow metabolism, hidden inflammation, bad gut bacteria, and Mercury being in retrograde. I am beginning to think my body is hosting a committee meeting.

And let's not forget the miracle gadgets, miracle mushroom coffee, celebrity teeth whitening, reverse-aging gummies, and a 104-year-old woman who swears her secret is eating buttered raisins while standing barefoot in the dew.

 Wait:  There are more: Neck stretchers. Belly patches. Magnetic socks. Copper bracelets. Electric shoes. Pillows that cure everything short of bad relatives.  And sheets that ground you to the earth as if you were hugging several trees all at once. One ad promised I could erase twenty years of aging in fourteen days. At my age, I'd settle for finding my car keys.

Some of the ads at the bottom of the page are so ridiculous I won't even click on them. No thank you. Grossville. Those photos do not pull me in they push me up up and away. If curiosity killed the cat, Facebook ads would finish off the entire litter.

The truth is, most of us know there are no magic shortcuts. Health takes work. Relationships take work. Money takes work. Even cleaning out a toaster takes work. Trust me on that one. At this point, if every miracle product actually worked, we'd all be skinny, rich, wrinkle-free, debt-free, pain-free, and living to be 147 years old. Instead, I think I'll save my money, drink my diet coke, and keep scrolling.

Although I have to admit... If I see an ad promising to get rid of mice, medical bills, and political arguments all at the same time, I might click it.

p.s.  That photo is of my Granddaughter, and she is single.

My Car Wouldn't Start!.........by Julianna Rowe

The Day My Car Wouldn't Start      by Julianna Rowe

I had a moment this week. One of those moments where you begin questioning your age, your memory, and whether you should still be operating machinery.

I came out of my chiropractor appointment, climbed into my car, and pushed the button to start it. Nothing. I pushed it again. Nothing. Immediately my mind went into financial panic mode.

"Oh no. Battery, Starter, Alternator, Thousands of dollars! Homeless? Guess I'll be living in the chiropractor parking lot." I sat there for a few seconds trying to figure out what disaster had just struck. Then I happened to glance down an see that I wasn't pushing the Start button, I was pushing the Volume button on the radio the entire time. 

My car was perfectly healthy. The only thing getting more powerful was the radio. I had spent several minutes diagnosing a catastrophic mechanical failure while turning up the volume.

Now, before anyone starts sending me brochures for assisted living facilities, I would like to point out that modern cars have approximately 4,276 buttons.  The Start button sits right next to other buttons. The other buttons all look important and apparently one of them looks important enough that I mistook it for the Start button.

The good news is my battery is fine. The starter is fine. The alternator is fine and the chiropractor is fine. The only thing that may need servicing is the driver. I finally pushed the correct button. The car started immediately and I drove away laughing. 

Well... eventually laughing. First I looked around to make sure nobody had seen me. Because some stories are funny and some stories are funny only after witnesses leave. That's my modern car syndrome for today.

Back in my day a car had: A key, a steering whee,l and a radio. 

Now they have: A Start button. A Stop button. A Volume button. A Screen button. A Button To Explain The Other Buttons. And naturally the two most important buttons are right next to each other. Fact is I feel like I am driving an oversized computer on wheels.  There are buttons and guages I have never used because I do not know what they are for. And the manual is likened to the Websters Dictionary.  I only use it when I have to figure out how to re-fix my headlights when my son turns them off the automatic section.  

Go ahead and image that in an 8x10 glossy!  I get in the car.  Push. Nothing. "OH DEAR GOD. Not today." Push again. Nothing. Now my mind was racing.

 

"Starter?" 

"Alternator?"

"Battery?"

"Transmission?

"Will I be living in this parking lot? Kitty litter in the back seat?"  Meanwhile my radio volume is quietly going:  2... 4... 7... 12... 18...

NOTICE MY LICENSE PLATE SAYS:   ALSWELL!!   

(Yes, I am aware I my creative urge met up with my license plate.)

Garlic Breath! An Outhouse Might be Easier and More Helpful! by Julianna Rowe

 

Garlic Breath: An Outhouse Might be Easier

I have a question. Has anyone else noticed that some people can eat one clove of garlic and create a fifteen-foot exclusion zone around themselves? I'm not talking about a pleasant hint of garlic. I'm talking about the kind of garlic breath that arrives three minutes before the person does.  You know the type. You're sitting in a movie theater minding your own business. The lights go down. The previews start. Then suddenly something drifts across the room. At first you think there must be a plumbing issue. Then you wonder if a skunk somehow got into the building. Then it hits you. Nope. Row 7, Seat B. Garlic Man has arrived. The amazing thing is that garlic breath doesn't travel in a straight line. It swirls. It lingers. It seeks out innocent bystanders. It creeps over theater seats and around corners like a low-budget horror movie. Scientists should study it. The military should probably not. And don't get me started on onion breath. Garlic breath is at least trying to be Italian. Onion breath is just angry. You can be standing in line at the grocery store and suddenly find yourself wondering if someone is carrying a sack of onions in their mouth.  The worst part is that nobody knows how to handle the situation. There is no polite way to say:

"Sir, your breath just peeled the paint off my shopping cart."

Or:

"Ma'am, I believe your lunch is still actively participating in this conversation."

Instead, we smile politely while slowly backing away like we're negotiating with a bear. Personally, I think movie theaters should hand out emergency mints with every ticket purchase. Forget 3D glasses. Give me breath insurance. Because if I'm paying twelve dollars for popcorn, I shouldn't have to spend the entire movie wondering whether the smell next to me is garlic, onions, or something that escaped from an abandoned outhouse.

Just saying.  "An outhouse might be easier and more useful."

(Photo by chatGPT)

I Knew Something My Physician Didn't! by Julianna Rowe

 I Knew Something My Physician Didn't!  by Julianna Rowe

This morning driving to work I noticed the leaves on several varieties of trees were turning over. Now before you young folks run to Google, us old-timers know exactly what that means. Rain. The leaves flip their little undersides up like they're trying to get a better look at the sky and ask, "Are we doing this today?"

I mentioned it to my doctor once by saying, "Its going to rain today, the leaves on the trees have flipped over." She looked at me like I had escaped from school without my diploma.   

"Really? I have never heard of such a thing." she said.

"Yes, really," I replied, adding with a hidden hint of arrogance that maybe she should Google it. Then I added the leaves know more than the Weather Channel. She doesnt always appreciate my sense of humor and I do try to remain business like due to the fact every fifteen minutes cost me another several hundred dollars. Yet I continued anyway adding my weekly woes to our appointment...... which at the end of she commented I may need Prozac. 

"Matter of fact," I said, "I think nature has been trying to warn me about the last week of my life." That is when she interupted with, "Do you feel like you want to harm yourself?"   I said, "No! It's just life! The extreminator says the mice have "probably" disappeared, but I will believe that when I don't see it. My son's car battery died and his car key went missing. The police had to come open the car which is one of the advantages of living in a small town. A boyfriend of a friend called his parents and moved out, takin the furniture with him. And somewhere in the middle of all that, I was trying to schedule surgery while carrying on a serious conversation with my cat  Bob. 

At this point I don't need a weather forecast. I need a crisis forecast. The leaves weren't predicting rain in fact they were predicting a full-blown weather event of which my physician, who is supposed to know everything that I don't, somehow missed that one. And No, I don't need Prozac.  

Bob, meanwhile, remains calm. I suspect he knows more than he's telling me.  Every time something goes wrong, he sits there washing his face like none of this concerns him. A battery dies? Bob blinks. Family drama? Bob blinks. Mouse infestation? Bob blinks. The stock market could collapse and Bob's biggest concern would still be whether his dinner arrived on time. Bob the cat has seen enough around here to qualify as a licensed therapist, if he could only talk.

Maybe that's the lesson. When life starts flipping upside down like the leaves on the trees, maybe we don't need all the answers. But we do need to realize that baramentric pressure affects  more than the weather. Put pressure on your brain and watch the results. 

Maybe we just need to find a patch of grass, put our feet on the ground, and remember that eventually the storm passes.

Although if another boyfriend moves out and takes the keys, all bets are off.  Somewhere in the family lineage this surely has to be my fault? Or it's simply: "The leaves knew trouble was coming. They just forgot to mention it wasn't weather."  I am still tickled I knew something my Physician didn't!!  That'll keep me going for quite a while. By the way, its the Silver Maple, the Poplar, and the Willow tree's that will give you a good twelve hour heads up.  

"Feets on the Ground?" by Julianna Rowe

 

"Feets on the Ground"

Everyone says we need to "ground ourselves." Walk barefoot in the grass. Stand in a stream or hug a tree. They say it will connect you with the earth and you will feel its energy flow through your body.

Wonderful idea, but I have a few questions. Where exactly is this magical patch of grass? And where is this crystal-clear spring-fed stream that will cleanse me to my core and send me skipping through life with renewed energy and purpose? The grass near my apartment has been visited by every dog in Middleton. It is also monitored blade by blade by a guy in a truck called "Tru Green" or "The Lawn Doctor."

I find that an interesting play on words.

"Tru" Green isn't very true if I can't wiggle my piggies in the grass without worrying about what was sprayed on it last Tuesday. It's true alright that I might turn green from being poisoned before I absorb enough earth energy to float home.

And The Lawn Doctor? Really? That doctor spends a good portion of his career killing everything that naturally belongs there. Dandelions, clover, and all the little things that bees seem to enjoy a whole lot more than perfectly manicured lawns. Then there is the grass near the road. That patch has spent forty years absorbing exhaust fumes, road salt, and whatever else gets tossed at it by passing traffic.

Somehow I don't think Mother Earth intended that to be my healing sanctuary. Let me add that I'm not entirely convinced I want to stand in the stream either. The stream probably contains three shopping carts, a bicycle, and at least one mystery item nobody wants to identify.

And these feet aren't twenty years old anymore. By the time I walk barefoot across a gravel parking lot to reach this magical stream, I'll need grounding from the pain alone.

Yet I think there may be something to the idea. Maybe grounding isn't always about bare feet and hugging trees. Maybe it's about remembering where you are.

Looking up at the sky.

Petting a cat.

Drinking coffee or sweet tea on the porch.

Watching flowers bloom.

Calling your son on his birthday before you completely forget and have to scramble for your phone.

Taking a shower and washing away a hard day.

Maybe grounding is simply returning to yourself.

And if that's true, I think I'm overdue.

Still, if I'm driving along someday and happen to spot a patch of clean, untouched grass that hasn't been visited by dogs, treated by lawn doctors, or marinated in traffic fumes, I just might pull over and give it a try. Then again, before hugging a tree, I would probably look around first to make sure nobody was watching. Because while I am interested in reconnecting with nature, I am not interested in becoming the topic of conversation at the local coffee shop.

"Did you hear about that woman hugging the oak tree over by the highway?"

"Yep. She looked very grounded."

Maybe that's the secret after all. A little sunshine, a little laughter, a little fresh air, and a reminder that no matter how crazy life gets, we can still find our way back to ourselves. It's all about energy, isn't it?

The Space Between Time..... by Julianna Rowe

The Space Between Time:  by Julianna Rowe aka Nana D

The other day my precious granddaughter Kennede got engaged. I saw the photo of her showing her best friend her ring. The smiles, the excitement, the future all stretched out in front of her. Then I found another photo. A little blonde girl sitting beside me, grinning at the camera. The strange thing is, in my mind those two pictures were taken about six months apart. Reality insists it was much longer.

I don't know where the years went. One minute I was rocking a tiny newborn to sleep. Then tying ponytails, buying Christmas presents, baking cookies, playing dress up, wiping tears due to a skinned knee. swimming in Nana's pool, and always wondering if they'll ever pick up their toys. 

The next minute its Prom pictures, drivers tests, a first car, college, finding a good job, and then... bingo... they're picking wedding colors and talking about forever. 

People always tell you to enjoy every moment because children grow up fast. I never believed them. Turns out they were right. 

Congratulations, Kennede. May your future be filled with laughter, friendship, and the kind of love that still makes you smile years from now.

And if you ever have children of your own, don't blink. Trust me on that one.  

I love you forever, Nana D.

THE MACY'S DREAM I DIDN'T KNOW CAME TRUE: by Julianna Rowe

The Macy's Dream I Didn't Know Came True:  "Wait a minute... It did." Just not on 34th Street in New York, but on a porch in Wisconsin.  by Julianna Rowe

When I was young, I had a dream. I wanted to live in New York City and design the big display windows at Macy's. I never had any formal training. Looking back, I probably couldn't have done it professionally. But in my mind, that was where I belonged. I imagined creating scenes that made people stop, smile, and look a little longer.

Years later, in the 1980s, I was living in Longview, Texas. One Christmas, my family was driving around looking at lights and decorations when I saw something that stopped me in my tracks. It wasn't expensive. It wasn't fancy. Someone had created a beautiful Christmas display from painted sheets of plywood. I stared at it and said something that I still remember today:

"Look at how happy that makes people."

That was the moment. Not Macy's..Not New York.That Christmas display because I realized that's what touched me wasn't the display itself. It was the happiness it brought to the people who stopped to look at it. I knew then that I wanted to do that too.Over the years I created painted cutouts, porch displays, holiday scenes, and seasonal decorations wherever I lived. 

Some people probably thought I was just  decorating. But I wasn't. I was trying to create a moment. A smile, a memory, and a little bit of wonder in someone's ordinary day. 

Today I live one block from downtown. My apartment sits near a four-corner stop, and every year people ask:

"What will she create this year?"      

They slow down and look.They smile and  some come back for a second look. And suddenly I realized something. A Macy's window display is really just a story told without words. It isn't about selling merchandise. It's about creating a feeling. A little bit of joy. A little bit of wonder. A moment that brightens someone's day. And that's exactly what I've been doing all along. Not in New York City. Not behind the famous windows of Macy's. But on a little porch in Wisconsin. The scale changed. The dream did not. For years I thought my dream never came true because I was looking for it in the wrong place. What I finally understand is that my dream was never really about Macy's. Macy's was simply the biggest stage I could imagine. The real dream was to create something that made people happy. Maybe that's why I've written books. Maybe that's why I've written songs. Maybe that's why I started The Happy News Lady. And maybe that's why I still decorate my porch. Not because life has always been happy. It certainly hasn't. But because I have always believed that even a small moment of joy can matter. Sometimes dreams arrive wearing different clothes than we expected. Sometimes they show up later than planned. Sometimes they are closer to home than we ever imagined, and sometimes, if we're lucky, we realize we've been living the dream all along.

 The Happy News Lady

OPERATION: MOUSE PATROL BY Jules - Short for Julianna Rowe

 OPERATION: MOUSE PATROL   May 30, 2026  True story made into Comedy.

Well folks, it's official.

After months (years) of mice, dead mouse smells, exterminators, maintenance visits, deodorizer packets, lectures about cat food, and enough stress to qualify for a law degree, Bob and I have launched our own investigation. Allow me to introduce: 

Chief Inspector Bob:  Assistant Investigator Jules (short for Julianna obviously.) Our mission? To locate the tiny suspects that have apparently declared my apartment their summer vacation destination. Bob has been on the force for years. Frankly, he looks like a detective who's been working homicide for thirty years and is three days from retirement. His official statement: "You two are idiots. I saw the mouse three days ago."   

Meanwhile, I arrived on the scene wearing Halloween mouse ears, carrying a magnifying glass, and fueled entirely by caffeine and irritation.The AI that created our first investigation photo apparently decided I needed backup. Instead of Bob, it added a handsome detective who looked like he wandered in from a Hallmark movie.And me looking like I did 20 years ago. I stared at the picture and thought: "I hate mice... but I kinda like the handsome detective I found while looking for them." For a brief moment I considered keeping him. After all, he seemed far more helpful than the exterminator. Speaking of which... The exterminator informed me that if I kept food in my apartment, mice might be attracted to it. Thank you, Sherlock. Apparently my crime was owning a toaster, an air fryer, and a cat who enjoys eating occasionally. Then came the dead mouse smell. Their official position? "Well, we won. We killed them. That's why it smells."

Excellent. So now I get to choose between living with mice or living with Eau de Mouse Corpse.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, I started seeing mice that weren't there. A shadow? Mouse. A sock? Mouse. A dust bunny? Possibly a mouse wearing a disguise. At this point, I may need a lawyer. Or therapy. Or both.

But until then, Operation Mouse Patrol remains active. Chief Inspector Bob continues to supervise from the counter, looking disappointed in everyone. I continue searching for clues with a magnifying glass. And if another handsome Hallmark detective accidentally appears during the investigation... 

Well...I'm not saying I'd file a complaint. But I will ask AI to remove the critter, I have had enough and do not want to even look at one ever never again. 

And I know I still look  20 years too young.  Hey, it was hard to go back and ask AI to give me more wrinkles. Jeeez.

Signed, Assistant Investigator Jules, short for Julianna of course.

(Who never wanted mice, but apparently became a Mouseketeer anyway.)

Things I Know At This Age: by Julianna Rowe

 THINGS I KNOW AT THIS AGE:

I know peace has become more valuable than proving a point.

That some people apologize without ever changing.

That exhaustion can disguise itself as patience for far too long.  I know old songs still remember parts of us people forgot. That survival changes a woman and kindness matters more than image.And I know this:

The older I get, the less interested I am in pretending.

Some things break you and some things teach you and some things quietly lead you back to peace.

Healing rarely arrives loudly..

P.S. The full “What Men Say When They Don’t & What Women Say That They Mean” ebook will be arriving on Amazon soon. Some of the deeper articles and reflections will be included there. Thank you to everyone who has followed the journey so far, here with me. 💚

 Julianna Rowe
The Happy News Lady
www.TheHappyNewsLady.com

(Photo is Ai generated per my request)

What Women Say, That They Mean.....by Julianna Rowe

 What Women Say, That They Mean:  Hosted on www.TheHappyNewsLady.com

ACT III — “SHE’S REPEATING WITHOUT WANTING TO”

One of the most exhausting experiences for many women is realizing they are repeating the same emotional needs over and over while still feeling unheard underneath the conversation. At first, repetition comes from hope. She believes maybe she did not explain it clearly enough the first time. Maybe the timing was wrong. Maybe the other person simply did not fully understand the emotional weight behind what she was trying to say.

So she explains again. More gently, then more carefully. Sometimes more emotionally. Sometimes less emotionally. But over time, repetition stops feeling productive and starts feeling painful.

Many women do not want to repeat themselves. In fact, repeated emotional conversations often leave them feeling embarrassed, frustrated, guilty, or emotionally drained. No one enjoys feeling like they must continually explain why something hurts, why something matters, or why emotional consistency feels important to them. Yet many women find themselves trapped in this exact cycle when temporary understanding keeps replacing lasting change.

This is where quiet frustration begins building internally.

Because every repeated conversation slowly carries the emotional memory of the conversations before it. The woman is no longer reacting only to the present moment. She is reacting to the accumulation of feeling emotionally unheard, emotionally deprioritized, or emotionally alone inside issues she already tried to explain many times before. That accumulation changes communication.

The patience becomes thinner. The sadness becomes heavier. The explanations become shorter.
And underneath it all lives an exhausting question: “Why do I keep having to ask for the same thing?”

For many women, this stage creates emotional confusion as well. They begin questioning themselves:
Am I expecting too much?  Am I becoming repetitive? Am I overreacting? Am I impossible to satisfy? But emotional repetition usually does not happen without reason. Most people do not continually revisit the same hurt unless something inside them still feels unresolved, unacknowledged, or emotionally unsafe. And perhaps the saddest part is this: many women continue repeating themselves because they still care deeply about preserving the relationship. Repetition is often an attempt to save connection before emotional exhaustion fully replaces hope.

But eventually, repeated pain changes the tone of even the gentlest person.

The woman who once explained softly may begin sounding tired. The woman who once overexplained may begin saying less. The woman who once believed understanding was possible may begin emotionally withdrawing instead. Because there comes a point where repeating the same emotional truth stops feeling like communication…and starts feeling like begging to be understood.

ACT III - The Quiet Frustration by Julianna Rowe

 What Women Say, That They Mean by Julianna Rowe 

ACT III - THE QUIET FRUSTRATION

Not all relationship frustration is loud. Sometimes it arrives quietly  through repeated disappointments too small to explain individually but heavy enough to slowly change the emotional atmosphere between two people. It builds in the unanswered questions, the emotional imbalance, the conversations that never fully resolve, and the growing exhaustion of trying to feel emotionally understood while quietly feeling increasingly alone.

This stage is often difficult to recognize from the outside because many women continue functioning normally while carrying enormous emotional frustration internally. They still show up. Still respond. Still try. But underneath the surface, emotional fatigue is beginning to accumulate in ways that slowly reshape communication, patience, vulnerability, and emotional closeness itself.

The Quiet Frustration is not usually created by one major betrayal. More often, it is created through repetition. Feeling dismissed repeatedly. Feeling emotionally unheard repeatedly. Feeling like emotional needs are always being softened, delayed, minimized, misunderstood, or treated as less urgent than everyone else’s comfort.

And because many women are taught to preserve peace, preserve relationships, and avoid appearing “too emotional,” much of this frustration gets swallowed long before it is ever spoken directly aloud.

That is why this stage becomes so emotionally dangerous. The frustration remains active even while the words become softer.

“I’m fine.”                        

“Never mind.”
“It’s okay.”
“Forget it.”
“Do whatever you want.”

The quieter the frustration becomes, the more emotionally exhausted the woman often is underneath it.

This section explores the emotional accumulation that happens when women begin feeling the growing distance between what they need emotionally and what they are consistently receiving in return. It examines the subtle shift from explaining… to repeating… to withdrawing… while still quietly hoping someone notices the change before silence fully replaces connection. Because many relationships do not first break through screaming. They begin breaking through quiet disappointment that stayed unspoken for far too long.

What Women Say,, That They Don't ..... "I Feel Off" by Julianna Rowe

Wjat Women Say, That They Don't by Julianna Rowe

 “I Feel Off.”

 It’s not a clear sentence nor does it point to one moment or one thing you can fix. But when a woman says that, she’s not guessing, she’s noticing something she can’t quite name yet. What she means is: something shifted and the energy feels different.

The way you speak to me, the way you look at me, the way things flow between us, it’s not the same, even if nothing obvious has happened.

 And that’s what makes it hard to explain, because there’s no single moment to point to, no proof to hold onto, just a quiet feeling that something isn’t sitting right.

 “I feel off” is what she says before she has the words, before she’s connected all the dots and finally before she’s ready to call it something bigger. It’s instinct. It’s awareness. It’s her paying attention to the small changes most people overlook. And here’s the part that matters. She doesn’t want to be right. She’s not looking for a problem...she’s trying to understand what she’s feeling before it turns into something she can’t ignore. But if that feeling keeps showing up… if it keeps getting brushed off or dismissed… it doesn’t go away, it sharpens and gets clearer. Until what once felt “off” becomes something she can finally name. Bottom line: “I feel off” isn’t confusion, it’s the beginning of her seeing things clearly. She said she felt off… and she was already closer to the truth than she realized. 

“Women rarely say ‘I feel off’ without a reason.
The heart often notices distance long before the relationship admits it.”

What Women Say, That They Mean..... "I Miss You." by Julianna Rowe

What Women Say, That They Mean

While these pieces center on women, the language of emotion isn’t gendered...only the way we’re taught to express it.  A series hosted on The Happy News Lady

 “I miss you.”

Three simple words that sound soft… but carry more weight than most people realize. Because when a woman says that, she’s not always talking about distance. She can miss you while you’re sitting right next to her. What she means is: I miss how you used to show up. I miss the way you looked at me, the way you reached for me without hesitation, the way I didn’t have to question where I stood. I miss feeling close to you, even when nothing was being said. 

Because missing someone isn’t always about absence, it’s about the shift. The change you can feel but can’t quite explain. The way conversations don’t flow the same. The way effort doesn’t come as naturally. The way something that once felt easy now feels… distant. 

“I miss you” is what she says when she’s still holding on, still hoping the connection finds its way back to what it was. It’s not blame. It’s not pressure. It’s quiet honesty. But here’s the part people don’t see, she won’t say it forever. Because if she keeps missing a version of you that never returns, eventually she stops looking for it. She stops reaching for what’s no longer there. And that’s when “I miss you” turns into something much quieter… something that no longer needs to be said. 

Bottom line: she wasn’t just missing you, she was missing how it felt to be loved by you. She said “I miss you”… and she meant she could feel the distance growing, even if you couldn’t.

 Quiet ache, not heartbreak. Even when you’re right here.

Saturn Has Me in Emotional Renovations.......by Julianna Rowe

Tonight I realized something strange.

I am tired in a way sleep doesn’t fix. Not just physicallt tired, but soul tired. Tired of carrying things carefully, of trying to explain things kindly. Tired of pretending certain things don’t hurt. Tired of being “strong” because life keeps requiring it. 

  And yet…there is still a part of me that wants to decorate the porch lights, write another story, make people laugh, watch old cowboy shows, buy flowers I probably don’t need, and love people anyway.

That part of me is still alive. Maybe that is the miracle at this age. Not becoming hard or bitter. Not giving up after disappointment stacked itself like dishes in a sink. But somehow still remaining soft enough to create.

I think people imagine aging as becoming old, but I think sometimes aging is simply becoming more honest. You stop performing, stop chasing. You stop needing applause from people who never intended to clap.You begin asking quieter questions.

Do I feel peaceful here?
Do I feel safe here where I live?
Do I still recognize myself?
What actually matters now?

Tonight I do not have great wisdom or answers. I only know this: Something inside me is changingAnd strangely enough…I think it might be trying to save me.

Either that or Saturn has me in emotional renovations without a permit.

Anyway…tomorrow I’ll probably decorate something, write a song, and argue with a mouse. Life goes on. 

"It is what it is!" as PaPa Joe used to say. 

What Women Say, That They Mean..... "I Just Need A Little More Effort.....by Julianna Rowe

While these pieces center on women, the language of emotion isn’t gendered...only the way we’re taught to express it.  A series hosted on The Happy News Lady

" I Just Need A little More Effort"

---

“I just need a little more effort.” It sounds small, even reasonable and easy to give. But when a woman says that, she’s not asking for something new...she’s asking for something that used to be there… or something she’s been quietly giving all along. What she means is: I’m feeling the imbalance. I’m noticing who initiates, who follows through, who shows up without being reminded. And right now, it feels like I’m carrying more of this than you are. It’s not about grand gestures or perfection...it’s about consistency. It’s about feeling chosen in the small, everyday ways that don’t need to be asked for. Because effort isn’t measured in big moments...it’s measured in the ones no one talks about. 

The texts you send first. The plans you make without being pushed. The attention you give without being asked twice. And when those things start to fade, she feels it. Not all at once, but slowly and quietly. Like something important is slipping out of balance. 

“I just need a little more effort” is what she says before she stops asking altogether because she doesn’t want to beg for something that should come naturally. She doesn’t want to feel like love is something she has to manage instead of receive. And if nothing changes? That “little more” she asked for eventually turns into less from her. Less reaching. Less trying. Less believing it will shift. Bottom line: she wasn’t asking for more than you could give...she was asking for more than you were choosing to. She said she needed a little more effort… and she meant it mattered more than she made it sound.

“I just need a little more effort.”

Translation: I’m tired of being the only one trying.

"Mice & Money" by Julianna Rowe

 

"Mice & Money"

  “Some women inherit diamonds. I inherited stress and an advanced degree in survival.”

There comes a moment in life when you are standing in your kitchen surrounded by air purifiers of which we now seem to be in a committed relationship, vinegar bowls to kill odor, coffee grounds, incense, candles, unpaid bills, unanswered texts, a sick cat named Bob, and the lingering smell of something dead behind the refrigerator… and you suddenly realize: 

 “I’m one inconvenience away from living in a tiny house with twelve wind chimes and no forwarding address.”

This is not how I want to live. Not that I want to die or even disappear.  Just… not THIS. Sometimes exhaustion doesn’t arrive dramatically,  it arrives disguised as coping.

You still go to work.

Still answer people kindly.

Still pay bills.           

Still clean counters.

Still feed the cat.

Still laugh at inappropriate moments because if you don’t laugh, you might unravel completely.

And one day your nervous system simply whispers:

“Enough.”

Not because you are weak. Because you have been strong for too long. I think many women reach an age where they stop asking:

“How much more can I endure? At this point, if a raccoon shows up asking for rent money, I may simply hand him the lease.”

…and start asking:

“Why am I enduring things that are slowly stealing my peace?”

That question changes everything. No, life will never be perfect. Bodies fail and money gets tight. People disappoint us. Medical bills arrive like surprise party guests from hell. But there is a difference between the normal hardships of life… and living in a constant state of emotional survival. I know this now, and maybe healing doesn’t begin with giant dramatic changes. Maybe it begins the moment a tired woman standing in a stinking kitchen finally says:

“I deserve better than survival mode! My nervous system would like to unsubscribe from this season of life."

Clean hit. No aftertaste and currently accepting donations in the form of peace, quiet, and emotional support snacks.”

 Julianna Rowe

www.TheHappyNewsLady.com

What Women Say, That They Mean.... Act II - "Where Meanin Gets Layered

 

               ACT II:  "Where Meaning Gets Layered"

Not everything women say is meant literally.
Sometimes the meaning sits underneath the words themselves...in tone, timing, hesitation, or what was left unsaid altogether. These are the phrases that often sound simple on the surface while carrying something much deeper underneath.   

What Women Say, That They Mean...... "I Don't Want to Bother You" by Julianna Rowe

 What Women Say, That They Mean

While these pieces center on women, the language of emotion isn’t gendered...only the way we’re taught to express it.  A series hosted on The Happy News Lady

"I Don't Want to Bother You"

“I don’t want to bother you.” It sounds polite, considerate… almost selfless, like she’s being easy, low maintenance, not asking for too much. But when a woman says “I don’t want to bother you,” what she often means is: I already feel like I am. I’ve noticed the pauses, the delayed responses, the shift in your tone, the way my presence feels… optional. So instead of asking for your time, your attention, your energy, I’m stepping back before I feel like I’ve taken too much. Because the truth is, she didn’t start out this way. She used to reach out freely, speak without overthinking, and show up without wondering if she was too much. But somewhere along the line, something changed. Maybe it was subtle,  or maybe it was repeated, or maybe it was the way she felt like an interruption instead of a priority. So now she softens herself ....makes herself smaller. Not because she has less to say...but because she’s unsure it’s wanted.

 “I don’t want to bother you” is what replaces “Can I talk to you?” It’s what replaces “I miss you.” It’s what replaces effort that once came naturally. And here’s the part most people miss, it’s not about independence, it’s about hesitation and about someone who is measuring their worth in your reactions and adjusting themselves to avoid feeling dismissed. Because when someone feels welcome, they don’t worry about being a bother. They don’t second guess every message, every call, every moment of reaching out. They just… show up. So when she says “I don’t want to bother you,” she’s not asking for space...she’s responding to it. Quietly and carefully. And if it continues? She won’t need to say it anymore. She’ll stop reaching out altogether. 

Bottom line: “I don’t want to bother you” isn’t distance, it’s learned restraint. She said she didn’t want to bother you… and eventually, she didn’t.

Meaning: Testing, soft signaling, hoping to be noticed.

What Women Say, That They Mean...... "It's Okay....by Julianna Rowe

"It's Okay" ......

While these pieces center on women, the language of emotion isn’t gendered...only the way we’re taught to express it.  A series hosted on The Happy News Lady

 “It’s okay.” She says in a soft, almost easy way. No tension in her voice, no fight left in the room, and that’s exactly why you should pay attention.

 Because when a woman says “It’s okay,” it usually means it’s not. What she means is: I didn’t like that, it mattered more than I’m letting on, but I’m choosing not to go there with you anymore. 

“It’s okay” is what replaces the conversation she decided not to have, and this isn’t her being understanding, it’s her withdrawing gracefully. She’s already explained, hinted, tried to bring it up in ways that didn’t start a fight, and somewhere along the line she got tired...tired of repeating herself, tired of feeling dismissed, tired of wondering if she’s asking for too much when deep down she knows she’s not. So now? “It’s okay.” 

But listen closely, because there’s a shift in that sentence...it’s no longer about you, it’s about her deciding what she’s willing to carry and what she’s slowly letting go of. Because when something truly feels okay, it doesn’t need to be said. “It’s okay” is what people say when they’re convincing themselves to accept something they didn’t want. And here’s where it changes everything: when she stops correcting, stops explaining, stops circling back to things that bothered her, she’s not becoming easier...she’s becoming less invested, less reactive, less open, less there. And it doesn’t happen all at once, it happens in small moments like this. “It’s okay.” 

The truth is, that sentence is often the beginning of emotional detachment, not loud, not dramatic, just quieter than before. Bottom line: “It’s okay” doesn’t always mean peace, sometimes it means she’s making peace with the fact that something isn’t going to change. 

She said “It’s okay”… and stopped expecting it to be better.