Mar 15, 2013 |
It’s TGIF time. It always seems to work out that when I’ve been blog-absent and finally have much to say, it’s a TGIF post. I like that. Blog and I, we work well together.
And believe me, I have oh-so-much to say. The first is, I’m learning how to not say everything. As a writer, I’m a bit cavalier with my words. That’s not always a good thing. I see a story everywhere, but that doesn’t mean I should tell it. Some stories aren’t mine to tell. Others are mine, but not worth telling. Still more are shared stories, and to be told in different avenues than the Blog. I’m finding a Magic Filter that makes it okay to write… and okay to not write.
I’m making much better use of my daily organizer. Not only am I keeping track of appointments and writing assignments, I’m also keeping track of accomplishments. “Ordered mugs.” “Writer’s Group 10 a.m.”. “ICL Assign #4”. These are only a few of the entries for this month. It’s my goal to have at least one entry each day relating to writing. So far, so good.
Now that the Cookbook is in production and I have an actual inventory, it’s time to work on production of my next project. A Study on the Ten Commandments is a work I’m humbly proud of. The writing is finished, the cover is designed, and yes, there’s a Kickstarter campaign for pre-selling and raising funds for publishing.
Ten Commandments Cover
My newest writing project is half done. Broken Girl and Other Stories of Redemption: A Collection of Parables, Poetry & Prose. I’m very excited about this one for many reasons. Even in my journals, I’ve written creatively. This is a collection of moments in the past two decades as I stretched my wings, flown the coop, and raised my own family. Lessons learned and failings felt. It will also feature photographs from my big brother, Mark. His photography skills are astounding, and last year he gave me carte blanche to use them as I see fit for this publication. I was so happy to call him this week and let him know this project is finally under way.
Broken Girl cover
I don’t know how the entire project will come together, but I intend to use this beautiful photo as the cover. I call it “Desert Beauty” and I’ve used it on my Blog before. Of course, he has such a plethora of nature photos that by the time I’m ready to produce the book, I may change the cover… oh, who am I kidding?! I love this photo and I’ll use it nine ways to Sunday if I can!
Oh, sure, I could complain about my nagging fears and personal woes. But, as I so often used to say, “Everybody’s got something, y’know?” The specifics of my trials and tribulations don’t matter. The history of how I got here is insignificant. All that matters is the goal, and whether I reached for it. That, in itself, is a great accomplishment.
I have much to write over the next week:
- My views on the Vatican and Pope Francis.
- Joshua Tree blooms.
- How to score birthday freebies.
- Philippians 4:13.
- My Morning at the DMV and Why Appearances Aren’t What They Seem.
I may not get to it all in the next week. But you know what? I’m okay with that. Because I’m also learning to not sweat the small stuff… and, as Pastor Tom often says, “It’s all small stuff.”
Whatever this week brings your way, Be Blessed!
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Jan 23, 2013 |
As I start this, I just know it will end up on Shell’s “Pour Your Heart Out” Page. I’m thankful for her keeping that weekly link up open so I can spill my emotional vomit and not be the only one doing it. Misery loves company, right?
Okay, so it’s not all miserable. But it’s a lot of what I can’t, or won’t, normally write. Today’s post is about life. And death. And a few things in between.
The last week has been a mixture of endurance, sorrow, mourning, and sickness. The details don’t really matter. My Blog friend, Jenn, nailed it when she said this is “vague blogging”. Not so much a fan of teasing y’all… but there really are some things I just can’t say. Ever.
Except today I’m sad. I’m just utterly sad and tired and worn out… and, of course, hopeful. Because regardless of how bad things are (and I thought they were bad a month ago… boy was that just a prelude!), nevertheless, I’m still loved. And sheltered. And cared for. And breathing. So it’s okay.
That’s the part I’m choosing to remember. The parts that turn the bad stuff into Something Good. That even my worst is someone else’s best. I’m blessed, I’m rich, I’m healthy. Even when it doesn’t seem like it.
And I could sit here giving myself a Pity Party. I choose not to. That doesn’t mean I’m not tired or worn out or feeling down. It just means I can still smile about it. And if all I know is only that, it’s still enough.
I can’t even say life goes on… for some, it doesn’t.
It’s completely strange yet comforting that most of my tears fell at the end of FLASHPOINT. It wasn’t just the end of this wonderful series that got me. It was the catalyst that allowed me to face the pains inside. It gave me permission to cry. It was a bit confusing… and a bit cathartic.
It was symbolic of so much. The highs and lows of the last week. The beginning of some things… and the end of others.
And then there are the stories I can’t tell, because they’re not mine to tell. The stories that leave a pain in my soul that isn’t easily healed. So I hold on to hope that this, too, shall pass.
Dot is under the weather tonight. I’m hoping she just needs a good night’s sleep. We’ve been house-hopping to Mom’s for a few days because the furnace is out. Again. The fifth time since Christmas. And it’s finally been given its last legs, a new one has been ordered. It was suggested that we get a carbon monoxide detector “just in case”. While it hasn’t sounded an alarm yet, there’s that keyword yet. I’ll be sleeping less peacefully until the new one is installed on Saturday.
We’ve been intermittently staying at home in the cold, staying at mom’s in the warmth, and thankfully, the furnace is working just enough tonight for us to stay home comfortably. I expect it to go out again tomorrow, as that seems to be its pattern. At least the cats are happy to have us home. But the turmoil hasn’t been good for Dot, and now she’s feeling ill. I hope it’s not the flu. She has so much on her plate, that’s the last thing she needs.
And a Momma never stops worrying about her babies, no matter how old they are. My mom and I are evidence enough of that!
I’m waiting to exhale when the Cookbook Project is finished. I don’t understand how I could believe in something so completely and not be successful at it. But that glimmer teases me. It’s not over yet. One more week. I have one more week. And, as the last week has evidenced, anything can happen. Even the unexpected. Be it good or bad. I believe it will be Good. But getting there is terribly stressful.
Mostly, tonight, I can’t shake the feeling of sadness over one small thing:
I never hugged Grandpa Jack.
He’s not my Grandpa. He’s the father-in-law of my dear friend. She’s been a motherly-mentor to me for nearly two decades. We were at their house for Thanksgiving, and the whole family was around. And when it came time to leave, I was selective in my affections. And I awkwardly never hugged him. Because after knowing the man for 18 years, I still didn’t know him. And I was embarrassed by my shyness. So we left. It was the best time we’d ever had together at the Great Turkey Shoot. I told myself I’d hug him at Christmas.
But I didn’t see him again.
And now he’s gone.
I never hugged Grandpa Jack. And that horrible thought haunts me. Because now I never will.
I don’t know what to do with all this pain… except sleep on it and know that tomorrow I’ll wake a bit more refreshed. A bit more warm. A bit more optimistic.
Because Shell let me get it out of my system. Sometimes, all we need is a friend to say, “How are you, really?” and mean it. Even if it’s just on a Blog.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote.
Help me to reach my funding goal before February 1st!
Just click on the photo below and click “BACK THIS PROJECT” to pre-order YOUR copy of The Unemployment Cookbook, Second Edition!
Sep 28, 2012 |
I have a huge affinity for Mary Tyler Moore; especially the Mary Tyler Moore Show.
I was born in Minnesota, but soon we moved to Michigan. When we returned in my youth for a cousin’s wedding, Dad took great pride in driving us through the intersection at Nicollet Mall and 7th Avenue. I remember being a young girl in the back of the car as he pointed out the exact spot where Mary stood and tossed her hat: a sign of confident independence. I was enthralled. (She’s one of the reasons I love hats so much!)
I grew up with the Mary Tyler Moore Show. Even at a young age, she was someone to recognize: Mary Richards, a single woman. Mary Richards, a career woman. Mary Richards, on her own. She was unlike any other female character on TV. She wasn’t a doting mother or tender wife or the sidekick to any man. She was her own woman. She was successful at it. And she inspired me.
I’d spent years in Michigan, then California. But Minnesota still drew me in. So in my early 20’s, I took a big breath and wrote my Uncle Roger to ask if I could live with him and go to college there. He said yes, and I quickly enrolled at North Hennepin Community College.
You know that opening scene of Mary driving into Minneapolis to start a new life? Yeah. That was me. You know that Lake she walks around in the winter? Been there, done that.
Roger was also a writer. The day I arrived, he had my room set up for me with a NHCC sweatshirt (which I still have in a protective clothes cover); yellow Pee Chee folder, several pens, pencils, and other “student supplies”. He must have had so much fun shopping for me. He also picked up a U of M Gophers fleece throw blanket that I still have; it’s also a favorite.
Because he worked the night shift and I schooled during the days, we mostly only saw each other on the weekends. We would get up early Saturday morning, walk a mile to the local bakery shop where he’d buy us coffee and donuts and we’d get caught up. He always had a bear claw and I always had a Bavarian Creme-Filled donut. He would always say, “I don’t know how you can eat that. They give me the heebie-jeebies.” That’s okay… until a few months ago, I couldn’t understand how he could eat New England Clam Chowder.
Being that close to Minneapolis was a great experience for me. I reconnected with cousins. With culture. With four seasons.
But it was still lonely. I loved my Uncle, but our arrangement was that I would only stay until I found a place of my own, so after Christmas, I moved out. It was my first foray into self-sufficiency, and I was rarely good at it. I often called home to my mom for help, advice, support. I still relied on my weekly Bakery Walk with Roger. But what really did me in was “The Blizzard of the Century”. My second winter, 1991-92, my roommate insisted I wasn’t going to work or school. I insisted I was. Until she made me look out the window. We were on the second floor of a townhouse. The roof next to us held over three feet of snow.
It was the day before Hallowe’en. We didn’t see dry ground until Memorial Day. Needless to say, when I visited home for Christmas and it was 72 degrees outside, and my cat professed her undying affection for me, and my family said how much they missed me… I transferred home to Cal State.
I felt like a failure. I let my Uncle down. I let my family down. I let my college professor down. A scholarship had been created just for me, to join a prestigious writing community in Minneapolis. And I chose to run home instead.
Most of the time I have no regrets. Except when I watched The Mary Tyler Moore Show. She made it. She was alone, and she succeeded. She was awesome. It always made me miss Minneapolis and my Uncle and my missed chances.
In the past four months I started watching the show again. The first few times, I couldn’t get through the opening sequence without crying. Without thinking of Uncle Roger, and Dad, and how they’re both gone. Without wondering how different things would have been if I’d had the courage to stay. This summer, Mary Tyler Moore made those voids in me seem bottomless.
I had to remind myself that things always work out the way they’re supposed to. I’m truly not sorrowful for choosing to come home to California. My family is here. Dot was born and raised here. So many wonderful adventures have taken place here.
A few months ago, I was overwhelmed. Over a year of unemployment. The death of Dot’s boyfriend. Life struggles. Personality conflicts.
And I just really missed my Uncle. It seemed everywhere I turned, I had reminders of him. Finding old letters. Framing old postcards. Inspired by his Logo. Developed quite a taste for his favorite soup. I miss him.
And I was tired. Tired of all the junk. Tired of being worn out.
Tired of feeling sorry for myself.
I took a deep cleansing breath. Literally. And turned on the TV. Lo and behold, The Mary Tyler Moore Show was just starting. And it actually happened to be the first episode.
I don’t understand what happened in that moment. All I can tell you is something clicked. I realized I had a choice to not feel sorry for myself. As my friend Mary tells me, to get off the Pity Pot.
And suddenly instead of a midlife crisis full of tragedies and missed opportunities, I once again associated with Mary Tyler Moore. Danny told me I have spunk. Megan encouraged my affinity.
I’m not in Minneapolis. I’m not a successful career woman (by the World’s standards).
But I have potential. I have a Cookbook. I have goals. I’m gonna find me a blue knit beret and a #10 Vikings jersey. Lots of them.
Because I’m not finished.
In fact, I’m just beginning. My life isn’t a sad, half-over has-been. My life a fresh, new, potential. Every breathing moment brings new opportunities. I’m willing to step out, to get into the world, to throw my hat into the rink.
And I’ve decided:
I’m Gonna Make It, After All.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Sep 25, 2012 |
What if I’m Not Good Enough? This question haunts me every day. Why haven’t I achieved my dreams, my goals? What if I have the wrong dreams? What if I’m not good enough to accomplish that which I live for?
Everyone says, “All things in good time,” or some sappy rendition of that sentiment. But what if that’s not it? What if the reason is not because it’s not the right time, but rather, because I’m the wrong person?
Why do I run from the Open Door instead of going through it? Why am I hesitant to grab the Golden Ring? No one else can stand up on my Merry-Go-Round and get it for me. It’s my Merry-Go-Round.
I’m well aware that I keep going ‘round in circles; I keep rising and falling. But I keep rising again. And my reach is getting higher. My strength is getting better. I’m learning which beasts bring me down, and which horses hold me high.
So why do I see in me the failures that others notice? Why, instead, do they not notice my successes? And then it dawned on me: My successes are private. My failings are public.
When times are difficult, I vent. I ask for help. I call my VIP and claim a Girl Date at Starbucks. But when I succeed, I don’t like to brag. I don’t toot my own horn. I wait for others to notice. And sometimes they don’t.
Sometimes I celebrate in silence.
Sometimes I get stuck in my ways and consider others’ opinions as just that: opinions. Suggestions that I don’t have to follow. Ideas that I don’t have to pay attention to. I’m stubborn that way. I get it from my father.
I know failure is a part of the process. I have to discover what doesn’t work in order to come up with the Winning Formula. But sometimes I know people don’t see that part. They see the failings. And they keep seeing the failings. And refuse to see me grow.
They see the Baby Steps, not the sprint, not the marathon. They see the Stumbles, not the Standing.
And it hurts. It hurts because I’m so much more than what I used to be. I’m not saying others are keeping me down. But they aren’t helping me up, either. These are not people I can dismiss, either. You know who I’m talking about: sometimes we all have to do a little closet-cleaning and get rid of the things (people) that no longer fit, that are basically useless to us. They may still be in good condition and beneficial to others, or they may just be so worn out they’re no good for anything. These are not those people. These are people I treasure, adore, and still need. Extended family. Church friends. People I admire and want to share my life with.
But some of them have Blinders on. And I’ve done nothing to remove them. I see them only when I’m needy, only when I’m hurting, only when I’m alone and lonely.
No wonder they haven’t seen me succeed. I won’t let them.
It’s time to Change the Game. It’s time to scream it from the rooftops and not be ashamed. It’s no small task to reach a great goal, and I’m choosing not to hide it.
I am Good Enough. And I’m only getting better.
You can call me a narcissist if you want to, but someone has to be my Number One Cheerleader. It may as well be me… right?!
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Mar 20, 2012 |
It’s 10:30 p.m. and I just now realized I don’t have a post ready for tomorrow.
Well, what can I say? I’ve been busy today.
I played the Wii.
I ate birthday cake.
I snuggled with my cat.
I spent a lot of back-and-forth with my graphic designer for the new company logo.
I watched some TV.
I ate pizza.
I fed the birds.
And I had a friend do a drive-by hugging.
Dot cleaned the house in such a wonderful fashion. She really did herself in. Because now I know she’s totally capable of this kind of cleaning. *Insert evil-Mom laugh here.*
And I planned my grocery list. For my dehydrator. I’ll start with apples and bananas. And grapes. Then move onto tomatoes and beef jerky. And once spring truly arrives, I’ll play with herbs. I might even try some potatoes.
I’ve crossed a lot off my To-Do List lately; but I’ve also added to it. It seems that’s always the case. Just when I think I’m done, there’s another task. Even when I’m close to finishing a project, I find a reason to not quite get there. It’s a little infuriating.
But this year, so far (and it’s only March!!), I’ve been doing better at finishing what I start. Little by little, I’m learning what it feels like to set more than one goal, and take it one step at a time; and cross that finish line one foot in front of the other.
I’m also learning that there are many different ways to reach goals. And success has many definitions.
I figure as long as I’m breathing, and learning, and living, I’m doing okay.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
