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It Could Be Worse
I have a head cold. My car has been giving me problems since it broke down on me in August. A portion of our back fence has fallen down and my twelve year old lab keeps escaping from our yard. I know I used to, until life’s ultimate challenge presented itself the day the police officer showed up at my door on July 6, 2000. Every problem pales in comparison. Since then, every time life throws a curve ball at me, I play a little game with myself. I call it, “It could be worse..” So I have a head cold. It could be worse. It could be pneumonia. My car keeps breaking down on me. It could be worse. I could have no car. Our fence is broken and the dog keeps getting out. It could be worse. At twelve years of age, she could be gone, forever. And so on. Very early on in my grief, I met a woman whose only child committed suicide. She sat in front of me, sharing her journey through navigating the turbulent grief waters, and I listened. I thought to myself if she could live, truly live, after losing her only child under such circumstances, I certainly could. I learned then that it could be worse.
The Measure of our Words Our son Ian has introduced me to the comedy Modern Family, and we both crack up watching it together. Last week’s episode featured the little four year old Lily dropping the F-bomb at a family wedding, during a quiet moment in the ceremony. It was pretty hysterical, yet I could relate to both of the parents reactions. One dad (yes there are two) giggled at the inappropriate verbiage spilling out of his daughter’s mouth, the other was horrified. I gave up swearing over 20 years ago simply because I knew that if my children heard those words from me, they would likely be using them too. Damn. During a recent visit to our local library, the manager, a lovely lady named Mary, came up and shared a story with me. She told me of a conversation she had with Felipe, the Rotary sponsored exchange student that we had hosted as a family for four months. Felipe had just returned from a trip with other exchange students to Disney World. When Mary asked how the experience was, his response was “It was AWESOME,” apparently with the same inflection and excitement I exude when offering this phrase. I walked out of the library feeling pretty good about myself. Just knowing that Felipe, who was in our lives for just a short while, had picked up on my enthusiasm and passion, and claimed my words as his own. And that Mary, as a valuable member of our Claire’s Day organization, would associate the phrase with me. I know that both Ian and our daughter Kyle have heard these words come out of my mouth on a regular basis, for they truly are. AWESOME. I’m grateful my words have made an impact. And that Kyle and Ian never dropped the F-bomb in my presence. I’m not sure whether I would have giggled or been horrified. Empathy Lesson from Nature
My daughter Kyle and I were playing a game of Rummikub in our front living room recently. The late afternoon winter’s sun was shining through the bay window, our chocolate lab, Ginger, languishing in its rays being cast on the Oriental rug at our feet. Suddenly, a loud thumping sound reverberated against the window. Ginger scrambled up, filled with a curiosity belying her age. We both jumped up too, knowing full well that a bird had flown into the expansive window, fooled by the sun dappled reflection. In the naked branches of the bushes at the base of the window sat a little chickadee. It was upright, but motionless. Our reaction was similar, and almost in unison, said, “Awwee…the little bird is going to die.” As we watched, hoping for the best for this sweet little creature, what we witnessed was a wonderful lesson of empathy from nature. Almost immediately after the bird hit the window and fell into the bushes, three other chickadees flew to the same bush. They chirped away at their flying mate, as if to encourage the bird to revive itself. Slowly, the bird moved its head, back and forth, to and fro to her companions. Just when it seemed that she was sinking further into the bush, she flicked her wings, and managed to fly off to the nearby pine tree, her friends escorting her. Kyle and I just looked at each other in amazement. Although the whole episode lasted only a few minutes, it spoke volumes to me. Just as I’ve been blessed to have friends to lend empathy when life has presented its various tragedies so too did this little chickadee. I’ve also had friends chirp away at me when I’ve almost given up, and flown along with me once life has gotten back in balance. I hope for the same for you.
Inspiration Pile
The term “slush pile” is used to describe the huge mound of manuscripts on an editor’s desk, floor, walls and window sill. Or, at least that is how I envision the stacking of papers, all containing the words, characters, setting and plot that each author feels constitutes the next great American novel. Or in my case, the next great middle grade novel. After having sent my most recent work off to a number of editors and agents, I find myself in that glorious phase that exists between submission and notification. Hope is what I call this time. I know that no matter how much I send extra-sensory messages of positive thoughts to said editors (Pick me! Pick me!), it is all a crap shoot. The more I write and submit, the more likely to get published once again. So back to the drawing board. Or in my case, back to my computer in my little office, my beloved Dave Matthews cranking in the background, my fingers flying as the thoughts reel from my brain. No rest for the weary. Even before the responses come back, I will keep working on this manuscript and working on other writing projects. Easier said than done. So, in order to light the fire and get the creative juices flowing, I looked to the words of others to inspire me. Yep, I’ve got my own slush pile, and it spills out of a file and onto my desk. The words are not those of hopeful authors, but from friends, offering me kindness through theirs. From thank you notes to simple cards sent just because they could, they have bestowed the gift of praise on me, and every now and then, when I need inspiration, I read them. They’ve blessed me with such adjectives as “dedicated”, “passionate”, “giving” and my favorite, “amazing”. I’m one lucky girl to have friends and peers that describe me as such. The motivating power of words. Here’s hoping that there is an editor out there that feels mine are inspiring enough to pull out of the slush pile, off his or her window sill, on to the desk, and in another year or two, into your local bookstore.
Little words of gratitude
These last few days I’ve been a cleaning mad woman. I’ve cleaned out the bathroom closet, dusted inconspicuous places, disinfected the refrigerator, sorted out my clothes closet and after a brief stint of sunshine, washed my westward facing bedroom windows. Good riddance to expired medications, dust bunnies, leftovers left over way too long, out of style clothes (although if I hang on to some of them much longer I’m sure they will come back in style soon!) and the bird poop that has lingered on my window for months. So long 2011 and hello 2012. The clothes closet was the last project, and after admiring the newly organized and clean space, I closed the door easily, the first time in some time that I didn’t have to shove a shoe out of the way, or pick a belt off the floor so that the door would close. In doing so, my eyes fell upon something that will never grow old or outdated. It is a little gift given to me by my daughter Kyle for Thanksgiving in 1995. Its sentiment speaks volumes. The words of gratitude were written by an adult hand, but the message is entirely Kyle. “I’m Thankful for my nice big bed!” I’ve had it hanging on my closet door ever since she gave it to me. It has served to remind me to be grateful for all the little things in life. Now at 20 years of age, she still reminds me of the same, every time she gives me a big hug and says, “I love you.”
Blind Faith Although I didn’t appreciate it at the time, a misplaced late night call from my friend Jack served several purposes, the first of which was the chance to catch up. After giving him a hard time when I returned his call the next morning, our conversations lent themselves to the paths our lives are currently traveling down. Due to circumstances neither of us would have wished for, or had any control over, we find ourselves moving forward on our life journeys in directions we never anticipated. We’ve let go, thrown caution to the wind, and opened ourselves up to opportunity. As I listened to the excitement in his voice describing all that he is learning in his new job about other countries and international businesses, a thought came to mind. As many writers do, I found the inspiration for this next blog entry under my nose. Blind Faith. These two words are so appropriate for my life, our lives this year. I hope that this year has been a year of blessings for all of you. I pray that you too are able to let go of anything that may be holding you back in life, and move towards peace and joy. May your faith guide you in your journey, wherever it may take you.
Lose Something?
The newest journey that I am on began with the receipt of a simple envelope this past summer. Contained within was my portion of the settlement of my dad’s estate, as he had passed away the summer prior. A number of thoughts came to me as I tearfully stared at the check; amazed that after many years of retirement and living alone that he was still able to provide each of his surviving five children a financial gift, and secondly, that I knew he would want me to do something special with the funds. Something just for me. From there, two immediate images came to mind: Italy and a university classroom. I fully believe that I will get to Italy in the near future, and although I am doing my utmost to convince my husband that a semester studying abroad in Italy would truly kill two birds, he’s not quite seeing it that way. So, since I’m big on honoring those that I’ve lost from this life to the next, I chose to return to school. I know that it was a regret of my father’s that based on his factory job income, and sending all of us to a Catholic grade school, he could not afford to provide us with the funds for higher education. What better way to honor him than to do something for myself that he always wished that he could give me, and that for which I longed for? So, I’m working through the process of getting my first semester at a four year college (the same one I’m currently enrolled in) and my Associate’s Degree in Marketing to apply towards a creative writing or English degree. No easy task, I’m discovering. I am hoping that by the time this blog site actually goes live, that all of the challenges I’m facing in getting credit for courses and life experiences will all have come to pass, and that I am moving rapidly forward in one direction (and one college) or another. For now, I’m trying to enjoy the journey, both the real and spiritual. A sense of adventure and excitement greeted me the first several weeks, and now I’ve settled into a routine of catching the latest in world events on NPR, while casually sipping my half decaf/caffeinated coffee on the drive. After loading my materials into my new over the shoulder book bag (desperately trying to look not to young or too old!), I trek the fifteen minute walk toward the university building where my classes are held. Along the way I’ve noted the gravestones that reside within the cemetery that borders the campus, often thinking of their occupants and their former lives, and noting their names. There is a headstone that reads Angel on it. Seriously. I try to make eye contact with students, most of them absorbed in their music cranking from their portable music devises, or engaged in texting or talking on their cell phones. The pretty flowers and trees have changed over the course of the last few months, preparing for winter’s blast. A little message with a big question and various elements of symbolism also has greeted me on this thrice weekly walk to classes. In purple letters, with a smiley face and three question marks, it reads, “Lose Something???” Upon first seeing the message, I smiled to myself. As it is on the way to one of the larger commuter lots, I thought perhaps it was suggesting to passerby that they check to make sure that one has everything…keys, umbrella, books, computer, before leaving campus. As time has passed, and since it is spray painted on the sidewalk, it has taken on greater meaning to me. It is in purple, which was my late daughter Claire’s favorite color. It has three question marks. I am blessed with two amazing children that live on and delight me in this world, and one that lives on as my personal angel. And, it poses a question that I’ve been faced with for eleven years now, when Claire died at the young age of ten. Lose Something? Absolutely. Would I move heaven and earth to have her back? Without a doubt. Yet, I have come to accept her death and attempt to live in such a way that I appreciate daily the gifts that remain within my life. A wonderful husband. Two amazing kids. Loving friends. Good health. Supportive extended family. And, the ability to appreciate the messages that come my way, helping to guide me towards my true purpose. I’m convinced that those that have passed on from this life express their gratitude in delightful and wondrous ways in various forms, sometimes more obvious than others. Little messages, sometimes slightly indirect, partially hidden. It’s just up to us to discover the intent and the gifts they bring. It is my hope that through this blog I can inspire, humor and enlighten you with my messages as I continue to move forward in my life journey.
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