Marla's Alphabet Soup

Dearest Gentle Reader,

Yes, I’ve been watching “Bridgerton” again. I need something to balance all the scary stuff on television.

I do not really have a topic in mind today, just thoughts that pop up while I sit here in my sunny eastern facing window. I try to sit here for at least twenty to thirty minutes a day (in aggregate, life happens). My matching gray swivel rockers and smaller glass top table are perhaps the best purchases I have ever made. I sit here with tea and toast in the mornings, or a glass of wine with my husband in the fading evening light while I keep an eye on dinner. It’s a touchstone spot.

At my sunny window spot I find my inspiration from DIY to blog posts. I make lesson plans. I write letters. I talk on the phone. I scroll. I pray. I make grocery lists and gratitude lists. I read. And sometimes, I just sit and rock.

I love my screened in porch, but there are times one needs to be indoors. I can still sit in my window and get what I need even when the pollen count is high or it is really windy. Heavy rain and fast moving southern thunderstorms can be watched from here in relative safety.

I sit in my rocker by the window and wait for nature. Sometimes our resident deer or gaggle of turkeys stop by for a nibble on the tall grass. The rabbits dart between the flowers and plants. The other day, I saw the first hummingbird of the year visiting my pink geraniums!

Do you have a spot like this in your life? I am so grateful for mine. The world is really loud right now and I need some gentle silence. Share your favorite spot with me!

Sending y’all big love from my sunny window.

Marla

It’s happening. Dear Readers in eight days I will be an empty nester, a bird launcher, a mother of two “grown men”. The first time around I couldn’t stop crying. This time around I mostly walk around in a fog of senior moments (his and mine—don’t you love the word play?). I literally feel numb to all that is happening.

The senior class trip begins today. Why is motherhood a continuous loop of being left behind? It seems like from the time a child figures out movement, they are continually launching themselves away from you. First steps. First days. First camp out. First sleepover. First car. First date. I am never going to get used to being left behind for someone or something else, even though that ability to leave me has been the goal from the beginning.

I am paralyzed with the shock of it. I cannot feel happy or sad. I wish for the release of tears knowing I would feel better, but tears won’t come. This is a new feeling. I do not like it and I do not want to be here anymore.

I cannot decide if it is the combination of knowing and not knowing, or age. I have done all of this before with big bother. However, no two kids are the same and mine are as different as the sun and the moon—so there is an element of how will this time go? I am older and tired in a different way now. I go to bed at 9:00. I cannot remember the last time I waited up for my child. I never would have gone to bed before his brother came home. Now, I just leave the porch light on and go to bed. What has happened to me?

I wish I had answers. I wish I could finish this blog post neatly with a bow and tell you everything is alright. It is not alright. I want my buddy back. I don’t want him to go. He is so ready, but I am not. Oh. Here are those tears. I truly thought I might be a zombie. Sniff. Wipe. Sniff. I’ll write again soon.

Love y’all and him so big,

Marla

It is no secret I love to read. I have been known to reread a favorite book the way I rewatch a favorite movie. Since my sons chagrin at my love of historical fiction, I tried to branch out a bit. Alas, I fell back into easy beach thrillers (I read all 20 of the Pike Logan series by Brad Taylor) when the going got rough with Tolkien.

I have yet to figure out exactly how GoodReads works, I have written out my 2025 list of books. I recommend almost all of them (or I wouldn’t have read them!). So, in no particular order, please enjoy:

The Hobbit, J R R Tolkien

Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring, JRRT

Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, JRRT

Spymaster, Brad Thor

Eva Luna, Isabel Allende

Lord John and the Private Matter, Diane Gabaldon

My Name is Mary Sutter, Robin Oliveira

All Women and Springtime, Brandon Jones

Lord John and the Brotherhood, Diana Gabaldon

Lady Tan’s Circle of Women, Lisa See

Sound of Thunder, Wilbur Smith

Hotel New Hampshire, John Irving

First Gentleman, James Patterson and Bill Clinton

Six Days in Bombay, Alka Joshi

Sparrow Falls, Wilbur Smith

Night School, Lee Child

A Tarnished Canvas, Anna Lee Huber

My Name is Emilia de Valle, Isabel Allende

Violetta, Isabel Allende

Edge of Honor, Brad Thor

The Quiet Librarian, Allen Eskens

The First Ladies, Marie Benedict

An Inside Job, Daniel Silva

The Jackal’s Mistress, Chris Bohjalian

The Cemetery of Untold Stories, Julia Alvarez

Brad Taylor’s Pike Logan Series 

The Library Book, Susan Orlean

The Curious Calling of Leonard Bush, Susan Gregg Gilmore

Winter Sisters, Robin Oliveira

The Correspondent, Virginia Evans

A Slowly Dying Cause, Elizabeth George

My Beloved, Jan Karon

The Boylen Traitor, Philippa Gregory

The Black Wolf, Louise Penny 

Exit Strategy, Lee Child

Oral History, Lee Smith

Fox and Furious, Rita Mae Brown

The Hour I First Believed, Wally Lamb

The Lies They Told, Ellen Marie Wiseman 

Take My Hand, Dolen Perkins-Valdez

Love Y’all, Marla

Dear Ones,

We chose to be absent for Christmas and the New Year this year well before the shit storm of 2025. But it turns out to be the best decision ever. There is no snow for skiing in Colorado—which is where we would be with my husband’s people. My son passed his 6 month post-op with flying colors and is now free from restrictions. Our contingency plan for holiday hoopla was unnecessary. My mother died which put a twist on this year’s festivities. My need to be away is subtle but big. My husband celebrates a half century in January and he wanted to do something totally different. Even this cruise we planned has experienced an unprecedented need for itinerary alterations due to weather, damage, and port difficulties. God has good timing in spite of it all, or because of it all depending on your viewpoint.

So Merry Everything to Everyone from the South Atlantic Ocean.

2025 you tried your best. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.

2026, alot of changes are coming my way. I dare to rise to the occasion. My joy will not be diminished. My resolve will not be defeated.

Love y’all so big, Marla

Dear Friends,

My mother died two weeks ago. She stopped breathing in her sleep. Her death was expected. My unexpected lack of knowing what to do next was also expected and lovingly directed by hospice and caregivers at her facility. My mother had more folks in her corner than she knew. This was a happy sad discovery for me.

I currently have all kinds of conflicting feelings, but I will say this:

There is so much love in this world freely given and shared without reservation, expectation, or reciprocation. I am bowled over by the generous and caring nature of people far and wide and close to home who have buoyed our spirits and cared for us these last several weeks. My gratitude is not nearly enough.

A few years ago I mostly stopped saying love and prayers to others in their grief, because it felt empty. The year my friends Jayne and LuAnn died within a few months of each other, “love and prayers” didn’t even touch my grief. I thought of them and what they would say and I thought about our weekly Wednesday paddleboard ritual. I remember a sunny day when I opened my eyes after a restorative practice. The lake was alive with a thousand diamond shaped reflections of sunlight dancing on the water. That memory and sense of warmth and awe and specialness is what I want to send to people. So I say holding or sending you love and light. Also kind of empty, but closer to the mark maybe.

It is sadly funny (oxymorons are my favorite) that none of us can truly understand or empathize with a grieving person until it happens to us. I became a better speech therapist once I had children. All those thoughts and fears and expectations and frustrations of my students’ parents became my own. I became a better friend once I lost a friend of my own. I can now truly mourn (albeit delayed) with my friends who have lost parents because now I understand. And I am so touched by those who have reached out to me who have lost their mothers. Their empathy feels different. I can dare to say something to them that someone else might not understand or misread. And with those like me, who shared a complicated relationship with their mother, it is safe to say all the things without looking as if I don’t care or as if my grief is somehow less than.

Grief is still grief. Loss is still loss. Your mom is still your mom.

**********************

I didn’t really intend to write a post about losing my mother today. I am far behind on my usual weekly Advent posts. I have, however, experienced Advent in a new way this year. I have experienced waiting on a whole new level. Each candle: hope, peace, joy, and love has had a different meaning this season. My hope that a life free of specific obligations is coming. Peace for one who so desperately needed it brings me peace. Daring to find joy is essential in fighting the downward spiral that is always lurking in dark corners. And love. Love from and for neighbor is the antidote for this crazy world in which we live. All of it is possible through Him who loved us first, which is why we have the white Christ candle in the center of the other four.

So, Light a candle. Laugh a lot. Love all the time. And be at peace.

Forever on the journey with you,

Marla

So recently the Dept. of Education proposed a “reclassification” of professions in order to pursue a sizeable reduction in federal loan payouts and debt forgiveness in higher education. That’s a whole bunch of word salad to say we don’t think your pursuit of this profession qualifies for a plus loan and frankly you should find a cheaper place to get your degree. While I do not disagree with the concept of reining in costs—both federally and personally for an advanced degree, I do think the narrative got away from those making the proposal and it kicked off a virtual shit storm. Basically the decision-makers just told America that the only professions that deserve access to higher loan limits are doctors, dentists, pharmacists, and clinical psychologists. Hmm, not the smartest move ever made by the DOE. I could exit this speech and go off on a tangent about the number of females in the excluded “professions” and the intentional or unintentional pushing of women out of the workforce, but that’s for another blog—don’t think I’m not thinking about it!

For some context…

A quick AI/Google search on my phone (don’t worry I fact checked it—so it wasn’t quick), summarizes the criteria for a “professional degree” in the proposed definition as follows:

• Practice-oriented: The program must be the academic requirement to begin professional practice.
• Doctoral level: It is generally a doctoral-level degree requiring at least six years of postsecondary education.
• Professional licensure: The degree is typically one that requires professional licensure to practice.
• Exclusions: Under the proposal, certain health professions like nursing, and other fields like social work, public health, and audiology, SLP, OT, PT would be excluded from the professional designation.

For your information dear Dept of Ed and people at large who are still reading my post…

1. I do have to have an advanced academic program to practice my profession as well as a clinical practicum and a passing score on the Praxis exam.

2. I do not require six years for a MA/MS degree in speech-language pathology. It was a six semester program plus a supervised nine month clinical fellowship. So just under three years. This is the minimum requirement for clinical practice. PhDs do exist and are always encouraged.

3. I am required by law to be licensed in the state in which I practice in order to maintain or work in a private practice or outpatient clinic, hospital, rehab, or skilled nursing facility. I cannot bill medicare, medicaid, and insurance for services without a license. This licensure requires me to complete a master’s level program, complete the 9 month fellowship for clinical practice, be awarded my certificate of clinical competence, complete ten hours of continuing education every year thereafter, and remain in good standing with my national board who recertifies my clinical competence every three years.

Perhaps the Dept of Ed needs to revise their defining criteria for a profession?

Professional educations cost money. They cannot be completed on a part-time basis easily, if at all. If students are not working (and even if they are) then almost all will require full access to student loans to live and pay tuition. It is a catch-22 of epic proportions. Powers that be, if your true concern is cost to the government for loan amounts that cover tuition and cost of living, then your beef is with tuition levels at for-profit institutions, university funding, grants, and our country’s inflation—not with the student.

Now for my sarcastic rebuttal:
Maybe RFK got mad that an SLP told him he has a voice disorder somewhere along the line? Not to mention maybe someone pointed out that he obviously does not understand how to read a research article or follow a science experiment. Or maybe the President got mad at a professional calling him out on his obvious social and pragmatic issues. Maybe Ms. McMahon is disappointed to learn that the nation’s education system is harder to direct than the WWE. Making decisions as a trustee at Sacred Heart pales in comparison to a cabinet position. Regardless of the lack of forthought or care in which this administration announces decisions, I say to the yahoos calling the shots:

Please don’t call me or my collegues when you have a stroke and need cognitive rehab or swallowing therapy—I, as an SLP, will no longer be considered a professional. And don’t call my OT friends when you need to learn how to complete your daily living activities (like feeding and dressing yourself to name a few)—they won’t be professionals either. Or if you lose your hearing, don’t call the audiologist for hearing aids, aural rehab, or cochlear implants—they won’t be considered masters of their craft, even though these days you must have a doctorate of audiology (AuD) as MA/MS programs phased out over the last two decades. The same applies for physical therapists who now require a doctorate (DPT) for independent practice. Hope you don’t need to relearn how to walk. And tell your family they are on their own with their grief and navigating the medical and medicare establishment while trying to get necessary healthcare—MSWs and counselors will no longer be considered professionals. And forget about hiring a RN for any form of medical care, medical management, establishing a plan of care, or hospice provider in any setting from public health to the doctor’s office to the hospital—they won’t be considered professionals anymore. And don’t blame school-based SLPs or their fellow teachers, when your grandchildren and great-grandchildren can’t read, write, or balance a checkbook because they could not receive the support needed to access the education curriculum effectively through an alternate learning style. And if you have a child in your family with a disability, disorder, or other challenge that requires in-school or private therapy to overcome it and manage it, you and your classroom teacher are on your own. Good luck.

Sarcasm over.

For real though, friends, there is a time and place for “suck it up buttercup” and there is a time and place for “let me help you recover, relearn, renew, habilitate, overcome, and access life.” It takes a professional to know the difference.

Does the DOE really want to die on this hill when our population is aging and our birth rate is plummeting and our cost of living continues to skyrocket? I can only hope for spirited debate, clear thinking, and alternative proposals to the higher education loan crisis before the July 2026 deadline.

And DOE, fix the optics, your lack of rational, educated decision-making is insulting to all professionals everywhere.

Love y’all,

Marla