Category Archives: mood swings

I’m gonna say it…

I’m not tapping into the artery of politics these days but I have to say…. I TOLD YOU SO.

For every oil spill you hear about assume there is 100 you don’t. They don’t know or they don’t want you to know, or merely current regulations don’t require them to report it… to anyone. For decades “small” spills have quietly happened as these corporations and their lackeys have become in the financial majority with the influencing vote and no intention of doing anything but keeping that status.

When they say small insignificant spills happen with “no” impact, only a mere 20 gallons or so, keep in mind that in WA if I discard a quart of car oil improperly, because of possible environmental hazards, I could get a huge fine and even jail time. There is nothing insignificant about crude oil in your soil, just ask a farmer. Or a worm.

One silver lining to my current day to day life is the absolute necessity to check out from the mundane drudgery of the political circus. The TV chaos. The anger. It’s all too much for me. I’m too tethered to an ethereal world of energy right now, and those surges of negativity and oppression, plutocracy and egocentric annihilation of those deemed lesser than by a holier-than-thou few is unbearable.

As a result, I’ve checked out. Despite that, however, a few current events have eeked into my bubble. You know; mass shootings, deadly (insert natural disasters here), threats of war, sex scandals, shock and awe. The headlines and the footnotes are more than I can manage, more than any of us should have to manage. Constant overwhelming surges of agony from all over the world. And this is all small stuff; merely specks that survived the sieve around my existence.

It’s important to note the big stuff that’s not getting through; the marketing of it all. The promotion and televised chaos of it all. The mismatched mangled incompetent and incomplete telling of it all. The declarations of blame before anyone knows what happened. This stuff is absent, it is not missed.

It is gibberish and nonsense that adds nothing to the quality of my life and quite clearly detracts; evidenced by a physical irritability that is intensely present when I hear minutes of (pick a news source) blathering on about a man and his dancing ponies. If they really wanted to stop him, they would talk about the people doing what’s right in the country and silence his name. Like a spoiled child, no attention is often the key to changing their behavior. But that’s not the industry objective, selling stories, that’s what they are there to do.

But I digress.

Today, I see a blurb about the Dakota pipeline. A cause I was very passionate about and resolute in its harmfulness. I am still inspired by the coming together of millions of global activists and ordinary people to challenge this corporate act of greed that trampled on the sacred lives of generations.

This pipeline was a travesty against humanity in many ways, the least of which was how they illegally (and successfully) battered, abused and maimed the civic minded protestors, going so far as to pass a law allowing protestors to be run over by a vehicle if they are in the road. Extraordinary people who came together and lived in extreme conditions for months and years to stop this potential environmental assault; and it all started with one woman’s will to protect her sons grave from being decimated.

Her call was heard around the world and it changed lives forever.

Previous leadership merely hit the pause button on the pipeline for proper research; something quickly removed by the successor. Private militia armed with weapons and dogs moved in and stood guard against unarmed citizens, driving them off their own land. The media said nothing.

Sometimes there was a mention here and there about a famous person who spoke out, maybe a nod that there’s was some hubbub at all. Nothing of the thousands of veterans who gathered to protect their native brethren, a promise they swore with honor to protect our countrymen and land against all enemies foreign and domestic. Or the thousands who marched in front of the White House, camping in the parks for days.

Ordinary people were compelled to preserve history, not repeat it. They stood peacefully against the tyranny and virtual slaughter of a people in our modern day. There was little mention of the tribes that gathered and stood together representing clans from coast to coast. Incredible ceremonies with thousands of strangers living communally in peace and with intent to stand for their rights to have clean water. Clean water for all of us. This was not a native experience, it was a human experience; joining people from all walks of life and all over the world.

It seemed the media didn’t deem these stories worth telling. I believe, it’s all part of the grand scheme of a terrorist regime – yes I called them terrorists. They certainly create a sense of terror in me. It’s not one man at the top, it’s a conglomerate of powers that set the agenda for their rule; which requires witless chaos and distraction so people don’t rise up or even realize they can. From the owners of media empires to the owners of political chiefs; they want us to think we are at their mercy… but please don’t forget, THEY are at ours.

Again, I digress. See how easy it happens!

For me the lowest of low was watching this new president stand at a podium on the new pipeline that was battled to the bitter end. Standing in front of oil cronies and angry white men he gloated about industry growth and oil futures and said he thought people might be upset. He thought someone might complain, but nope, not a peep. Everyone is happy with the new pipeline. With a dropped jaw and a stale tear I was sickened.

Unbelievable. Despicable. Disgusting. Immoral. This was our new leadership setting their agenda and those are the feelings it emoted, constantly choking from the foul taste of watching things our country has fought and died for being swept away like fast food crumbs off the shirt of a loudmouth tycoon.

In my current state of being I am trying to live without judgment. I am trying to let people be as they are because I was graciously gifted with the ability to let myself be how I am, in grief and transition, from moment to moment.

I was encouraged to allow the process and live things as they come, not worry about what should or shouldn’t be because there was no judgement. It was a liberating, life changing, philosophical gift.  I have been thrown onto a new path in my journey and it is not an easy road. Everyday is a new day and a new chance to be better for it.

When I encounter the idiocracy and detrimental absurdity of the going ons in the political world these days it immediately fills me with judgement and anger. As mentioned, this something I am trying to live without. But these are not ‘let them live their own life’ situations, people or problems; these are national and global crisis that will only be better if we make it happen. Alas, as is my life these day, rather than firing all my guns, I have instead made some key reflections.

One, same news different day. Other than players and places, very little has changed. I realize the last 123 days since Jason’s passing would likely have been filled with that constant negative energy had I not turned it off. Truth is, our life was like that before he died; whether caused by his emotional stress or my political ones (or everyday relationship stuff) it was ripe with negativity. Hence, my bubble. I need balance.

On a side note, about all the effort while little has seemingly changed; I was recently asked if it was worth it. “Wasting” my time on the political soap box I climbed on, when I could have been spending that time and energy on my now deceased husband. Beyond the utter shock of the question, I could only say of course it was worth it. I wanted to say I was inspired and motivated by a cause unlike ever before in my life. Jason was proud of me and encouraged my participation; from homemade Bernie Bling to becoming a delegate or creating my own protests. He may have rolled his eyes, but he helped me make my signs. He may have ignored the babble, but he helped me build the podium.

We shared similiar ideologies, although politics was not a conversation we often ventured into.  Bernie ignited my spirit and called on the activist within to get up and participate. True love doesn’t put out a fire in someone’s heart, it fans it. Jason fanned my flame. This was my journey, for all its ups and downs and I had the blessing to merge it for 15 years with his. I don’t regret a thing.

OK, number two, I still care. Very much. These things I fought against are still worth fighting for. Only I can’t do it the same way now. I have merely conceded to the people on the frontlines who can do what I cannot. I send them my will and hopes to carry into the many battles ahead. I have not surrendered the cause.

Three, this too shall pass, I can only hope sooner than later. Whatever the rhetoric is today, as we have seen over an over, it does not mean it will come to fruition. Out of the ashes of despair bloom beautiful flowers; and what is done can’t be undone. What I can do is try to create my little world in the way I want the whole world; full of love and dialogue, kindness and momentum towards positive things.

From where I am sitting, I see a big picture. I see legal action that started immediately finally getting it’s day in court. I see strangers helping strangers and pure energy flowing all around and through us. I hear the cries of people now feeling the consequences of the actions they did, or did not take when they had the chance. Becoming aware is a growing pain like any other; it hurts, and once done there is no going back. Life is like a magnet, in order to function properly there must be positivity and negativity; without that balance, there is no connection. It will take a connection to ourselves, each other and the planet to save us all. Sounds tough but all that is required to do it is the decision to do it, the rest comes quite naturally.

I will fight the good fight, love hard and sleep well. Today my good fight is this, tomorrow it may be simply doing what is expected of me. But whatever the battle, big or small, I will rise with a positive vision of the outcome, live authentically to accomplish my goals and speak my truth.

Think. Act. Rest. Repeat.



Sections of pipe sit at an Energy Transfer Partners LP construction site for the Sunoco Inc. Mariner East 2 natural gas liquids pipeline project near Morgantown, Pennsylvania, U.S. on Aug. 4, 2017. The Pennsylvania Department of Environmental Protection has issued four notices of violation after "inadvertent" spills of drilling fluids associated with horizontal directional drilling for the project. Photographer: Charles Mostoller/Bloomberg via Getty Images

January 9 2018, 12:38 p.m.



Feeling thankful today

I have been blessed by the love and life I was able to share with Jason. All the people he brought into my world, all the dreams we shared, the laughter and kisses, squirrel fives and smoosh smooshes.

I’ve felt the highest highs and lowest lows of my life with him, for him, because of him.

If you knew him, you miss him. He was once full of life and joy; he was generous to a fault. His laughter filled the room while his smile brightened it. The man I buried was a different man, he was suffering and in pain, we all were.

So much of the last few months has been processing that, who and what he became, how he chose to go. The good memories are starting to flicker more often in the movies of my mind.

I witnessed two of my friends wed the other day and saw the way they looked in each others eyes. It flooded me with that moment Jason and I shared the promises, the looks, the love. I think the hard stuffs only just begun.

I love you bubelah.

Mr. Timmy Timmerson reflects

Jerry berry boo remembers

No one plays with Jörge like daddy did.

There was always love

Grave to Gavel

I changed my name today.

Just walked in and did it.

It needed to happen.

I called Jason’s daughter first to let her know of my plan. I wanted to be sure she knew she will always be my family. She gave me love and said someday she would be married and change her name too. Family is what you make it, not who shares your name.

It is yet another day that I will lay my head down a different person than when I awoke.

Hi, I’m Terra Nicolle, it’s nice to meet you.

Now a widow, my married name isn’t who I am anymore. My maiden name isn’t either, that was a long time ago. I couldn’t really move forward being tagged by the past. I’m also feeling at this point that I belong to no man; neither my father nor a husband. I am an independent woman. So I decided to use my middle name as my last name; with a tweak.

Part of this process was to search for history and meaning of names, because I’m curious about that kind of stuff. That’s when I discovered the Kabalarians. They believe in a mathematical calculation of your name to determine if it can help or hinder your ability to fulfill your destiny which is based on your day of birth. Fascinating.

I’d never heard of them before, so of course I promptly started my complimentary name report, followed up by a casual free phone consultation with a lovely older lady in Vancouver Canada. It’s a small group of followers I think, but I figure I’ll take all the insight I can get.

Turns out, the picture painted of me was pretty spot on; highs and lows, ins and outs. I entered various names of my past; time and again the results resembled who I was at that point. Then I got to Nicole, my possible new last name. It was quite clear, no, no, no. The forecast was a dismal image of a life unsatisfied.

So I played with the spelling; after all each letter has a numerical value that changes its outcome. I tried using a Y, a K, even both; I mean how many ways can you spell Nicole? Turns out quite a few and none of the results were good.

These people may not dictate my identity, but they had my attention. After many variations, I tried an extra “L” and that was it. Nicolle. Nee-coal-l (ooh Lala). They suggested it brings balance and stability needed to be fulfill my destiny. It seemed right. It felt right. So hey, “what the L”.

That was the clerks line at the courthouse when I mentioned the numerological inspiration for adding the letter. I stopped by for information and a court date, but he said the judge can do it now. There was no hesitation on my part; bing bam boom, gavel down, paper stamped and walla.

Hello me.

big hugs from my friend and dearest daddy-o

Above the Ravine

It was mere hours ago I slid down the edge of a slope; sobbing, face in hands, stomach in throat. I could barely breathe at the realization I had “forgotten” the significance of yesterday until THE moment it became significant. Was it him reminding me? Perhaps it was my body, so changed by the tragic moment it viscerally etched that time into my being. It was the moment that path ended, literally a dead end.

I am crossing many bridges to find a new path. It seems mine are made of cobblestone, no matter how well I walk it’s impossible to move forward without wobbling. They have all been surrounded by an ever changing landscape. Moment to moment it shows me something different; sometimes terrifying and sickening, mostly enlightening and beautiful. Today I saw it all, I felt it all. I want to share what I was left with after crawling out of the ravine and crossing this bridge of shame and grief.

I am so blessed.
Blessed by the family, friends and well wishers that send me love.
Blessed by my ability to connect with so many emotions.
Blessed by the signs I receive from all around.
Blessed to have loved and been loved by a man so true that I could ever feel this way.

I finished the art piece I’ve been thinking about for quite sometime. It’s finger painted upon the place I laid him and spent nine minutes trying to revive him.

Nine is the number of endings.

Friends gathered and we played some darts, the board still had Jks writing from our last game. Then I started breathing. And stretching. And I was overtaken by a lightness, a pulling up and a flexibility in my body I’ve never felt. Literally an inch longer. I could lay my fingers on the ground. I was suddenly a new being; something heavy was lifted from me. It was unreal. Then I won the dart game.

We spent a lot of time in the space. Jason was “there”. His daughter was “there” (she lives out of state). It felt brighter. More relaxed. Like a place we were welcome. It held all of his creativity and love and that’s all. A place we can move forward in.

Like the day he died, the person I was when I awoke is not the one that will be laying back down. Life is crazy. So is death.

My hat was from our great trip to Alaska and the sweatshirt our Birch Bay expeditions.
The shell is from our wedding. My brother carried our rings in it. It holds some sage, San Paolo wood and Himalayan salt crystals.
The wings are my hands, where I placed them on his chest.
The feathers are the hawk I was so blessed to see take his spirit on earth.
The heart is all the love we lived together.
The JK is the brand I gave him, his mark on all he created.
The splatter, well that’s just splatter. But then, we looked closer.
My friend saw it first.
We feel a message left for us, permission to “Chill”.
We see an angel. Specifically I see a coiffed Poodle with wings and a halo. Why not. And it’s heading to a black hole.

Jason would say, and said hours before he left, “I’m from the stars and I’ll go back to the stars.”

I think we have been shown his passage.
Safe journey my love.
I’m on a new journey too.

Now what…

Served Raw

Today it occurred to me that the moment I realized yesterday was two months, was THE MOMENT (or close enough). Same time I found him. I was at a register and the receipt wasn’t printing. I was waiting and boom saw the calendar and whomp in the head. Knees buckled. Instantly nauseous. I tried to hold it together while they figured out the glitch (Jason I’m sure), it took a few minutes. Today I checked, it was printed at 4:20, I mean come on.

It just left me feeling sick. Sick he’s gone. Sick life is better in so many ways after he’s gone. Sick that I didn’t remember it was yesterday. Like he had to thump me and say “don’t forget”. Because I forgot. How could I do that? How could I? It’s just so awful.

Time is tediously slow and brutally fast all in the same moment.
I miss you so much puddin’.

I’ve been wanting to go make an art piece for him. I think the time is now.



Today I said the words “Maybe I won’t be a Chef anymore”.

I’ve never said that before. What struck me even more than the words themselves was that I was comfortable with them. I wasn’t experiencing the same sensations I was getting when I tried to picture going back to the kitchen, planning an event, building a recipe. The thought of doing these once innate skills suddenly brought on feelings of dread, anxiety, tension and stress. But none of that happened when I made that comment.

This is my career, my passion. A lifelong joy, dedication and decades of hard work. Then suddenly it’s not. It was gone quickly after the death of my husband. I’ve slowly been putting myself into work, but I’m not getting the same gratification from it. Food doesn’t really look good or taste good or inspire me. It’s important to do the job right, make my customers happy, never let them down; but what I get in return is not what it used to be. And that sucks. It’s really messing with my head.

And then I made that comment to my therapist. And it felt ok, it was ok. There are several theories as to why my grief has created this barrier for my return to work. Is it because work was an escape and I no longer need an escape? Is it because I have already decided I can’t go back to my “old’ life and that was part of it? Or maybe it is just the universe keeping me on a new path. I have long known I don’t have the hands for many  more years in production; but suddenly I don’t have the head or the heart.

That became clear when I took the bandages off after trigger finger surgery. Because I was losing his insurance, I had to expedite the surgery planned for later in the year to shortly after his passing. The visible wound finally “healed” but I was not able to do what I used to. That’s when I realized it wasn’t just the hand. Without the head you can’t run a kitchen, it’s a multi-tasking skill of planning and timing; I’m functioning on a single task mindset. Without the heart the food falls flat, it has no passion or character; there is a difference, you really can taste the love.

Then, there is the issue of my muted taste buds. I have not had a properly functioning palate in months and let me tell you, it is a cruel hell on earth for a Chef to lose their taste. I believe it is a situational manifestation of my current situation…. and not permanent. Fingers crossed.

When I take a step back and realize I presently can’t taste food well, am not physically able to cook well, don’t “feel” like doing it and don’t see myself doing it; then maybe I have to acknowledge there’s a reason for that. Maybe, if I allow myself to make that a possibility, then new opportunities will open themselves up to me. I don’t feel like I have to walk away from everything I’ve created, I just know I can’t go back to what it was.

Recreating myself, my career, my business, my family, my future, my home, my habits… will take time. It’s all in transition and interwoven with grief and trauma. I’m just kind of a mess right now, even while getting the best care and love anyone could ask for. It seems to me the wisest things I can do for myself is to let it happen with an open mind, an open heart and honesty. And get good sleep.

Whatever I end up doing it’s just part of my new life. I don’t need to understand the hows and whys to see the signs telling me that what is coming is better than anything before; with effort, patience and time I will reap the good stuff.

Kind of like Artichokes and Abalone.

Short Trip, Long Ride

A big day in many ways.

Ultimately I let go of Zippi-T (my sweet little Mazda) and his memory loaded truck to bring home my new car, for the road ahead.

The journey there however was not easy. I had two cars to trade in so I drove the truck and a friend took my car. Moments after pulling out of the driveway it hit me. Hard. A massive guttural sobbing surge.

I had this overwhelming sensation of the warmth of his hands on his steering wheel. So I said bring it on and put on the music I knew would take me through.

Fucking A it was a gnarly 45 minutes. It was an unexpected hardcore goodbye. I was breathless. It was a fitting tribute considering the headbanging metal beasts Jason and the truck were… together.

I made a pit stop for a needed hug from my sister-in-law and pulled my shit together; then headed to the dealership a few blocks away. They were expecting me and welcomed me with warm cocoa and calm. I was able to proceed with the task and I’m sure he would have been proud of my negotiations.

keys to an old life
I’m glad to have the cars gone, now I have a new ride for a new journey
(and lower insurance payments).
I’m grateful for the weeping, it’s just what I had to do. I’m starting to grasp the fact that it’s gonna keep happening.
Get ready indeed, I’m exhausted.

I have to give a big shoutout to Honda of Marysville for making the process as seamless and supportive as possible. They were informed, prepared, flexible and considerate. It was just as it was supposed to be. The ride home was smooth.

After all that, when I settled in for the evening, I wrote this;

Four-Wheel Farewell

He held my hands

I could feel his warmth

we gripped the steering wheel together.

A final ride,

a long goodbye,

I have been forsaken.

Wheels roll on

like years now gone

leading me on a new journey.

The song fueled tears

leave me gasping

and breathless.

 I’m Cruising down the road

feeling reckless;

because you’re here

with me.


Wheels roll on

like years now gone

leading me on a new journey.

The ride is over,

the end is here,

there is no more road to travel.

For us.

From here on out

I’ve got to work it out

in my own way.

Wheels roll on

like years now gone

leading me on a new journey.

Because of you,

I’m being true to me.

Maybe for the first time.

Goodbye my love.

We’re free.


A cashier said to me “It’ll just be a second” and I nearly lost my cool. Who am I kidding, I wasn’t cool at all. I was in the midst of my first panic attack. Ever. At the drug store counter, just days after my husband took his own life. I barely got a word out as my system was going into overdrive; inside my head I was screaming at her “don’t fucking tell me to wait a second… a second can change everything!”

Jason’s life was gone in a second.

My whole world was upside down in a second.

But, it took billions of seconds to get to that point.

Which one really made the difference?

Was it the second he decided as teenager to cope by sneaking into someones stash and self-medicating his woes for the first time?

Perhaps it was the second he decided he wasn’t worth the effort to try another way to feel better.

Or the second he decided if it was good enough for his dad, death was good enough for him.

He decided to leave millions of seconds before he actually lived his last one on earth.

He was tired of counting them, so he took time in his own hands.

Now, I can only love him for all of mine.

#fucksuicide #fuckdepression #fuckaddiction

he loved the water



Looking at the pictures
from yesterday’s graveside
I realize that even the soil
hasn’t settled
from the turmoil of burying Jason.
Time is too quick or too slow;
either way
not nearly enough has passed.
I’m certain I am more complex than dirt.

 Jason and Terra