Bean has never been what you’d call a “cuddly cat.” He’s more of a pretty predator… the kind of feline that looks like he should be purring on a velvet cushion but is actually plotting world domination from the back of the sofa.
He’s 11 now, which supposedly makes him about 60 in human years. Sixty! And since I’m 56, that number doesn’t sound so old anymore. Ha! Age has softened him a little, though. These days, he’s more of a part-time snuggle bug, emphasis on part-time. Because at any given moment, he can go from sweet to savage faster than you can say “Here, kitty kitty.”
Take last night for example.
I head to bed and grab my fluffy pillow to prop up my arm… trying to avoid shoulder surgery, mind you. In strolls Bean. Meow. Meow. Meow. He pauses, like he’s waiting for an engraved invitation. Once formally acknowledged, he proceeds to pace the perimeter of the bed as if inspecting a new kingdom.
Then he hops up onto the fluffy pillow, kneads a few biscuits, and for good measure… switches to my bare arm. Back and forth. Fluffy pillow. Bare skin. Fluffy pillow. Bare skin. His version of multitasking, I suppose.
When the biscuits are sufficiently “baked,” he starts the slow circling ritual. Round and round until that magnificent tail of his sweeps dramatically across my face. He finally settles… half on the pillow, half on my dignity… furry butt in my direction, eyes locked on me like a security camera with claws.
And here’s the thing, I want to be happy. He looks happy. He looks cozy. He’s purring. But I know those eyes. Those are the eyes of a cat who could go from warm snuggles to full-blown facial reconstruction in half a heartbeat.
So I do what any rational human does. I pull the quilt up to my chin, whisper a prayer for mercy, and accept that living with Bean means sleeping next to both affection and potential carnage.
Because at the end of the day, he’s my Bean—the pretty predator with a purr that melts my heart… and murder mittens that keep me humble.
October 19, 2017.That’s the day a long-eared, Tri-colored Basset boy named Cash became a Gunter. We adopted him from Etowah Valley Humane Society when he was just a year old, hoping our Shelby girl would have a buddy to run around with. Shelby wasn’t exactly thrilled that first night. The look she gave me said, “Excuse me, what is this doing here?” But time and love worked their magic. Now they’re inseparable.
Bean, of course, just tolerates the whole operation like a weary roommate who didn’t sign the lease for this kind of chaos.
What made Cash’s adoption even more special was that he was a local boy. Because he came from right here in Bartow County, we were able to get his full medical history from Bartow Animal Hospital — birth date, vaccination records, all of it. It was comforting to know exactly where he came from and what he’d been through.
Then came the scare that nearly broke us. About a year after we adopted him, his red blood cell count dropped to a four. If you know medicine, human or animal, you know that’s dangerously low. He’d just had his spleen removed because it was twisted, and without it, his little body couldn’t make red blood cells as quickly. It took months of medication, blood work and me cooking calf’s liver (which, if you’ve ever smelled it, you know is a true act of love).
Thankfully, at that time I was still working in veterinary medicine, and that made all the difference. I was able to take Cash to work with me every single day while he was recovering. He got top-notch care, constant monitoring, and a whole team loving on him. We were surrounded by an incredible veterinary family, and I’ll forever be grateful for that. His case was even studied by Merck Pharmaceuticals, UGA, and IDEXX Laboratories; that’s how unusual it was. It was a hard season, but I thank God every day for that timing.
Fast-forward to 2025, and our boy still looks wonderful (even if we’ve both gained a few pounds since that photo). He’s pure Basset through and through …a world-class hounder who will not let you stop petting him once you start. He whines, he begs, he charms everyone he meets. And he’s never met a bite of food he didn’t like!
Cash reminds me every single day why adoption matters. I’m not here to knock breeders! If you buy from one, just make sure they’re reputable. But adoption gives pets a second chance at love, stability, and family. It’s not just about “saving” them; it’s about building something together. Cash didn’t just need a home. He needed us. And I think God knew exactly what He was doing when He brought him into our lives.
So today, on Cash’s Gotcha Day, my message is simple:
Adopt if you can. Bring that love into your home. Be prepared to love them through every stage …puppy energy, middle-aged naps, senior snuggles. It’s not a one-time fee, it’s a lifelong promise.
Every time someone says, “Oh my gosh, I got food poisoning there!” I swear my eyes roll so far back I can see my own common sense.
Now don’t get me wrong, real food poisoning is awful. Miserable. Nobody’s arguing that. But let’s talk about the other 70% of cases that sound a whole lot more like: I drank six frozen margaritas, forgot to eat all day, and then had a plate of shrimp fettuccine under the setting sun.
Yeah. That kind of food poisoning.
Punta Cana, Exhibit A
When we were in Punta Cana …beautiful resort, gorgeous beach, staff working their tails off, people kept saying they got food poisoning. And I’m over here thinking, really? Or did you just melt in the sun and chase tequila shots with piña coladas until your stomach filed for divorce?
Because unless your doctor used the actual words “food poisoning,” I’m gonna go ahead and guess you might’ve just been a touch hungover, dehydrated, or allergic to your own bad decisions.
The Rich-Food-Rookie Move
Let’s not forget this one: you eat barely anything all day, your body’s running on sun and pool water, then you go eat a five-course dinner full of spices, sauces, and cream and BOOM. Your stomach revolts. That’s not bad food, sweetie, that’s your gut screaming, “What are we doing right now?!”
Real Talk
I’m not saying people never get actual food poisoning. It happens. It’s just that for every real case, there are ten more that are, shall we say, self-inflicted. You know who you are.
So the next time you’re tempted to declare a restaurant guilty of “food poisoning,” ask yourself:
Did you see a doctor? Did anyone else eating the same thing get sick? How many fruity drinks with umbrellas did you have yesterday?
If the answers are no, no and seven, maybe the only thing you got poisoned by …was vacation enthusiasm.
All I’m saying is, before you hop online to warn others, maybe pop open a Gatorade, grab some crackers, and consider that the only thing you got poisoned by, was your own good time.
If common sense had a spokesperson, I’m pretty sure it’d be Senator John Kennedy. Every time that man opens his mouth, it’s like political commentary met stand-up comedy and had a very sarcastic baby. He doesn’t tiptoe around feelings, and honestly, in this day and age, that’s refreshing.
Here’s a collection of some of my favorite Kennedy one-liners—the kind that make you laugh, shake your head, and say “well, he’s not wrong.”
Kennedy-isms That’ll Have You Nodding or Hollering
-Sometimes the majority just means all the fools are on the same side.
-With all due respect, I am against dumb.
-I trust Russia and China and Iran and North Korea like I trust a Jussie Smollett police report.
-Power does not change you, it unmasks you.
-Just because you’ve seen My Cousin Vinny doesn’t qualify you to be a federal judge.
-If you believe that tax policy has nothing to do with the economy, then you’re pretty much like a rock, only dumber. -The Bill of Rights is not an à la carte menu.
-Let me state the obvious. Illegal immigration is illegal, duh.
-I don’t like traffic cameras. In fact, I hate them. But that doesn’t mean I can break the speed limit and run red lights to get to a New Orleans Saints game.
-There’s some jerks. There’s some big egos. There are a few that think they’re one of the Founding Fathers… in both parties.
-This is America. You’re entitled to believe what you want.
-Our rights are not absolute. Our rights can be curtailed in the interest of public safety.
-If you think the Bill of Rights goes from one to three, you probably still believe in Bigfoot.
Say what you want about his politics, but the man delivers truth wrapped in wit with a bow of “Did he really just say that?”
I don’t care which side of the aisle you sit on…if you can’t find at least one of these funny, you might need to check your humor levels.
Power doesn’t change you… it unmasks you. Well played, Senator Kennedy. Well played.
There are certain things that hold stories even after the people are gone. For me, one of those things is this little sword-shaped letter opener that once belonged to my Gramma.
I can still see her sitting at the table, sunlight hitting her coffee cup just right…or whatever she had in that cup! She would be opening her mail with this very piece of metal. She handled it with that kind of calm precision that only grandmothers seem to have, as if she were opening tiny doors to the outside world.
Everything came by mail back then, letters from friends, bills (the kind you wrote checks for), maybe a catalog or two. The world moved slower, and somehow, it felt kinder.
This piece was from her time at Temple University. I believe it was one of those gratitude gifts from the school, though honestly, it feels more like a little sword of connection now…a link between her world and mine.
Today, it sits on my desk. Whenever I open mail with it, I’m instantly back in that kitchen with her. I can smell Tide and Downey, hear her southern drawl and for a split second, it’s as if time folds in on itself.
It’s funny how something so simple can bring back so much love.
When social media first came along, it felt like a fun little toy, something shiny and new that helped us reconnect, share photos, and peek into each other’s lives. But fast forward a decade or two, and that “toy” has turned into a full-blown social experiment. Only problem is, we’re the lab rats.
We’re raising kids who measure their worth in likes and adults who get their validation from hearts and follows. Social media isn’t all bad; it connects us, educates us, entertains us. But it’s also quietly reprogramming how we see ourselves and each other, and it’s hitting every generation in different ways.
Young Girls: The Mirror with Filters
Sweet girls, those “perfect” people you see online? They don’t even look like that in real life. There’s makeup, editing, angles, lighting, and a whole lot of pretending. Don’t chase that illusion. You are not a product, and your value is not based on how many likes you get.
The world needs your real laugh, your messy bun, your goofy grin, your voice. You’re not supposed to look or act like everyone else; you’re supposed to be you. Be kind, be curious, be brave, and don’t let a screen tell you who you are.
Young Boys: The Highlight Reel of Toughness
Boys, somewhere along the way, social media decided to redefine what “strong” means, and it got it wrong. You’ll see people flashing money, flexing muscles, and acting like they don’t care about anything or anyone. But real strength isn’t about control or cockiness. It’s about character.
You can be tough and still be kind. You can have feelings and still be strong. You don’t need to broadcast your life to prove your worth. The quiet confidence of a good heart will outlast every trend.
Teen Girls: The Pressure Cooker of Perfection
Oh girls, my heart breaks for the pressure you’re under. Social media makes it seem like everyone else has it figured out, the perfect skin, the perfect friends, the perfect life. But no one posts the hard parts. The heartbreaks. The bad grades. The lonely nights.
You are enough. You don’t owe anyone a “filtered” version of yourself to be accepted. You are beautiful even when your hair’s a mess and your mascara’s smudged. The people who truly love you don’t care about your online version; they care about the real you.
Teen Boys: The Alpha Illusion
Gentlemen, let’s get one thing straight. The internet is full of people shouting about what it means to “be a man,” and most of them don’t have a clue. You don’t have to be loud to be respected, and you don’t have to be mean to be strong.
Respect women. Respect yourself. Own your mistakes. Apologize when you’re wrong. That’s what makes you a man, not how many followers you have or how fast your car goes.
Real confidence isn’t about dominance, it’s about decency.
Adults: The Scroll Hole We Built Ourselves
And yes, even us grown folks fall into the trap. We roll our eyes at “kids these days” then lose an hour arguing in a comment section about politics with someone named TruckDaddy72. We’ve traded conversation for comments and connection for comparison.
We’re so busy scrolling through other people’s lives that we’re missing our own. And that’s not living, that’s existing on autoplay.
The Real Impact
Social media isn’t evil. It’s a tool. But just like fire, it can warm your home or burn it down depending on how you use it.
If it’s making you feel angry, anxious, or “not enough,” step back. The world will still spin if you log off for a while. Go outside. Read something real. Sit across from someone and talk, with your eyes, not your thumbs.
Because the truth is, the best moments in life can’t be captured on camera.
The Reflection – From Journeys With Jani
The more I travel, the more I notice something. The happiest people aren’t the ones glued to their phones. They’re the ones looking up. The ones who actually see the sunset instead of trying to photograph it. The ones laughing with strangers, tasting new food, getting lost on purpose.
Social media will show you the world, sure, but travel will let you feel it. Real life is in the sound of waves, the smell of street food, the way people smile in every language.
So go live your life, not for the post, but for the story.
Because life’s not meant to be scrolled through. It’s meant to be lived through.
Last week marked a milestone that made me smile bigger than Snoopy on top of his doghouse …the 75th anniversary of Peanuts! On October 2, 1950, a then young Charles Schulz introduced the world to Charlie Brown, Snoopy, Lucy, Linus, and the gang. That very first Peanuts comic strip appeared in just seven newspapers nationwide and the rest, as they say, is history.
From that moment forward, generations have laughed, cried, and nodded along at the wit, humor, and truth tucked into Schulz’s little treasures. Peanuts wasn’t just a comic strip. It was a mirror. A reminder that life is funny, awkward, sometimes lonely, but always better with good friends (and a loyal dog).
I have loved Snoopy and his friends since I was very little. There was just something about that black & white beagle dancing across the page, or Linus holding onto his security blanket for dear life, that resonated with me. Maybe because, like all of us, I’ve had my Charlie Brown days …feeling like the football’s been snatched away one too many times. And I’ve also had my Snoopy moments …dreaming big, living in my own imagination, and occasionally just needing a nap on top of the “doghouse.”
What amazes me is how timeless it all is. 75 years later, Peanuts hasn’t aged a bit. The humor still lands. The wisdom still holds true. And the nostalgia? Well, it’s wrapped up like a warm blanket on a chilly fall night.
So here’s to Charles Schulz and the gift he gave us. Here’s to Charlie Brown, who kept trying no matter how many times he missed the kick. To Snoopy, who proved every day that being a little quirky is actually a superpower. To Lucy, who reminded us that sometimes we all need a little “psychiatric help” (preferably for 5 cents). And to all of us who still love them, just as much today as we did when we were kids.
Happy (belated) 75th, Peanuts. Thank you for teaching us that happiness really is a warm puppy.
My friend, Jennifer posted in the wee hours of the morning (like 3am) that her brain was doing some thinking—and that was all MY brain needed…
You ever crawl into bed, exhausted, cozy, and finally ready to drift off… only for your brain to suddenly say, “Hey girl, quick question…”? And it’s never something useful like, “Did I remember to switch the laundry?” No. It’s nonsense that has no business keeping me up at night, but apparently my mind has a contract with chaos.
Here are a few of the absolutely ridiculous things my brain thinks it needs answered immediately:
The “Wait, That Makes No Sense” Thoughts
If Cinderella’s shoe was a perfect fit, how in the world did it fall off in the first place?
Why do we drive on parkways and park on driveways? Who approved this?
Who was the brave (or very weird) soul who looked at a cow and said, “Let’s drink whatever comes outta there”?
The Fake Science Degree at Work
Do fish get thirsty?
What color is a mirror? Don’t roll your eyes—go ahead and try to explain it.
If the universe is expanding, what exactly is it expanding into? And please don’t say “nothing,” because that just makes it worse.
The Deep and Unsettling at 3:07AM
What if my dog thinks I’m his emotional support human?
Did I really lock the front door or am I about to star in my own Dateline episode?
If time is money, does that mean an ATM is actually a time machine? (Think about it…)
The “Only My Brain Would Go Here” Category
Why do we never see baby pigeons? Are they in some kind of secret society?
If tomatoes are fruit, does that mean ketchup is technically a smoothie?
Who closes the bus doors after the bus driver gets out? Seriously. Who?
So there I am, staring at the ceiling, solving none of these problems, and yet fully committed to pondering them until the sun comes up. Meanwhile, Bean is snoring like a freight train beside me, not once in his life concerned about the baby pigeon conspiracy. He would just eat them all.
The truth is—our brains have no chill. They love to serve up chaos at the worst possible time, and honestly? It’s ridiculous and hilarious all at once.
Now it’s your turn: what’s the craziest middle-of-the-night question your brain has ever thrown at you? Drop it in the comments—let’s lose sleep together!
I’ve decided to slowly clean out my wardrobe and head toward something I’ve always admired but never fully committed to—a capsule wardrobe. Simple, streamlined, and (hopefully) stress-free.
My new base? Black, white, grey, beige, and sage. Those are the anchors. Clean, classic, and timeless. The fun and personality? That’ll come in the pops of color—shoes, bags, jewelry, and maybe a scarf or two when I’m feeling fancy.
This won’t be an overnight process. Nope, I’m treating it like weight loss—slow and steady, with a long-term goal. End target? Spring 2026. By then, I want to open my closet and see a curated little collection that makes getting dressed easy and packing for trips even easier.
Because honestly, how many times have I stood over my suitcase, thinking, “Why do I have twelve tops that don’t go with anything?” A capsule wardrobe fixes that. Every piece plays well with the others, and the extras are just sprinkles on top.
Travel has taught me that less really can be more—fewer decisions, fewer regrets, and more room in the suitcase for the good stuff (like souvenirs, let’s be real).
So, here’s to cleaning out, scaling down, and building a wardrobe that feels just as practical as it does polished. And if you see me in black pants and a sage sweater for the third time in a week? Just know my shoes are fabulous.
PS: I’ll probably start posting some clothes in a few months as I clean things out. I’d love to say shoes too, but come on—do y’all even know me? Shoes are sacred. They’re not going anywhere!
The South is a land of contrasts. You can sip cocktails on a rooftop in Atlanta one night and be knee-deep in Appalachian holler country the next morning. Our region is stitched together by highways and backroads that carry you from bustling cities to quiet valleys where life slows to a crawl. And both? They’re equally Southern.
The Big City South
Southern cities aren’t just growing—they’re thriving. Atlanta, Nashville, Charlotte, Birmingham—they pulse with culture, innovation, and a whole lot of grit.
In Atlanta, skyscrapers gleam, traffic crawls (bless it), and you can find everything from five-star dining to hole-in-the-wall BBQ. Nashville hums with music pouring from every doorway on Broadway, but also cradles deep roots of Southern hospitality in her neighborhoods. Charlotte blends banking towers with barbecue joints, while Birmingham’s rebirth is all about food and art layered onto its steel-town history.
Big cities in the South bring energy, opportunity, and a melting pot of cultures—but they never lose that undercurrent of Southern hospitality. You’ll still hear a “ma’am” from a waiter and catch a stranger holding the door open.
ATLANTA!
Life in the Hollers …better known as small town!
Then there are the hollers. Little tucked-away valleys between Appalachian ridges, where neighbors are family, traditions run deep, and the mountains feel like both shield and sanctuary.
Life in a holler is slower but not simpler—it’s hard work, tight-knit community, and an unshakable connection to the land. Folks here pass down stories, songs, recipes, and a resilience that outsiders might not understand until they see it for themselves. The accents are thicker, the stars shine brighter, and the sense of belonging is stronger than Wi-Fi will ever be.
BLUE RIDGE!
Where the Two Meet
What makes the South so magical is that these worlds coexist. You can spend your morning in a gleaming downtown office and your evening listening to bluegrass on a back porch up in the hills. You can brunch in Charleston one day and sit at a church picnic in a holler the next.
The South’s beauty lies in this balance—its ability to embrace progress without letting go of tradition, to celebrate the rush of the city and the quiet of the holler with equal pride.
SEC FOOTBALL!
Travel the Contrast
Want to experience it? Take a road trip that mixes both. Fly into Atlanta, soak in the city, then head north to Dahlonega or the North Georgia mountains for a taste of holler living. Visit Nashville for the music scene, then escape to eastern Tennessee’s tucked-away valleys. Let Charlotte’s skyscrapers wow you, then wander through Appalachian small towns where time moves differently.
Because whether you’re in a big city skyscraper or a tiny holler, the South still greets you the same way: with grit, grace, and a whole lot of charm.
Journeys With Jani 