Telling Stories

It’s hard not to get dragged down by the seemingly endless roller coaster ride we’ve been on.

Some days are better than others and I find that keeping my list of things to do long, that even though I don’t finish the list, at least I’m accomplishing something.

Somewhere yesterday the depression set in as it seems to do every few days. I had decided I needed to focus on doing things outside my office, those little things that pile up on the kitchen counter or in the laundry room, the ones that don’t take long to do, but we constantly walk by and say, “I’ll do that later.” And yet we don’t. Yes, those things.

I did them and then I settled into reading the multiple extra newspapers our very kind newspaper lady has been bringing me– while we subscribe two two newspapers, she brings me the day or two old returns for two other newspapers that are in the recycling bin. But I had gotten behind doing my sewing so I sat down to read them.

It was there that I found out that director Joel Schumacher had died (how did I not know this??) and the man who wrote the screenplay for “The Great Santini.” I also ready obituaries and stories about people I’d never heard of, many who rose above lives started with immigrant parents and somehow ended up in Los Angeles at least for a few years. There were threads in these stories– garment workers, the death of a parent.

I found myself drawn back to the one thing that probably makes me happiest inside, telling stories. It’s telling the stories in my head, of people whose lives are influenced by those I have read about. It was that feeling that brought me out of my passing depression as I was knocked on the head once again for my true calling in this life.

Sometimes in my frustration with the chaos in the world I start to veer a bit from my journey. But. thankfully, I am aware enough that it pulls me back quickly.

Our Stories

A day soon to come will mark nineteen years since my first book, Do They Have Bad Days in Heaven? Surviving the Suicide Loss of a Sibling, was published. As I reflect on this journey, what I instantly see– my thoughts also prodded by watching Jerry Seinfeld’s “Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee” discussion with Dana Carvey about how a comedian can’t just get up and make people laugh anymore, it’s about who the comedian is now, too– I’m thinking about the nineteen years I’ve spent sharing much of my life story. And this has also changed with the addition of social media.

While it might see like I have shared all of my life, I haven’t. There are aspects that remain not under wraps, but perhaps their time to be shared isn’t yet. Some of that is because other people are involved and there is too much pain for them to share. But there also is a portion of my life that I don’t share because I don’t quite understand it. Instead, some of it I work out to some extent in my fiction writing that I work on five days a week. The rest I leave alone, trusting that one day I will share when I do understand it. Or maybe not.

Growing up with my need to be a writer, I never saw that I would be sharing my story in such a close personal way. However, Denise’s suicide changed everything for my family and it was Mom, whose words echo in my mind, said, “Tell everyone and anyone. Maybe we can help someone with her story.” I always joked that I’m sure she didn’t think I’d write a book about it, but it did give us all (I believe) some meaning to our loss as we did help others through it.

But as life has continued to forge forward, I continue to share what I believe is helpful for others, while leaving the rest of it until I understand it. I sometimes feel like I need to see it in the rearview mirror, when I have past it, to understand it in a way that I can share with others. For some people, I know they might think that I should share as I’m going through it as it might make me more relatable, but something tells me that I need to understand it before I share it. That’s the message I’ve continued to recieve particularly in recent years as it’s become less about sharing the story of my sisters suicide and more about what I have done with my life and how she remains in my life now.

I don’t believe that everyone has to tell their story. When it comes to grief, loss, and life, we must all travel our own journeys. While I’ve always been a person who wanted to know what motivated people, I understand that sometimes people are protective of their stories. After all, it’s all we really have. For that reason, we should respect those who choose not to share.

However, in my life, which I realize isn’t the same as everyone else’s, there is an intersection of my life journey and what happens to me and how I can share that to inspire others.

The Shadow of Sibling Loss

Over the years I have listened to many stories and read many stories of people who have lost siblings. These weren’t necessarily to suicide which means that sometimes they happened in early childhood. My sister Denise ended her life when I was 21 (she was just two weeks from her 18th birthday). At the time I thought I was very much an adult, however, now I understand how young 21 really is.

So when I think about sibling loss in childhood, It seems to me it can extend to about 25 because we’re still trying to find our place in the world (not that some of us every do as that seems to be a major mission some of us are on in this life) and we’re still separating ourselves physically from our families of origin.

There are many stories of sibling loss that weren’t discussed within families, as if the family just picked up the next day and moved on. For the surviving siblings, this was often painful. However, I don’t believe any parent did it out of malice. They had their own pain and were afraid of hurting their surviving child/children more. And there were other families where the death was openly discussed and the person always remembered.

I was lucky that Denise’s suicide and life were fairly openly discussed in our house (I don’t say completely as I was watched my parents struggle to talk about it with each other and like many families that have suffered a loss, in some ways it widened the gorge that already existed in their relationship. What helped, for me, was that we continued to let Denise exist in some way– as she should– even though her time with us on earth had ended.

Now that I’ve spent many years processing her death and while I don’t often talk much about it as I don’t feel the need to, what I mull over in my head is who I’m supposed to be in this life and how her death is part of that. But what I wonder is how much the path has been altered or made even more important to me to find since her death.

I don’t necessarily believe my path is about sharing Denise’s story although I understand that is part of it. Now that I’m continued to process and grow, I see it’s really connecting our childhood and what we shared in a different form through Chelle Summer. But there is also the writing aspect of it, the need inside my head to not just tell stories, but share them with the world. What I don’t know– and I don’t know that I ever will in this life- is if that need because stronger because of Denise’s death or if she hadn’t died, that I might never have pursued it so intensely as I continue to do (because I’m not where I want to be with it!).

I’ve heard the stories of many accomplished people who lost siblings young and how they were able to take their pain and sadness and turn it into something. What isn’t often obvious is how it ties into the loss. Maybe they were aware of it, maybe they won’t. Or maybe they are like me and were able to do something with it although maybe not what they thought it would look like. And then eventually the path wound us back to where we were before the loss.

Still after all these years, so many questions. The shadow is always there and always will be. I am not clouded by sadness in my life. My sister is with me and I know she and my mom in particular continue to keep me inspired. My biggest wonder comes from my drive and how those of us who have traveled this road find the strength to not just keep going, but truly make sure our lives are well lived because our siblings didn’t get that chance or ended their lives before they took off.

Signs to Move Forward

While we aren’t always aware of it, there is a rhythm to our lives and the events that transpire as we move through the day.

I was running Ash on Friday morning in the still-darkness of the morning when I saw my friend Art behind me call my name. My instinct was to continue running, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt if I turned back and walked with him and his dog Shirley. I wasn’t in a hurry as I had been the previous day when I had to be somewhere at 7:00 am.

What I didn’t realize was that taking the time to walk with them for a short way would put me in place to cross paths with my friend Jennifer a little later on my own run. Jennifer was feeling exasperated with life (as, I believe, we all have been to some degree recently) and I reminded her of several things, but notably that in life that doing what we’re supposed/doing the right thing often leaves us on a lonely road. That, however, is another topic for another day.

I hadn’t been to see Fr. Gene since November and it would have been easy to make excuses and put the appointment off for yet a few months as we walk through figuring out how to stay safe. But I also knew it would be good for me to take that drive to the South Valley and he told me we would sit outside (6 feet apart).

As we talked and laughed and caught up, I felt pretty positive and had a sense of freedom that I haven’t had much of in the past months. It’s a sense that I have on most days, but seemingly has been drown out in all the distractions.

I told him that I had my irritated moments but mostly I understood that what I’ve been through is a delay of what is to come, that I do believe positive things are ahead, and that when doors and windows close, somehow new ones open.

It was fairly breezy out (a good thing since we would reach 101 degrees at my house later that afternoon) and I looked down to see a feather had blown right up next to my foot. Native Americans believe that when a feather lands in your path, it’s a sign you’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing.

There isn’t always confirmation (or maybe we aren’t always aware of them), but on this morning it came again as I drove home and the song “Hot Hot Hot” by Buster Poindexter began to play on the radio.

It took me a moment, but I was reminded that this was one of Mom’s favorite songs and I could picture her doing her “hip shake” (as my sister Karen calls it) when it would play in the 1980s.

It’s easy to be distracted and get caught up in what feels in our faces, particularly with the onslaught or constant news and posting on social media, but if we take the time to take a few steps back, the signs are there.

Forward. And it came from Mom which means it has to be good.

Believe

I obviously haven’t written in a month, not because I didn’t have anything to say, but because I felt like I was standing on a soapbox and I was talking to myself (or maybe at least my dogs, Lilly and Ash). It’s often hard in this digital world to know who sees/reads what I might have written. Without likes and comments, I didn’t know, nor did I know how many people who needed to hear my words were just scrolling by, not wanting to dig in deeper to find their hope and peace.

However, that doesn’t mean I don’t have anything to say and I knew I needed to return to my blog. I just didn’t expect the pain to once again explode over the past few days which left me not wanting to write. Again.

Yet this morning I streamed the daily 8:00 am (Pacific Time) mass from the Cathedral of Los Angeles, a place where Greg and I once attended mass, and something I’ve been doing nearly daily since the start of the pandemic. The priests, especially the Archbishop, have what I think of as very “thoughtful” words. The way the Archbishop speaks, I sense that he really has contemplated the words that he will speak, the words he is seeking to help people find hope and peace in this time.

This morning in his homily he said two very relevant things– “Everything is unfolding in the providence of God” and then “No matter what happens in our lives, the cross is the answer.”

I immediately thought I should post one of these to my church’s social media pages (of which I handle), that they are words many people would appreciate especially today.

However, something stopped me. I wondered, “What do I say to the people who ask, ‘Where is God in all this?’”

I believe there is a reason, a path, an opportunity, in all this pain. I believe (especially having worked with many grieving people), that everything happens for a reason and if we embrace the new doors and windows to open in it, somehow we will find our way through it. I also know that life isn’t meant to be easy and good all the time. Many storms are thrown our way and it’s how we react to those storms that helps us learn and grow.

It’s not fair. None of its fair. I have my moments of frustration and irritation and find myself having to work harder not to let it overwhelm me.

I don’t have the answers, but I also know that often in the thick of things we won’t find the answers. Sometimes we have to walk, to keep walking, to keep believing (no matter how hard that is), and have faith that one day we will understand.

Life has taught me many times that if I do that, at some point I will understand. Keep the faith, everyone. As the song goes, don’t stop believing.

And May Arrives

And suddenly– it feels– May is here.

While there still remains uncertainty in front of us, for me, I can’t believe that it’s May. It’s hard to believe it’s been nearly two months since Hattie died and not much shorter than that that Greg has been teaching from home.

In many ways, my life didn’t change. When we were to “stay at home,” I was just about a month past the end of my job and I was getting ready for what was supposed to be a summer of events selling Chelle Summer items between here and LA. My brain was busy sorting how I what I needed to sew each week. And I was balancing that with my Lenten goal of completing a manuscript.

I ended up having to throw the manuscript idea out the window. I struggled to write much at all, took a week off, and even that didn’t help. I just felt guilty that I hadn’t been writing when it feels like my brain is stuffed with my characters’ lives. It took me a while to realize it was the grief, the loss of the world as I knew, that was messing me up (combined with the loss of Hattie who had been with me for over 14 years).

But somehow in this, my inspiration for sewing didn’t wane. Once I forced myself to push past any frustration I felt about the current situation (which included finally stopping watching the news and look at headlines– I only allow myself to read the two newspaper that arrive every morning here and check headlines no more than once a day), I tried to at least finish something small each day so I could say I completed something.

Some days were better than others, but I did manage also to complete some items I’d cut months ago and not finished. And in this process, I realized that so much of my life, of trying to work through challenging situations, of the many losses I’ve faced, helped me with the current pandemic situation.

I didn’t want to look back and wonder why I wasted so much time. I made sure I made the most of it of what I could do, not worry about what I couldn’t control.

Now while I wait to figure out where to go next with Chelle Summer as some of the events are canceled, I know that at least somehow I did forge forward in a time that I could have easily wasted and disappointed myself in the end. I learned a long time ago that no matter what happens to use there we still have a good life and we still have opportunities. It’s up to us, however, to choose the road ahead of us.

Forward, Not Backward

I don’t believe we are born fearful– the kind of fear that holds us back– but instead we are are “taught” it through various situations that start to define us. Lately, I’ve been feeling that as I cope with my own disappointment that the events I had signed up for– starting this weekend and going into the fall either are canceled or remain uncertain at this time.

I’m easily finding myself falling back into my old ways of thinking, why me?, why this?, I’ve been working hard, why can’t I make things happen? But I’m also finding that– because I’ve taught myself to stop that thinking and instead ask myself what I can learn, what I new doors I can open– that I’m not staying in that place long. I know it would be easier to stay there, but I don’t want to. I want to go forward. That’s when I realize I’m just disappointed that all my hard work from several months ago feels like a waste in this moment as I need to find another way forward.

Life is a series of events to teach us how to go forward, how to not just manage our emotions of what happens to us, but learn how to navigate the events and happenings that we could easily let define our lives. However, we are given a choice of what to do with them. It’s easier to sit in a place of anger and sadness as many people are, and the harder journey is to go forward.

That harder journey on the unknown path is the most worth it though. Why would you want to go back and retrace your steps when you can go forward and create something new?

Motivating from Within

Whether we like it or not, as people, we are meant to interact with each other

While we are still able to speak to each other– although in different ways if we are used to being face-to-face with people– many of us are finding our interactions with people are more limited than usual. It occurred to me this morning, as I was mentally motivating myself for the day, what I hope to accomplish, that I don’t have as much energy coming from my personal interactions from others.

It might be talking to someone at the store (I’ve been sending Greg out for all errands), at estate sales, at church, the gym pool, or other places that are part of my routine daily life. I still have what I call my “morning community” when I run and run the dogs, the people I see around the park. But after that, I’m obviously home all day unless a neighbor and I gather outside to talk a few minutes.

I know that I do a good job motivating myself, maybe even too good of a job. But I do appreciate having contact with others and sometimes that contact is a reminder than I’m on the right path or is just enough to give me the motivation to keep going when I’m feeling tired or wondering if what I’m doing is worth it.

As I said last week, it’s like that third lap of a four-lap race, the place where we need to dig deep within ourselves and find the motivation and inspiration. Sometimes we can’t get it from others and this experience is a true test of seeing how much we can motivate ourselves. And with that, we’ll find more strength that we ever knew we had.

Digging Down Deep

There’s a metaphor I’ve been using since I was in high school that helps me through challenging times like right now. It all goes back to running (as it usually does for me).

The 1600-meter run, my specialty back in the day, is four laps, and I was taught in high school that the third of the four laps is the one you need to concentrate on the most because if you look at split times, it’s the one where you tend to drop off and run the slowest.

It makes sense because you’re past the excitement of the start and even the energy you still have into the second lap (thus reaching the halfway point of the race). But that third lap, ugh, you just want stop and so you slow down, knowing you still have that final lap to go.

I see people’s posts, I see the struggles right now, and I know my own struggles and challenges, of trying to keep myself motivated in the face of many unknowns. I’m tired of it and I want to know that certain things are going to happen. But it’s not that way and I don’t know when it will be.

In trying to keep myself inspired, motivated, and focused (something I pray for daily), I realized how much what we’re going through is like that 1600-meter race. This is the third lap. We’re tired, but that’s when we need to dig down deeper inside ourselves to find the energy, the inspiration, and the motivation, to make the most of the situation our world is currently experiencing.

And in that, I couldn’t find a good photo for this post, but in the one I used, what I see is that question of, do I jump in? Do I do this?

Yes, I do. The water is cold and uncomfortable, but if I can get through this third lap, I know I’ll be able to get through the fourth. And to the finish.

What are we supposed to learn?

In the early morning darkness of the top of the hill, a place where I can see the city lights to the west, I was in the middle of my daily prayer when I run Lilly. While I was there, I realized how little I had been praying for the world during this time. And it was in this prayer where I asked, What specifically should I pray for?

I was quickly reminded of the changes I’d made in my own life, in my own thinking, and how I’d neglected them since the virus has taken over our lives.

I had promised myself I would stop asking, “Why?” when something happened and instead ask, “What can I learn?” so that I could go forward. Yet for the past few weeks I’d been caught between “Why?” and trying to keep myself moving forward in the face of the unknown of when I’ll be able to resume knocking the dominos down to propel Chelle Summer forward.

Each day I pray that I be the person I’m supposed to be, that I do what I’m supposed to do. And I believe that I’m supposed to be something much bigger than I am. But that has brought uncertainty with it, feelings I don’t understand. It means standing in spaces I don’t get, in letting feelings wash over me that are uncomfortable. When I don’t get washed up in these moments, I’m reminded that these feelings are all about being something bigger, being who I’m supposed to be, translation they are logical and not so overwhelming.

The day before my surgery two years ago to have my uterus removed, I was scared. Very scared. I had tried to embrace the journey, but with less than twenty-four hours before the procedure, powerful fear overtook me. As Greg and I sat with our priest, Fr. Marc, who was going to give me the annointing of the sick, I said this to him and he quickly retorted, “You asked for it.”

I remind myself how quickly he snapped back at me and it in turn reminds me that I must feel this to go forward. It’s a yucky feeling because we like to be comfortable and this feeling means constantly stepping outside one’s box, never making myself so at home that I want to stay there.

We all have been caught up in our lives, in moving forward, in not feeling. We are distracted, we don’t pay much attention to the world around us. Many people don’t care.

Words from Pope Francis have stuck with me, when he mentioned our “ailing planet.” It struck a cord that we are being forced to stop, to stand still, to look around, to feel. This will take us further forward but we must ask what we’re supposed to learn from it so we don’t repeat where we’ve been.

I do this daily. I stand every day and attempt to face what I don’t understand. I hate the discomfort, but I know that if I’m going to have a well-lived life, this is part of the journey I must walk. We can’t go back and undo the virus or any of what’s happened, but we can make sure that we make the most of this overwhelming strange and uncomfortable time.

Routine

I get up no later than 4:30 every day, including weekends.

It’s quirky, I know, but it’s what sustains me, especially in times like we’re experiencing now.

I’ve also been working at home pretty much my entire working life since I stopped being a high school teacher. I knew early on that going to an office or school wasn’t my bag and I worked hard to find my place in this world where I could make a living (translation, pay the bills) and have that flexibility.

Many people are seeing the challenges of working from home right now, but I have always used them to my advantage. I do laundry and dishes when I take “water cooler breaks.” I’m able to accept deliveries and not let things sit on my front porch. The biggest challenge is that when we do leave, the dogs aren’t used to being alone all day so we have to find house sitters who come and go, not work all day and are here at night.

But in that framework of being home all day, I have a schedule that I adhere to most days, Monday through Friday. I have lists, I have piles, I know what I need to get done first. I try to do all my desk work in the morning and sew in the afternoon.

My routine isn’t for everyone, but I do know that we have to have some sense of routine, especially as the weeks are turning to more weeks during this time. The routine at my house has been turned upside down in some ways because Greg is now working from home as well.

However, because I already had a routine in place and because he’s usually at home in the summer, I realize the changes are minimal. And the fact that there was a routine and schedule makes it easier for him to adhere to something as he gets used to teaching online.

Everyone needs some schedule in their lives, it’s partly what wards off depression. Make sure you do something you need to each day and do something that brings you joy each day as well. This might feel like a huge interruption in your life that you don’t fee like you can get past, but it’s all in how you look at it. It’s an opportunity to do things you haven’t had time for (those things at home, that is) and in that process keep a schedule that also makes you feel productive and happy when the end of the day rolls around.

Moving Your Blues Away

I have often said that running kept me moving forward in my life, that it has helped me through many very difficult and challenging times. And then getting dogs and having to walk/run them, has kept me going, knowing that even when life is difficult, they should have their time out and about (plus it’s less poop to pick up in the backyard).

Some years ago, a friend told me about a book called Walking Your Blues Away and often that title resonates in my head as run, walk, and even swim. While each of these movements provides me with something different– walking would be the one that doesn’t help me feel as physically strong, but sometimes it’s just about being out. Running is obviously the one most important to me, but as I get older, my legs and feet are enjoying swimming more because it’s less stress on them. And swimming provides what I call a “mental health break” midday as I leave my morning work behind and get set for an afternoon of, hopefully creating at the sewing machine.

I can think of a number of reasons why movement, especially being outside, is important. When I take Lilly out around 4:50 in the morning, it’s completely dark and by the time I run her, run Ash, and do my run, the outline of the Sandia Mountains has appeared and the sun is starting to show up for the day. A new day is coming and the slate has been wiped clean from the previous day.

Swimming helps me to let go of any anxiety I might have developed in the morning and remember that there are other things that are important and what’s not worth the worry.

There is something about movement, about letting my mind wander, that helps me focus again and brings me new ideas. It also makes me realize when I’m letting the same thought (an annoyance) permeate my mind when I should be allowing new, inspiring and creative thoughts in.

Even though we’re social distancing, there’s no reason to go outside and take that walk. It’s a weird time to say the least and at least when we keep moving, we keep hope alive inside us. And you never know what great ideas might form as you move those blues far far away.

Keeping the Glass Half Full

When people are down on the world, politics, or something else that affects us all, I often tell them that I have to keep my head in my writing, my sewing, and my creativity otherwise I wouldn’t get out of bed in the morning. While I am aware of things that are happening around me– probably more so than most because I read two daily newspapers– I have found that getting in too deep affects my mental health.

That’s why I have stayed out of the corona virus posts– I have my own stories of what has transpired in the past few weeks in my own life and what’s been upended, but I don’t believe posting any of that is useful. I also am finding myself this morning (it’s Monday morning as I write this), feeling a little depressed.

It’s going to be a beautiful day here in Albuquerque and I ran and ran the dogs before the came up over the mountains. I have plenty to do, especially given that between the virus and Hattie’s death, I’m behind on what I should have completed last week.

But I also have found over the last week or so my inability to stop checking the news, particularly because once Thursday when the first cases were announced here in New Mexico, everything also was breaking loose nationally and things were literally changing every five minutes.

It’s made it difficult for me to write, to focus, although I found I can sew okay and if that’s the case, I need to get my “desk work” done” and move to the “sweat shop” and keep myself away from newsfeeds. There’s nothing wrong with it; it’s about keeping myself sane as I had thought I was settling into my still-unkown future since my job ended a month ago. I had things planned and now as I face not knowing if they will happen, I need to keep creating and make use of this time. And reminding myself that all is well as old game shows play on the Buzzr television station on my iPad in the background.

The bottom line is that while I’m not happy about things, I also know there has to be something I can do during this time that will help me feel better. And that’s to keep creating. And be ready for what I hope will be a successful Chelle Summer year ahead.

Hattie: A Charmed Life

I can still remember the awful hole I felt in my life after the death of one of my grandparents on our way home after the funeral. You knew that life was different because someone wasn’t “in it” anymore.

And while that hole is still there each time there is a death (Hattie was just one of two last week as a man I know from walking the dogs at the park died from injuries sustained in a motorcycle accident as well), in each loss, I have learned to ask myself what I can do with it, where I’m supposed to put it.

I didn’t see it at first, but Hattie’s death leaves a different kind of hole than I’ve experienced before.

As I have written many times before, and in my book, Ginger’s Gift: Hope and Healing through Dog Companionship, Hattie was a Hurricane Katrina dog. She was just a puppy in a rural shelter when the hurricane hit. My first husband had asked me if he could go help his friend Craig in Maine deliver supplies in a lobster truck because most everything was going to Louisiana. I told him it was fine under the condition he take dog food and bring me back a dog. Craig also adopted a puppy, one of Hattie’s sisters, and named her Lucy. She died about five years ago.

But what’s also significant about Hattie’s adoption is that Craig returned to Mississippi and twenty-some dogs out of that shelter, pretty much cleared it out, and flew them to Maine where all but the two who died found new homes. Several of them were Hattie’s brothers, too.

I had forgotten about this until Friday after she died. It’s a different world we live with social media and I sometimes forget how I share of my dogs, what I create, and what inspires me. I also didn’t think much about how many people Hattie had intersected with whether through a party at our house (she was notorious for stealing chocolate cake off low tables where people left their plates) and houseguests (she slept with you if you left the door open and if you shut it, in the morning she body slammed it until you woke up, hoping you’d let her in so she could curl up next to you).

She ran and/or walked with me almost every day of her life as long as I was home; she went places like the car wash with me; and she was just a general presence in my life. For all the writing I have done, she was usually under my desk not far from my feet as I wrote blogs and books and worked on Chelle Summer posts.

I know that I will be more than okay, and in time I’ll feel more at peace that she is doing well. It’s that separation that’s hard. She is with my family and as the last of the “original four” dogs that I had, they are together again, including her “mom” Daisy who died much too young at 5 1/2.

My grief is from that hole that will eventually scar over. I will get used to a new routine the morning, of not saying “Hattie Hattie Hattie” a bunch of times each day to her for no reason at all, and the energy in my house will eventually feel “normal” again. But letting go of a life, no matter how long as short, does leave a hole. It’s a price we pay for love.

And yet I wouldn’t trade it for anything. She and I were lucky to have each other. And share that with everyone else.

Lenten Journey 2020

I have written on social media recently that I feel like I am on a journey of crossing a murky lake, much like the one in the photo above. While we have been taught that Lent is about crossing a desert, for me, this year it’s about the murky lake.

I’ve been crossing the desert for years for Lent and in other times of my life and this year I felt the need to change things up. While I always feel that Jesus, Our Lady of Guadalupe, Saint Rita, and Saint Monica travel with me, this time they are in a boat rowing alongside of me, cheering me on, helping me to see the way to the shore ahead.

And for many years I wrote here that I felt I needed to put more effort into letting go at Lent although that changed a few years ago. I’m not saying I’m good at letting go (excuse me while I fall off the ball I sit on and laugh on a few minutes), but I needed to do something different. The last few years it’s been about working steadily on a writing project during Lent.

Part of this stems from the fact that the writing, sewing, and creating are coming at me strong and it’s hard to keep things in check and make sure that I stay focused and complete things, not just start them and move on. There are several unfinished writing projects and my thought was that if I keep my focus on one during Lent, keeping my nose to the grindstone and staying the course, the goal is to have the rough draft completed by Easter.

It sounds easy and the first week or so, once I get started, isn’t so hard.

But the hard part comes a few weeks in when other ideas creep into my head, I get distracted wanting to do other things. It’s at that time that I want to climb into the boat, dry off, and not work so hard for a while. Ah! But that’s the third lap of the four-lap (1600-meter) race around the track, the lap when you need to work the hardest to bring you momentum for the final lap.

That’s when the Lenten Journey gets tested. Can I do this? The finish line isn’t that far away, but just far enough away that I can’t see it.

Here I am, work having started slowly, talking myself up, and getting ready for what will be worth it come Easter: a completed rough draft of another novel.

There is something to be said about the reminder that we should take this journey each year. For me, it makes me stronger and reminds me that I can do it. And I’ll be even stronger next year.

My Own Genre

When I have been looking for a publisher and an agent, it’s been a challenge to say what genre my books fit because as my writing has evolved, my work doesn’t fit into one space.

I have a friend who said she didn’t read The Green Dress because, “I saw it was a romance and put it down.” Well, Green Dress wasn’t a romance nor is That Cooking Girl or anything else that’s going to come after it. When I think of romance, my mom’s cabinet filled of Harlequins comes to mind and I could only stomach a few of those and never read them again (although I would love to find a few for Chelle Summer photos…).

I really struggle to find fiction that I like, often resorting to my first love of biography and autobiography. I often find myself not identifying with main characters– the same problem I have with many television shows and movies– because of their, well, stupidity. I get tired of the bad decisions. People say it makes them feel like they can relate to a character, but I have tried to write characters who make bad decisions and I find it so hard to empathize with them that it comes out…wrong. That also means that my writing doesn’t fit neatly into one box which also makes it hard for me to find writing that enjoy. And so I keep writing.

I’m not saying my characters– or me– or perfect. I’m also not saying that my character and I have picked the perfect relationships (speaking of my past– not life with Greg!), but I see relationships as secondary to the stories in my books. Yes, the relationships are important because they make life and reading more interesting. However, I don’t see my stories that way.

I prefer to write about women who are trying to go forward, to make the best decisions, and trying not to stand in the way of their own happiness and success.

That Cooking Girl was never meant to be more than a fun story (charming, someone told me just the other day) to be enjoyed and also as maybe inspiration for someone who has people rooting her (or him on) in this game of life.

The point of the book was that Megan is on the brink of success in her life and it’s about how she lets the past and her own fears go to enjoy the excitement of all that’s ahead.

After all, isn’t that what any of us want?

The Chelle Summer Evolution

With my full-time job working on a military grief research study ending last Friday, I’ve been thinking a lot about the evolution of Chelle Summer. And since I’ve been doing more events, I also have come to realize how much that journey isn’t just me waking up one day saying, “Hey! I’m going to make some stuff!” as much as it’s been a life journey to get here. And no matter how I slice it, there are other people, while deceased, who are traveling this road with me.

My mom wasn’t afraid to use color nor was she afraid to let me constantly rearrange my room (not as easily said than done since I shared it with my younger sister for ten years). And when I hung pages from magazines on all my walls– didn’t we all do that?– I don’t recall her saying a word. Creativity was encouraged and we always had access to markers, crayons, and paper. I also don’t recall her being with Denise and I went we sewed. I think she was happy we had something to entertain ourselves with and she would take us to the fabric store and let us pick out a remnant of fabric– which are always sold at a discount– to make something new for the Barbie clan.

I believe that because creativity was encouraged, I felt more secure developing my own style into high school although I didn’t sew anymore. I loved the geometric designs of the late 1980s and wearing pencil skirts. I didn’t realize at the time how much more I could have done had I made my own clothes. Going to the mall was a social thing anyway.

I put the sewing away for college until Mom gave me her Bernina when I moved to Albuquerque and I had a housemate who sewed. That led me across the street to our neighbor Bonnie who had an entire room filled with sewing and craft supplies (her husband Greg thought the best way to dispose of it after she died was throw a stick of dynamite to it- of course he didn’t, but hearing him yell that from the next room where he was reading, still makes me laugh.

Bonnie used to joke that my job as a teacher was getting in the way of us making quilts, clothes, shell wreaths, potpourri, and everything else we used to do. She taught me so many skills that I use today and there was never a no. It always, “Hmmm, how can we do this?”

After she died and I was working on my doctorate, I once again put the sewing away. While I made a few quilts and such here and there, wasn’t until after Greg and I married in 2015 that we were walking around an Old Navy outlet store and I was griping about how they didn’t make colored denim skirts (but they made color denim shorts).

“Then why don’t you make them?” he asked.

That day the Chelle Summer seed was planted. The bucket bag came first and slowly but surely everything else has followed as I continue to experiment and make items that resonate with me. And that’s just the beginning.

Kindness

While I can’t remember each time it happened, I do remember countless times growing up– whether in school or at home– where the importance of being kind to people was drilled into my head. I remember the “Kids of the Block” program of puppets with disabilities (and I believe the woman who started it always wore a hat…) and how we were taught in elementary school to be kind to each other.

Then last week I read somewhere– almost a lecture– about how people– adults– should be kind to each other.

How sad it that?

I must be spending too much time in my world of color creating things that make me happy and I hope make other people that our world of treating people kindly has come to adults lecturing other adults about the importance of being kind to each other.

There are many times I am cranky– don’t use your turn signal, talking on your phone and not paying attention to people around you, slamming the door in my face at the gym because you’re not looking and don’t see there is someone behind you– but I always try to be kind to people. I reminded the Petco customer service lady on the phone that I realize the fact that Lilly’s new toy balls not being included in my box (or the lack of a lid on the Nature’s Miracle foam– I have no idea how that happened) wasn’t her fault.

The man at Sam’s Club in front of me last week took a long time in his scooter to say goodbye to the woman at the door and I was in a bit of a hurry, but when his box of Swiss Miss packets fell off his pile of items in the front of his scooter, I ran over and picked it up for him, knowing it was easier for me to reach down and get it than him for which he was grateful.

I could continue down my list of seeing the glass as half empty because it would be easy to do. But I don’t. I try to be kind to people. I usually hold a door open for a person who might be just far enough away that it wouldn’t be expected I would do it. And if my cart is full at Target and the person behind me has only a few items, I will offer that they can go ahead of me.

I’m not perfect. If I were I’m sure I wouldn’t be here on this earth. But I always try to remind myself, as I was taught, to treat people as I want to be treated. It’s not hard. And it’s always a bright spot to see a stranger’s face light up. Our interactions with people do affect how we see the world and our own inner happiness. It takes little to be kind to people and has great rewards.

It wasn’t a lecture, it was just a reminder that we reap more from kindness than we do from anger.

Setting Intentions

While I often don’t realize it at the time, in the rearview mirror after a significant event has happened in my life, I can see that I had set an intention. And that intention was fulfilled.

There are several of these that come immediately to mind– the first that I became aware of was when we had to pay for the second printing of my first book, Do They Have Bad Days in Heaven? Surviving the Suicide Loss of a Sibling. My first husband had helped me pour quite a bit of money into my suicide-related work and I didn’t think it was fair to ask him to do more. But I was $1,000 short and had no idea where it would come from.

A business-friend-acquaintance had asked me to attend a workshop held by Microsoft locally. It was something web related (this was circa 2004 and things were very different– web sites as we know them were still in their infancy). As the workshop went on, it turned out I was in the wrong place. I was supposed to be around the corner with the “users” while I had been in the workshop for the “resellers” which included my friend.

I didn’t realize this until later and just stayed and listened to a bunch of stuff that really made no sense to me. However, there was a raffle– there would be three prizes and the first person would get the first pick. One of those was a server worth almost $1,000.

Yes, you guessed it, I got picked first so what did I choose? The one thing I didn’t need but knew I could resell easily unopened on eBay. And there was my money.

This also happened with what I call my Australian dream. I had wanted to visit Australia since I was in fifth grade. Now I’ve been there three times. And somewhere along the line, my eyes opened to surfing. I didn’t really ever think I’d get on a board, but now I own a board.

When people say to me, “Well, I’ll never do that”– even though they clearly want to do it, I respond with, “You never know.”

Because I know. The intention is out there. You never know how and when it will be fulfilled. But somehow it happens.

The Significance of Home

I hate to clean my house. I’m sure if I didn’t have so many other things I wanted to do, I wouldn’t resent it so much. But having three dogs (plus two humans) means constant upkeep especially vacuuming and erasing slobber marks on the windows (no, those aren’t from Greg or me!). I also realize that if I didn’t care so much about how my house looked, or how it made me feel, I could let more of the cleaning and organization go.

However, that’s not me.

As I was changing the sheets on the bed yesterday and admiring my choice of colors, the calmness from coral and turquoise I had chosen for the week, I looked around our light-fill room and I thought, yes, this is what makes it all worth it.

It’s home. And home is the place where generally most of our life happens. And we spend most of our time (even though some of that is sleeping– but it’s good to have a place where we enjoy sleeping). Home is the source of our energy, it’s where we refuell after a day of work or school or whatever we have going on. It’s where we happily come back to after a trip, glad to having taken the trip, but glad to be home. And it’s where we might add a momento of our trip.

Greg recently look at the buffet in our dining room and said, “We have Morocco, Argentina, and Russia all represented here,” as he admired the objects placed on top.

When I was young, my parents took us to visit open houses in new developments as they sought out ideas for our house. The bug for the importance of enjoying where you live was planted in me then and it’s why I have devoted so much time to turning my house into a place I enjoy and a place that inspires me.

The work is all worth it. After all, every house should be a home.