Jan 10, 2013 |
Dear Mom,
You know I love you. You know, next to my daughter, you’re the most important person to me on this earth. I love that we are Three Generations of Desert Women: strong, durable. Louis L’Amour would be the first to praise your character. How tough you are, how strong and resourceful and faithful and determined. You are our rock, our foundation, our example. You’ve taught us how to forge our way through instead of turning back to the comfort of mediocrity.
And I want to be just like you when I grow up. And I want to be you for my daughter.
The other day, two lovely old ladies came into the office. Let’s call them Beatrice and Victoria. They were wonderful. I watched them drive up in an older but well-cared for vehicle. The driver carefully stepped out and helped the other from the passenger seat. They slowly, gently walked up to the sidewalk and stepped into the office, laughing at how age has slowed their bodies but not their minds.
I knew instantly they were special. They were friends, good friends. Perhaps the best. They might even have been sisters; they looked similar and age had drawn them more alike in later years. Their crows’ feet were in the same place, their lips crinkled in the same way.
Victoria, the younger of the two, helped Beatrice into a chair then sat in the one next to her. They introduced themselves and it was then I realized Beatrice was the 92-year-old mother to 75-year-old Victoria.
They needed changes to their insurance policy. But they didn’t want one to incur the loss of discount by making the change. I offered several compromises, and as they sat at my desk discussing their options I could only think, “I want to be them.”
These wonderful women finished each others’ sentences. They smiled and laughed at conversations only they were aware of. And in the few minutes they were in my presence, I was enthralled with the closeness they exhibited. Their friendship, their care, and their attitude toward the world. These are two women who made it through many hard times, and didn’t let it get them down. These are two women who clung together and still manage to laugh at life.
Promise me, in another 40 years or so, we’ll still be just like them. Promise me we’ll laugh at these hard times, learn our lessons, and laugh out loud. A lot.
Promise me, when I’m older then than you are now, that we’ll still be best friends. And walk into someone’s office and make them smile.
And want to be just like us.
With much love, hugs, and laughter,
Your loving daughter,
~Me
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Jan 8, 2013 |
December 14, 2012:
I received an email tonight. The kind that makes your heart flutter and your wings spread. And your stomach churn.
By the time you read this, it will all be over. Or, rather… it will just be beginning.
The local newspaper wants to interview me about my writing. About my Blog, my Business, and my Book. I already texted Megan. What wonderful timing. Just two days ago we agreed we’ve been stagnant too long and it’s time to get back to writing our Series. You long-time readers know what a long, hard year this has been for so many reasons. It’s nice to get back on track. Megan and I seem to do our best writing with a Starbucks or Denny’s in winter.
I’m waiting for the reporter to get back with me. I emailed her back with my work schedule. I contacted a few readers and friends, as the reporter asked for input from others.
And I’m trying to think of something profound to say when she interviews me. Something that will make the newspaper reader pay attention and say, “Wow. This Girl is goin’ places.”
But all I can think of is… it feels like I’m succeeding. And it scares me.
I’m used to not quite making it. I’m used to reaching too high, and falling a little short. I’m used to my little world staying little.
And all the while I cry for broader horizons.
Well. It seems the cosmos is listening to what I’m not saying.
The next morning:
I couldn’t sleep well last night. My mind is filled with so much. I have to clean the house. (So thankful Dot is now on winter break and can help with that!). What recipe can I give the paper to print?
Mostly, I’ve realized this: it’s out of my hands. I’m used to being the writer, not written about. I have no control over what other people say, or what the paper prints. And that jostles me out of my comfortable excitement.
In the past few weeks, my world continues to shift, grow, change. Aside from the writing, life in general is more amazing than it’s been in quite a while. I have a sense of confidence, of fundamental foundation that this is the way things are supposed to be. There’s no question mark in my mind causing me to second-guess my actions or my goals.
It’s hard to not be able to write everything out for the Blog, but some things are better kept for the journal. Still… life is getting pretty exciting right now.
December 25, 2012:
Merry Christmas.
The article was supposed to be printed today. It wasn’t. What a terrible disappointment. I woke up earlier than I usually do on this day and stole away into the dark sunrise looking for copies of the paper.
There were none to be found. Thankfully, it’s delivered with my mother’s regular newspaper subscription. That matters less than the beautiful sunrise I alone experienced. The only one on Main Street, driving east. The clouds building behind the mountains, pushing the cold blue sky into light.
On Christmas Day, all skies should be dark and stormy. And peaceful.
The Reporter tells me the article will be printed next Tuesday instead.
New Year’s Day.
No article.
While I’d love to revel in disappointment, which is not to say I’m not disappointed (I really am!), I’m also filled with a strong sense of this is the way it’s supposed to be. For whatever reason, I need to tell my friends and readers who have been contacted by the Reporter that I can’t express my awe and gratitude at their support and encouragement but their input is still unknown to the World At Large.
For now.
Once again I’m being told the article is being pushed back a week. In the meantime, I’ve been putting great effort into promoting my Kickstarter campaign, working on my Meal Plan for January (I’m so infatuated with WinCo Foods right now!), and talking more with Megan about the next chapter in our series. Dragons are such fun creatures!
Jan. 4, 2013
The furnace and/or thermostat isn’t working again.
Just another notch on the disappointment belt.
The funny thing is, even with all the stress of not being able to make ends meet and now needing at least a new thermostat and more likely, an expensive part for the furnace… I still feel optimistic. I knew for a few months that January would be an extremely difficult month to get through, financially. I didn’t think the cosmos would throw the dice and add more “fun” to the mix. But that’s the way it is… some people, like me, just naturally attract this kind of… roller-coaster.
And I’m okay with it. Because as tough as things have been, and will be, we have always managed to find our way through to the other side. Always. When we feel like Job, we know God hasn’t forgotten us. And someday, soon, His blessings will fall upon us and we’ll be better than before.
So as much as I want to be disappointed with everything… all I am right now, with a broken furnace, is cold.
Jan. 5, 2013
I’m tired. I’m. Just. Tired.
I couldn’t sleep because I kept hearing the furnace turn on. I’m not used to it working so efficiently, and I’m listening for it to malfunction. It hasn’t, of course. But it’s been so cold lately that now my car is having trouble starting… well, if it’s not one thing it’s another.
I used to not be the kind of person who would lose sleep over worries. But this last year has changed me. And with my eczema screaming from my arms, legs, and now my hands, I feel even more like Job with his afflictions.
I’ll be glad when this winter season is over.
January 7, 2013:
Is this The Night Before?
The article is supposed to be printed tomorrow. I think it will be: the editor asked the Reporter to ask me for a photo. Dot and I had a mini photo session this weekend. She’s so gifted with a camera. We have the same camera, and in the same room with the same lighting, her photos always turn out better. I absolutely love counting on her skills for this.
She said she didn’t need to be in the photo with me. I told her she did. It’s so very important that she be in the photo, in the paper with me. She’s my inspiration, the very reason I started cooking better meals for less. She’s my first, loudest, and longest cheerleader. She has to be in the paper with me.
I just got off the phone with Mom. I’ll be heading over to her place early tomorrow. She gets the paper but I don’t. So I’ll stop in early on my way to work and hopefully the article will be there.
Jan. 8th 5:23 a.m.
I always liked Tuesdays best.
I woke up earlier than usual. Before the alarm clock, even. I have no idea if I’m in the paper or not. I think I need this to boost my Kickstarter campaign. I’m just over 30% funded, which means I still have 2/3 of the way to go. And the pre-ordering/fundraising ends February 1.
So I’m a little nervous.
The article’s not online. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. But I honestly wonder if it’s in today’s paper. If it’s not, this post gets delayed for yet another week. And the Campaign needs a booster shot through some other media.
If it is… I guess I’d better learn to not be afraid of success. Even in small doses.
To quote one of my favorite movie lines: “Baby steps, Bob. Baby steps.”
Well… I guess it’s time to get up and find out what kind of day it will be.
6:55 a.m.
It’s gonna be a good day.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote.
Jan 7, 2013 |
It’s funny how sometimes I get an idea for a post but am not always sure how to write it out clearly. When those moments happen, I often write a note and keep it nearby on my writing table. Or I just let it shift around in my head, mixing with other words and experiences until, like a snowball rolling downhill, it picks up the momentum it needs from its surroundings and ends up larger than life.
This is that sort of post. For nearly a week, I’ve been struck with how often the World around us asks, “How are you?” But it wasn’t until today that someone really stopped to hear my answer.
We are so often prepared for the “I’m fine,” that when we ask the question we don’t expect an honest answer. And because it’s never expected, we never answer when it’s asked of us.
It’s a standard conversation.
“How are you?”
“I’m fine; thanks for asking.”
But how often is it authentic?
There are so many people who have so much to say. Who just need someone to talk to, to listen. What a person portrays on the outside is rarely what’s going on on the inside.
Wouldn’t it be marvelous if every time someone asked you, “How are you?” they really wanted to know? And if you offered the trite response, they’d push just a little to let you know they’re sincere?
My friend Wendy did just that for me today. Certainly, I hint about life’s downside here on the Blog. But I don’t really let you go there: into that Room where I keep my deep dark scarred secrets, the parts of me that cry out in fear and loneliness and anger and confusion.
I would love to scream it into my keyboard. But that’s not really me. And it does a disservice to expose myself in such a way. Discretion is always the greater part of valor, but that doesn’t mean we should lock ourselves away from the World, or hide or true selves from it. Still, it’s hard to open up about the real stuff. Even when others express their care.
Unfortunately, there’s a time and a place for everything, and we’re taught at an early age that the standard Q&A is, only, “How are you?” and “I’m fine.” The End.
Societal boundaries tell us crying in public isn’t always welcome. But neither is jumping for joy. We’re subdued into letting those critical moments pass us by: those moments that can make the difference between saying, “I’m fine,” and meaning, “I’m fine!”
I’ve chosen to stretch those boundaries. I choose to look someone in the eye, and wait for the answer. Just like Wendy, who looks. And waits. And asks again. “How are you, really?” with no presumption over a pat or trite answer. She asks for truth, and expects it. And lets me get away with nothing less.
I want to be like Wendy. And so I’m asking. And waiting. And listening. I’ve found that listening to others takes my own focus off myself and gives me a different perspective.There is nothing so terrible that I can’t get through it. No joy so private it isn’t made better by telling those closest to me. And when I listen, I learn more about others. About humanity. About what makes the World Go ‘Round. The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.
My college roommate posted this on her Facebook wall tonight ~
If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else’s, we’d grab ours back.
How true is that? We think we’re unique. And we are. But problems aren’t. Struggles aren’t. Even joys and excitements aren’t.
It’s okay to share our life with those around us. As long as we let them share theirs.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
