Category: Thursday Thoughts

Ramblings in 2026

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Saturday March 14, 2026: Now that I know what I know, I may get crazy spastic about my posting again. Like I did back in the original blog daze of 2017-2019ish. I’ve been fairly formulatic since 2020. I do miss the Monday haiku exercise with Ron. He’s got other challenges but I don’t have the skills to participate. This is my weekly schtick:

  • Song Lyric Sunday which I love more that words can convey. Never will I ever give that up. Jim is a stellar host who keep the proverbial turn tables turning.
  • Share Your World on Monday because caring is sharing and Di continues the prompt for sweet Melanie who said she wasn’t sweet but I knew better ❤️‍🩹
  • Tuesday Tales (some times Tunes) which started as my adoption story series that went south or side ways or some kinda way 😂
  • #1linerWeds a staple from my Canadian friend Linda G Hill. I can’t say no to it but I will try to keep it to one line. A mid week break from my blabbering. And y’all there are so many hysterical one lines out there. I mean. I am easily amused, so the well will never run dry. 
  • Writer’s Workshop replaced Thursday Thoughts which really wasn’t that different from Tuesday Tales. I enjoy WW! It’s a keeper. I want to hone my craft there. John “screw that noise” Holton is the distinguished host for that one.
  • Friday Feels/Feel Good Friday/Friday Flashback/ or the infamous Friday Book Club. Truly a free for all. I need to spruce up the place and pick one!!
  • Stream of Consciousness Saturday another LG Hill keeper. Her back of the bus series drew me in and from there well I hope she knows how special she is. Stream is right up my alley because I write like I talk — saying the first fool thing that pops into my head. Nonsense is allowed! Set timer and 1 2 3 go!

Yep, what I write is no longer going to be over thought. Because the viewership shall we say is not what it was because nothing is sustainable. Or maybe some things are sustainable, but it would really be a miracle feat to read all of my stuff.

Thanks for trying – you who shall not be named. In the last two years, I wasn’t writing for me anymore. I was writing for you to know me and now I think you kinda do. Well as much as I let my real self out. And I’m super sad 😭 I can’t talk to you about this stuff that I feel so deep in my bones. We are not the same and that’s okay. I’m doing an experiment. Not to be mean or to be ugly, but let nature take its course. It’s a big game of chicken. We’ll see who steps out of the way first. 

As always, more to come.

Medical TMI or PSA You Decide

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**** Added 02/20/26, my BFF is a-okay! Results are negative and with cancer screening negative is the goal! ****

Technology is grand y’all. I got my mammogram results texted to me the same day. The link was to a portal just for me that had every single scan ever done by STRIC. My history in one spot !! Without me even having to ask or pay for past records. Much appreciated!

Yesterday’s report is signed by the radiologist MD with a note (assisted by AI).

What the what!?!

I’m gonna try to stay neutral in this debate of AI good or bad. As long as a real alive professionally trained person laid eyes on the scans, I’ll believe the outcome. An AI assist is nice but not necessary imo.

The report is on steroids. I don’t recall ever seeing anything like this before. Previously I’d get a letter that read **RESULTS ARE NORMAL** follow-up in a year. This time there’s extra detail about what there is (fibroglandular Type B) in addition to what isn’t (the dreaded C). A whole bunch of words to basically say the same thing.

I’m relieved.

A temporary lull until April 15th — MRI of the abdomen/pancreas with and without contrast. Then May 6 — five-year recall colonoscopy. Both are officially scheduled. Now to see if the insurance company pulls any tricks.

As always, more to come.

P.S: The PSA is to get checked. ☑️ On Feb 12, my best friend for life told us her screening results were “suspicious.” She’s getting an ultrasound aided biopsy tomorrow. We’re going with it’s nothing till it’s something. For 24 more hours, she’s in that limbo of nothing.

Now let the music take us away ….

Lights Are On – Tom Rosenthal

Bots and Goodbyes

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🤖 🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖

There are 2 or 3 views on numerous random posts from 2018 to 2020 that caused my spike: Your stats are booming 💥. Ya right. 🧐

I’ve learned to decipher these things so I know I’ve actually received 7 views today from real people. The remaining 426 views aren’t legit!

And for whoever’s writing, “you look familiar, where do I know you from? How are you doing?” I’m not falling for that. Your creepy comments are deleted. This isn’t the club in 1981 🤣

How you doin’? Indeed 🤭

On a very sad note, 400 layoffs today — technically tomorrow. We got the advance notice. And not to worry. I dodged another bullet.

It makes me very sad though for the others in my cohort. We’re family and it hurts terribly. Like 400 more Lulu’s out there looking for work.

I really don’t understand how 400 people out of 38,000 really make that big of a difference to the bottom line. If I were in the position to do so, I’d place them in other jobs within the company. Because you know part of the announcement was no worries 😌 we’re still hiring.

As always, more to come.

Writer’s Workshop: I’m the Other “F” Word

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We have to establish something first; I am my own friend.

I actually had to be because of my lonely existence. Alone in a crowd. But I’m not going down that path. Besides, things are better now.

I’ve pulled some gems from my archives. You will see multiple times where I wrote about being cheap. Not in a tawdry way, but in a save money way. Of course, you’ll have to work for it and click the links. Maybe that’s too much trouble? As I re-read these, I think I was more humorous during the beginning days of this blog.

I Love Music But I’m A Cheap Bastard  – Written in August, 2017 – a long meanderng post about too many things

Cheap or frugal? – Written in June of 2017, the day my heel fell off with links to other posts about being cheap.

F is for Frugal ~ Written 4/7/20 part of April A to Z Challenge – just a bunch of links.

Frugal, the other F word – Written in 2016 when B saved $6500 by painting the exterior of our house himself – the painting needs to be done again. Also, the time I painted the lanterns to save $$ despite having $328 for new ones.

I was raised by two people who practically invented the word thrift. The youngest of eight, I never went hungry (except on purpose). It’s still boggles my mind how my parents afforded tuition for seven to go through Catholic schools (the parochial school didn’t have facilities for special needs, so one brother was “mainstreamed” in public schools until he dropped out in 6th grade). My mom didn’t work outside the home and daddy was blue collar, skilled labor.

Highly skilled? Yes.

Highly paid? No.

Of course they had supplemental income through rental properties. Shrewd kind-hearted landlords.

Even now that I am no longer a poor little girl from the south side, I still hunt for a bargains. To me, what’s “best” is subjective. I don’t need “things,” I CRAVE connection. As my sweet Lulu Belle puts it, “Mom, you aren’t frivolous, you’re the other F word — frugal.”

© 2025 Jill Witherspoon. All rights reserved.

Written for Writer’s Workshop by one Jilly Willy J-Dub. Prompt 6. tell us about a cheap friend. The rules and pingback are HERE. Badge/feature image by Patty, http://anothercookieplease.com

As always, more to come.

Learning Her Name, Finding Myself

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Today is an anniversary, so yes—I’m being repetitive. I’m sure you’ve heard this from me before. Here it goes again, like a broken record playing from my broken heart. 💔

Four years ago today, 12/18/21, I was about to turn 57. It was also the day I finally learned my mother’s name. For those new here, I know what you’re thinking: how is that possible? Quite easy when you were given up for adoption during the Baby Scoop Era.

January 1966

I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. Everything hurt. That evening, we sat down to dinner—B had made the best chicken and dumplings—but I couldn’t eat. That twisting gut feeling hit again, low left quadrant pain radiating straight to my bones. From the semi-comfort of my recliner, heating pad cranked to full power, I cried out, “I’m searching. I can’t take this sh!t anymore. I need to know my family health history!”

I created an alternate Facebook account and found a Texas Adoptees Support Group. Their search angels offered help for free. Margaret responded within the hour. At first, I was hesitant to share my real name. That hesitation melted as we messaged back and forth. The pain, or maybe the readiness, pushed me over the edge—I gave her my phone number and made her an editor on my Ancestry account. The same one the kids and I had started in 2016 to confirm our supposed Irish heritage…which turned out to be 98% false.

Luckily, I had my aunt and several 1st and 2nd-cousin matches. Through a process called triangulation, Margaret found my mother, Catherine “Cathy” Dee Norman Anthony Weber and my maternal grandfather Eddie’s second secret family. All of it in 72 hours—but 57 years in the making.

Ohmmmm—that’s me meditating. I pretend to be physically healthy now, even as I continue to navigate various ailments, some genetic, some not. Resistance is futile; acceptance is the only way through. Just for today, I will be Feelings Inside Not Expressed (F.I.N.E) opposite of fine. 😏 But I am okay.

As always, more to come.

Mini Novella: Memories of Thanksgivings Past

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I might inch my way back to Facebook—might—but it’ll be slow. Still feels a little unsteady, so for now, I’m here, putting this on WordPress instead.

In the last three days, I’ve gotten—oh, I don’t know—three or four texts from different people asking where I am. And I tell them I’m where I’ve always been: in my mind. Because yes, that’s what I do—swirl.

Anyway, this is the first Thanksgiving in three years that I’ll be with people, and I didn’t realize how those previous years—2022 to 2024—had impacted me. I chose to isolate myself from everyone and everything. Broken. 😞

So I sat down and took stock, trying to make sense of it all.

It started innocently enough: making rice the old-fashioned way, boiling it on the stove without a rice cooker. That’s for Sunday, because today is lasagna with PoPo, B, Pony, and me. PoPo never really liked turkey, so the turkey will be saved for Sunday.

We’ve always been nontraditional. My brother Bob and my brother-in-law Cecil were police officers, always working, especially early in their careers when they were on patrol—shift work, I think that’s what it was called.

They weren’t available for a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, so we worked around their schedules and still got together, just on different days. Sometimes the day before, sometimes the weekend after. Occasionally we kept it on Thursday, but then we’d do things like have Thanksgiving for breakfast one year, just so everyone could be there. I love that memory—who does that?!?! 😂 Thanksgiving for breakfast. My big blended family, that’s who.

And I know nothing can stay the same. I’m not sad that I’m not in the past; I’m not dwelling. I’m remembering fondly—the good old days.

As I take stock, I realize how many people aren’t here anymore, and keeping them alive—memento mori—is what I’m doing. And that’s not a bad thing.

But what really stopped me in my tracks was seeing my sweet baby girl’s Instagram this morning and realizing the apple did not fall far from the tree. She dropped by unexpectedly last night to bring PoPo a batch of her cookies since she wasn’t going to see him today.

And then I saw her cookie baking video—much calmer than the ones I made on Facebook. Something about it caught me: her ingredients all laid out, her apron on, and in the background a sink full of hot soapy water, just like my daddy taught me to do whenever I started any kind of meal or food prep.

And I’m not bawling like a baby because I’m sad. I’m bawling because I’m grateful. I’ve spent so long feeling like I failed my kids, like I ruined them.

And then I stumble across something like this, and I think… maybe I didn’t do so bad.

All right, talk amongst yourselves. Oh my God, I am too much. If you made it to the end of this ramble, thank you for reading. My love to you and yours—may every day be filled with thanks.

As always, more to come.

Writer’s Workshop: Pick a Side, Any Side

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Inspired by the movie Stella Dallas. Any resemblance to real-life events or people (except me!) is coincidental.

I used to write haiku every Monday when Ron hosted his prompt. I thought I’d try my hand at it again.

Lines drawn*, not my way,

Through the pane, a flash of warmth,

Apart, looking in.

I know that ache — the need to belong so badly you’ll reach for it wherever it opens.

Who am I to block the way?

So I stand here, looking through the window, holding both the love and the loss.

On the other side of the glass, I feel it too — the ache, the longing, the quiet tug.

Please don’t leave me.

Pulling out the tissues during our musical interlude. 🎶

Boy & Bear Cover of Don’t You Forget About Me

If I make it through the end of November without totally losing my mind, it will be a miracle. I think I’ll get there though because on December 1st (maybe sooner), I take off on THE TRIP. Like the pilgrimages before, I’m on a quest to find myself. Wish me luck <3

Written for this Week’s Writer’s Workshop Prompts: November 6, 2025. 1. Write a post inspired by the word side. The rules and pingback are HERE. Badge/feature image by Patty, http://anothercookieplease.com

*lines drawn ✍️ implies picking a side.

As always, more to come.

© 2025 Jill Witherspoon. All rights reserved.

Adoptee Remembrance Day Challenge — #ARD2025

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I’m no expert, but I finally feel qualified to speak my own truth based on lived experience. This is my contribution to the Adoptee Remembrance Day Challenge — #ARD2025. I embrace that we’re all different and bring our unique stories to the conversation. I speak only for myself.

I first met Pamela Karanova (founder of ARD and The Real Adoptea Moxie) on February 2, 2024, at the first-ever Adoption: The Making of Me (ATMOM) live podcast in New York City — my second solo trip anywhere, but that’s a story for another day.

I had no idea I was in the presence of adoptee royalty, but I sure was — at least in my opinion. Pamela has done so much for our community by keeping it real, giving voice to the voiceless, and shining light on truth.

To say that experience was intense is putting it mildly.

From the happy-hour mingle (seeing celebrities like Sarah and Louise, Tony C. and Damon D. in person)
to the live podcast,
then viewing Reckoning with the Primal Wound together,
and finally watching Dr. Liz DeBetta perform Un-M-Othered: A Story of Adoption & Patriarchy —

It all blew my mind in the best possible way.

The capstone was Dr. Liz’s writing workshop, Migrating Toward Wholeness, where I met Anna and Janet — fellow adoptees, instant sisters, kindred spirits, blessings in so many ways.

Part of a club no one enters voluntarily.

Some attendees went straight to their hotel rooms afterward asking, “What the hell did I just witness?”
A reckoning.
An awakening.
The truth, finally seen.

Whatever the takeaway was for each of us, one thing’s certain — we were never the same.

I noticed everything, as adoptees do. Pamela took off solo to walk through Central Park, just as I did. I process by getting out into nature — such a healing space. Many of us do — through movement, writing, music, art, photography.

Resilience in full bloom.

Yet, after five similar adoptee-centric gatherings, I’m still cautious. More than anything, I don’t want to hurt anyone. That need to please is imprinted on me — just like the trauma of separation from my first mother lives in my cells. My heart gets trampled regularly because I “Let Them” — and not in a good Mel Robbins way.

Ultimately, ARD is a solemn occasion — to remember those who didn’t make it through. The statistics staggering. Go back to the link above to see them.

I pause for a moment of silence to reflect before I roar.

Miss Ellen her brother Ernest was hiding from us
Doesn’t it look like she’s praying

PS:
Pamela once wrote, “Healing, for me, has been a lifelong process, and I’ll be processing until my time on this earth is done.”

Me too! I tried so hard to be done — to be fully healed. To say I might not ever heal completely is oddly freeing.

I just hope I don’t lose people in the process.
Who am I if not bubbly, joking, Jilly?

PPS:
Mark your calendars! ATMOM is at it again — April 17–19, 2026, in Austin, TX! I’ll be there, and this time I plan to fully participate. No more hiding in the shadows. I’d love it if this time I had “company.”

I still get bummed every time I see those snippet interviews from D.C. — I was there, y’all, truly I was! 😊

As always, more to come.

Dropping this extra validation: “There is no end to this journey. I will always be adopted and there will always be healing ❤️‍🩹 work to do.” ~ Lora K Joy

Writer’s Workshop: Blink & It’s Gone

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Silence is deafening and the moment has passed. Since I’ll never know for sure, I’ll believe what makes me feel better 💐

Today’s entry is another poem as I continue to bleed on the page. Thanks for that Ernie 🤣

After Dinner Drizzle

Not wanting to leave.

I try a joke.

Laughter.

  Weaving close,
  a side hug —
  my arms draped over his shoulder,
  in front of everyone.

Spontaneous.

Just this moment.

  A heartbeat
  of peace.

Is this how normal feels,
for siblings?

I wish for it again —
  brief,
  bright,
  impossible.

Too forward?
Too much?
Too me?

Never enough.

I let go.

  Always be the first
  to let go.

Like my post from Monday, the above is something I wrote to capture the intensity of my feelings. I’m fairly certain no one but me recalls this particular moment as we left the restaurant. My memory is clear. Oh so cold, standing in the drizzle, near the curb—8 became 6, 6 became 4, 4 became 2. Blink and the moment is gone. Forever. Never to be repeated in the same way ❤️‍🩹

A moment on the lips is a lifetime on the hips. 🤣😵‍💫

Oh yeah—I always use humor to deflect my deep, deep, deep, deep-to-the-core-of-the-Earth feelings.

Maybe music will make it all better.

Written for this Week’s Writer’s Workshop Prompts: Oct 23, 2025. 1. Write a post inspired by the word moment. The rules and pingback are HERE. Badge/feature image by Patty, http://anothercookieplease.com

As always, more to come.

© 2025 Jill Witherspoon. All rights reserved.

Allergies, My A$$

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A not-so-sneezy tale of validation, Yoda wisdom, and choosing myself.

Writing is how I release my pent up emotions 🖤 Left to my own devices, my intrusive thoughts practically decimate me. They make me physically ill.

I might become a regular chatty Cathy here on the blog for a bit as I process this most recent bump in the road. Bump of my own making I might add. Say it with me, “Only I get to control my reaction!”

What’s got me turning the corner back to delightful Jilly is validation from my coworkers (my work nephew/son): King and Prime. They’ve been worried about me these last few days because my non-poker face betrayed me. Yep, I was crying in the office, caught on Zoom camera. They read right through my “oh, it’s allergies” excuse. 🤧 When I spilled the tea, this morning, they were angry on my behalf. Not for the first time, they told me, “Jill, your story is amazing, AND heartbreaking, but amazing! You should write a book!”

And ya, I know I shouldn’t seek validation of my self-worth from external sources (I need to find my worth from within) but it sure felt comforting to hear “any one who knows you knows you’re a good person. One of the best. We have you on a pedestal.” For Star Wars fans, my work family calls me Yoda.

Now I’m working to keep their kind words from going to my head. 🤣

I’m also working to keep my fragile grasp on reality. To not disappear 🫠. To pour all my energy into people who accept my insanely boisterous over the top self. As you’re reading this (if you do read this) please know from the bottom of my tender heart – I LOVE YOU the most, mean it 😉.

In the words of motivational speaker, Mel Robbins, “Let Them!” I will stop chasing approval and I’m choosing myself.

As always, more to come.

P.S. Not gonna lie, it felt good that King and Prime were going to kick ass for me. 🤣