It’s been a while. Wondering what I’ve been up to?

I hereby declare the last several years as the Wonky Years. These years encompass the worldwide pandemic, political chaos, and so many other events labeled unprecedented. Add to that the deaths of two of my family members and two major surgeries I had—one that miraculously and just in the nick of time saved my ability to hear when I received prosthetic ear bones, and another one to remove a benign tumor deep in my face that left it swollen for a long while and partially paralyzed for a shorter while. The paralysis could have been permanent. No one knew if it would be permanent. It isn’t. But the event jolted my psyche.

Yeah, wonky.

I don’t mean to make the serious sound silly. I just don’t know a word that exists to describe the off-kilter and surreal events. After much contemplation—it has been years after all—I’ve concluded that turmoil is an inescapable part of the human experience. Scientists behold: perhaps the world really spins on the perpetual jousting of right and wrong; good and evil; life and death; and change. If life is one thing, it’s change.

But that’s a subject for later.

It’s hard to discern the specific seed of my sadness these past few years. So much has banged heavy on my malleable heart.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped blogging.

I didn’t want to contaminate any hope and positivity people held. But then I realized that I really want to—need to—talk about things. Connect with people. Communicating is actually the mechanism for how I discover and make sense of things. I contemplate and solve problems and curiosities in the physical space before me. I’m not the type of person who keeps it all in. At my core, I exist as a lateral-thinking, subjective empath. When people hurt, I hurt. When I hurt, I express myself.

I discovered through journaling that writing is essential and worthy and healing and connecting. In those scribbles, I discovered a lot about myself. I prefer to dig deep and mine the hard stuff (like learning about the Holocaust and the meaning of Stolpersteins (!) that I literally stood upon. More on that later). I learned I’m not so keen on writing a lifestyle blog after all, but prefer instead to share my thoughts and inspirations in a personal blog. Personal blogs are less commercial and more, well, personal. Thus the change from SprySparrow.com to DeborahBass.com.

The toughest of all experiences these past few years occurred when my in-laws died. Jean passed away in 2021 in a facility locked down due to COVID. Not being able to be with her in any capacity during her struggle is still difficult to reconcile. And then, just this past fall, Ron’s dad (Pa to me) died from cancer. Ron and I were with him every single day from the emergency room visit, to the hospital, to the acute care center, and to home where he passed away in his own bedroom. We had moved into his house and cared for him during hospice. He did not pass peacefully. I still have nightmares.

Not everything is gloomy though. The light shines through eventually.

Family and traveling and enjoying good health make me grateful to the universe.

Ron and I finally made it back to Europe. The experience changed me at a cellular level. Travel does that. We planned the trip ourselves — a total DYI adventure. Five countries, five weeks, and a zillion memorable moments. I honestly think of that trip every single day. Here’s the link if you’d care to check out our detailed itinerary.

I can’t wait to tell you all about it.

Seeing and living the scary stuff helps me appreciate all the ordinary, truly extraordinary things.

A butterfly feeding on the flowers I’ve dutifully cared for. A train gliding effortlessly through the snow-covered pointy mountains. Falling snow. Giggling grandkids. A warm, fluffy, cozy bed. Toilet tissue. Ron’s hand on the small of my back as we exit a restaurant after a robust solve-the-world’s-problems and then make-our-dreams-come-true planning fest.

The simplest things delight and other things aren’t such a big deal after all.

For example, I don’t mind anymore that the raccoons dig up my lawn. I’m just glad they stop by, living their day. I don’t mind late mail delivery—just that it made it, a feat if you think about it. I appreciate more now the effort it takes to get an egg, a healthy one, to market and then all the way to me. It’s such a fragile orb of life-sustaining nourishment. Did I take eggs for granted? Perhaps. As I write, there are no eggs at my grocery stores due to the bird flu.

Life is wonky. It will always be wonky in some way, but it will also always be beautiful in many ways.

I’ve decided to not let the world’s upheavals dictate my happiness. I’ll try to make the world better when I can, and I’ll accept things when I can’t.

I choose light over dark.

Wishing you all love and light,

Deborah

(pictured: A wall covered in fabric in the The Old Coffee House Tearoom, Bruges, Belgium–June 2024. Deborah Bass)