I have been working on my next novel, The Secret Life of….. This project has been lurking on my computer and consistently calling my name for decades- no kidding. I have now vowed to address this novel before I dive deeper into another.
The Secret Life of….
The words and chapters have been ruminating inside me and I have reached the crucial point of dissection; too many words. This stage of editing can be daunting. When I need a break or diversion, I head to a place of enlightenment, a place that has changed me forever with no words, only hugs and whinnies!
THE BARN
Photo credit Susan Hale
I have found that when feeling overwhelmed or unappreciated, volunteering is simply fulfilling because of what it gives back to my heart,
especially when the staff is furry!
The incredible healing of horses!
Let me tell you about Talisman Therapeutic Equestrian Center-=q, where horses provide healing!
After even one session of working and watching these creatures transforming the lives of children, veterans, the elderly, and every human they touch, I can return to my writing desk changed and recharged to tackle the novel or other issues. There is never a moment after I volunteer that I feel unappreciated. Instead, I leave feeling blessed. They have given so much more to me than I could give them. If you search for an uplift in your life, please consider volunteering or donating. A single lesson requires multiple assistants along with the instructor. All of which is funded by donations.
Stuff! Too much stuff. I have a treasure trove of family heirlooms passed through my generations; strange glassware, unusual statues, moth-smelling scarves, gaudy jewelry and yes, a bear rug. (More on the rug later!)
As I am packing, I have become quite envious of my daughter who has developed into a minimalist. With the growing conviction that I do not want to leave her with the same burden others left me, I decided not to encumber my life with extra baggage from this move.
Besides, nothing last forever, right?
Wrong…
Yes, most things fade … except memories, feelings, and smiles will imprint on your heart forever.
Take my glass camel pitcher or is it a teapot? The one I have wrapped and toted from house to house even though it’s ancient and chipped. The pitcher is the oddest; a camel lying down, the lid, his colorful saddle with a rattan handle. Look closely and you can see the broken green saddle bar.
The pitcher belonged to my Great Aunt Hilda who had a perpetual smile and a seventy-year marriage to the love of her life. She would be well over 130 years if alive. Aunt Hilda made everyone smile even though she broke almost everything she touched. My mother once said that I took after her. “Just like Aunt Hilda, you are shushly.”
My mother explained how her Aunt Hilda would dust for my grandmother who was overwhelmed with a houseful of seven children. “She needed help caring for her family, so she called on Aunt Hilda.” I remember Mom giggling, “she broke everything when she dusted. But she sure made us smile.”
When my mother passed, I rediscovered the camel glassware. The discovery made me flash back to Great Aunt Hilda. Every summer morning as a child when she watched me, she would cook me a Birdie in the Nest egg sandwich. (Click on the words to see the recipe!) I would spend the morning playing UNO with them at an outdated metal framed kitchen table with the red-Formica top. My Aunt would howl every time Uncle Albert or I yelled UNO, and the jovial rolls under her chin and folded arms jiggled like we were experiencing an earthquake.
As I grew older, Aunt Hilda had additional reasons that made me smile. Reasons my mother would shudder in horror about if she knew. Great Aunt Hilda had no reservations explaining the Birds and the Bees. A woman ahead of her time, she enlightened me on the subject and how enjoyable relations could be.
Our little secret. Perhaps, those secrets are for a later story.
The camel, broken or not, is a priceless relic to me. I would be tossing Aunt Hilda in the trash not to mention my mother’s smile.
How could I throw her away? The family relics like the camel; glassware, statues, scarves, jewelry and yes, the bear rug in the first picture, all spark cherished memories.
I came to a decision I could live with…I would share my smiles!
I didn’t shoot the bear. I couldn’t, I am not by any description a hunter. But when my daughter begged for a bear rug for our rustic and western themed décor, after much loss in our lives, I wanted to make her smile. I had to find one. By pure luck, or should I say by divine angels, a dear client had one to give away! I had no choice but to inherit it. For many years, the bear stained a smile on our hearts and not to mention was an interesting topic of conversation in our home.
Today I am moving and the fuzzy bear would never fit into my coastal decor. I loved the bear rug, and my client, who without knowing free of charge, created glimmers of happiness in our chaotic lives.
I decided to pass the feeling on.
When I received a ‘thank you’ and a snapshot of the young boy embracing our beloved bear, I was left with a delightful lasting memory as well as his mother and grandmother.
Letting go is redeeming and refreshing especially when permanently stamped with a smile that may linger forever. Some things do last forever!
I am not positive to whom I will share the unique camel pitcher, but I do hope my stories will leave every reader with an interminable impression. One that makes them smile to escape from their chaotic world!
Have you ever been so nervous that you feared freezing mid-sentence or blurting out the wrong word? My recent TV interview with Amy Khem was indeed a privilege but, I almost cancelled because I was overwhelmed with apprehension.
At the Good Day PA on ABC27 Studios with Host Amy Kehm!
Everyone at Good Day PA on ABC27 was professional and inviting. However, my insides were electrified with terror. I feared becoming star-struck, staring into space, consumed in a complete daze the moment the director announce,”on the air in five, four, three, two, one…” I imagined being frozen in a hypnotic trance, mumbling the words, “Where was I going with this?”
At my age, this phenomenon of brain relapsing can happen several times a day, only this time I would be in front of thousands of viewers. Amy Kehm the host, proved to be an expert. She promised to pull me through the interview, and rescue she did!
Amy saved the moment like many others in my life; my publisher, my editor, my grammar guru, and the one beta-reader I distressed over more than any other reader. The thought of this particular reader reviewing my literary labors of love sends daggers into the pit of my stomach!
Fear coerces us to say no to new adventures. Fear makes copping out easy. Ultimately, this creates feelings of regret. So it is a blessing when there is an Amy Kehm or a beta-reader who can restore your morale to new heights. I remember, (as a teenager who worried too much about what others thought,) when another living creature rescued me from a dark abyss.
It was a beautiful day for a riding lesson on my heart horse. A thoroughbred named Joe. At the time, I did not own a horse of my own, but the instructor graciously offered Joe for me to ride or simply groom whenever I wanted. What a gift. We developed as quite a team, Joe and I, after one moment when I learned that Joe always had my back.
It was the final show of the year. The worse kind. A jump off with other students at the farm. Students my age that I wanted to impress with my style. Instead of the typical riding jodhpurs, I foolishly attired myself in my favorite over-worn bell bottom jeans, which were getting weak at the seams. What was I thinking? Who worried about red-carpet style at the barn? I wasn’t thinking about anything but me, certainly not Joe.
I can’t really remember how many students were present. Nor the course or how many jumps. There was a small audience of parents and friends. Upon seeing the crowd and the three-foot jumps ( a first for me), my entire body stung with fear.
It was merely the first jump when the dreadful incident occurred. We were mid-air, Joe soaring over the first set of three-foot rails as I heard the horrid ripping sound. As soon as I felt the wind on my tush, I knew exactly what happened.
My bell bottom jeans split up the back seam revealing my psychedelic neon, lime bikini underwear. My mind raced with only one thought, flee! I wanted to leap off, and quit. Not Joe. He thought of us.
Joe cleared the first jump without any help from me. I wasn’t sitting in position, my heels weren’t down, and I gripped the reins too tightly, which forced the metal bit to see-saw in his mouth. How completely wrong as a rider, but I was wallowing in humiliation as my body banged my faithful steed from all angles. Joe should have been angry, but instead reached new heights in everyone’s heart.
My honorable steed cleared each fence in perfect pattern and form, even with my sideshow underwear peeking out through my flapping jeans. Beneath the snickers, Joe impressed onlookers with his style.
Although Joe is in heaven, this is another loving creature, rescuing my Daughter!
Joe pulled me through like my most dreaded beta-reader whom I will forever miss… My Mom.
A last celebration lunch with my mom and daughter.
My mom was the essence of a rarely pleased critic; a Goldilocks in search of perfection. Perhaps it was her own dread of failure or her phobia of MY failure. But on the day she received her diagnosis of a brain tumor while we sat in the reception area of the doctor’s office, she told me she read my first book, Spurred to Justice, in two days and loved it.
Trust me, my mom wasn’t afraid to burden me with an honest review. After her acknowledgment, we sat before her scheduled appointment, editing the first chapter, unsuspecting the outcome of her brain scan. This moment I will hold ever so close in my heart.Thank you to all the Moms, Amys’, and Joes’ in our lives. The rescuers. There would be no sanity to life without them. Who rescued you? The concept of others ( including furry friends supporting your back,) is the theme of The Silver Cowgirls series. I felt the story in my heart. I hope you do too.
If you read last month’s blog, can guess which one is me in the picture above? This was one of the treasures I have discovered in my recent winter purge. I am smashed in the middle with my flirty bangs. But why my dismal expression?
As I am purging, I am filling together pieces of my life. I think I know why I was miserable in this photo with my sister and my father styling his infamous crew cut.
But back to that later.
The wonderful attribute about hoarders is they keep every note, every snip of artwork and every family photo from the past. Such a collection was one of the family treasures my parents left my sisters and I to organize and share. A daunting task. But every ounce they saved was a golden gift. (Well, most of it.)
Even though it is the month of Cupid’s kisses, February can be dismal; a hallway that is sometimes dark and cold connecting January to Spring. Perhaps a reason why we should focus on hearts and the magic of love. One like my parents.
Their love stretched a lifetime most of which I was a part of. However, before my siblings and I were even a thought in their hearts, they were simply Joan & Joe. They dated twenty-four months until my father was sent across the globe on a ship. The Korean War. A dark part of their story. The hallway between dating and forever. But in that aching time, my parents managed to leave us a treasure that told the story of their deep love.
Love letters were saved in stacks and in shoeboxes tied with ribbons. The precious articles that now fit in one half of the old refrigerator where I store my journals and important memories. These pictures and letters are my future project. I have unearthed my parent’s love story. My father, (obviously the romantic of the two) the artist, the dreamer, and the writer.
I remember my father would occasionally slip one of the letters in a fresh envelope and address it to my mother. Then he would ask me to take it to the mailbox for Valentine’s Day. He was an old romantic. Although, my mother would say, “Oh, Joe you are ridiculous saving this stuff,” she was the one who retained the stacks of letters. (Look for this non-fiction book in the future.)
Then there are the relics; the Voice–O–Graph.
I never knew such an age-old technology existed. Today when we can instantly share our images on Facetime and Zoom, a foggy voice spinning around on a 45 player seems archaic. The voice-o-graph was called the ideal greeting card. I am so excited to embark on their love letters. A part of their lives when I was not even a thought in their journey together.
These letter and records give me chills! The realization of their love, which stretched across the world, was tested by distance and war. Decades later, I was truly smashed in the middle. Their legacy was raising three sisters: the love child, the princess, and me-the middle. Of course, I was the cream of the Oreo cookie.
So back to my first picture above. My distressed expression. I am sure that was the day I was informed my dream of a pony would be placed on hold.
My parents announced I was receiving an even better present. A baby sister or brother. (No telling at that time.) Little did I know, she was indeed a precious gift; my baby sister and one of my best friends. (As they both are.)
P.S. I did get my pony in due time. Never too late!
So back to that hairdressing novel with butterflies, beauticians and of course an enduring LOVE! Join me on a renewed writing journey and enjoy my latest series. Happy February and remember I will be signing at the Horse Expo in Harrisburg. Drop by and say HI!
