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.
Feb 2, 2012
My daughter is 17. Practically a Straight-A Student. Senior in high school. Tall, slender, beautiful, natural blond. You hate her already, dontcha?
And for the past 8 months, she’s had her Driver’s Permit. She’s driven side roads, main roads, and freeways… just not in my car. Just not with me.
Her grandparents take her out driving once or twice a week. Her very first behind-the-wheel excursion was taking Grandpa’s truck through the dry river bed. Talk about fun! She’s been hooked on the beauty of trucks ever since.
They tell me she’s a good driver. They tell me she knows all the safety concerns with seatbelts and mirrors and slowing down for emergency vehicles. They tell me she does really, really good. They tell me.
But I’m, well, me. And I’m not a big proponent of inexperienced people driving my car. I guess I was just hoping for the day I would wake up and she’d be a driver. I didn’t think there would be this in-between time. I didn’t think while she’s behind the wheel she’d still be learning how to be behind the wheel.
Now, there’s a reason that years ago my doctor recommended I stick to decaf… yah. I’m not a big winner on the whole “keep it calm” game. But, she is my daughter. And I love her. And someday I’m gonna want her to run to the store for a gallon of milk or ice cream or something… so I figure she should actually be able to drive.
As anxious as I can be at times, my daughter is the complete opposite. She is controlled. Cool. Clear-headed. She would never say the kind of words that accidentally slip out of my mouth when brake lights appear out of nowhere or someone cuts her off. She is so not like me.
But every time she’s asked to be behind the wheel, I wince. It’s not an unreasonable request. But I see potential for disaster. Not of her making, of course. And since it’s my job as her parent to always, always, ALWAYS protect her, the answer is simple: “Not today.”
The reasons are as varied as there are words in the English language: I’m too tired to pay attention. I have a headache. You overslept and we’re in a hurry. I overslept and we’re in a hurry. I’ve had too much coffee this morning and my heart can’t take it.
No. You can not drive my car. Not now. Maybe later.
I’m doing better with the “later” thing. Last week I let her drive almost a mile from school to the Post Office. I had to explain to her that Main Street was out of the question. I’m sure she’s a good driver. But my car can’t take it. If my car is going to fail, I’d rather it be with me behind the wheel so she doesn’t get scarred for life.
I’m only thinking of you, Dot…
But today came the day I’d been promising her for months. I backed the car out of the garage then asked if she wanted to drive to school. Her eyes almost got wide with excitement, and then she contained herself. Sure, she nodded with a smile. A nice, composed, in-control smile. And we traded seats.
Her CD was still playing. Usually I tell her to turn it off so it doesn’t distract her, but she told me it helped her feel better. So I let her listen. And drive.
Out the driveway. Don’t back up so far, you’re practically in the neighbor’s yard. Up to the corner. Now, remember: just because we don’t have a Stop Sign doesn’t mean you can zoom into the turn. Down to the crossroad, up a turn, make a left, past the school. Children! Children! And finally, on to Main Street.
And while I was full of advice, my voice was calm. I never clenched my fists. My feet didn’t reach for an imaginary brake pedal on my side. My heart never missed a beat. She did great! Even when a red truck swerved and decided to suddenly stop, on Main Street, right in front of her.
She. Did. Great.
She was able to carry on a complete conversation, which is more than I can say about myself. [Want me to say “yes” without paying attention? Talk to me while I’m driving.]
We talked about my writing, and the characters from my book series. She was amazingly attentive. She did all the right things to take the focus off her driving and just be in the car. She kept it as real as a regular trip. The music. The chatter. She never rocked out. Never got loud. Never changed lanes without looking. Slowed ahead of time. Never raced the engine. She acted as if she’d been driving for quite a while. She. Was. Confident. If she was in Psychology 101, I’d tell her teacher to give her an “A”.
And when we got to school, I got out to take over and she called out, “Wait!”
Before I could get into the car, she ran over and gave me a hug.”I love you, Momma,” she smiled.
And I knew. She may be growing up. But she’ll still always be My Little Girl.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
