After Midnight

Today is the last day of 2009. Being New Year's Eve, it is my personal tradition to look back and ponder about the last year of my life and see how far I have come. This year it is my great pleasure to do so. I am miles ahead of where I started on January 1, 2009.

This past year, so much has happened for my family, my friends and myself. Of course, publishing my book has been the greatest professional thing I have done in a very long while. It is also one of the most personal fulfilling things I have ever done. Not so much because I spewed out horrible family secrets that may have allowed me to unburden myself, as much as I hoped to inspire people to hang on during difficult times. It was, and is, my way of giving hope and extending my hand out to those who feel alone. My book is an extension of me. My writing is personal and connected directly to my heart, which is the exact reason I am a non-fiction writer. Don't get me wrong, I love fiction and have spent many evenings curled up with a favorite writer, allowing myself the opportunity of escape. It is as much a guilty pleasure for me as chocolate. And this girl loves her chocolate! I write, the way I talk and think. I believe my purpose is to not preach, but gently remind folks that we are in this together. I believe in the humanity of man. I believe that good will always conquer evil, in the end. I believe that if you live long enough you will see real evil and debauchery, but you will witness far more miracles than treachery, experience far more love than hate, as long as you remind yourself to keep your hand open and unclench your fist.

This year has been a year of change for us. It has been incredible in some ways and extremely heart breaking in others. The ground forever shifting beneath our feet, we have had times of great difficulties keeping our footing and standing tall, readying ourselves for the next step.

I have lost two really amazing men in my life, who had tremendous influence on who I would become and the path I would take as an adult. As my tears fell, I couldn't help but feel deep and lasting gratitude for having them in my life at all. It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. This year's "aha" moment for me was realizing what that small, contrite saying actually meant. Their words and imprint will live on as long as the people they touched draw breath and then on in the generations to come. For me, they will live on forever.

Last summer I was hurt terribly by some people who are supposed to be in my inner circle. I was crushed at first, but in time I have realized to appreciate those who do tuly love me even more. For me that was the lesson-to appreciate all the love and support that has come my way for no other reason than out of sheer generosity. Instead of feeling my heart ball up and protect itself, I found myself opening up, one petal at a time, blooming fully in the presence of those who have extended their open hands to me when I needed them the most.

I watched my beloved dachshund become a paralyzed. I sobbed at the idea of having him "put down" due to his injury. One friend led us to a place where we were able to save our precious pup's life and he is fully recovered against all odds. Seeing him bound through the yard, run with the other dogs and walk the trails near our home is a daily miracle that takes my breath away.

My book gave me back my hometown friends I have missed so very much. There is something really incredible about growing up with folks in a small town. Although the population might be small, the love and support from them has been larger than life. My re-connection with my life long friends has been nothing short of amazing. Again, awestruck, I sit and wonder at all the love that we share on a "social networking" site, and how we all try and protect, defend and take care of each other.

I have watched some of my children fail hard and learn to come back form it, working that much harder and appreciating things that much more. Big life lessons don't come cheap or easy, but once learned, begin to show the pure brilliance of the gem hidden away inside. I have watched all of my kids, mine and those I take on as my own, become beautiful men and women; those deserving of respect, being honorable and leading their generation and our future to a better place.

I have experienced a deeper love for my darling Michael. We have fought more this year than any other in our history due to growing pains on both sides, but never with malicious intent or undue pain. We have learned what it is to have a fair fight and still love, not as much, but more. To respect not as before, but with a renewed vigor. We have a right to be angry at times. We have a right to be scared of the future, a right to question unfairness and the lack of justice. It is at the end of the day we look to each other and know that together there is nothing we can't accomplish. There is no hurdle too high, no difficulty too great that we can't over come by just being together and doing our best for ourselves and each other. In the spirit of love, all things are possible.

Tonight when we put the year 2009 to rest, I feel luckyand blessed to have been around to see it to it's end. I look forward to the new year with such hope. Maybe I am a naive dreamer, but I have glimpsed the life of cynicism and I have no want for it. I never want to feel so jaded that my heart closes it's door, bolted tight away from the possibility of feeling every minute in the years to come. Whatever the future has in store for my family and me, the one thing I am absolutely sure of, is my need to feel fully present, engaged and feel every inch of it.

This has been quite a year. I have been awestruck by how fortunate I am to have friends, family and knowledge that when I tally the year end results, it just gets better and better and better.

Happy New Year! May the year 2010 bring you more joy than heart can hold, more prosperity than your hands can share and more love than you ever felt possible!

I Was Blind Sided By My Wonderful Life

"It's a Wonderful Life" is my all time favorite movie. I watch it every Christmas because I seem to need reminding every year of how very fortunate I am. And every year, I feel the warm gratitude of knowing I am loved and I am so blessed to love others deeply. I feel as if George Bailey and I are very similar in many, many ways.
The house bought for the children and I after my divorce from their father was an old 1923 bungalow that needed overhauling from top to bottom. The paint was peeling, the cabinets were original, the furnace creaked and moaned and the garage leaked. The kitchen looked as if it hadn't been touched in 35 years and the wooden floors were worn and dull. It had two porches and they were both in dire need of repair. What it did have was a decent roof for over our heads, a fireplace to warm us and my feeling of hope and home. I called it the Bailey house for obvious reasons. It even had a finial on the banister that would come off in your hands as you climbed the steps of the porch of the kitchen. I loved that house because I was able to buy it for my kids and me, so we had a soft place to fall. For all it was not, what it contained was everything I loved to my core and held precious to my heart, so for that it was the best house in the world.
Last night we went out to see a movie for the first time on Christmas day. Going to the movies was never something I thought I would ever do, but this Christmas half of my children were stranded out of town because of work, and every tradition we normally held seemed doomed by circumstance. I saw Christmas start to slide downhill for my family because the sadness of what we didn't have seemed so much bigger than the joy of what we did. I felt that if I didn't do something fairly quickly, all would be lost for this holiday, and I hated to see Christmas be reduced to another day in our lives as if nothing special had happened.
Christmas Eve we had all tried to do our usual routine, except this time we opened all the gifts. Watching "It's a Wonderful Life " together went off without a hitch. The fire roared in the fireplace, the Christmas tree and all the other lights I scattered around the house were lit and twinkling. After the movie we opened the few gifts we had and something felt terribly wrong. Things didn't fit, were the wrong color or were just plain wrong. Tom gave Mike and I a tent for future camping trips together and that fit like a glove, but the other stuff, well, you could feel that something was off.
Christmas morning there were no gifts to open and everybody woke, had their coffee and laid around for the bulk of the day. It was if no one knew what to do. Being broken in half had us feeling lost. I had defrosted a ham for Christmas dinner, and my youngest told me she was having difficulty eating pork these days. I didn't want to fight and I wanted her to know she was allowed to have her own opinions, so I had to come up with an alternative for her to eat. The plan for our traditional meal went out the window and I ended up making ham and green beans with spaghetti for Betty. We filled our plates with the odd combination and sat around the table. Mike nicknamed the meal "spamghetti" and made us laugh. I had decided to let go of the restrictive traditions that didn't seem to work for us and try and be more flexible. We laughed and took pictures and made jokes and laughed some more.
Since we were ditching most of the traditions anyway , we decided to get out of the house and go see a movie. We went to see "Blind Side". The theatre was packed to the gills to see the latest release. Our little theatre showing the movie had some, but not a lot of people in it. We sat together and watched, laughed sometimes, got choked up sometimes and felt like there really is hope for the world yet. It made me think about the kids I have "adopted" in the last few years. It made me think of one boy in particular. He recently graduated from college with his teaching degree. I love him as if he were my very own son. He has parents. He loves his parents very much. They do all they can for him. I merely fill in the gaps when I can. This young man had to claw his way through college. He worked all the time, missing holidays, and breaks. He had a bed with no comforter on it, in freezing weather. I bought the bedding. It was just me filling in the gaps. Oh, and just to clarify, when I say me, I mean me and Michael. I am so very proud of our "adopted" son. I love him deeply and squeeze him every chance I get. I scold him via telephone or email if I hear he is not doing what I feel is in his best interest. I offer my love and advice and counsel to this young man, whom we have grown to treat as family. He still works multiple jobs, as does the rest of my family. We are all doing the best we can with what we have.
Somewhere between the two movies I have seen this holiday season, lies my family. They are made up of every race, creed, gender and personality type. They look just like me and nothing like me (this includes my birth children, as well). If the quote " I think therefore I am" is true then surely "I love therefore I am blessed" should follow. This Christmas fell way short of any expectations I had at the beginning of this year for what it would look like. We were supposed to be able to go back home to Ohio this year because Mike had vacation. We were supposed to be able to take all our birth kids with us. We were supposed to be all together, happy, surrounded by friends and family and snow. None of what I had planned came to fruition, however the unexpected gratified feeling of knowing how loved you are, and how much you love others...well, it's no vacation, but it has been the best present I have had in years.

Be a Moment of Light

This blog is dedicated to Sarah. Her light now washes over all of us and helps keep the dark at bay.

I am enclosing the link to my book in this blog because besides being self serving I want today to be about a subject very near and dear to my heart. http://www.amazon.com/Advancing-Backward-Kellie-L-Ketcham/dp/1439234175/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1261390455&sr=1-1

Two short years ago my beloved youngest child attempted suicide. The chapter in my book that speaks of it is called, "Fifteen Seconds Changes Your Life". The fifteen second rule , as I call it at home, is about the time it took for her to give in, the time it took for me to get her down, the time it took for her to find out she had a mental illness and the time it took for her to actively decide to not be a victim to the disease that was holding her emotions hostage. In the chapter I tell the story of what happened to my family and how we were lucky enough to all live through it. Truth be told, many battle their illness valiantly only to find themselves lost in the darkness unable to see any light. The results of this are often times catastrophic, for both them and their families who remain wracked with the feelings of guilt, wondering what more they could have done. The answer to that of course, is nothing. Families love hard those who need them the most.

Christmas time for the mentally ill can be a dangerous time. This is the time of year when problems get magnified, faults seem to loom large and accomplishments or failures are tallied up at year's end. The sum total can send anyone not in a good place to a darkened abyss, but for the mentally ill, it becomes even more treacherous.

My child has bipolar disorder. She can go from euphoria to falling deep into a depression. She is active in her diagnosis. She is not afraid to talk about it. She has been blessed with the ability to not feel shame towards her own mind, but many do not have that gift, and have been taught to feel badly for feeling so badly. Mental illness has a giant stigma attached to it and , God help you if you decide to tell anyone about it who may use it one day as a weapon. My child has experienced the cruelty of others mocking something she has absolutely no control over. I will say, that she does not take it laying down. She is as strong as a bull and just as stubborn, when it comes to defending herself against prejudice and defending others, as well. Bless her heart, she is tough as nails and uses her incredible strength to help others up after falling or being knocked down.

I ask that we all take a moment and remember those who have a mental illness. A single act of kindness can change and even save a life. Not all will be saved. For now, it is the way of it. The course of researching the end of any disease takes time and this is no different. Researchers and doctors strive every day to find the answers we are all looking for. But for now, if every person did one thing, we would surely change the world and the perception of our mentally ill. Every brain is different. Every body unique to it's owner. This world has so much magic in it because we are so different and special. The world is full of brilliant art by those who had mental illness and were able, because of it, to think outside the box.

Reach out and spread joy this season to every person you meet. You never know the depth of your effect on any given day. Fifteen seconds does change lives. A smile, a touch, an acknowledgement, a gesture of respect, all of these leave our marks on people we have met. I ask that during this season that we all take the time to look into the eyes of the people we encounter and really see them. Be a moment of light in some one's life. We aren't always aware of those who feel enclosed in the darkness. When you leave your mark, let it be in the shape of a heart.

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

I have preached to my children the quote from scripture, "When I was a child, I thought as a child, but when I became a man I put away those childish things."

For the most part I have put away those childish things, but when it comes to the holidays, I am able in a moments notice reach back into the abyss that is my mind, now, and pull out my child like wonder. It is the gift I give myself every Christmas.

This year because of the economy and my lack of steady employment, we will not be buying any gifts except for our youngest child. The older kids got together and came to the agreement that since she is a senior and the last one still under age that any money spent should be on her. That was the gift my older kids gave to Mike and me, was their maturity and generosity and ability to see that the bigger gift we receive is often in the giving.

Michael decorated the outside of our home with Christmas lights and meticulously made sure that the timer was set and all was bright, so that I could enjoy them. That was his gift to me. He knows how much I love Christmas and the twinkling lights the glitter like the snow I miss so much. He drives me around once a week to see different neighborhoods and allow me to sit back relax and sink deep into my contentment.

I speak to my parents often. Although this year they could not come to Texas, I am able to dial their number and within seconds hear their laugh and talk for hours if that is what we wish to do. I miss them so very much this year, but the gift of their love and understanding is something I have gotten everyday this season.

My house looks exactly like I had always dreamed it could at this time of year. For no money, I reinvented many of our decorations and am able to get up every morning and just look at them, so happy and filled to the brim with joy. Even as the time draws nearer for us to display the "For Sale" sign, I can't help being happy I got this time with our house.

I am blessed beyond words, thoughts, or feelings. Things did not turn out at all what I had originally planned for this holiday season. No parents visiting, no kids coming home, no presents under the tree, all non-existent except the feeling of how lucky I am to love people so much that when I can't see them it makes my heart ache. The tiniest things I may have over looked in recent years have bubbled to the surface in order for me to feel the kind of peace that other spend their lives looking for.

The gifts I have already gotten this holiday season reassure, my sometimes weary, soul that all is far from lost. Sometimes the greatest gifts are the ones we don't even know we want.

What's It All About Elfie?

Years ago when the kids were still small, it was Christmas time at our house and we were running a day late and dollar short, again. Their father had passed away and once again I was groveling in my prayers for more time, more money and the ability to do five things at once. I kept asking for octopus arms. Of course, now I feel God really had my back on that one, but at the time I felt unheard. I kept thinking that not only would the eight arms help me at work as well as home, but I could work the circus route on weekends for extra cash. In the end, I am glad to not have to worry about special made clothes or those weird times when your arms fall asleep. Eight times the prickly tingling would kill me, I think.

This one particular year, I was way behind decorating the house, missed St. Nicholas day completely and had to make up some crazy reason as why he had missed only our house in a thirty block radius and of course I was working doubles to try and pay for our life as we knew it. I think back now about how important sleep became, because I never got any. I averaged about four hours a night. I was dead dog tired all the time. I would have given up the appendage of any one's choice if they could have given me only an hour nap. I loved hearing about and coveted other's sleep. I was so jealous back then of anybody who got to go to bed and stay there for eight hours. I couldn't wrap my brain around that concept.

I had gotten home from work and the kids asked me if I were going to drag the Christmas stuff out and decorate the house. "At least put up the tree, Mommy," the kids pleaded.

"I will, as soon as I can tonight. I promise." I looked down at the little angelic faces who so depended on me to keep their world in the upright and locked position.

That night I gave them baths, helped them brush their teeth, said prayers with them and tucked them in, all warm and fresh and cozy. I proceeded to go to the living room and lay down on the couch to just relax for a few minutes before dragging all the Christmas boxes from the closet upstairs. I was off of work the next day and just wanted to close my eyes for a minute. The house was quiet except the low drone of the TV in the background. I let out a deep sigh and allowed my body to let go, if only for a moment. The next time I opened my eyes it was morning and I was surprised by the sounds of my gasping children. "Mommy, wake up! Did you do this, it's all so beautiful!" I rubbed my weary and swollen eyes and looked around the room. Every inch was decorated with bows, greenery, stockings and our Christmas tree filled to the brim with family ornaments. "I looked at the kids and asked,"Did you guys do this?" They looked shocked at the question. Danny was the first to speak up,"We didn't do any of this. We thought you did." "No," I answered, "I'm sorry but I fell asleep as soon as I hit the couch." The kids all looked around for signs of the Christmas intruder who had broken into our house and decorated our home top to bottom. "Mommy, who would do this?" I surveyed all the workmanship, the attention to detail and the careful way everything was placed just so. I had one and only one idea of who it could be. "I am not sure and don't want to say until you tell me who you think it was." The kids looked at each other's faces and then back at me and said almost in complete unison, "Elves!" Still shocked that all of our Christmas stuff had magically made it's way out of storage and had draped itself perfectly around the rooms, I couldn't help but nod my head in agreement.

My kids were deep in the magical spell of all that is Christmas. They had a renewed sense of wonder and excitement about them, as did I. We had witnessed a miracle and we all knew this was too big to ignore. I heard one of them say, "There is no way Mama could do all this in one night. It's too much. It had to be elves or Santa. It just had to be."

Everything about that Christmas had wonder and magic in it. The lights twinkled brighter, the fire felt warmer, the hot cocoa tasted sweeter. I love Christmas and the magic it brings. I love the feel of my days as I wallow in the sounds of Christmas carols and sip hot cocoa by the fire. I love the warm, fuzzy memories I have of Christmases long ago when I was a child, and remembering the holidays with my own children when they were so tiny.

I wish for you the opportunity to sit back relax and take in the joy of the season. As memories flood your mind and family fills your home, I wish for you the deepest most gratifying feeling of peace on the earth and truly goodwill toward everybody. May the elves find your home and leave behind them the awestruck smiles of childlike wonder.

I Still Believe!

It's Christmas time again and I am busy doing very non-Christmas-y things. It's not my usual routine, but I am doing what needs to be done. I am squeezing in my favorite movies and playing Christmas music while I work in order to keep my spirit up and in holiday fashion.

I love Christmas. I always have. It is a time of year when everyone seems nicer, more tolerant of each other, more generous and kinder all around. It's the time of year when my hopefulness reaches it's year long high, the kind of high that drug addicts search their whole life for and all I have to do is hum a Christmas carol.

I have spent my entire life watching this season and being completely and utterly awestruck by the miracles that happen everyday, often times without a single other soul noticing. In a time when there are so many people searching for fame and fortune often times at their own peril, I see so many folks do the most miraculous things without so much as a thank you all season long.

I still believe in Christmas miracles. I still believe in the spirit of Santa and giving of our hearts and minds and strength to those who have so much less, even when we ourselves don't seem to have a whole lot. I have watched my family witness miracles of faith, miracles of money and miracles of kindness.

Every year I pray for a Christmas miracle. Every year I am fortunate to witness one, even if it is not anything I requested or sought for myself or my family. In that solitary moment, I realize how very lucky I am to have seen something so amazing, so wonderful come true.

I am once again asking for my Christmas miracle. I do ask for gifts for my family and for myself. I do ask for "things". I think it's always OK to ask. I do not aways get what I ask for. Sometimes I get nothing at all, and that is OK, too. I consider it, asked and answered. If I see that my Christmas miracle isn't about me, then I really begin watching all around me to see what it is that I am being shown. The truly glorious part of the season for me is the not knowing where and how the miracle will come. I get as anxious as a child on Christmas Eve. I feel those giddy, warm, bright feelings of hopefulness that anything can happen if I just believe. I feel exactly like I did when I was five years old and believed mind, body and soul that Santa was riding to my house in his sleigh bringing me presents wrapped in beautiful, shiny paper with a perfectly appointed bow. He would fill the bottom of our tree with presents for everybody and give them just what they asked for. Santa would magically do in a single moment what we as a family wanted the most, being all together.

I have friends and family that have stopped believing. I see the vacancy in their eyes and the cynicism that has made it's mark in wrinkles on their brow. I pray for them the hardest. I pray to forgo my own Christmas wishes if need be, so that they can see for a brief moment that hope and miracles are still very much alive and with us.

This season as I make my wish list and begin my vigil of looking for this year's miracle, I wish you all a happy holiday season, filled with wonderful unexpected surprises, the deep love of your family, warm hugs from dear friends, delicious food that sweeps you back to the days of being as innocent as a child, and most of all to witness your own Christmas miracle. They are all out there, if you only just believe!

The Land of Enchantment

I was minding my own business in my own home when a lumbering, giant cockroach was trying to make his/her way across my living room floor. Grossed and completely freaked out I grabbed my near by tennis shoe and squashed it in it's tracks. I lifted my shoe to find it laughing at me on it's back. Again I struck as hard as I could attempting to muffle the silent giggles of my very disgusting house guest. Once the laughter was silenced, I grabbed an entire roll of paper towels to pick up the unwanted intruder and throw his now flattened behind out into the trash can outdoors. I never throw them away in the house for fear that they merely playing dead and will rise up and hide in my bed.

I am not afraid of many things. I am afraid of bugs, mostly really big hairy, scary bugs, snakes and rats. I am afraid of heights, but because I am so cheap will climb whatever ladder necessary in order to spare myself the expense of hired help.

I live in a place whose only similarities to the north are maybe New York city, with the rats and cockroaches, minus the noise and benefit of public transportation. There is a bayou out back behind our house. It's not the kind of bayous, like we see on TV that exist in other places in the south, but rather a giant drainage ditch, where rats, snakes and other sundry creatures call home. The benefit to living on a bayou is when it rains here, a collective sigh of relief can be heard by all who live near the largest drainage receptacle. Flooding here is a real problem and any help offered to diffuse the problem is gladly accepted.

For the most part, I like living in Texas. The bug/rat conundrum is something I have had to get used to in time. Everything really is bigger in Texas, including our pests. I was thinking about the Dali Lama and how he never kills a bug. It's so impressive to me how he respects every living thing. I, however, am not that evolved. I will squash a bug in a heart beat. My fear of their dirty little legs is bigger than my respect for their right to be here. They can be here, as long as here doesn't include my living room.

Tom and I were sitting outside enjoying the cooler, drier air, when we suddenly saw a little rat climb one of our trees and begin munching on the fall berries. He was quite sweet looking, with an air of innocence about him. Schnitzel, our wiener, had been chasing after him for days. Up until that point, we hadn't actually seen what creature Schnitzel had been torturing. Tom and I sat quietly while the little guy picked and munched his way through all the fruit. I was telling Mike, sometime later, about the rat and how cute he looked. Mike looked at me as though I had three heads and said, "Kel, rats aren't cute. They breed disease and flees. They multiply faster than you think, and if we don't get a handle on this it could turn into a real problem for us."

Sure enough, as if scripted, the flees did show up and I began to see how this one rat could start an avalanche of problems for us. Mike said he would look into a trap that wouldn't effect the dogs. I reluctantly agreed, however innocent he looked, he was a threat to every body's well being. The next day Schnitzel was outside in our garden, deep in the hunt of the rat who had been hiding in there. Mike was standing next to the garden on the pool deck when the rat quickly jumped out of the garden across Mike's foot and Mike kicked the little bugger into the pool. The rat was swimming across the pool when Mike, with the most impressive reflexes I have ever seen, grabbed the pool skimmer, scooped him up and hurled him over the fence as hard as he could. The rat became air born and flew like a Hail Mary pass in an NFL game. We have not seen him since.

Betty and I love the Disney movie Enchanted. My favorite part is when the rats, cockroaches and pigeons come into the apartment to "clean-up". In my life, there is no magic big enough to make these critters adorable. Even Mickey Mouse would be grossed out by the giant spiders that hang around in invisible webs, crisscrossing the yard. Mike has swung a shovel as an ax to chop through snakes, as cleanly as an iron chef. I have vacuumed up as many bugs as I care to think about, and the kids have all had their own harrowing stories of things that make one go, "Ewwww!"

As I stated earlier, I really like living in Texas. But I totally understand why they are considered to be a hardier people. Our sunshine comes at a cost I had to get used to paying. Down here, you have to pay to play in the land of enchantment.

What I am Most Grateful for this Thanksgiving is Marvin Allen

I found out this morning that my cousin/uncle Marvin passed away. it is a devastating loss. I wrote cousin/uncle because he is actually my dad's cousin but we treated him like an uncle. My father, an only child, had no brothers and sisters of his own for us to claim. We instead glommed onto Marv and his wife Sue and took them as our own, my sister and me. Their kids were around our age and all of our cousins in the long family chain, linked us all together. I couldn't tell you the exact relationship of any of my family. Who are second cousins, who is once or twice removed. Nobody has ever felt removed in our family so we just call everybody cousin or aunt or uncle. We are a mixed up group, who has never cared about formal titles. My family has always been more concerned with the relationships rather than the exact relations.

No one personified how accepting our family is, more than our cousin Marvin. His laughter and love of a good joke has been infamous in our family. His love and acceptance and good will came to every person. He never saw me without extending his arms for me to fall into a full a bear hug. His hug was gentle and strong enough where I always knew if I got too scared or weak, I had somewhere to go.

This is the week of Thanksgiving Day. Thanksgiving is when my family, all the family, had gotten together for most of my life. It was the day when I would see Marv and we would catch up with the rest of the year. Marv would seek me out the years I went in hiding because I was going through a divorce or I was exhausted as a single mother or I was just plain overwhelmed. He would find me and sit with me and just chat about whatever. He helped me feel normal when I felt broken. He made me laugh when I thought I might never do that again. He was my Thanksgiving calm in a life that had become pretty stormy at times. Marv always reminded me that were always things to be grateful for. His were another set of invisible fingerprints, who helped mold into the kind of person who would at least try and look for the good in things in life.

My first instinct was to be upset at the timing of the loss of Marv. But in truth, it probably is his way of reminding us once again that there are things to be grateful for, even in the darkest times.

So for Marv, a few days early, let me say I am so very grateful for my family and all the memories I have shared with them. I am forever grateful that my extended family is my immediate family. I am grateful for all the older generations who watched so carefully over us "kids" and took the time to spend teaching, guiding and of course, laughing. I am grateful for a very special day in the summer at the most beautiful place, where I got to see Marv, Sue, Andi, Scott and Denny and their families. I knew then it was an incredible day. I knew then I was blessed beyond words to have such a loving, warm family to spend time with. I knew then that there would always be things to be grateful for.

The "Freedom" of the Written Word

Here I am all happy about finally publishing my book after so many years of writing. Yay!

I started the very long road of promoting my book and trying to find an agent. Boo!

People have been kind to me and some independent book stores carry my book. Yay!

The larger book store chains refuse to even look at the book because of who produces it. Boo!

The ups and downs of this whole process has been an incredible journey for me. Even when things don't go my way, I continue to learn from each and every experience. Big Yay!

I have been repeatedly asked how I feel about sharing books. Today, after many hours of thinking about what I want to say, I will answer that question as thoughtfully as I can.

I, myself have shared books over the years out of my sheer joy for the written words they contained. I didn't think about how the author was effected. Truthfully, I don't believe most people think about that. Now, as an author, I am torn about how I think. On one hand, I am directly effected when people share books on both sides of the coin. I make no money when folks pass my book to each other. That does make things hard for writers. No one likes to work for free. Having said that, I do realize when someone shares a book, it's because they like it so much and that means they are giving it to someone out of love. I don't want to downplay how wonderful that feels for a writer. The other issue is, my book, for example is supposed to help people feel hopeful. It is perfect for the person who is the least likely to be able to afford even a small purchase, such as my book. Hmmmmmm, I'd rather be naively hopeful and have someone give them my book.

All artists are effected directly by the "sharing" of materials. It is the way of it. We make our living by selling our "product" to whom ever is willing to buy it, with the hope that they will recommend it to others, so they will buy it too. If the same book gets read by 3 or 4 different people, then yes, I only make the small percentage from the original sale. But, the good news is, it also means someone likes my reading enough to want to share it with someone they love.

So, where do I stand on this topic? Me, who has opinions about every topic under the sun? This time, I really don't have any clue.

Here is what I know for sure...if you know someone who could get something out of the book, but is unable to get it for themselves, then please by all means, pass it along. I wrote the book for people to know they are not alone and there is always hope. I want to sell the book, so I can continue to write and will continue to promote it. Christmas is coming and I personally, think it would make a great gift. Remember, I am totally biased. It's a compliment when folks want to share what I have written. I have never lost sight of that. I continue to be grateful every day for what I have and not what I may or may not lose.

Wistfully, I was talking to my eldest child about wanting the book to sell more, whining about my poor sales ranking on Amazon.com, when she pointed out that I am now in the Library of Congress. I hadn't realized that before. I sat stunned by my own accomplishment. Poor sales ranking or not, I accomplished more than I had ever thought possible.

Motherhood Makes Invention a Necessity

I have never been one to just buy things. Truth be told, I have never been able to just buy things. I have always been on a budget that would strangle most folks. If there was work to be done, I was the one who had to do it. I have never been able to just hire work out. I suppose part of it was the way I was raised. Being from the Midwest, we were all raised to do the work yourself, unless you absolutely couldn't, which for me has almost never happened.

The bad side to this is Michael and I are always working on some project, be it big or small, around our house. The good side is we always know the workmanship that went in, so we can enjoy the fruits of our labor. Lots of labor equals lots of fruit.

I have had the unfortunate task of re-organizing and cleaning out our house. It is amazing to me how stuff we have acquired over the last several years. Some of the stuff is 20 years old by now and we are just now deciding what to do with it. When we combined our households, we ended up with an odd eclectic group of stuff. Nothing matched, nothing went together and the doubles we did have were usually things we had both held onto since we first moved out of parent's houses. For example, we each had some pots and pans. Collectively we had a full set of miss matched cookware that we inherited from our mothers. I just donated it to one of the kids and charity. We have been married 8 years and neither of us thought to buy a new complete set of our own. That is us in a nut shell. We are not spenders. I hate to refer to us as cheap, because we have both had to live under the constraints of a budget, but our kids will gladly call us cheap in a heart beat.

We are re-doing our formal living room. We have in the past, made lamps from large tree branches (I saw something in a catalog that cost $200 each, we spent bupkis). They look lovely. Michael built frames for my large paintings out of fallen fence pickets thanks to Hurricane Ike. And my personal favorite is, we built a large storage ottoman out of some left over shelves and an old massage table. It looks incredible and would retail for about $500.00. We spent less than $40.00. If we have the bits and pieces, we will definitely find something to make out it. It's what we do.

Currently, we are building "built-in bookshelves out of old bookshelves, that in their current state have no value. We are turning an old entertainment center into a faux fireplace and will be re-upholstering our antiques. After that we will build a banquette for our kitchen and tile our kitchen counter with granite tiles.

It is the way of it for Michael and I. We are lifetime DIYer's. Every time I approach Michael with another brilliant, inspired idea, I see the "Holy Crap!" look on his face. In the end, he is always very proud and happy that we saved the money and how great the results look. It's slightly comical to me that since the economy headed down the toilet, people all over the country are starting to do what we have always done, waste nothing, use everything, spend very little. I think in some ways it's good to get people thinking about not being the throw away society and re-purposing what they have. My motto has always been - "shop your own house first". If I were to wish for a purchase of my very own? A nail gun of course. I believe a nail gun is a girl's best friend!

Getting Through the Night

It's Halloween night and I can honestly say, I brilliantly ignored it. I didn't carve one pumpkin or pass out one piece of candy and I am grateful for the opportunity. This was definitely not my preferred behavior on this night. Embracing Halloween and celebrating all things ghoulish is my norm, but with everyone gone from the house, all I wanted for this night was that it pass quietly and it did.

I ignored the night that usually brings me such joy because we are not in a "normal" place. All I wanted from tonight was to get through it without feeling incredibly sad and focusing on the loss. Last night I made a plan of how I would spend the entire day and night alone. I made my to-do list and decided to actively ignore the obvious. No sense making myself feel bad about something I and my family had no control over.

One of my to-do's was to go to the drug store and get a loofah. It would get me out of the house and I would not be spending money I don't have. I took a shower, dried my hair, grabbed my purse and drove to the store. I searched quickly through the store to find my purchase, in order not to hear the giggling kids picking up last minute Halloween items. I walked to the register and stood in line absently looking at the woman behind the counter. She looked so familiar. I couldn't place her face, but I was certain I had seen her before somewhere else. My turn was next and I gave her my card to scan and she told me the total as I dug through my very sloppy purse for the money.

"Sorry I am taking so long", I muttered, "I am having one of those days, well actually one of those weeks." And I laughed in spite of myself.

"I am having one of those years," the clerk said to me rather wide eyed. "I feel you,"I responded. "No, really," she said. "Not like this one."

I stopped what I was doing and looked at her. I wanted to really see her face. I knew I would regret it if I didn't look at her and see what she was trying to tell me. She looked down in embarrassment, possibly thinking she may have said too much. "Trust me whatever it is,' I said, " I have probably gone through it." I smiled directly at her. My eyes told her to go ahead and tell the complete stranger what it is that has her so sad. The invitation was there and as open as an upward palm.

It turns out she returned to work after years of being some one's wife because her husband left her. She is barely getting through the days that stretch out before, because she no longer knows if there is any good to come her way. I watched, I listened, I empathized. I told her I had written a book about what she was feeling, the isolating loneliness, the depressing idea of waiting for every shoe to drop directly on my head, the saying,"it can't get any worse", then watching my life implode from all the worse. I told her I would bring her the book, so she could see she is not alone and yes, Virginia, there is happiness after all the terror. I told her about my manfriend, Michael, and how kind he is. She said, "To you? My husband was nice to everybody else, but not me." I looked at the sorrow in her eyes and I made sure she got the importance of what I was saying to her,"Especially to me, mostly to me. He puts me first." I heard a small gasp come from her lips. I knew exactly what she was thinking. I had been her. She struggled to believe that such a man could exist. I leaned in and told her, "Be grateful you got free. There is so much more out there than some stupid guy who can't see who you really are." I promised to bring her my book, so she could see she is not alone. I promised her there is happiness after all the pain. I reminded her to be grateful for what is, even when what is feels like crap.

I left that store knowing that I had just witnessed horrors far beyond anything special effects could drum up for my favorite holiday. I left feeling that I was supposed to be there, spreading hope to one very discouraged woman, working at a drug store. I was exactly where I was supposed to be in that very moment. I felt so grateful to my core that my day allowed for me to be there for a person who needed the smallest amount of reassurance. Tomorrow I will go back up to the store and see if she is there and give her a copy of my book. I will let her know that there are many of us who have been crushed and have been resurrected from the ashes like the phoenix, to become better, stronger and happier people.

Here's what I know for sure- I know the biggest reason I wrote my book and will continue to write, is for that woman in the drug store and every man, woman, and child who feels like they are completely alone in there tragedies and sorrow.

We are all in this together. I believe my job is to let everybody know.

I am not a Pumpkin Head

I love, love, love Halloween. Orange is one my favorite colors and everybody looks good in black, so what is not to love? Usually this time of year I am setting up the yard for the trick-or-treaters. Ghosts are placed, tomb stones cover the yard, gallons of fake blood are dripped over the scene, and motion sensor goblins are screaming into the dark. I have black lights, strobe lights and sound effects that can be heard down the street. I spend hours and hours covering every tree and bush with cob webs. Dead bodies stick out trash cans and shrubs, skeletons are hung, and jack-o-lanterns are carved. By now all the heavy lifting is done and I would spend the evenings admiring my handy work. But not this year.

Because of life or something like it, I just don't have the time to celebrate Halloween like I normally do. The kids will all be away, and I don't have the time or the energy to do it. I am usually picking cobwebs off of plants well into the Christmas season. The thought of more work on top of my already very full plate has caused me to opt out this year. I am not even sure I will turn on the light this year. I guess, it is just as well the kids get used to us being gone from this house. Next year we, hopefully, will be decorating our new house with all my gory guys.

I am leaving a window open for me to do some last minute decorating if I have a change of heart. Although, I seriously doubt that will happen, you just never know. I am a little sad and a more relieved that I don't have to lug around heavy containers filled to the brim, trying to change every inch of our landscape. With all the other house stuff going on, instead of fun, it just sounds exhausting.

The good news is on November 1st, I will be enjoying a lovely Sunday, rather than peeling guts off of trees. I will miss not having Halloween around the house this year, but I knew the day was coming when all the kids would be gone and I would have to decide if it was worth the effort without them here. Right now, it's not. For me, this is more about watching my little ones fly the coop. I had a really good run with my kids. I celebrated holidays fully, cooked for hours and sewed costumes well into the night. Every time I think of them at Halloween, I laugh. We all had a great time. I thought originally it was celebrating Halloween I missed, but it turned out what I missed was celebrating with my kids.

Next year I will be back at decorating our new house from stem to stern with every type of scary Halloween ghost I can find, buying candy, smearing blood and staging dead bodies.

Next year, when things settle down, I will do it just for me.

Happy Halloween!

The Feeling of Falling

It's raining, a steady down pour of large droplets in constant rhythm, just outside my window. I listen to the big kurplunks and soft tinklings of the water as it hits the concrete pool deck. In my mind it is no different from being in Ohio in the fall, during the chilly, rainy days that had me wearing sweaters and sipping hot tea in the afternoon in front of a fire in our family room. But here, it is most definitely different, since the rain is warm and the air is thick and muggy, a balmy 80 degrees, a sign that summer is still very much a part of our landscape in the south. The trees are lush and green and the tropical flowers continue to bloom. Fall here in Houston is merely a fading of color rather than the brilliant changes I used to know back home.

I miss home and my family so much I ache, right now. Like clock work, every fall, I begin pining for home and the smells and sights I loved so very much. I get lost in the memories of the falls where the leaves crackle beneath my feet, the sweet smell of apple orchards hung in the air and the the leaves turned red, yellow and orange as a way to warm the palette of the woods. I miss walking through the woods in the long stretches of parks that smelled of pine as I snuggled deeper into my sweater or sweatshirt and holding hands with my beloved Michael. I miss the smell of burning wood, the smokey embers glowing in our fireplace as I made soups, pies and breads in the kitchen filling the house with delicious and spicy aromas. I miss the season of richness. Fall has always been my favorite season. The one season I was most comfortable in my own skin.

I felt weepy yesterday, as I ran my errands and went to the superstore to pick up the odd assortment of items we needed. As I walked the isles every where I turned there were signs of fall in the store. I could purchase my leaves in assorted colors if I chose to do so. Ceramic pumpkins, soup tureens and table cloths were displayed in brilliant hues of burgundy, burnt orange and amber. I stood in front of the displays for the longest time, breathing deep the pot pouri that sat out, smelling of ripe apples. It's the closest thing I can get that is the most like home. I admit that I felt a little pathetic wallowing in fake leaves and canned smells. But my deep sense of mourning I feel every fall was weighing heavy on me and I felt fortunate to have the reprieve.

I am packing up some of our belongings we won't be using until we find another house. I have given away box after box of things that no longer serve a purpose here and given it to charity. Room by room, I sift through every item and remind myself to let go of what isn't NECESSARY. The house we will move into will be so much smaller than what we have room for now. I have to let go and get rid of so much stuff. We will have to live simpler, smaller, adapting to less. This very process is the exact opposite of what fall has come to be for me. Fall for me was a time of bounty. Crops came in, trees bore fruit, food was pinnacle in celebrating before the snow began to fly. This year it is me saying goodbye to my home one unnecessary chachki at a time. The season, the job I was doing and the family reunion I was unable to attend, all made me weepy.

At the store I bought pumpkin spice candles to manufacture the smells I long for. I bought things to hang on the front door that look like leaves and dried pine cones. Guilty of bringing in stuff in a time when I am supposed to be weeding out stuff, I regretted my purchases for a moment. The monetary part was next to nothing, but dragging in more stuff was not my brightest idea. Except, it did and does make me feel better every time I see it. It looks like fall, even if it did come packaged up shrink wrap plastic and a price tag. It was almost like those Visa commercials. Wreath-$10, Pumpkin spice candle_$5, being grateful that I have a family, friends and hometown that still makes me cry-priceless.

No News Is Good News

I am off the news for a while. Usually I am a news junkie. I flip between news stations like the character "Tommy" by the Who. I watch everything from financial to social shows absorbing in as much data as I can. I read the news, go to political sites on the web and try and keep up on C-SPAN. But no more, not for a very long while, I fear. I may be stricken down with the "I can't believe my eyes and ears" syndrome After seeing all the horrendous stuff about businesses we bailed out, missing children, incestuous relationships with fathers, children murdered in cold blood by their mothers and Congress, well, to be quite honest, I believe it may have weakened my heart. As in the olden days I decided to take to my bed and try to sleep my way out of this. I stayed there approximately 10 minutes before the family asked what was for dinner. Though the 10 minutes did my heart good, I had to get up and get on with it. There was no time to ween myself off of all the goings on in America.I had to act quickly if I was going to save myself, so I cut it off cold turkey. My original thought was to only watch things like Entertainment Tonight, but then there was all the coverage of that terrible divorcing couple and their eight kids who are caught in the middle. Nope, it was going to have to be a complete blackout for me. I have decided in order to insure my sanity and a retain a modicum of hope I will read my little town paper and that is all for now.

I have no idea when I will go back to my Brian Williams and his sexy, soothing voice. He's my news junkie's eye candy. Gone is Anderson Cooper, a girl's best friend. So long Ryan Seacrest and your ridiculously perfect hair. I am not even going to tune in to the weather channel anymore. It's all too much.

I miss Walter Cronkite so much I could weep. I grew up with him and David Brinkley. They came on at 6 pm and delivered the news in an objective, professional manner. They said what had to be said and disappeared into the night as quietly as they had come in. They sugar coated nothing and fact checked everything. They didn't suck all the oxygen out of the room like the news today. I feel no better knowing everything than I did growing up knowing only what was reported at 6. In fact, now I feel overwhelmed and exhausted by what is considered to be news these days.

This is not a negative for me. I plan on looking at it like a fast of sorts. I will do this cleanse and come out on the other side and see how I feel. Chances are very good that my Brian Williams will be back on my screen within the month. The rest? I will probably have to do some purging and let that go. My newly uncluttered mind may actually be able to come up with some new opinions and original thoughts.

About every 6 months I write about not watching the telly so much and doing things differently. This time I think I mean it. I believe I have turned a corner here. Today I have already been up for hours and the TV remains off. My goal is to not watch any today and tomorrow take one hour at a time. The withdrawal may cause me to crave the Internet, but I am going to keep myself down to the bare minimum on that, too.

It's fall here in Houston and cooler weather is right around the corner. My only news for the next few months will be what the neighbors have to say and the football scores for our high school. If anyone feels there is something dire I need to know, send it in a letter or email to me. Otherwise, all this ignorant soul will know is bliss.

First Impressions

One of my kids has a professional mentor I had the opportunity to meet. My child was excited and I was a little nervous. I was at a book signing and I had my smiling author face on, partly because it's the polite thing to do and partly because I have every reason to smile when I am signing books. I met this person and talked to them for about fifteen minutes. I thought it went well. Turns out I was wrong. Not a little wrong, like when I think it's Tuesday and it's really Wednesday, but all out dead wrong. The mentor thought of me as a weak housewife who had nothing better to do than write a book. The mentor mentioned to my child that they were unsure if I was someone they could depend on. My child mentioned to me their dismay about the meeting and thought it was all crap. My first impression turned out to be disastrous.
My reaction? I laughed. A fifteen minute conversation hardly determines who I am, no matter who I might be meeting. Let's face it, if I had been in the grocery store frazzled and pressed for time I might have been considered mean spirited. Catch me outside looking at my front yard and you might not know that the inside of my house is completely torn apart, but you would definitely notice my rumpled, paint splattered clothes. Maybe you would think I didn't care about my appearance. maybe you'd think I was a crazy artist type. Catch me in the hardware store and maybe you'd think I was a complete idiot, because half the time I can't remember why I went there to begin with.
I tell my kids all the time, "You determine your worth." I say that because it's true. No one gets to tell me who and what I am. Only I get to know all of me and my motivation, well, me and God. My child feeling the unfairness of the judgement, was upset by the reaction of the person she respects professionally. I told her to let it go. It doesn't matter whether that person thinks I am a boob. In the end the mentor doesn't know me or my child's relationship to me. They don't know what goes on behind closed doors and late night phone conversations.
I thought it was funny that out of all the things that were said that day, the mentor took only the negative away from it. Such is life. I can't change the way they view me or what they think they know. I can go on being me and hope for their sake they are more careful about being judge, jury and executioner next time they meet someone. Judging too quick no matter what the situation is usually hazardous.
I could, I suppose, ponder the implications of what I may have done to create such an impression. I could spend my days evaluating my posture, tone and language. I could pick apart every move I made that day, in order to possibly better my next first impression. Or I could forget it and keep trying to be the best me I can, knowing that perfect is not optional. I am going for the latter choice. I am not sweating this. I feel bad for my child and how disappointed they are, but in retrospect I wouldn't change a thing. That day was a good day for me. I harbor no resentment to the person who judged me rather harshly in a short time, but rather feel the connection only through my child. What they think of me is unimportant. What I want is for them to see, really see my child for all the brilliance and talent they have. That does seem to be the case, so as far as I am concerned everything is a success.
Obviously, I haven't forgotten it, yet, but I am sure I will the next time I am standing in the hardware store frantically trying to remember why I am there.

Wow! What a Week!

I made the local paper on Wednesday with this incredibly beautiful article by a lovely woman named Trilla Cook. http://http//www.ourtribune.com/article.php?id=8317 When I got the paper I noticed my head was huge. My picture was about 4 inches long and in newspaper speak that is indeed giant. She compared me to my lifelong idol Erma Bombeck and noted that we were both from Ohio. Having my name even in the same sentence as Mrs. Bombeck brought me to tears. I read every one of her books. Watched the movies that were made from her books and followed her articles in the newspaper as if they were a map to maturity. I adored all of her work and followed her every move professionally. If she was on a talk show, I watched. I listened as she used her quick wit to tell a story, recall a memory or spin a yarn. I found her fascinating. Actually, I still do. I had dreamed long ago of meeting her in person one day, just to be close enough that her incredible intellect might rub off just a little. I unfortunately, was not that lucky. My luck, good fortune or blessing has come now in the form of the ultimate compliment.

I was checking out Amazon.com to see if I had sold anymore books. I used to check everyday, until I realized I had become obsessive/compulsive about the sales rank and used it to injure myself as if I were a cutter. You can't un-ring a bell, so once the realization set in that it might not be the healthiest thing for me to check everyday, I backed off to once a week. The article came out this week so I gave myself permission to peek at the sales ranking. While I was on my book's page I noticed that I had another review. I braced myself for what I always worry will be my first bad review. Happily, I noticed the review was comprised of five stars. Immediately I looked to see which family member had gone on to keep my reviews in "perfect" order. I was reviewed by the Midwest Book Review, a group I queried months ago to review the book. I sat and screamed, stunned that a professional reviewer thought my book was worth five out of five stars. The review was very complimentary without being over the top. I had a great review from a professional.

Covered in paint with my hair firmly glued to my head, I laughed out loud at the great fortune I was having professionally, and the disgusting way I looked ( and unfortunately, smelled) personally. Still working diligently on the house in order to get it all sparkling new, I have forgone any concern for my appearance and just keep working day after day painting, replacing and remodeling. I have indeed, a glamorous life. I stay grateful for the able body and the knowledge of home improvement, to do what needs to be done. I may not be pretty right now, but I am very functional and that is what counts these days.

I have had a wonderful week of joy and surprises. It's such a nice life. Paint splattered or not I wouldn't change a thing.

Just when you think things won't happen...

Yesterday Mike and I were on home improvement duty when the phone rang and a lovely woman from our town's newspaper, asked to do a story on me and the book. Could I? Would I? Oh, yes, I absolutely would and have it delivered on any kind of platter they would like.
I had contacted them months ago for the book launch party and hadn't heard anything. I try very hard to remember this isn't personal, people are busy and things get in the way. When I didn't hear from them I assumed they had things to do. It's business and sometimes in business, I don't always get what I want.
The truth is, after months, I simply forgot all about it. I didn't sit and sweat and toil over the notion I couldn't get in the paper. I didn't get angry and stop reading the paper because they done me wrong, I just forgot about it and got on with my life. I had never considered that to be a system to be utilized, but I am starting to think it may be, and here's why...
I have a vision board. Now before anybody starts ragging on me about it being hocus pocus or new age crap, just read. I have a picture of my book that I created on January 1, 2007. Doesn't count because that would have happened anyway? Bologna! I had to quit my job and had no other job to go and that is why I finished the book. Before I had finished it, it sat in a cupboard and I had forgotten about it.
Not convinced about the "forget about it" theory? I had sent Oprah an email about Christmas gifts on the cheap and forgot about it. I got back to my working on the book and was busily typing away about my manfriend when the phone rang. The producer put me on the "Favorite Things" show, the most highly anticipated show of the year.
You couldn't possibly still be cynical, but just in case...here is the biggest one of all. Years ago when I was single mother, I wrote a list of all the things I wanted in a man. I described him exactly the way I thought he should be including the way he looked. I also wrote down the big deal breakers for me and what I wouldn't be able to accept. I wrote down what my next marriage would look like, how we would be together, how we would live, how we would laugh. I put that list in purse and dated for a while noticing that every guy fell horribly short. Eventually I stopped dating and forgot about it. I am married to that guy! I am not just happily married, I am ecstatically married. When was the last time you heard someone say that. And the best part is, he feels the same way. No pretense, no hesitation, just honest love.
I forgot all about the newspaper and figured my book would sell about 1 a week for the duration of it's life span. Not exactly New York Times Best Sellers list, but I want to be happy however this turns out. I am choosing to be happy. Out of the blue, someone from the paper calls and I will be in next week's book section.
I am chipping away at my vision board and I am not working hard at it. I am putting my faith forward in a way that is easiest for me and forgetting about it. I am putting my wants out in the universe and letting God do all the heavy lifting. All I have to do is remember to say thank you. I think of all the "work" I have tried to do to accomplish things by myself, how that never works out the way I want and how easy it was to just ask.
Today I plan to add to the list. I want to jot a few things down and put it back in my folder and forget about it and see what wonderful things happen next.

For My Tom

Today 19 years ago I gave birth to the most beautiful child. He smiled within hours of coming into the world. Unsure if his smiles were intentional back then, I watched him try so hard to produce them as a tiny infant. He would follow my voice and the corners of his mouth would rise up and form a tiny smile as if to say, "I hear you, MaMa". I feel such deep gratitude that I can still see that smile. It is the very look from so many years ago. I adore celebrating Tom's birthday. I revel in the chance to rejoice in all the time he and I have had together. He is so much more than my imagination conjured him to be.

Happy Birthday, Tom. Today, like every day, you are my heart.

Long Time, No See...

The picture I picked for today is that of a claddagh. If you're Irish, you know that that the symbol of the two hands clasping the heart, topped by a crown stand for,"Gra, Dilseacht, Cairdeas", which translates from Gaelic as love, loyalty and friendship. Men and women brought up in Irish/American communities, such as my children were, receive a ring with this symbol. Depending on whether they are in a relationship is how one wears the ring. This ring is used as much for friendship as it is romantic commitment. The tradition of the claddagh is deep and meaningful for the Irish community. There is no greater bond than friendship.

Ever have one of those friends, where no matter how long you been apart, once you talk again it feels as though no time has passed? I haven't had the benefit of living close to my very best friends in years, so that accurately describes all my friendships. Even the dear friends I have nearby aren't people I see very often. Inevitably, our busy lives occupy all our time and days slip away, and before you know it, months have passed without so much as a phone call. We eventually catch up with each other and our friendship is renewed. My friends and I have an acute understanding that time is precious and we don't always have enough to go around. If the friendship takes a back seat then we have the security in it and ourselves to know that one day it will all come back. My life has always required that kind of understanding. Once I had my four children and then became a single mother, there was little or no time for social doings. If someone wanted to see me, they were the ones who had to make the trip or meet me at a practice field, or call me after the kid's bedtime. Even though, my life has settled into a wonderful pattern with my darling Michael and the kids are grown or nearly so, I find that I still have little time for social dalliances, due to home, hearth or work. My friends and I work hard at maintaining our relationships by respecting our limitations and protecting that which is uniquely ours. It's a kind, thoughtful way of keeping close without guilt, shame or remorse. For us, it is what it is. We spend our time, not lamenting how we haven't connected in a long time, but rather enjoying the time we have to the fullest. We honor each other's good intentions and let the rest go. I personally, am Irish Catholic, so I have no need for more guilt or shame, for that matter.
I have been lucky enough to catch up with a few friends I haven't talked to in a while. We got the chance to tell what is new, listen, appreciate each other and wish each other happy and safe. Afterwards, I always feel the same, so blessed to have these wonderful people around to enrich my life. We will never have an abundance of quantity, but the quality goes far beyond my imagination.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!

Fall is my personal, favorite time of the year. From now on until the day after New Years, I am in season.

Living in Houston has changed my expectation of what fall looks like, but I am still, in my height of glory when this time of year rolls in. When I lived in Ohio, this was the time when I would really shine. Fall has always been my favorite time, especially in the month of October. The leaves would change color and crunch beneath my feet, the air was crisp and cool, and the smells...How can one describe the smells of apples, cinnamon and pumpkins all bundled together in a whirl of autumn colors. Fall in the north is sight to behold. Even true Southerners, who adore their homeland, have to hand it to the northern fall foliage. There is nothing like it! It's living artwork, full of sensory riches. Soft, thick sweaters that absorb the curling smells of smoke from a camp fire. Hay rides through the woods, with the deep,brilliant colors of the leaves and the last sights of wildlife before the threat of snow.

I told you, I really like fall.

I have had to change a few things, since moving to the deep south. I do not get to see my beloved trees change colors, so we planted a blooming Argentinian silk floss tree that blooms great, beautiful pink blossoms in the fall. Sweaters are only worn in the extreme cold of January, when the weather dips down to a chilly 50 degrees (burr). So instead, I wear short sleeve shirts in rich fall colors. I have to buy apples at the store, rather than pick them in an orchard, the pumpkin display is right next to them rather than the trip to the pumpkin patch, and the smell of fall leaves actually can be purchased in a bottle and put into a diffuser, so that my imagination can carry me home, even if for only a moment.

Halloween, I must confess in some ways is better down here. There weather is much more stable, so we can keep our elaborate decorations out and it rarely rains on the precious little trick-or-treaters. Being a fan favorite, Halloween is the time when all my gorey,gruesome decor is pulled from many containers to adorn my yard and house with skulls, jackolanters,goblins and gallons of fake blood. Bodies are strewn from one end of the yard to the other, and I play haunted themes for a month. Every year, Michael allows me a single purchase to add to my collection. Last year it was a light up skeleton called Napoleon Blown-apart. His heart glowed red and beat in a lovely rhythm.

I am really looking forward to fall this year. It will be my last in my house, so in some ways it will be bitter sweet. My kitchen will be renovated and I will be cooking up fall favorites like apple pie, pumpkin bundt cakes, chili and fresh baked bread on football Sundays, hot cocoa later in the season garnished with cinnamon and whipped cream. Michael and I will be taking more walks, now that the heavy, oppressive heat is starting to fade and the air will cool down as the love bugs appear to let us Southerners know that the humidity is once again fading into the years end.

I love fall no matter where I live. I feel very lucky to be able to keep my adoration for all that is autumnal, anywhere I happen to be.

Home Sweet Home

I am looking for a "day job" right now to support my writing habit. I am having very little luck. The economy is bad for everybody, so I am trying to not take it personally. Being a retired nurse and a massage therapist with carpal tunnel syndrome has caused me to apply for jobs I haven't done in 25 years. I am sending applications out to grocery stores, drug stores, you know, the usual suspects. I am trying to beat out all the high school and college kids for jobs, that I am normally cheer leading for them to get. I am in direct competition for work with my son. So far he is the one with the edge. It's a double edged sword to watch your son beat you out for an interview and yet feel so proud of him at the same time.

I was thinking back on my "career". Most of my time was spent as a nurse in nursing homes. I had a real love/hate relationship with my job as a geriatric nurse. I loved the patients and the feeling of making a difference, but I hated the system I worked in and the constraints that strangled many of my and my co-workers attempts to do right by the people we were trying to take care of. Insurance companies, Medicare, and profit margins, all put very limiting guidelines on what we were able to accomplish. I went to work everyday for over 20 years feeling as if I were smashing my skull into a brick wall. I watched other nurses get tired and bitter and burn out. I watched as some did the least they could just to get by in order to have the strength to face another work day. I watched many give up and stop caring and punch their time card day in and day out to get to retirement. I had promised myself I would leave the field before I became the zombie nurse, just going through the motions. I promised my patients I would do my best and if I didn't have it to give anymore, I would step aside and let the younger generation, fresh and hopeful, take my spot. I left my field in 2007 after twenty two years. The money was just OK, even though I was making less than a dollar an hour for every year of experience I had. It had never been about the money, so the reason I decided it was time to go was bigger than my check. I knew it was time because I couldn't find the joy in my work anymore. When things got tough, about four times a week, I would sit in the cafeteria and sing to my patients who were nearly catatonic or paralyzed due to strokes and other horrendous ailments. My friends at work would eventually join me after they figured out I wasn't going to stop singing and if they didn't help me out, I would make them the focus of the musical tribute. I would dance down the hallways in order to keep myself awake for the sixteen hour shifts I pulled, so that my family wouldn't go belly up. I told jokes, made faces and ran around like a maniac, all to entertain the troops and myself. I did "crazy" things in order to keep my sanity.

Nursing homes are depressing even for those of us who chose to work in them. They smell of urine and decay, they are worn and old looking, like the residents that inhabit them. They aren't portrayed in sitcoms, because for most of us, they are the beginning of the end and there isn't anything funny about that. I felt the best name for a nursing home would be "The Last Resort".

My goal is to write full time, so I can go volunteer in one, rather than try and work in one again. I was right to retire when I did. I was tired and getting very cynical. As much as I loved working with older people, I felt defeated in the substandard care I was providing. The state mandated I, as an LPN, was able to take care of 50 people; 30 people, if they required increased care, such as Alzheimer patients in a lock-down unit. I tried to do what the state said I should be able to, but the truth was I, nor anybody else could pull that rabbit out of the hat much longer. I got out before I made too many mistakes, or caused harm because I was tired ands beaten. Being burned out, means at it's core, that the fight has gotten bigger than the warrior.

I was reminiscing with Michael about the jobs I have left behind. "It's really not much of career", I said feeling as though I have wasted much of my adult life on work that no one cares about. "You put your money where your mouth was. You did what a lot of us are afraid to do. This will come back to you in a good way." Michael, ever the cheerleader, tried to make me feel better about my choices in jobs. He's right , of course. The work I have done throughout my life is something I feel very proud of. I have given 110% in every position I have had. I have no idea where I will end up from here. I won't be a nurse, or a massage therapist, and I will continue to write not knowing if I will ever get to have another book published. The "day job"? Today, I will go out and talk to people, see what feels right and be grateful that I am still here, able bodied, and mostly of sound mind. I will shoot up a prayer to those I had cared for during my time in "the home" and see if they can intercede on my behalf. That may well be the good Karma I am looking for.

A Fool's Paradise

The saying goes, "Fools rush in where angels fear to tread." I get that. I have my time where I have and still rush head long in with the best intentions only to get squashed like a bug. And let's be honest here, I am no angel. But I can't help but wonder how lightly to tread, and where the line of being too cautious lies.

Some of the best things I have ever done or received was because I was the big dork who wasn't afraid to ask. Had I been cautious or tiptoed into the situation I would never have have gotten to do so many things. I freely and joyfully admit that I am a blurter, who throws myself out into the world trying to do things that are way out of my element. I go in with best intentions. Sometimes people recognize the good in me and sometimes, more rare than not, they don't. Either way I go in and at least try. Am I a fool for trying? Probably, but I still can't reconcile within myself that there has to be a detailed plan for every attempt. Sometimes I think I have to throw myself out into the wind and see what I come up with. Flying by the seat of your pants takes a certain amount of bravery, but more than that it takes stamina. Tenacity, I think is a virtue that is greater than patience. I never ask to receive patience when I pray, fearful that lessons will come my way that require me to have more of it. I feel as if I have plenty of patience and utilize it often. I don't pray for tenacity, either. I have that in spades, too. When I get an idea in my thick noggin, I am like a dog with a bone. What I pray for is opportunity. It is believed that good luck is the combination of opportunity meeting preparation. I tend to agree. Those who are prepared are the one's who get the jobs, houses and great deals. Everybody has a moment in their life when they missed out on something because they weren't prepared enough. It's good to be the boyscout and be at the ready for what may come your way.

But what about when opportunity knocks and you're naked, dripping in the hallway because you forgot your only towel at the beach and your only clean clothes are still in the washer down in the basement of your apartment building? What then? I say pull out your "The Emperor With No Clothes" face and go for it. Pretend you have the most beautiful outfit on and fake it until you make it. Have I done this? Yeah, not literally of course, but I have thrown open the door and let the cards fall where they may. Look, sometimes it's disastrous, truly, but sometimes I get something so great, I never knew I wanted. The disastrous parts are usually only painful to my ego, as if I flung open the door only to have Opportunity physically wince at my appearance. It stings, but so far I haven't died of embarrassment, yet.

For the big things in life, I think I need to try and be more angelic. My marriage, raising my kids, buying a house, speaking to people, even the writing I do here and in my book(s) all require a certain amount of tiptoeing with angelic feet. I also feel that if I hadn't been the fool who giggles inappropriately or rushed in to help someone or even grabbed onto an opportunity that was way beyond my current knowledge, I may have missed out on so much. Every time I say, "I am an author', I laugh and turn red. It seems ludicrous to me that I actually wrote a book, let alone the fact that so many people have come to me and said they liked it. I get "fan" mail from folks who have read the book and it inspired them to remember their own stories. The letters I have gotten are deeply touching and I can't express enough how grateful I am to get them. I plan to keep every one in a scrapbook with the rest of my book paraphernalia. Had I not thrown myself out into the publishing world I would have none of the wonderful, heartfelt experiences I have had in the last year. Although I had written forever, I had very little knowledge of the computer and spent much of the last year learning how to navigate the Internet. Still, the knowledge I have could be stored in a thimble. What I knew about the publishing world was even less. If I hadn't been such a fool, so naive as to believe this might all work out, I may have missed out on finishing the book I dreamed of writing.

I wish for all of you today- a fool's bravery to try the unexpected, a pair of angel wings that enable you to take flight into your own dreams and a pair of sturdy chukka boots in case it all turns to crap.

Teachable Moments

There have been many "teachable moments" in and around my household lately. Broken down, this means there has been plenty of failure to go around for everybody. I believe, failure has gotten a bad rap. I have noticed, at this point in my life, that somewhere along the way failure has become the thing where we dare not speak it's name. No one wants to admit failure, discuss failure or even allow for failure to be a part of our current existence. I find this puzzling, considering without failure there can not be true success. To fail is to perish. Hogwash! To fail means that someone, somewhere has attempted to, at the very least, make the attempt to do something different. Now, that is a change I can get behind, even when it doesn't go smoothly and falls flat. I will concede that if and when failure comes into play, that one must go back and revisit all the details of the attempt in order to figure out what needs to be tweaked or scrapped in order to find the success. In other words, admission is the first step to recovery after a failure.
At some point someone will surely "invent" a rehab for non-admitting failures. It will be a lovely grass covered hill, where inventors, students, teachers, teenagers and parents can all gather and learn how to say, " I really screwed the pooch on this one." There will be a large group hug and they will break into small groups to discuss how to rejoin the masses as someone who made a mistake.
We can call it "My Bad, Rehab".
I believe that "teachable moments" are not just so we can learn that we are not perfect and make mistakes, but rather a moment in time where we learn a great lesson that we should be trying to teach others , so they don't have to go through the same trials. We are in sense being asked to responsible for others. Making a mistake and realizing it is merely one singular part of a very large equation. The second part is damage control and the third is to attempt to pass the lesson on to anyone who can benefit from it. The "teachable" part isn't supposed to be just for our benefit but to benefit others. My 82 year old accountant says this,"Experience is not the best teacher. You don't have to get shot by a gun to realize it can kill you." He should know, he is retired homicide detective from Cleveland, OH. When he first told me this I was a single mother, raising my 4 kids, right after their father passed away. His point to me was to tread carefully and gain the benefit from someones mistakes in order to reduce the odds of me making my own. It was a light bulb moment for me. I took my pain out the closet and went in search of anyone who had suffered from grief of any kind. I was on the hunt for wisdom. By opening myself up to the idea that getting it wrong was much easier than getting it right, I allowed for other women, mostly, to tell about their experiences as being grief stricken. I went from being completely alone, to grateful that things had not been ever so much worse. The gift was they were able to learn from their experiences and teach me how to avoid the same pitfalls.
Back to what is happening now in my life and the lives of the ones I love. I am watching mistakes being made. I am making some rather large mistakes myself. But I am also watching young adults in my life take responsibility for their own mishaps and reach out to try and help their peers from falling down a similar rabbit hole. They are actively passing on their own wisdom, freely, without judgement, in order to help anyone they can. It is a beautiful thing to watch, as these new grown ups rally around each other in their own community guarding their friends and family.
My mistake was thinking I hadn't been heard, so I did what I had always done. I became the hammer and looked at everything as if it were a nail. I decided that I would be heard or else. I ranted my one way conversation, not noticing the look on my children's faces as I squashed their opinions. I had witnessed some of their mistakes and thought I had the right to take control. I was WRONG!!!!!!! Once I settled my ass down, I actual heard them tell the lessons they had learned and that they were in the process of trying to make amends and find a new way. There have been things of recent time where my child made large mistakes and needed to be called out and I did just that. My intent at first was to be right. After a brief period, I knew that just being right wasn't going to cut it. I need to be open and understanding too. My child was failing and if I wasn't careful, the "teachable moment" was going to be that you are never forgiven for making a mistake. I am encouraging my child to tell his story to anyone who can learn from it. It is the only thing that takes a failure and turns it into an attempt to be better.