Category Archives: family

When resolutions are resolved

Posted on by survivorscribe

We hear so much about how people make resolutions and then consequently fail at keeping them. We are inching ourselves further way from the start of the New Year, but I wanted to write a little success story. Each year I declare either that I am never making another resolution again or that I am resolving to start running, to get back in shape and any number of other things related to health. Last year, I made a resolution to go deeper than that, to start from further outside myself.

Authors of the book Life at Home in the 21st Century note that ”For more than 40,000 years, intellectually modern humans have peopled the planet, but never before has any society accumulated so many personal possessions.”

I would have to say that in my life this was indeed true. I looked all around and there was stuff. I felt its heaviness. Even before I saw statistics, I felt overwhelmed by it all, so last year I resolved to lose the excess weight caused by accumulating stuff. In fact I put it like this on my Facebook status, “New Year’s resolution: Lose weight, but not body weight, material goods weight. In essence, I just want to purge all the junk and open up some peaceful space for family togetherness and writing.”

I actually did it, or a good chunk of it anyway. Here is how I did it. I let go of the emotional attachment to things. I thought about what would ultimate serve my dreams of becoming a writer and what would hinder them. I thought about how I have grown and don’t need to hold on to too many keepsakes from a time when I was someone I no longer really know. In essence, I am letting go of yesterday and not getting caught up in what I think I might need tomorrow.

photo (1)

My latest Goodwill pile.

Along with letting things go, I understand that this kind of transformation is a process. It can’t all be done at once, though in my case I get focused and before I know it I have gutted the basement. By making it a resolution at the start of last year, I understood that  it would take a year or more to do this. Throughout the year, piles formed at my front door. Piles I would take to the nearby Goodwill store. I have one now consisting of bags of cookbooks, not the good ones my chef husband has collected, but the ones that I thought I would look at and never have. Now, I have an iPhone with millions or recipes at my fingretips, so there is not need for cookbooks I never looked at in the first place. So, off to Goodwill these books go.

I have succeeded in keeping with my resolution. I have purged load after load of stuff. Goodwill and Freecycle are my friends. It’s amazing how much more there is to get rid of. I have another Goodwill pile growing in my front room. What I learned from the experience and continue to learn is to make peace with the small space I live in. Part of making peace with it is to rid myself of things to open up the small spaces and make them peacful. As part of all this  I have been rearranging things and dusting corners that have not been dusted in years. In fact, I discovered a little book in my bookshelf called “Move Your Stuff, Change Your Life: How to Use Feng Shui to Get Love, Money, Respect and Happiness.” I figured decorating my home with the guide could do me some good. Essentially, the idea is to clearn things up and place things in order to increase the chi, or the universal energy. I will admit a few good things have happened since I began moving things. Whether that’s because I’ve moved my stuff or just because they happened, I do believe that the new placement and the purging has opened the flow of energy, a peaceful energy that allows the the creativity to flow and allows the space for good things.

The resolution, however, does not end. There is more work to do. I have conquered a good chunk of my house. The major projects are done. The year ended with the basement purge. Now, it’s the smaller areas–drawers and cubbies. Things seem less overwhelming. There is space. There is chi. Now, it’s time to honor my creativity.

Lemons, fig cake and setting

Posted on by survivorscribe

When life sends you lemons (and figs) via the U.S. Postal Service, make lemonade and fig cake. Okay, so life didn’t really send the lemons and figs. My parents sent them. They sent them all the way from their home in California where lemon and fig trees produce so quickly they can’t eat or use the fruit fast enough. I’ve enjoyed the gifted bounty. I have made delicious fresh-squeezed lemonade and an out of this world fig cake that I found a recipe for at a blog called Lemons and Anchovies. With a name like that the recipes have to be good. This one was probably the best thing I’ve baked from scratch ever.

None of this has anything to do with the Midwest Writers Workshop, except to say that my time there was a nice gift in what has turned out to be a stressful, quickly dissolving summer. As I mentioned in my previous post, I learned so much. I think today’s nugget will focus on what I learned in D.E. (Dan) Johnson’s workshop classes. I attended two. For those who don’t know Dan, he writes historical mysteries set in Detroit in the early 20th century. I have not read his books. I intend to even though I’m not one to really read mystery. I’m compelled by the glimpse I had of his writing and by his writing knowledge. He knows his stuff.

Fig Cake made with figs from my mom and dad’s backyard in California.

His workshop on setting was an elaboration on the writing mantra “show, don’t tell.” That description doesn’t really do it justice, because he dove deeply into what that really means and how that really works to bring a narrative to life. I think the most valuable piece of advice I walked away with was his technique for making sure he’s using enough of every sense. He goes through his manuscripts with five different highlighters each representing one of the five senses. This gives him a visual diagram of how often he’s using these to bring out setting. I haven’t tried it yet, but it has made me much more aware of where I’m using all the senses in my work.

So, now that I am thinking of the senses, time to go let the golden, soft fig cake melt in my mouth, so I can taste the hints of sweet cream, olive oil and butter as the smell of baked fig wafts about my head. I won’t forget to wash it down with the sweet and tangy fresh lemonade.

My life as I envision it

Posted on by survivorscribe

I realize I have not posted in ages. It has not been for lack of trying. I have tried. Oh god, how I’ve tried. The words just will not come. I’m in a sort of writing limbo. I need to give myself time to come out of it. My method for this is to get some writing, any writing, done and forgive myself for the slow pace of it all. In addition, I am giving myself time with everything. There is no hurry. Sure, it seems like everything must be done right now, but not so. I have been working through some personal things that have taken up a lot of time and a ton of energy. For fun, and for a brief moment of escape I am going to take a page from my friend who once wrote in presence tense his vision for his life. I think it’s an exercise that life coaches and motivational people use, but I thought it might give me the boost I need this morning to begin the necessary steps to make that vision a reality. Also, my friend Cynthia Newbery Martin at her blog Catching Days shares  how well-known writers spend their days. Every time I read one of those posts, I feel like I am reading a bit about the life I envision.

My life as I envision it:

I wake up. Make myself a latte with no flavors. Have a delicious breakfast of fruits, nuts and coconut yogurt before going to my desk, which is in my writing office that had a big window that looks out a wooded area with a pond. I don’t look at any mail. I sit down and begin work on my second novel. My first book, “Sometimes the Smallest Things,” has been published by St. Martin’s Press and I am preparing to go on tour. My agent gently, or not so gently, nudges me to finish book two. I love the silence in the mornings and feel bolstered by the sound of birdsong and the soft rhythmic breathing of my dog who lounges at my feet. I work like this for a good three to four hours before I get up to take the dog for a walk and grab a sandwich. In the afternoon, I usually get a call from my son, who has a moment between classes just to check in. He likes to check in. I like to hear from him. My daughter calls, too, but later in the evening after she has spent time in the recording studio. I take a few moments to get the business of emails out of the way. I see that I have readings scheduled all over the country and I have been invited to lead a few workshops. This gives me a nice little nudge to work a couple more hours on my novel before doing some work in the garden. Jay returns home from his restaurant to have dinner with me before he is off again. Some days I go to the restaurant. I spend the rest of the evening reading and getting a few odds and ends done.

Okay, so that’s only one day, but that would be a nice day with a lot of nice stuff going on. Now, I do have some quiet time. It’s time to get to my projects, for real.

Sunshine mugs, dogs and words, moments of gratitude

Posted on by survivorscribe

Maynard and my happy sunshine mug.

This is about the time of year I pull out my happy sunshine mug. I am typically tired of the cold and eagerly anticipating the coming sunshine and warmth. This winter has not been that bad. Still, it seems like Mr. Snow Miser has been coordinating his relatively few snowfalls with my long drive into work. It seems every snowfall we have had this winter has come precisely when I’ve had to be on the road. So, even though there have been relatively few snow days and everything has been mostly warm, I still wanted to pull out my happy sunshine mug.

If nothing, it gave me an opportunity to snap a photo of my beloved lab mix Maynard. He had another impression of the snow. He saw it out the back window and wanted to play in it. I think that pets remind us that what we may see as a cold nuisance, they see as an opportunity for fun.

The happy sunshine mug and Maynard remind me that there are so many things to be grateful for, even when we are in the darkest depths of winter, well relatively speaking. I’ve seen winters where we have been in much darker depths, or course. Still, on my recent drive home from visiting my friends in Tecumseh, the sun was so bright and warm I felt the presence of spring. The fact that I am able to do that on any given day is warm in and of itself. I spent breakfast last week at Selma Cafe, as my husband served as guest chef. I knew only the hosts, Jeff and Lisa, but it was exhilarating being amid all those people wanting to help local farmers and have a great meal all the same. That same day I had lunch with my oldest and dearest friend, Kim. I’ve known her since I was 11 years old. We had not seen each other in a while, so it was such a wonderful time of catching up and laughing like we used to when we were girls. I was tired, but it was a good tired. This has been a fantastic week. The kids have midwinter break and we have been able to hang out a bit. The extra rest time has given me a chance to clear and organize my desk area. My dad laughed as he caught me on Skype during the massive undertaking. He says I do desk cleaning about once every month.  My desk area is what I refer to as my sacred space, the one corner of my house that I have devoted to my writing endeavors. Virginia Woolf wrote of having a room of one’s own to write. The best I can do is a corner with a window view of my little Ypsilanti street and the red maple that gives me inspiration. That is good enough for now. It’s a cozy spot that is quiet in the early morning as my family sleeps. That is the time I choose to write. Speaking of gratitude, writing has been difficult these past months. Who am I kidding? Writing is always difficult. But, the opportunity to show up at the page, to get what few words I can from even the driest of spells brings hope and clarity. I realized recently, perhaps I’ve always known this, that there is no easy path to writing. There are no “give mes.” Still, to say it takes “work” is to say that it is “work” in the most utilitarian sense of the word. Work is not the word I choose. Is there a word to describe it? Play? Even play doesn’t capture the agony I feel some days. Writing is its own act. Writing is the only word to describe the act. It encompasses itself. Writing is not work. It is not play. It is writing, the act of bringing something alive in words.

New normal?

Posted on by survivorscribe

What exactly is the new normal? This phrase, “new normal,” became part of my lexicon just over five years ago. At this time five years ago, I was recovering from two lumpectomies and waiting to get started on a pretty rigorous chemotherapy regimen. At this time five years ago, I had heard the term “new normal”, a term meant to describe a new way of living as a cancer patient/survivor/thriver. I thought I had embraced the term back then. I thought I understood it. I didn’t.

You see, I have been living with the idea that I live a new normal, when all along I’ve been kicking and screaming for the old normal, for the time when I was oblivious about the reality of my future, the reality of everyone’s future really. I lived with the illusion that death was an enigma. It was so far from where I was that I didn’t really think about it. I even feared thinking about it. For the last five years, all I have wanted was that innocence back. I talked a pretty good game, but the reality is that I didn’t accept the new normal. I’ve kept trying to get back on track with life. While my doctors have been nothing but good to me, I have dreaded every office visit, not because of the possibility of bad or good new, but because of the imposition it put on me wanting the old normal, on me wanting to get back to the life I once had. I stopped going to breast cancer support groups. I stopped going to anything that reminded me that I once had cancer. I even stopped writing about it so much.

Why is this coming up now? I watched the movie 50/50. As a member of Cancer World, as the late Leroy Sievers called it, I was reluctant to watch the movie, but wanted to see the movie all the same, mostly because I love Seth Rogen in anything. I’d also heard a lot of good things about the movie. I’d heard writer Will Reiser talk about it in an interview and I just couldn’t resist. Last night, I finally did get a chance to see it. I settled into my recliner. It was a rare night when my 13-year-old curled up in my lap. I held her tight as I watched, and relived a little, the experience one has going through cancer. It was like everything I ever wanted to say about what was most definitely the worst year of my life was flickering right before me, and just when I thought I was going to cry, Seth Rogen was there to make me laugh and laugh loud and full and free. It was a the perfect blend of reality and laughter that allowed the feelings I’ve held inside for a long time to more or less be expelled. It allowed me to begin facing the new normal or whatever it is. I have been hard on myself. I have put unnecessary expectations on myself. Post-cancer, it seems balance has been the hardest thing to find.

If nothing, the movie made me see that the new normal is a silly term. Cancer does not bring a new normal. There is nothing normal about cancer, even five years after all the crap. It’s not normal that cancer happened. It’s not normal that everyone is afraid to talk about cancer when it does happen. It’s not normal that even medically still we treat cancer as something that has to be dealt with but hidden as we deal with it. There is nothing normal about cancer, but the real illusion is that there is anything about life that is normal.  The only real normal is that I am hardly the only person who is dealing with anything out of the ordinary. Even the most ordinary life is extraordinary in good and bad ways. Perhaps it’s silly that a movie could make me see this, but the fact that the movie is based on Will Reiser’s real life experience with cancer makes me understand why I connected with it.  Maybe, it’s not that the movie made me see it at all. Maybe, it’s that the movie gave me a chance to laugh out loud about something that everyone seems frightened to laugh about. Maybe, it’s the fact that the movie gave my entire family a chance to laugh about something we all were frightened to laugh about. For that, Will Reiser, Seth Rogen, Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Jonathan Levine, I can’t thank you enough for daring to make a movie about cancer.

Here is to giving the old heave ho to “old normals” and “new normals.” Here is to simply having a rare night to sit with my daughter curled up in my lap again. Here is to sitting with husband and my son. Here is to all of us laughing and laughing and laughing until the tears come. Ah, now I feel, dare I say, normal.

Keeping it simple

Posted on by survivorscribe

I have these Schoolhouse Rock song lyrics repeating over and over in my head, “Mother necessity, where would we be?” It resurfaced from my childhood as I fed my big dog Maynard while waiting for my morning coffee to percolate. I have been thinking about the meaning of necessity lately as I have systematically held to my New Year’s Resolution of purging. I look at certain things and question more and more whether they are really needed. The lesson I am learning through all of this is that less really is more, is that what we think is making our lives simpler might just be making it more of a hassle.

Take my computer, for instance. This week, it died. Kid Two got a virus on it. It was an old computer that should have been replaced a year ago and would have, were it not for my husband being a technical guru. My computer, it turns out is a necessity, a necessary evil is more like it. I need it to do things like write on this blog, or compose the six freelance articles I’m working on or organize materials for the three college classes that I teach. Still, it is a time sucker. The fact that my husband can make a six-year-old laptop still run means he spends countless hour debugging and reformatting and cussing up a storm in the process because he had better things to do.

Moving on. I drink coffee. I love coffee. I can’t be without coffee for very long. I’ve tried and I always go back. Still, coffee makers, the ones made to make life easier, have only given me headaches. I once received one of those coffee makers with a built in grinder, which was indeed a really nice gift. Still, the grinder only held so many beans and would get wet from the steam and clog and stick so that I would have to take a knife to it. Eventually, I killed it trying to get the parts to work right. I also killed at least one expensive coffee maker at my old job, and the hand me down I had been using at home overflowed every once in a while, making a huge mess all over the counter. None of the coffee makers ever made coffee the way I like it, so I went into the garage and fished out the percolator I used once or twice while camping. Best coffee I’ve ever had. No mess, no fuss and surprisingly it doesn’t really take that much longer to make.

This week we also lost our dryer. We didn’t physically lose it. It’s a big appliance. It’s kind of hard to miss. We lost the use of it. That’s when it dawned on me that the thing took too much energy anyway. It ran too often. I thought of when I visited my sister in the Netherlands and how she, a full-time working mom, managed to hang dry her clothes even with an infant who messed up a whole lot of clothes. I decided to do the same. Hang clothes, that is. I am in no way shape or form going through the infant thing again. What strikes me as odd and refreshing all the same is that hanging clothes to dry has somehow made doing laundry less of a chore, which seems counterintuitive. Sure, I have a rack of drying clothes standing in my front room, but I don’t have three baskets of dry clothes that need folding staring at me on a daily basis. I no longer do a bunch of laundry at once. I do a load a day and pull the pieces off the rack throughout the day.

With each step, I feel like I am becoming strangely more efficient and at the same time reducing my impact on the environment where I can. So, I guess the question to ask is, does “easier” necessarily make things “simpler”? I am finding the reverse. Simpler is easier.

I am what I am

Posted on by survivorscribe

This is the very best photo anyone has ever taken of me. My dad took it a loooong time ago. I sat forever because he used a large format camera back then.

As it happens, Popeye had something in that little old saying of his. What I love about the statement, “I am what I am,” is that it’s not fear based. It’s a simple declaration of love, love for being who he is when others don’t quite get him.
That is kind of how I see being a writer. I have heard other writers say they won’t tell people they are writers. I understand the reason. I know that it all comes down to that dreaded question, “Oh yeah, well do you have anything published?” As if that is somehow supposed to validate what I feel inside. As if it somehow deminishes what I am doing because a few people on the outside may or may not think my words are worthy.
What I realized, as I am journeying through this thing called life, is that what others say or believe doesn’t really matter. I am what I am. I am so many things, a writer is one of them and I am not afraid to say it. But, I also am a mother to two great kids. I am a wife and partner. I am someone who loves to bake. I am someone who loves to bead. I am an educator. I am also the things I am not. In other words, I am not the sum-total of my publications or awards, as perhaps I’ve been led to believe at times. I am not a workaholic, though I love my work as a writer and an educator, but none of it feels like work. I am not nearly as good a cook as my husband, though I give cooking a try.
If we give voice to who we are, then we validate it. If we shout it from the rooftops, then we validate it, even when others might be laughing or doubting that we can create the life we want.
I am reminded of a Sunday Morning on CBS interview with Dolly Parton I saw a while back. In the interview, she spoke of her high school graduation. She spoke of declaring then that she was going to be a super star. She said everyone laughed at her, but look at her now. It wasn’t that she knew it so much as she said it and kept saying it until she manifested it.
So, go ahead and say it. I will. I am a writer, among so many other things. I am what I am.

P.S. Rather than have a bio associated with this blog, I have changed it to an Artist’s Statement, because that is what I am, too, and I rather like the idea of an artist’s statement versus a list of all that I have accomplished, which really doesn’t say anything about me.

Winter, my time to reflect on risk

Posted on by survivorscribe

It has snowed here, as my faithful companion Maynard can attest to. He loves the snow. He’s fully in the moment when he rolls in it and playfully tosses his Kong ball. Like a bear, though, I want to hibernate. That is not what I get to do. The best I can do is sit tucked in my blanket on

Maynard in the Moment

a cold Sunday morning. Eventually, I’ll get out and take Maynard for a walk.

It’s probably in the middle of winter that I find it most difficult to write. The short days have sunk in. The cold penetrates my core and I just want to sit back and do as little as possible, but I won’t. I’ll keep at everything because I have to, because my body needs words.

As with more than half of America, we are struggling to make ends meet. We both took leaps at the same time, leaps with great risk. I have read people’s thoughts on risk taking and the idea that risks should be calculated. Still, even the best calculated risks are frightening. It wouldn’t be a risk, if there wasn’t the potential for failure. So, we are mid-flight in our risky leaps and, as to be expected, things at times feel exhilarating and at other times feel down right terrifying.

It’s at the moment when it is most terrifying that it is hardest to stay focused, but I have to remember then to stay in the moment, to let go of regret, to keep moving forward. After all, regret is rooted in fear and fear leads to ruts. I hate ruts. I’ve been stuck in too many of them only because for my whole life I feared the act of taking a leap.

So, I’ll just continue to plug away at my dreams, continue to understand that in mid-flight there is not going back to where things felt safe. There is only what’s below (or ahead).

And Maynard? Well, he reminds me that sometimes the best antidote for fear is taking a moment to play in the snow with a friend.

The beginning of the spark

Posted on by survivorscribe

I can see a string of colored lights curled around a fence  out back. They aren’t our colored lights, but I can see through the sliding glass door from where I sit in my recliner. I am not at my writing desk. I am on the verge of exhausted as I have taught all week. Once again, my resolve as a writer has been tested. I learned this week that it is back to the drawing board for pitching my novel. While it was disappointing, for some reason it was not earth shattering. My mother called the day after I told her that my novel wasn’t picked up by the publisher who asked for a full a little over a month ago. She worried that I would be wallowing in self-pity. While I have done so in the past, I didn’t this time. I think much of it has to do with the fact that I am living the life I want, now. I am teaching, so the publishing thing doesn’t feel as urgent. I know I am supposed to be doing all of this.

I’ve written before about the couple of times in high school I had written something and teachers pulled me aside to tell me I should send those things out. One thing I neglected to mention about those incidences is that it wasn’t so much that the teachers recognized anythings. Recently, I got in touch with an old friend from my high school French class. It got me thinking about why those teachers said anything, one of them was my French teacher Mrs. Hodgins. I remembered the feeling I had when I wrote those couple of things. I remembered the feeling of excitement I had as I created those stories. I didn’t realize then that that was the spark of inspiration. I might even have been frightened by that spark in some way. Either way, I knew what I was being shown then was that I loved creating stories. I just didn’t really realize it until much later. Well, it’s back to the drawing board, but no biggie. I’ll get there.

The merging of two of my great loves

Posted on by survivorscribe

So, I spent a better part of my life going through motions rather than really living and doing the things I wanted to do. I must confess, however, I didn’t really know what it was that I wanted to do. Rather, I did know what it was, but it is all too easy to slip into the glass jar of practicality and get sealed in. I’m not going to say dreaming is easy, or that the road less traveled isn’t riddled with pot holes and debris, thus requiring lots of creative maneuvering. If it was that easy we’d all be doing it, right?

There are of course times or events in our lives that shatter that glass jar and the only alternative is to finally take that crazy messed up road. What are my events? Well, there is an insane long list of them starting with the birth of my two beautiful children and ending with a little rumble I had a few years back with breast cancer. There were a host of other crazy things that were sprinkled in between there for good measure.

I know I am not the only one who has gone through all of that crap. The point is, however, that I could either succumb to all of that and whine and cry about it all or I could say, “In your face!” to all of it and leap into the life I am meant to have. I chose the latter. Again, I am not saying it’s easy and that there aren’t moments where I say to my self, “What the hell was I thinking?” Still, I come back to the way those shards of shattered glass twinkle like stars, flare even like sparks of dreams of places I am supposed to go. Those sparks include sending my book and stories out until something aligns and they become what they are supposed to. They also include weaving more stories and writing the story that makes up the new book I am working on, one I grow more excited about every time I think about it. The sparks also include the merging of my love of good food with my love of words as I build a following for my Ann Arbor Cooking Examiner site.

So, I keep plugging along. I’m really excited about my step forward into food writing. If you are curious, go ahead and check it out, and thank you in advance for doing so.