Galena's Doorway

A Journey in Middle Age, Menopause and ADHD

How old is old?

I think we carry a picture of ourselves in our head that’s just lodge in there regardless how many years or decades go by, often when I see a recent picture of myself I’ll wonder who is that woman with all those lines around her eyes that vaguely resembles me.

I can’t remember the context of the conversation but I was at my brother’s house one Sunday having dinner and had commented on being middle age. Middle Age. Oh he just laughed and laughed. What. The. Hell.

This came up at work also recently though I’m not even sure how or why. Lil Ma’am asked me how old I’d describe myself, I said middle age, she too laughed, though in fairness she is nearly 20 years younger than me, my brother on the other hand is not.


Just exactly what then is middle age?

I consider middle age to be roughly between 45 -65 respectfully. Adulthood is 25 through 45 with the mid 30’s through 45 as full on full fledge adulthood. The golden years, 65 through, well, you know. Unless of course you ask my brother and apparently we all have one foot in the grave lest unbeknownst to me the red hot second we hit 50. I’m 53 as of December. Now this is all of course subject to change the older I get. Is that it? Do we change the aging brackets to suit ourselves as we get older? I never really thought much into this.

Age. It’s just a number. Shanti, shanti, shanti.

Aside from the weight gain and the ever losing battle to take it off and keep it off of menopause (a different kind of journey of ughness), I’m in pretty good overall health. I’m still bendy. I have good blood pressure, great cholesterol, no diabetes or pre diabetes, all of which run in the family. I haven’t smoked in 5 years and aside from that half bottle of Chardonnay last night I rarely drink. I have interests and hobbies and continue to develop new ones along the way and I have much more love and appreciation for my life than I’ve ever had in the past, a completely different level of gratitude. Don’t get me wrong, the ‘age’ card, it is handy to keep in your back pocket, i.e. “hey Hollywood, can you pick that up off the floor, you’re younger than me.” Hee hee hee. Or when the obviously 12 year old cashier asks me if I’d like my 10% senior discount, WTH. DO I LOOK 65! Then I remember my natural trés cool silver hair and platinum streaks I let grow out years ago in opt of my dyed and damaged hair, so to HER yes, actually, I suppose I DO look 65, and with that I say, “Hellz yes I’ll take that discount!”





Age. It happens. Meh.




March 13, 2018

 haughty the clouds
golden rose blushes twilight
time froze silhouettes

Adopt the pace of nature: Her secret is patience. Ralph Waldo Emerson

Fishing at sunset. Indian Rocks Beach, Florida.


winters southern embrace, january 2017


I’d walk the pathway around the park roughly the same time every day before I head down to the shore to watch the suns grand finale on the big stage. Every day as I’d make my way around the loop I’d try to take visual note of the slightest shifting of shadow and light dancing among the fern as the sun would gently begins its slow decline. Nature. My solace. My equalizer. Its magic on this day, the fire breathing sun set tree Spirit alive.

glory in the green
a Fire in the belly
even trees rejoice





Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind. Not Even.

An outlet for a brain that refuses to stop rambling, even at night, even asleep, my techno colored psychedelic dreams I could write a book on them alone. Attention Deficit Disorder. It’s my brains attempt to never ever be bored, to never be still.


I’m up early. My brain has already had nearly a dozen contemplative in-depth conversations with itself in the past half hour from why am I’m I even up this early, why I don’t like Instagram, why I love Instagram, the possible yet more probable reality of time travel via quantum physics and where is that picture of the birds on the porch anyway, pancakes might be nice for breakfast and do I even want breakfast this early? Pancakes, such high calorie, maybe steel cut oats?  I’ve scanned the overview of my entire life from childhood to present. Twice. I knew I shouldn’t have taken that receptionist job at the All Tune & Lube back in ’87. But the coffees’ good. That’s all I really care about right now anyway. What to do today? What to do tomorrow? Will it get done? Probably not because I’m too busy thinking about doing it than actually doing. That’s my brain. It’s the hyper one, not my physical me. My physical me appears to be a slouch much preferring to quietly sip coffee, don’t be fooled by that meek appearance, the brain is a fucking Wonder Woman there are no boundaries.


Sweet Nothingness.

I’m up too early. I sleep well, but I’m up early, too early to get into much of anything so here is where I’ll find myself until the dawn breaks, behind these keys rambling into the matrix of the .com, a shit ton of sweet nothing. Boredom Busting. Sweet sweet nothingness. I suppose I could mop the floor, though I digress. Ahh, ADHD.


 scribbles the dark ink
delicate flowers greet the dawn
surrender the night



of innocence

March 5, 2018

First Love, Circa: 2012

The day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. Anais Nin

first love

blush a simple kiss
indelible innocence
a wrinkle in time


On composition: Not much more than a random photo of my son years ago with his first love, how I ended up with it I’m not quite sure, I actually love the grainy noise of this old outdated cellphone shot aesthetically but more so I love how the photo speaks on that universally experienced great divide, that instantaneous moment in time that splits innocence to coming of age.




Because I have ADHD.
I can, and could, really just leave it at that.

March, 1 2018 6:00 am


I’ve gone from a just another lady with a deck of cards to sheer irrelevance. I still have the cards. I never part with the cards. All interests, no matter how passionate they begin, wane. I should have known. How could I have not have known?

Since I love that initial passion about the things I start in an attempt to give my interests longevity and continuously breathe life back into the faltering I’ve long ago developed a strategy of alteration.

Blog. Blog. Blogging.

As a life long journaler I do rather like this blogging platform but please note with interests that wax and wane, never really knowing what direction to take, my job in hospitality getting ready to explode for the season and the rather inconsistent nature of ADHD, this .com now becomes a short and sweet mixed bag of tricks. Not exactly an optimal selling point for a blog perhaps, but it’s honest, so I’ll go with that, and in the meantime, welcome to my now …

Most irrelevant blogging adventure.


February 26, 2018 5:37 pm. End of Month Nature Walk


I made my way through the park wanting to get a certain angle of the long overreaching arm of a magnificent oak tree that stands guard over the swing at the ponds edge but the position of the sun is off. I look up between the limbs, and this beauty. Another lofty moon snapshot. This one in real time, not at all in retro, and not too bad for a little cell phone camera and some fun with filters.

Spring arrives early down south, and with it comes that recycled exuberance for life and the belief that anything is possible.

brushed pine in moonlight
quiet is the winter’s end
hope blossoms like crocus





February 27, 2018

Deserted and discarded
The moon never fails in its magic
Come rest your Bones

Image 2-27-18 at 1.08 PM.jpg

“When we stop to really listen and see the world, we can detect the quiet in the chaos” Nirav Patel – Photographer