Where did all of those days go? It doesn’t seem that long ago that I was saying goodbye to 2013. This past year has been one of introspection, self-realization, and a new purpose in my life. The beginning of this year was filled with questions, the main one being, “What am I doing here on this earth?” If I am being totally honest with you, I could say that I felt that never-ending fog lifting from my brain and the light peeking through planting ideas to be considered. To be sure, my other life of being a nurse and Physician Assistant would not be bleeding into this new life that was being planned.

There were three activities that gave me a feeling of accomplishment and peace when I was younger before hospitals, clinics, patients, and perpetual care-taking. Those were painting, writing and photography. It was an odd decision to act on each one individually to feel for that ‘just right’ fit. My sweet therapist thought it would be more prudent to choose a direction and stay on track. Perhaps she was right, but I wanted to know for sure.

The first few months were filled with online photography classes, a new camera, and homework to keep up with. As the days, weeks, then months went by, my enthusiasm waned. It was a chore to complete assignments and the eagerness that I felt in the beginning would not return. This was not my passion.

Spring came. The flowers were blooming, the sun was shining, and there was beauty everywhere. This would be the time for painting. I was overwhelmed with excitement. I signed up for a class close to my home and bought all of the equipment necessary, and showed up that first evening with all the confidence that I could muster. There was a time that I owned a stained glass shop, and another time that I did some lovely water colors. By the time I arrived and was introduced to the class, I understood that I would begin from the beginning. That would not discourage me. I did my assignments in class and the required homework. But later I realized that I was not doing any more than was asked of me. The motivation was not within me to continue.

On a routine visit to my psychiatrist, we began talking about my son Alex. He had known and treated Alex for his narcolepsy. His memories of him were not of his multiple illnesses, but of his zest for life, his sense of humor, and his constant thirst for knowledge. Before I left that day, he said, “Patty, Start writing a blog. It could be the beginning of a book for Alex.”
I didn’t pay much attention. After all I didn’t know anything about blogging. I knew I could write, but a blog? In October I started this blog. Every step was a hurdle. I kept thinking that I was making a crazy mistake. Then things started happening. Organizations for helping children with chronic illnesses started to contact me to speak at their meetings, give suggestions about a new way to give these children the best medical service, and wanted to hear how I handled those difficult situations that come hand-in-hand with raising sick children.

That feeling that had alluded me for so long, that passion and excitement to write did not disappear. It was there all along waiting for me to unleash it. So here I am at the beginning of a new year waiting to see what this one has in store for me.

Thank you everyone who follows, likes, or just come to see what I will write about each day. I have found a safe place with you and feel your encouragement everyday. Believe it or not, it has been ten years since my husband died and seven since Alex passed away and it is now that the clouds are parting so I am able to see why I still wake up every morning. It is to write, to help people in need, and use all of the knowledge that I have gained along the way to truly make a difference.

Happy New Year! Follow your dreams!


It took me a few minutes to think about who I thought was the best story-teller that I know. My younger years were filled with drama and chaos. No one that would have time to tell a story or two. My husband was a master at spinning and stretching the truth, in a good way. He probably had the most prolific imagination of anyone ever in my life. I suppose that is why the two people whom I choose as the best story tellers are my children, Crystal and Alex. They were close in age and best friends. The stories they would come up with were amazing, even before they went to school. Crystal would tell us stories about her two imaginary friends, Theresa and George, and her birds and sweet snakes that lived in her oven. There was never a dull moment. Alex became a plumber for about a year and carried around a plunger wherever he went telling stories about my personal plumbing disasters. How embarrassing.

In my opinion it is most important that the person telling the tale be energetic with conviction in their tone. They would paint a picture with their spoken word. After all, it is an art. If the storyteller knows his audience, he would speak at their level with a beginning, middle and an end. Sometimes it is helpful to include some pauses as to increase the anticipation throughout it.

I saved all of my little ones’ phenomenal stories either written by my hand or theirs. Now I can look back and remember how funny Alex was and Crystal remains. It would have been nice to have had some of my husband’s tales penned to paper. I just never thought that I would outlive him. But the memories are still with me.

Spinning Yarns