Month: January 2026

On the brink, on the edge, on the verge… whatever you want to call it, I’m there.

Of insanity, of a mental breakdown, of buying a one way ticket to Bermuda. I’ve lived there this past week. Since last Friday evening, knowing what was about to hit, knowing what we were going to get and having absolutely no idea how hard, exactly, it would be.

I thought I was prepared. In true Thomas fashion, I made a list. Of all the things I needed to do/buy/prepare before the Winter Storm of 2026. We got it all done, barely. We went to bed that Friday night expecting the worst, expecting the storm, expecting the hard work and the freezing cold. What we woke up to Saturday morning was … unreal. A week later it’s still not over. Most of the horses were in the barn with blankets and warm water and plenty of hay. But some had to stay out, and I know that horses really prefer to be out. But when there is ice and snow and wind, *I* do not prefer them to be out. It would have been both easier and harder to have every single one of them inside.

There are things I am grateful for, one is that this storm started on a Friday and went through Sunday while Tony was home and not at work. Two, we never lost power. Three, we were able to provide water to all horses at all times, even though there were moments when this wasn’t easy. Four, all the horses stayed in good health. Five, the barn cat was warm and happy with her heating pad, her heat lamp, her heated water bowl and the accessible bird snacks that snuck in the barn to keep warm.

But if you want the details of what this type of Winter Storm is really like for those who have horses (or other livestock), keep reading…

• An 11 year old is only exuberant and happy to help until she gets cold or her gloves get wet. She is also good for lifting exactly one bale of hay but no more than that at any given feeding time. She can’t make snow angels in ice and she’s OVER IT after the first twelve hours.

• When you clean all the stalls you get sweaty underneath all your layers and then that arctic air and sleet hit your face when you have to drive the golf cart down to the last paddock to empty the manure, multiple times, until your arm is hurting and you have to “post up” every few minutes on the pitchfork because you are not as young as you used to be and nobody else can help you clean the stalls because they don’t do it right.

• You don’t have any wine for when you are done with barn chores because you looked at it in the grocery store when you went provisions shopping and decided you really didn’t need any. Don’t be stupid. Of course you did.

• There isn’t enough room in your head for all the worrying and fretting you will need to do while the storm is raging outside and even though you KNOW that horses survived in the wild somehow, those were not YOUR spoiled rotten domesticated fluff balls on stick legs that could and will slide on the ice or get stuck in the snow or otherwise do something stupid, even the ones in the stalls, just because they can. You will stay awake most of the night(s) while your spouse sleeps completely unperturbed beside you, like a baby, snoring softly and not dreaming at all of all the things that could happen if you weren’t awake worrying about them.

• When you are actually working outside you will basically be doing it blindly because it’s hard to see when your eyes are continuously watering from the wind and sleet pelting into them, not to mention the bright, bright snow that will feel like an ice pick into your brain every time you look at it, especially after exiting the dark barn. And if you are lucky, you will have transitions lenses like I have so that every time you enter or exit anywhere you will spend at least five minutes stumbling around waiting for your glasses to catch up to your current location.

• You will lose all semblance of time and space as you will exist solely to feed, water and clean stalls of the livestock. Speaking of water, water trough heaters need to be the absolute best quality you can buy because, apparently, the further away it gets (the longer the extension cord) from the electric plugs, the less heat they emit. We had four heaters, and we still had to break the ice on top of the troughs in three of them. One of them worked great which was the only relief I had in the water department over this past week. Also, if you unfasten the hoses from the outside faucets, the faucets are more inclined to work when you need them to. Of course, since the hoses are frozen, this means having to haul five gallon buckets of water from the faucet to each water trough, multiple times, whilst traipsing over ice or in ankle deep snow for the better part of an hour, which is how long it took me each time. Finally, even though you put a heat lamp on the indoor faucet, it WILL still freeze unless you leave it dripping (which I forgot to do one night) and then you will be shit out of luck and have to haul hot water from the house to the barn, cussing the entire time. And when the pipe behind the barn washing machine explodes one evening and water is spraying everywhere you will want to sit down and cry but you don’t have that luxury as you have to figure out where the water supply shuts off FAST before the whole barn aisle is one big water mess which will freeze overnight and become a skating rink. *helpful hint – try to have a water shut off INSIDE the barn so you don’t have to dig through six inches of ice to get to the one buried in the ground. One of my unexpected blessings was that Tony had JUST got home from work when this happened and we actually do have said turn off inside the barn, which I didn’t know but I sure as shit know it now.

• A blow torch is a must-have to unfreeze just about anything, but especially water faucet handles and gate latches.

• When it starts snowing again on the third day morale will quickly go from “fun adventure” to “you have got to be shitting me” if it hasn’t already.

• Small birds don’t last very long in a warm barn when the resident cat is cold and bored and looking for something to do. The birds all went to Jesus as evidenced by the feathers I found while cleaning stalls.

• I have never been grateful that I didn’t have an indoor arena, but I have been this past week because the roof caving in was one less thing I had to worry about, and I have several friends and acquaintances whose covered arena DID buckle and I am so sorry for them. I would send wine, but I don’t have any.

• This is day EIGHT and we still have snow and ice covering most surfaces, we still can’t uncover most of the hoses or electrical cords, the arena is still one big skating rink, and even though all of the horses are back outside they will still cause problems by tearing down electric fence wires and co-mingling until you find them in the morning by looking out the window first thing, like you always do, ever since the morning you looked out and Bruno was laying down with a broken leg at which point you will mutter shit under your breath and go to wake up your husband who thought he was going to get to go to the gym this morning but should have known better. Lucky he is here because I don’t know how to fix the fence. PS the electric wires don’t really work when there is ice covering them and you are dressed in a burrito suit and four layers. You can go through the wires easily and not get shocked, but will probably spook a horse that thinks that you going through the wires and not through the gate is something to be extremely worried about. Insert eye roll here.

At any rate, I am supposed to be making a list of all the things we need to do better to prepare for the next time something like this happens but when my husband told me to do that I muttered “YOU do it” because I am cranky and tired of this shit. Also my arm is sore from digging the back (North side) doors of the barn out of six inches of ice and snow on Thursday so that we could open them. Also I have a million other things to do and I don’t want to do any of them. Also I would take thirty days of 100 degree heat over this and I want a margarita and a sunburn right now.

My brother had the audacity to say “if you do what you love you will never work a day in your life.” I think he was joking. I told him I was loving being on a beach somewhere in the sun right now and that wasn’t happening so I think that’s a lie.

Monday it’s supposed to be 65 degrees and by the end of the week it will be 70. The weather down here has lost its mind and I’m right there with it.

To Fred – you are not alone!

As I wrote these words into the cover page of my book last night, and then signed it, my heart was so full. Fred, an older gentleman, was standing by my car in the dark with me while I gifted him one of my books. He was so endearing that my heart shattered in that moment, when I watched him walk away, head down, without his wife, who stayed behind in that care home where I had just spent an hour and a half telling my story and talking to the spouses and sons and daughters of loved ones with Alzheimer’s/Dementia.

This was the second time I had the privilege of attending a support group for carers of Alzheimer’s and Dementia patients. Both times were heart-rending, and emotional, and just so full of care and love towards one another. People teared up, some cried openly, a box of tissues was handed around.

But I have to tell you about the men.

In every single one of these men I saw my Dad. Most were the husbands of wives who were at the facility, one gentleman was with his wife, whose Mom was a resident there. I stood there and told my story, as best I could, while fully admitting that I am a writer, not a speaker, and I watched their faces. I told them about the early diagnosis, the early caregiving that I faced on my own, the hospital woes of my Dad, the realization that a care home was the next step, the sting of the COVID epidemic and how we were shut out from seeing my Mom, and her from seeing us. I told about the falls, the hospital stays with no one to advocate for someone who could not speak for herself. I told about finding Just Like Home, and the difference it made, and how I could “just be the daughter again.” They were all with me, nodding their heads and empathizing.

And I told about my Dad’s heartbreak, his struggle with the physical ailments, but also with the fact that he blamed himself, how he could not “fix this” for my Mom. I told about how he died – suddenly – and how that grief tore me up. I talked about the anger, the sadness, the resentment, the loneliness, the fear and the way I just wanted to help others not feel so alone, and that is the reason my blog posts turned into a book.

As I watched these men a thousand emotions and thoughts flitted across their faces. I saw the pain in their eyes while I talked. I saw men who were raw and hurting. And I saw a community of love surrounding them. I had said that, in my writing, I wanted to help validate the feelings of people going through this devastating disease.

These men (and women) validated me. They were me and I was them. And I saw what a support group could have done for us. There was the lady that was resentful, so angry that she was the one doing the caring and the children would not step up. She told how she goes to the firing range once a week and shoots her beretta, or her Glock, and how sometimes she imagines faces on the targets. Another lady, a daughter, through tears managed to say “it’s not the SAME, she’s not the same, her face is different, her expressions are different, her eyes are different.” And for a moment I was her, sitting endlessly with my Mom while the entire essence of her being changed. I wanted to say to this women, “hold on to her hands. Memorize them, feel them. Close your eyes and feel the warmth coming from them. These hands once held you. These hands will NOT change, they are the same. And long after she’s gone, you will still be able to feel her hand in yours and know that she’s still with you.” I didn’t get the chance to tell her, but maybe she will read this and know that I am right there with her, and that I understand.

We talked about self care. Larry, and George* and the others talked about guilt. Why were they still able to do things their wives no longer could? How can I leave her, they said. How can I be happy, or even just have happy moments, when she is not with me? “I always assumed I’d go before her,” Mark* said as his eyes welled up. And Fred choked up, couldn’t even get the word out. Of all of them, Fred touched me the deepest. The pain in his eyes was unbearable. The stoic set of his shoulders, the way the love for his wife and his deep hurt emanated off him. The mustache, like my Dad’s, quivered as he tried to talk. His hunched shoulders as he walked with me to the car afterwards. “What is your wife’s name?” I asked. “Gloria,” he said. I answered “that is a beautiful name.” And I told him that as hard as it is, he had to try and take care of himself, because he couldn’t be his best self for Gloria if he didn’t. And she deserves his best. She’ll need his best.

As the night ended my jaw hurt from trying not to cry. My tears almost spilled over as these lovely people told their stories. Every man there cried at least once. And I thought, how lucky you all are! And I told them, “This is amazing, this is beautiful, and you are all so lucky to have each other. I wish my Dad had had this.” And I do. But I also know he would not have attended. These men were brave, so brave, to come and be so honest and open. One dashing gentleman said he comes every day, he loves to talk to everyone, he loves to help out around the place. The son-in-law acknowledged that this wasn’t the plan at all, he and his wife were supposed to be traveling, going on cruises, having a wonderful time in retirement. But that God called them to be here, and here is where they would be. All the others nodded in agreement. This was not the plan, this was never how it was supposed to be.

I know that none of them would chose this ending for their wives and husbands, moms and dads. But they have all found a place of caring, compassion and healing. They are blessed, and they are not alone.

I have never been so humbled.

*names have been changed! Except for Fred. And Gloria.