INSPIRATION? I HOPE SO . . .

A week or so ago I woke up in the middle of the night with the dream I had been having VERY vividly etched in my mind. I had been at the funeral of a family friend, and after the eulogy and usual talk about the plan of salvation, they did something a little different, and opened it up for family and friends to come up and share a favorite memory of the man. I can still remember SO vividly sitting there, wanting with all my heart to get up and share what this man had done for me and my family, and I simply could not. I have a very high water level, and I KNEW I wouldn't be able to share what I wanted to without crying, and I hate, hate, HATE crying in front of people.


So there I sat, like a bump on a log, filled with the yearning to share how much this man and his years and years of service as a faithful Scoutmaster, and a bishop and a favorite gospel doctrine teacher, as well as a good and trusted family friend had strengthened and encouraged and inspired me and my family over the past few decades . . . and yet I could NOT make myself stand and walk up to the microphone.


I was so stirred up by the dream that I got up and did a load of laundry and cleaned my kitchen because I knew I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep right away, and when I told my husband about the dream the next morning, he suggested that maybe I should write the man a note, and tell him all the things I hadn't been able to say at his funeral. (LOL . . . did that even make sense?)


He HAS had a rough year, medically, but as far as I know he is recovering well from all the procedures and operations he has endured, but my husband's words sunk down deep in my soul and I knew it was a good idea . . . So I gave it some thought over the next few days, wanting it to be perfect, and to adequately express what was in my heart, and then life got busy, as it always does, and I put that thought on a back burner, and did nothing about it.


Watching conference for the past two days, as I was squirming from some of the talks, inspired and lifted and touched by others, the thought about sending him a note expressing my gratitude resurfaced . . . and it did so in the midst of me resolving to try even harder to be kind and in tune with those around me, to do more to lift and encourage and strengthen the people with whom I come into contact, and to be better about helping to bear the burdens of mortality of friends and family and extended family and neighbors and even strangers . . .


Yeah . . . at that point, the realization that I had never gotten around to writing the note popped into my head . . .


So after conference was over, our youngest son's birthday dinner was served (and put away and cleaned up from) and our company went home, I sat down and after a quick prayer, I just wrote what was in my heart . . .


I wrote about what a good man he was, and how much his faithful service had touched and enriched and inspired the lives of my family members . . . shared some of the memories that my boys had of him as their Scoutmaster and what they had learned from him on all those hikes and campouts and lessons in church and around the campfire . . . how grateful we were for the respect and admiration and friendship our sons had for and with him, and how instrumental he was in helping several of them serve full time missions . . . how inspired we had been by his gospel doctrine lessons . . . How his knowledge and love and understanding of gospel principles and the Savior had helped strengthen and deepen our resolve to live the gospel and serve faithfully . . . That his lessons were never about showing off his extensive knowledge of the scriptures, but designed to make them come alive and make it all seem more real and even better, more DO-ABLE . . . and how the years he led our ward as a bishop, we had been continuously uplifted and inspired and motivated to serve faithfully and stretch in new ways. I wanted to make SURE that he realized how often the Lord had worked through his efforts to bless our lives -- collectively and individually -- AND that he knew how much and how deeply he was loved and appreciated.


It wasn't perfect, by any means . . . I think it is rather awkward and inadequate . . . but at least I finally wrote it . . . I even walked across the street and mailed it, to make sure that I didn't forget it again . . .


Maybe it will seem weird to him when it arrives out of the blue . . . but I want him to know NOW what a difference his life and efforts and example and friendship has made for us . . . for ME . . .


I don't expect him to die any time soon . . . but I really DO want him to know what his friendship has meant to us . . .

INASMUCH AS YE HAVE DONE IT . . .

Recently I had a conversation with a friend who shared their bafflement at people who differentiate between 'religious' and 'spiritual' . . . That is a whole big, drawn out conversation that cannot really be condensed into short, concise answers, and those answers might vary according to who was asked, but MY take on the issue is fairly simple (HHAHAHAHAHHA surprised you, didn't I? ME having a simple, short answer to ANYTHING?!?!?) and pretty much revolves around the fact that many people have become disenchanted with organized religion, but still feel some affinity for a higher power and have a sense of 'right' and 'wrong' . . . So saying someone is not RELIGIOUS (no strong affiliation with any organized religion) does not mean that they cannot still be SPIRITUAL (have promptings/inspirations/experiences that FEEL spiritual but do not happen in a church or strictly religious-type setting). At least that is MY take on the matter . . .


I get that . . . even though I would consider (and describe) myself as both . . . I AM a devout Mormon, and my faith means everything to me. I go to church, serve regularly, pay tithing, follow my faith's health code, etc. I do not by any means mean that I am a PERFECT Mormon . . . LOL . . . not at all . . . but my faith DOES mean a great deal to me . . . it RESONATES with me. I do not mind if you do not share my faith or even my opinion of my faith, I just hope -- with all my heart -- that you find something that brings the same kind of hope and contentment and peace and meaning to your lives that my faith brings to mine . . .


Spirituality also means a great deal to me. I try very hard to be kind, to look for good in people, to follow through on promptings and feelings I get that feel like inspiration. Are they always inspiration? Maybe, maybe not. Probably not. And I certainly don't claim to do THAT perfectly, either . . . but again, I try. I really try.


This post really isn't about that particular debate, though (religious vs spiritual) . . . I just had an experience last night that made me remember the recent conversation about it.


I had an appointment to go visit a woman from my church this evening. I am just getting to know her, but enjoying the chance to visit with her once a month. She is a sweetheart of a woman, a single mom whose only son is currently far away, serving a mission for our church, and she is so proud of the work he is doing, and loves to share his letters with me. Visiting her is real treat.


Anyhow, I got ready to go, and told my husband I would fix him dinner as soon as I got back, and ran out and got in my car. It wasn't until I was a few blocks away from home that I glanced at the clock in my car and realized I was going to be way early for my appointment with her. Since she asked me to come right after she got home from work, if I went early there was a good chance she wouldn't be there yet, but it wasn't really enough to time to go back home OR decide to do some window shopping or something.


While I was trying to decide what to do, I noticed that my car was on fumes, so I decided to go get gas, which was about perfect for the amount of time I had to kill before I could go to her home. I didn't go to the gas station I usually go to, but decided to go to a different one that was sort of on the way. No big deal.


I pulled into the station, and immediately wished that I HAD gone to my usual gas station because this one was right near a freeway off/on ramp and was CROWDED. I pulled up to the one empty pump, only to discover that it was out of order, so I had to circle around to another pump, and some little car cut in front of me, stealing the recently vacated pump I was headed for. I backed up and tried for another one, and the same thing happened again, so I finally just pulled in behind some little car, resigned to wait, and figuring that a little car probably has a little-ish gas tank and would fill quickly and be gone. Eventually he did leave, and I pulled up.


After inwardly groaning at just HOW expensive gas is (at this particular station the grade I get was $4.74.9 / gallon), I quickly realized that this fill up was probably going to cost me $100 easily. I said a few bad words under my breath, and as I began to pump my gas, out of the corner of my eye I saw a man a little ways off walking towards the gas station with a gas can in his hand. I wasn't really paying attention to him, I could just see him (sort of) in my peripheral vision and the thought jumped into my mind "You should offer to put some gas in his gas can".


I quickly squelched that thought, I mean, I was already going to have to pay a small fortune to fill my own tank and was grumbling about that . . . Surely someone with a smaller, less thirsty car could help him out. The thought to help him didn't feel particularly like inspiration, more like intuitive logic. Someone WALKING to a GAS station with a GAS can is pretty likely in need of gas, right? DUH . . .


About three minutes later, I wasn't even particularly surprised to hear a soft, hesitant voice say, "Excuse me, ma'am . . . I ran out of gas and was wondering if you could help me out . . . " I turned toward the voice, all ready to smile apologetically and say "I am so sorry, but it is all I can do to keep my own tank filled" when I remembered the thought I had had just a few minutes earlier, and found myself saying, instead, "Well, it will take awhile for me to fill my own tank, but if you don't mind waiting, I could put some gas in your gas can."


He assured me that he didn't mind waiting, and thanked me in advance for my help, while I mentally kicked myself and pondered how to get out of paying for his gas.


LOL. I TOLD you I wasn't perfect.


I finally decided that it wouldn't kill me to put a couple of dollars worth of gas into his can until I glanced at the pump again, and realized that 'a couple of dollars' wouldn't even buy ONE gallon. Since I had just been groaning about what it would take to fill my own tank, the thought of being generous really did sort of stick in my throat like a fish bone, but I kept going back to that thought that had popped into my head before he had even approached me . . . before I even had any idea that he WOULD approach me.


I finally decided that I could/would put ten dollars of gas into his gas can. That wasn't a fortune, though it was more than I might usually offer, and while I was so deep in thought, wrestling with my dilemma, it took me a minute to realize that he was talking to me again.


He asked if he could wash my windows since I was going to help him with gas, and I laughed and said 'oh man, my car is SO dirty . . . clean windows will look kind of funny on it, wont they?" He glanced at my car and smiled and said, "Wow, it really IS pretty dirty, isn't it?" (I have this thing about cars being a daddy job . . . I do ALL the cooking and cleaning and laundering and my house is always -- except for this past week because of the company -- clean and orderly, but my car is always kind of messy because I think if I do all that stuff INSIDE the house, my spousal unit should have to take care of the cars. He, however, disagrees and while he keeps HIS car shiny and clean, mine is always messy and dirty, and one of our smart ass sons loves to write (with his finger) on the back window "If only my wife was this dirty", because he thinks it is hilarious . . . I am less amused).

Anyhow, he seemed to really want to wash my windows, so I finally said if he wanted to, that would be nice, and I would appreciate it. He put the gas can down, and began working on the windows. When I finished filling my car (and yeah, the total was OVER a hundred dollars, which again made me wish I could just give him a few dollars and excuse myself) I asked him, "Do I just put the nozzle in this little hole thingie?" Which brought him scrambling back to tell me he would hold the gas can in case it splashed any gas back.


We finally got a little over $10 in the can, and he thanked me for my generosity, and I thanked him for washing my windows, and he said, "But I haven't yet done the windshield, if you can please wait a moment, I will wash it, too". At that moment a gas station employee came up to him and told him that he had to leave the premises, that they would not allow him to harass their customers. He tried to explain that he had run out of gas, but she just waved away his explanation and demanded that he leave, then walked off.


He looked so embarrassed that I felt bad for him, and after she left, he again asked me to wait so he could finish my windshield. When he walked past me, I said "I am sorry that my tank took so long to fill and that made you get in trouble." Then I climbed in my car, and when he finished the windshield, I smiled and waved and mouthed 'thank you' through the window then I drove off.


I know that was no big deal . . . Ten dollars worth of gas isn't going to make or break me financially. I have no idea who he was or where he was going when he ran out of gas . . . I just know -- with everything in me -- that I was there at that gas station at that time to help him. I don't know how I know that . . . or why I am so sure . . . but I am.


I will never see that man again, and honestly, I probably wouldn't recognize him if I did . . . but that doesn't matter . . . Even my initial crappy attitude didn't matter . . . I KNOW that I left early for my appointment (without realizing it) and saw the low gas light at that moment so that I would go to THAT gas station at that precise time to be there when he arrived.


To ME, that experience was spiritual, not religious . . . In fact, even though I don't understand why, I know that it was significant . . . I guess I know this in the same way I know that I was meant to help him.


All the way to my appointment, I had the SWEETEST assurance -- that I cannot even begin to adequately express in words -- that I had done the 'right' thing . . . and that my heavenly father was pleased with me.



That random, unexpected little experience of helping a stranger out with $10 worth of gas just may have been one of the most spiritual experiences that I have had in awhile . . . I don't know why or even how it was so significant . . . I just know that it was . . .





And I wanted to write it down before I forgot . . . so I am sharing it here . . .



Next time, I REALLY hope that I wont start out so begrudgingly . . .

And after giving some more thought, I realized something very interesting. Had a stranger approached ME at that gas station and offered (insisted?) on paying for MY gas (a substantially more significant investment) the experience would not have been as powerful a reminder that the Lord knew me . . . was aware of my concerns . . . AND that He could trust me to be a blessing in the life of a total stranger . . . THAT experience was absolutely AMAZING . . .

HELLO . . . YEAH, IT'S ME AGAIN . . . NOT MUCH . . . HOW ABOUT YOU . . .

It occurs to me that most of what I have blogged here over the time that I have had this blogger account has been spent discussing why I blog so infrequently . . . This occurred to me out of the blue once, when in the midst of some deep introspection, one of my boys said 'mom, I don't read your blog because it is boring . . . all you do is whine about how you never blog'. LOL. Yeah . . . nothing like a little friendly wake up call by someone who loves you dearly and doesn't know how to be honest gently to provide much needed insight, right?


So . . . yeah, I am boring.


Big deal. Most of us are . . . honestly. I mean, NOBODY is endlessly witty and insightful and entertaining . . . right? Why should I expect to be any different? I began this blog as an exercise (sort of) after thinking about a part in an old movie ("Bridges of Madison County" or something like that, I think . . . I didn't even LIKE the movie, and never read the book, but at the end of it the woman's daughter and son are going through her cedar chest and discover some things that make them realize that they had never really known their mom as a PERSON . . . just as their mom. That seemed sad to me . . . and I decided that I would try to give my family members a chance to know ME . . . just as a person, not as their mom or aunt or sister or wife . . . just as, well, ME.


HMMMMMM . . . well, the jury was out for awhile, but apparently the 'ME' I was attempting to share is pretty dang boring. LOL.


OK . . . I can live with that. I don't know if I did a very good job of sharing myself here . . . but that is okay. I am aware that there are HUGE reservoirs of boringness in me . . . and sometimes I even bore myself. However, there are also times that I amaze myself, and to be honest, I really DO like being me . . . but my life is not such a thrill-a-minute that I would expect anyone else to want to BE me . . .


And I can live with that . . .


I am NOT, by any stretch of the imagination a finished product . . . and that does surprise me. I have spent most of my life assuming that when people got to 'my age' (which years ago I might have classified as 'old' but which NOW seems quite Spring chickenish) they were less works-in-progress and more polished. Either I am not that aware (always a possibility) or I just don't have it together quite as well as other . . . um . . . 'spring chickens' . . . ish . . . (also a possibility) . . . but I am definitely still learning, still growing, still discovering, still evolving . . . which is interesting (at least to ME), but also a little disconcerting. Fot some reason, I thought all my rough edges would be more polished by now . . . How kind of depressing to think that the people I spent my life looking up to were maybe just like ME . . . mere mortals . . .


Anyhow, be that as it may . . . this is kind of an unexpectedly stretchy time in my life . . . with some hard things happening/going on . . . and I find myself less ready to turn these experiences into Sacrament Meeting talks with the little standard pat answers to my very real questions and concerns. Oh, I haven't lost my faith. Not at all. I KNOW that my Heavenly Father is aware of what is going on AND that He is in charge and has a plan for my life. I also know that He sees a bigger, clearer picture than I do, and that things that don't seem to make sense NOW . . . WILL be understood and probably even appreciated somewhere down the road.


I heard the neatest story in Stake Conference awhile back that has stuck in my head, even though the details are fuzzy and I may not get them exactly right. Still, I want to try to write it down here before I forget it completely.


A woman was out shopping and came across some absolutely beautiful carved wood music boxes. Knowing how much her little daughter would love something so girly and lovely she purchased one for her, to surprise her daughter with on Christmas morning. On her way out of the store, she saw a much simpler, much smaller, and much less expensive version of the wooden music box, and remembering that her daughter was going to a friend's birthday party soon, purchased that for her daughter to give as a gift.


When she showed her daughter the small music box that she could wrap up for her friend, the little girl promptly burst into tears, sobbing "I don't WANT to give this to MaryAnn . . . I want to keep it for ME . . . I have ALWAYS wanted a wooden music box!!!" She could NOT be consoled, as hard as her mother tried to do so. The irony did not escape her mom . . . The girl WOULD be receiving a music box soon . . . a much nicer one than the one she was giving her friend, and yet the girl didn't know about the second music box, and so she was absolutely CERTAIN that the music box she was supposed to wrap up for her friend, was EXACTLY what she wanted.


The speaker then went on to say that trusting in the Lord means JUST that . . . TRUSTING him . . . Trusting Him when things don't go the way you had hoped or planned, and you are absolutely CERTAIN that the righteous desires of your heart are mistakenly slipping away, out of your grasp . . . Trusting that He DOES have a plan . . . and that sometimes when what you want and hope for and dream about doesn't seem to be working out, it IS because the Lord has something much better in store for you . . . You need to trust His plan when he takes (pries?) the small music box out of your fingers, and be willing to be patiently confident that it will be replaced with something even better.


I don't know if my retelling the story makes much sense tonight . . . but maybe that doesn't even matter. Maybe *I* am the one that needed to be reminded of that thought . . .


Yeah . . . I suspect that I really did write all this for ME . . . I may not be as witty or entertaining or insightful as I could be . . . but I want most to be AUTHENTIC . . . and tweaking things to entertain an audience (LOL, like I have one) will interfere with what I want (and perhaps need) this experience to be.


So . . . sorry, but this is ME . . . warts and all . . .


(Um, except I really don't have any warts, honest, but you know what I mean.)

STETCHING OUT OF MY COMFORT ZONE . . .

There is simply no subtle way to put this . . . I am a bona fide, world class weenie . . .


Yeah . . . pathetic, but true . . .


I am just not very brave. PERIOD. For all my love of my pioneer ancestry and my identifying with them and their courage in the face of heartbreaking challenges like cutting off their own leg to free themselves from a frozen river (OK, I may have made that one up) . . . Still, the point is that I LOVE pioneers . . . I am FASCINATED by their courage and resourcefulness and faith . . . I ADORE that I have honest-to-goodness pioneer ancestry . . . and yet I whine if my air conditioning is slow to kick in and I refuse to eat anything that even looks slightly weird (including guacamole and sour cream and cream cheese and a lengthy list of other nasty food items).


I am -- at the risk of repeating myself -- very much a weenie.


My comfort zone is roughly the size of a postage stamp, and it has taken me DECADES to stretch it this far.


I at least am aware of my weenieness . . . and I AM working on it . . . sort of. This year for my New Year's Resolution (which I LOVE love LOVE to make . . . I may be a weenie, but I am a weenie with GREAT intentions) I vowed to do one stretchy thing a day. It could be big or small, but even a teensy tiny stretchy thing counted . . . and honestly, MANY of my stretches have been microscopic.


That has been an interesting journey. Here were are inching towards the end of February, so I have nearly two months of 'stretchy things' under my belt . . . and for the most part they are NOT particularly impressive. I went up and shook hands with an unfamiliar face at church (well, actually I shook the HAND of someone with an unfamiliar face . . . I didn't really think they would appreciate having their face shaken) . . . I smiled at a stranger at the store . . . I gave up a primo parking space without ANY bad words muttered . . . I listened patiently to someone drone on and on and ON about something that had upset them . . . I took the time to tell someone that they looked extra pretty today . . .


Yeah . . . I am not exactly curing cancer or halitosis or taking a stand on world peace . . . but I AM making an effort to being more open to stretching a little every single day in a way that I probably would not have without the challenge.


Last night my stretchy thing was to FINALLY print out my NaNoWriMo story from 2011. I kind of liked my one from 2010, though it is still in the editing process, but I am fairly positive that my 2011 story stinks. For one, I inexplicably went with a genre I have never had a desire to write before AND it is the first time I have written a story for an adult audience. Children's literature is what really fascinates me, and honestly almost all of my favorite books are children's book . . . When writing I seem to find my voice most naturally in a precocious, thoughtful, ever watchful child . . . perhaps because I WAS that child. A long time ago.


So for whatever reason, even though I am NOT a 'lets-throw-caution-t0-the-wind' kinda girl, I wrote a story for adults (NOT to be confused with an 'Adult' story . . . no XXX's for ME, thank you very much) . . . and even while I was writing it I could tell it was bad. BUT I decided that the exercise of stretching would be good for me anyways. On November 30 I validated my 50K+ words and promptly forgot about the story. Oh, I would have put it aside to 'rest' for the month of December anyways . . . because it is MOST helpful to come back to it fresh when you are ready to edit and revise and see if what you have written has any merit, anything worth salvaging to it at all . . .


So in early January, I THOUGHT about reading it over . . . and chickened out. I just couldn't bring myself to do it . . . to face just how truly awful it was. My reluctance was sort of like trying to talk yourself into getting on the scale when you KNOW you pigged out on your two week vacation. You just want to accept the fact that the product is bad without being slapped with the details of the awfulness.


I thought again in late January . . . well I really should read it through at least once . . . and promptly pushed the thought aside again.


Here it is late February, and last night I decided that two months of weenieness (three, if you count December) was enough . . . I printed out all one hundred single spaced pages and committed myself to actually reading it. Oh, this IS -- without a doubt -- VERY raw . . . Like I said, I have never even read through it ONCE . . . in fact in that hectic month, I rarely even reread the last page or two I had written before jumping in to begin writing again.


HMMMMMMMMMMM . . . .


It IS very disjointed. Someone is mentioned in the first little bit that as far as I can recollect never gets referred to again . . . People changes names . . . Sometimes their physical descriptions change . . . Lots of details don't add up . . . and yet . . .


It isn't ALL absolutely HORRIBLE . . .


It isn't GOOD . . . but there are parts of it that when reading it, I suddenly think "DANG . . . I was MASTERFUL at describing that" . . . (Hey . . . if I am willing to face the stink-o parts, I should also be able to acknowledge the parts that aren't so stinky, right?)


This IS stretchy . . . but just like the exercise of writing it was good for me as a writer . . . so is the exercise of facing exactly what I wrote . . .


I mean . . . I am only like ten pages into it at this point (there is no need to get OBSESSIVE about this, after all) but I am pleased. Not because the story is any better at all than I remember it . . . but JUST because I DID write it . . . and even if my 'baby' IS awful homely . . . It IS, after all, MY baby . . .


YAY for stretching!!! I am microscopically less of a weenie today than I was yesterday . . .




Go ME!!!!

MISSING IN ACTION . . .

Wow . . . I cannot believe that Mother's day(ish) was the last time I posted here . . . I don't even think I have signed in or read anything anywhere since then . . . I guess LIFE happened . . . and -- literally -- almost death . . .


I am still trying process that whole experience. I almost died. I came REALLY really close . . . Maybe I should have died, I don't know . . .


I have had some close calls before in my life . . . lots of trips to emergency rooms for stitches . . . once when I was a teenager I jumped into a swimming pool onto a floating raft, and to my surprise, it flipped out from underneath me and I FELT my head brush the side of the pool, narrowly missing having my brains splattered all over the deck . . . Nobody else around me knew what had almost happened, but *I* did . . . I knew that I had come really close to at best, a very very serious head injury, and at worst, death.


Another time my brakes went out on the freeway when I had a car full of kids. I have NO idea how I managed to maneuver over to the side of the freeway safely, let alone get clear home . . . Again, everybody else knew it was DANGEROUS, but I am not sure anyone else knew that our lives had been spared, but *I* did . . .


Then last summer happened . . .


In the midst of an exciting, thrilling, joyful family gathering to celebrate new love and the start of a new family unit, I was once again tapped on the shoulder . . . or more accurately, I was mugged in the alley with a baseball bat by the grim reaper . . . and when I woke up after about thirty hours during which I have NO idea what happened, except what I have since been told . . . and as I gradually became aware of what was going on, I realized that it had happened yet again.


I don't know why that thought is SO difficult to wrap my head around, even now, seven months later. I almost died. I came really, REALLY close to dying . . . for reals . . .


I have always sort of thought that when it was 'my time' that I would have at least a moment, if not longer to sort of realize I was headed 'out' and to at least briefly look back over my life and see if I was going to be leaving behind any unfinished business . . . any loose strings that needed to be tied off . . . and some sort of split second awareness that 'okay . . . this is IT' . . .


Last summer there was NONE of that . . . and perhaps THAT is the most disconcerting part of it all . . .


But then again . . . I did survive . . . I did wake up . . . I AM still 'here' . . .


But even so . . . I still wonder about that . . .



And more often than I care to note, in the midst of playing with a grandchild . . . or cuddling and reading with one . . . or caught up in the absolute wonder and enjoyment of watching each one blossom and become who they are ultimately to be, I find myself catching my breath and the thought pops, unbidden, into my head "I would have missed this moment" . . . It happens with my precious grandchildren . . . with my beloved children . . . their spouses . . . friends . . . with my husband . . .


I guess what that all adds up to is that while I may still be coming to terms with the experience of last summer . . . I AM -- with all my heart -- VERY grateful to 'still BE here' . . .



VERY, very humbled and grateful . . .

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY . . . GOD BLESS US, EVERY ONE . . .

I don't have a photo on my mother on my computer, or I would have posted one here . . .

In another day or so it will be Mother's Day . . . at least here in the United States. I know that Mother's Day is hard for many women . . . hard for women who were never able to have children (and wanted them) . . . hard for women who had dysfunctional mothers who left scars, either emotionally or even physically . . . hard for women who look back over their lives and realize that they made some very poor choices that their children have had to or still may have to pay a big price for . . . hard for women who do not value motherhood for a variety of reasons . . . hard for women who feel like even though they TRY they do not measure up to some ideal mother they imagined they would be or wished they could be or wished they could have had . . .

Yeah . . . basically, I think mother's day is a hard day for a lot of women . . . perhaps ALL women. I have a friend who used to work in retail for decades, who said she would rather work BOTH Black Friday (day after Thanksgiving) AND the day after Christmas than work on Mother's Day . . . She said she absolutely HATED working that day, more than any other because the store was filled with men and adult children, looking desperately for a last minute gift that would be 'good' enough for a wife or mom . . . and women who were frustrated and disappointed and upset with what their families did (or failed to do) to 'honor' them on this special day . . .

I am not one of those who hates Mother's Day, personally . . . despite my own imperfections as a mother (and they are many), and the sometimes flawed and disappointing ways in which my husband and children 'thank' me for all I have done . . . I have learned to LOVE Mother's Day.

I used to feel sad and dissatisfied on Mother's Day until one day maybe twenty years ago I realized that part of what I was feeling was remembering that my own mother had been sad and disappointed on Mother's day. I decided that day that that sadness was NOT a legacy I wished to pass along to my own children. So I totally changed my attitude . . . Mother's day was no longer about what gifts I received or who made what for dinner . . . It was a day in which I simply celebrated how much I loved BEING a mother . . .

That was a real turning point for me . . . Even if I got flowers bought at a grocery store late Saturday night and a card my husband forgot to sign (and that was only on occasion . . . he also did some AMAZING, breathtakingly thoughtful gifts like the time he got our kids -- ages about four to fourteen -- out of bed at midnight Saturday night after I had gone to sleep and they spent FOUR HOURS in the middle of the night weeding , mulching , nourishing, and planting these big flower beds we had along the house in our front hard and then got up early the next morning to present me with dirty gloves and a mud-caked trowel . . . I was SO overwhelmed and touched that they thought of it and were willing to do that). . .

So even if I had to cook my own Mother's day dinner (we don't go to stores or restaurants on the Sabbath) . . . even if my kids chose that day to whine and fight and argue endlessly . . . It didn't matter, I didn't wait for THEM to make me happy . . . for THEM to make me feel like all the sacrifices and 24/7ishness of motherhood was worth it . . .

Nope, I wanted them to remember me HAPPY on Mother's day . . . So I was. And for ME, the way to do that was simply to make it a day on which I celebrated how very grateful I am for the opportunity I have had to bear and raise and nurture my five AMAZING, challenging, incredible children . . .

I have absolutely LOVED being a mom . . . and now a gramma . . . Oh, I don't delude myself that I have done any of it perfectly . . . and when I remember the times I was too tired to listen to a child who had something they wanted to share or turned away from a sticky hug because I was dressed up and ready to go out or lost it with a surly teenager when something deep inside of me was telling me they needed a hug . . . When I remember those times, my heart just aches . . . and I wish life had a replay button so I could rewind things and go back to just THAT moment and do better . . .

But I cannot . . . I cannot go back and erase those missteps and mistakes, no matter how badly I would like to . . . anymore than anyone else can. All I can do, is learn from those times and move on and try to do better . . . I have not been a perfect mother . . . even though I have honestly tried to do my prayerful, loving best . . . I am not at all sure that ultimately that my 'best' will be enough to give my children the stability, the skills, the grounding they will need as they navigate the rapids of their own lives . . . but I DO know that it was a priority for me and that I TRULY tried . . . and I pray that ultimately that will be enough . . .

Oh, how I hope so . . . I really REALLY hope so . . .

Also on this day, I remember MY mom. I cannot even find the words to express how beyond grateful I am for my own mother . . . She died sixteen years ago, and I still miss her every day. I hope with all my heart that I told her often enough how much I loved and respected and admired her . . . I hope she knows how often I remember things she said (or didn't say when I knew she was dying to) . . . how much I cherish that she believed in me, no matter what . . . and that even when my choices or actions disappointed her, that she KNEW that I was capable of better . . .

I am grateful for the memories I have of laughing with her, my sisters and I piled on her bed, laughing so hard we could hardly breathe, when I knew even then, that she REALLY wanted to go to sleep because she got up at 4 am to help my brother with his paper route . . . She was a very intelligent, well read woman, yet she could still laugh and be silly and enjoy the antics of seven active, creative, imaginative children . . .

I have no doubt that my own strong faith was nurtured by hers . . . and I treasure the memories I have of walking into her room late and night and finding her either kneeling at the side of her bed, deep in her personal communications with the Lord or sitting there, propped up with pillows with an open book of scriptures in her lap . . . I no longer remember all the WORDS with which she shared her deep love of the Lord and faith in His dealings except in snippets . . . but I will never forget the powerful witness -- throughout my whole life -- of how SHE found strength and comfort and hope by turning to Him on a daily and regular basis . . .

I miss you so much, Mom . . . and I wish with all my heart I could give you one more big bear hug and tell you how very much I love you . . . and that I will be ETERNALLY grateful for the opportunity to have been nurtured by a woman like you . . .

Happy Mothers Day . . . to all us imperfect, flawed, unfinished products who are daily trying to do our best to love and nurture and teach and encourage our children -- whatever their ages or circumstances -- to be their BEST selves . . .

SEW BUSY . . .

Life has been SOOOOOOOOOOO busy . . . MAN . . .

I keep thinking things will settle down, and they just don't . . .


I am just so SEW busy . . .



Life is good . . .

HOW DO I LOVE THEE . . .

I have been married a long time . . . a REALLY long time . . . Half of forever, as near as I can calculate . . . My marriage is a pretty good one, though by no means perfect. Our marriage is no more perfect than either of us are . . . and that is not very perfect at all . . . We step on each other's toes (metaphorically speaking) on a regular basis . . . We drive each other crazy . . . irritate one another to death . . . and yet we stay together . . . and somehow, despite all our struggles and shortcomings, our marriage works well on a whole lot of levels . . .

I know that doesn't sound very romantic . . . but we are not young, starry-eyed lovers who think we would die if forced to separate . . . We know and appreciate each other's strengths, AND we know and tolerate (for the most part) one another's flaws and quirks and weaknesses . . .

I guess I simply don't want to give the wrong impression here . . . Despite our struggles, we have a good marriage . . . It is more than simply comfortable . . . it is . . . peaceful . . .

That has not always been true, but it IS true, now . . .

And so, in honor of Valentine's Day . . . I want to mention some of the things that I have come to love about my husband and our relationship . . .

I love that our marriage IS so comfortable . . . We know one another VERY well -- metaphorical warts and all . . . and I know that my secrets are safe with you, as yours are with me . . .

I love that you try very hard to listen to me . . . even when you are upset . . . even when you vehemently disagree . . . even when you are POSITIVE I am wrong . . . You genuinely TRY to 'hear' my point of view . . .

I love that you make me laugh . . . sometimes with your wit . . . sometimes with your silliness . . . sometimes just because you like to see me smile . . .

I love that when I look into your eyes, I can SEE that YOU can still see the hottie you married SO long ago . . .

I love that when we walk into a room together you always put your hand at the small of my back . . . I cannot even begin to express how cherished and protected that makes me feel . . .

I love that I know how to light up your eyes . . . That we know one another so well, that I know what dinners will elicit a HUGE ear-to-ear grin . . . What naughty suggestions whispered in your ear will get your motor purring . . . That I know how to buoy you up when you are feeling overwhelmed and discouraged . . . I LOVE that I can still do those things for you . . .

I love that you believe in me . . . That you feel lucky and honored to be my husband and tell me so frequently . . . One night -- years ago, in the midst of a really difficult, painful stretch -- I will NEVER forget your turning to me and whispering, "I know that you are the very best thing that has ever happened to me" . . . To say something like that when things are going WELL would be a sweet compliment . . . To be able to say it when things were NOT going at ALL well, touched my heart beyond measure . . .

I love that when you see me for the first time . . . coming through the door after work . . . when you are at an airport (either arriving or picking me up), scanning the crowds for my face . . . or even in the halls at church when you come upon me unexpectedly, that you visibly light up . . . You are genuinely glad to see me . . . Every SINGLE time . . .

I love that once, years ago, when a significant earthquake awoke us both in the middle of the night after a particularly nasty fight -- one that really made me wonder if we would or even could stay together afterwards -- despite the recent ugliness, your first impulse was to reach out and grab my hand . . . That unconscious gesture gave me hope that we COULD, indeed, work through things . . . and we did . . .

I love that you are willing to tolerate the things I am interested in, even if they are not the same things you are interested in . . . We do not have a lot of shared hobbies, and never have . . . I love to walk, you love to plop down and watch TV . . . I like to socialize, you would rather interact with NOBODY other than family and extended family . . . We both love to read, but WHAT we read varies significantly . . . You love the latest and greatest gadgets and gizmos, and I am a technophobe . . . I love to try to eat healthy and you hate all vegetables (except raw carrots, corn on the cob and iceberg lettuce, sparingly) . . .

I love that despite the many compromises we have negotiated over the years, that we have not had to give up being ourselves to be a couple . . . even though I know you have really struggled with this one . . .

I love that you wholeheartedly adore our five children, their spouses and significant others and our grandchildren . . . I have no doubt that you would do anything in your power to be there for them in any way they needed . . .

I love that you love the Lord . . . You and I do not always see eye-to-eye on our shared faith . . . but even so, I have no doubt that you love the Lord . . . and I appreciate that, more than you know . . .

I love that our relationship -- even after all these years, and all the things we have faced together -- is multifaceted . . . That we can laugh together . . . cry together . . . pray together . . . be playful together . . . be passionate together . . . share ideas together . . . even disagree without being disagreeable . . .

I love that throughout our marriage, through all the ups and downs we have experienced, you have KEPT coming home to me . . . even when things weren't so good . . . even during the rough stretches . . . even when things seemed pretty bleak . . . THANK YOU for that . . .

I love that above all else, we are FRIENDS . . . and I know that you have my back, as I have yours . . .

Money is tight this year, and I am not sure what else I will be able to do for you for Valentine’s Day but I just wanted to make sure to wish you a Happy Valentine's Day, honey . . . because you ARE my Valentine . . .

CONFESSIONS OF A BLOG-HOPPER . . .

I haven't been on here in forever . . . Funny, huh? You would think that with my new status of 'unemployed' that I would have more time for reading and writing blogs . . . I DO love to write, after all . . . and yet I don't . . .

Maybe I just don't feel like I have anything blog worthy to say . . . Though, let's face it, that has never stopped me before . . . ;o)

Not sure what is going on . . . Perhaps it is simply that I am not very good at transitions in life . . . switching gears from one thing to another is difficult for me, and I don't really like to open up when life is a struggle . . .

However, I DO miss blogging . . . and I miss reading blogs . . . I have decided that I am a dedicated blog hopper . . . LOL . . . I read the blogs of friends and family and extended family members . . . and I also enjoy reading the blogs of total strangers. At least sometimes I do . . .

I really do find people absolutely fascinating . . . and since I am the world's WORST photographer (the ones I take are ALWAYS blurry . . . ALWAYS) I might enjoy looking at other people's photographs, but the blogs I love to read most of all are ones where people open up and share . . . so I feel like I get a feel for the writer . . . and even if I never stop back by (blog hopping is by nature pretty random . . . if there is a way to 'note' certain blogs and stop back by, I am unaware of what it is or how to do it) I feel like I have seen a glimpse of the person behind the blog . . . and that my life is richer for that brief connection.

Oh, not ALL blogs are interesting . . . (Sorry, but that IS true) . . . The blogs that are cut and pasted email forwards don't really interest me . . . neither do the ones that are simply quotes . . . I can read scriptures and great writers on my own. I don't mind a quote (of any kind) when the person goes on to explain why that is significant to them . . . what life experiences drove that particular insight or point home . . . etc . . . but when all someone does is copy and paste someone else's words . . . That doesn't particularly interest me . . . I mean, no offense . . . that may be exactly what someone else LOVES to read and more power to them . . .

As for me . . . I like getting to know people . . . finding out how they feel about life and life's experiences . . . what they are learning in their journeys . . . the brief chance to view life through the window of THEIR eyes . . . I LOVE that . . .

Today I was blog hopping . . . I am not sure whose blog I ended up on, or if I will ever find it again . . . but a woman shared (on her anniversary) how her husband had proposed to her . . . He planned out their whole day together, starting by coming over early that morning to make breakfast for her to surprise her . . . then they went to church, and shared the special peace one can find at there together . . . Then they went to an art museum (she apparently LOVES art museums) . . . and then they shared a picnic feast that he had prepared in the park . . . and somewhere along the line he popped the question, asking her to be his wife . . .

I do not know these people . . . I have NO idea who they are. I could pass them several times a day (or live next door to them) and never know it . . . all I have is this one visit to her blog where she shared this special memory, from somewhere down the road. And yet, that one little peek into her heart, truly warmed mine. I don't even know how old she is . . . I just know that she loves her husband, and that together they have built a beautiful family of three, soon-to-be-four, precious children. The love that this family -- random strangers whose path I may never cross again -- shares was SO sweet and SO strong . . . I could feel it through every sentence she wrote about her sweetheart and his creative thoughtfulness . . .

Reading what she wrote today left me smiling . . . and made me want to go hug MY sweetheart . . . What a lucky woman *I* am to have a husband who STILL treats me tenderly and lovingly and still loves to have me by his side . . . through ALL of life's ups and downs . . .

Thank you, perfect stranger, for sharing this little bit of sweetness and warmth today . . . It went straight from YOUR heart to MINE . . . and made my world a little brighter for the sharing . . .

AND SO IT BEGINS . . .

Well . . . I am done dragging my feet (actually, I WAS busy through the holidays and then undecorating my home and getting everything clean and put back together, so I wasn't JUST dragging my feet, but I kind of was . . . a little) . . .

LOL . . . uh oh . . .

I know THAT made no sense, which bodes ill for a writer, you know?

BUT . . . I finally printed out a copy of the story I wrote last November for NaNoWriMo and have begun reading it from beginning to end (for the very first time) . . . making little notes (like 'this need more development' or 'show, don't tell') and some minor rewording and revising . . .

I am about two thirds of the way through it, and honestly (is this terrible to say?) I am actually kind of pleasantly surprised . . . I mean, I WROTE it, so of course there are no surprises in the storyline . . . but I AM kind of pleased, overall, with my efforts. I mean, there are parts that DO flow well, and it DOES hang together as a story . . .

It isn't an IMPORTANT story . . . no vampires or aliens or shape shifters or fairies . . . It isn't about anything really BIG . . . It is just a quiet little slice-of-life story . . . about growing up . . . and changing family dynamics . . . the ebb and flow of friendships . . . coming to terms with changes . . . It isn't very EXCITING . . . but I wasn't trying to write an exciting story . . . I wanted it to be quiet and simple and to feel . . . hmmmm . . . authentic, I guess . . .

And I kind of, sort of thinks parts of it DO . . .



I think that just maybe it is worth continuing to work on and revise and polish . . .



So . . .




I will! =o)

INTIMIDATING TIMES . . .

Today I had an interview . . . I know people who have been out of work for months without a single interview, so I am grateful that I got called to come in for one. The job is still only part time, but that works for me . . . It would be steady hours and the pay is considerably better than what I have been getting, and it is year round, so I would really like to get it. It isn't tutoring, which is what I love best . . . but it IS working with people, which is the part I love best about tutoring, so this job would work for me, I think . . .

I thought I was all calm and collected about this interview. In fact, a few days ago I was marveling at just how NOT stressed I was about it . . . LOL . . . I should have known it wouldn't last. Late Sunday night it suddenly hit me and I panicked. Then all that night I woke up every twenty minutes or so in a cold sweat in the midst of a dream about some disaster that struck on my way to or during the interview itself . . . I lost track of time and showed up an hour late (SOOOOOOOooooOOOO not me) . . . I got mugged in the elevator on the way to the interview (there is no elevator in the one story building where the interview would be held) . . . I got sick to my stomach and threw up all over the people interviewing me . . . I looked down mid-interview and discovered I had forgotten to put pants on . . . the interviewers all turned into giant snakes and were hissing and snarling at me (do snakes even snarl?!?) . . . etc, etc, etc.

Yeah . . . I have a VERY active imagination, so the dreams were awful. I would wake up, with my heart pounding, thinking "oh NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO . . . how could I have let this happen?!?!?" before (eventually) I would realize it was JUST a dream and think "WHEW" . . .

I knew it would be a panel interview, which are always more stressful and intimidating. Luckily for a few years I worked at the college in a capacity where I had to undergo a panel interview every single semester. I HATED it . . . but I thought it probably made THIS panel interview slightly less terrifying because I at least had some recent experience with them (and surviving).

So . . . today I went over to where my interview was, and waited in the car until about a half an hour before my scheduled time, then went in and told the receptionist I was there. At THAT point I realized I probably should have printed out a hard copy of my resume and brought it (uh oh . . . too late to do anything about it, but at least I DID remember to wear pants!)

Anyhow, I just prayed really hard -- not that I would get the job, because I am certainly not the only one trying to get a job, and I may not need it the most -- but simply that I would be able to be calm and confident, and do my best in the interview . . . and that those interviewing me would be able to get an accurate assessment of my abilities and talents and suitability for the job from my demeanor and answers. That is all. I just wanted it to be a good experience and to feel comfortable with how it went.

And I was. I really was. I mean, of course it is stressful to go to a job interview, especially one that involves multiple people asking you questions, and EVERYBODY taking notes on your answers. But none of the questions caught me off guard . . . and none flustered me. I felt like I was calm and collected, and that I was able to articulate my responses fairly well . . .

Of course, all the way home, I thought of MILLIONS of things I could have or should have said . . . things I should have elaborated on . . . things I forgot to say . . . etc . . . but I DID survive it, and it WAS a pretty good experience . . . so I am feeling really grateful . . .

Of course, I REALLY wish I could have been privy to the discussion they had after I left the room . . . but I should hear in a day or two or three if I made the list of those called back to a second interview. I guess then I will have a better idea of how things went , huh?

If nothing else comes of this (or even if I do get the second interview and still do not get the job) this whole process is good experience . . . The more interviews I do, the less intimidating they will be (theoretically) and the better I will get at thinking on my feet and responding to questions that are leveled at me . . . So I really AM grateful that I got called in for the interview . . .

LOL . . . soooooooooooooooooooooo . . . the big job hunt has officially begun . . .

So far, so good! ;o)

MY CHRISTMAS MIRACLE

I had an incredible experience with my MIL yesterday that I really want to write down before the memory of it fades.

A few days ago, I woke up in the midst of a dream about my mother-in-law . . . It wasn't a sad dream or a creepy dream or one where she was at the foot of my bed waving goodbye because she had died or whatever . . . and I woke up surprised because I hadn't been thinking about her particularly in the last few days or weeks, and there was no particular significance to the timing of the dream (no special days or occasions that might remind me of her or make me think of her subconsciously) . . . When my husband woke up I mentioned it to him and he said 'that is SO weird . . . I had a dream about her last night too' . . . His was very different from mine, but his, too, was neither ominous nor scary at all . . . I made a mental note to go visit her again soon, and then promptly forgot about it . . . like I said, this has been a crazy busy time . . .

Then yesterday as I was driving home from work, mentally reviewing all I had to accomplish between that moment and the book club meeting that night (I had to go to the bank, go to the grocery store, make a side dish to share, holiday goodies to share, and a few other things) and wondering how I could possibly get it all done in the little bit of time I had (2 hours) the thought popped into my head "I should stop and visit [my MIL]" . . . The timing seemed like the WORST ever, but because of the dreams, I drove to where she is, and went in to see her, not expecting much because the last two or three times I have been to see her, she has been asleep, and I ended up just sitting (or standing or squatting) by her, holding her hand in silence because it seemed mean to wake her. I imagine at this point in time her dreams are happier and more peaceful that the reality of her life, if she is at all aware of it . . .

To my surprise when I went in her room she absolutely LIT up. She was in bed, but awake, and she was DELIGHTED to see me. She has advanced Alzheimers and can no longer carry on a conversation . . . I mean, when she talks it is gibberish, though you can occasionally recognize a word or two, maybe even a partial phrase, but that is it.

This time was no different . . . I mean, almost nothing she said made any kind of recognizable sense, but she was CHATTY . . . She sat up in bed, and just chatted on and on and on . . . occasionally stopping to wait for a response or to chuckle. Like I said, it wasn't really a conversation . . . but I think to HER it was . . . so I told her about our holiday plans, and she told me about hers (lol . . . maybe) . . . We chatted like that for an hour and a half . . . and even though I didn't understand more than a word or two here and there that she said, it was HER I was talking to . . . the REAL her . . . It has been YEARS since I have felt like it was HER there when we visited . . . It was always just sort of a familiar-ish looking, vacant-eyed, slack-jawed stranger . . . but yesterday for that hour and a half, it was truly HER . . . I KNOW it was . . . The nursing staff walking by kept doing double takes, because it was so obvious that we were having a 'conversation' and she hasn't been capable of that for a very long time . . .

I stayed as long as I could . . . and I hated having to leave, but I finally had to . . . I gave her a hug and kissed her on her forehead and told her I would be back soon . . . and I walked out to my car and burst into tears . . . It was SUCH a sweet, incredible experience . . . I wished so much that my husband had been there to see his mom with me to share in it . . .

I think THAT will be my Christmas miracle this year . . . It was SUCH a sweet, beautiful hour and a half . . . I will cherish the memory of that forever . . .

Merry almost Christmas, everyone!

A CASE OF THE BLAHS . . .

You know, I KNEW I would miss the excitement and pressure of the NaNoWriMo challenge when it was over . . . Writing . . . my word count . . . the story developments were on my mind -- or at least simmering in the back of my mind -- ALL the time for that entire thirty days . . .

When it suddenly came to a screeching halt (a HAPPY screeching halt, because I really WAS jazzed that I 'won' and completed my word count in time!) I had a couple of days when I really felt sort of lost and even a little depressed, which isn't like me . . .

I guess I just sort of hit the wall . . .

After being SO focused on that writing (and I know that I don't have to STOP now, but it IS different, for whatever reason) . . . AND having SUCH a delightful friends-and-family-filled Thanksgiving weekend . . . AND being hit (not for the first time) with the sobering realization that I only have a little longer as a tutor, and not being sure about what the future holds . . . All those 'endings' sort of hit at once and I was just feeling SAD . . . and LOST . . .

I guess it all sort of hit at once when I was working with a student I have worked with for several years on Monday and she heard for the first time that I wouldn't be back in the winter OR the spring . . . and she got teary eyed . . . She even hugged me and thanked me for all the help I have been to her, but she still left with this sort of panicky look that made me SO sad. I know she will find other tutors to work with and receive the help she needs . . . but it really is difficult for me to even imagine what I will find to do next that I will enjoy even HALF as much as being a tutor.

Oh the pay was crap . . . but how many part time jobs can you say that you LOVED every minute of?!? And now it is over . . . or will be next Wednesday when I leave the campus . . . I have known since last April that this day was coming . . . and I have even known, deep down inside, that there would be no last minute reprieve, unlike last May . . . No more loopholes to keep non-student tutors working a little longer. This isn't a SURPRISE . . . but Monday the sadness and FINALITY of having something that has been such a BIG part of my life for six or seven years now come to an end has just really hit . . .

I know that I will be okay . . .

I know that I will find something else and learn to enjoy it, too . . .

Life will be DIFFERENT, but still good . . .

But . . . for now, I am just . . . SAD . . .



I also have realized in this past week, that I need to put my NaNoWriMo story aside for the month and just concentrate on enjoying Christmas and the holidayishness of the next few weeks . . . I have appreciated all the interest in reading my story, and I AM willing to share (and WILL) . . . I want to do some minimal editing and polishing (and READ my story through, from start to finish) but I have been dragging my feet all week, and I just realized that is because after focusing on it SO intensely for the entire month of November, I need to back off, and give myself a complete break from it . . . so that I can come back to it with a fresh perspective . . .

When I do that in January, I will be HAPPY to share . . . so if you would like to read it (and it wont hurt my feelings if you do not want to . . . it is LONG) let me know what email address you would like it sent to, and I will. You can leave your email address here in a comment, or email it to me at KeepInTouchForever@hotmail.com, it that is easier . . . and I WILL be happy to share . . . I think because I HAD to turn my internal editor off for this exercise (to write SO much in such a short time) I feel less territorial and protective about this story than I usually do . . . which is an interesting experience, all on its own . . .

So all I ask is if you DO read it, that you give me some feedback . . . NOT feedback like "this stinks" or "cool story" . . . but things like "the dialogue here just didn't feel natural" . . . or "this part moves a little slowly" . . . "the detail here was more distracting than helpful" . . . or "I like this description here" . . .

A generic overall comment isn't helpful at all . . . and if you write at all, you will understand why . . . specifics ARE helpful, even if they are criticisms . . .

Perhaps you will find the story to be poorly written or boring (a definite possibility) . . . Perhaps it simply wont be your genre (also a definite possibility) . . . Maybe you will have issues with points/situations/etc in the story . . . All of those are okay, and I understand already that they are definite possibilities . . . but IF you tell me you would like to read it, I really would like HONEST feedback . . .

But not til January . . . because for my sanity, I am taking December off and I am not even going to THINK about my story again til then . . .

For now, I am just going to concentrate on enjoying this holiday season . . . In fact tomorrow morning (it is now 3:30 AM and I am up because I am sick and cannot sleep without coughing) I think I will decorate the tree and then bake something yummy . . . I want my home to LOOK and SMELL Christmasy!!! =o)

VICTORY!!!!!!!

WHOOOO HOOOOOO!!!!!!

I DID IT!

I am SO thrilled . . . I actually wrote a 50,000+ word story . . . and it DOESN'T (I don't think) completely stink!!!!!



=o)

I even took three days off from it completely this week so I could concentrate on and enjoy my company and the holidays, and I STILL managed to finish a few days early.

Now, no matter what else I do in my life, I can always say that I won the NaNoWriMo challenge in 2010!!!!! (And yeah . . . everybody who completes the 50,000 word challenge 'wins' . . . but I don't mind sharing the honors . . . I am simply grateful to be among them . . .

WOW . . .

This felt SO challenging at the other end, when I had no idea what it would take to accomplish (or even if I COULD accomplish it) . . . but I hung in there, and did it . . .

I am really, REALLY pleased . . . =o)

ALMOST DONE . . .

It is now day 23 . . . and I am ALMOST done . . . My word count is (right this moment) 48,462 . . . so I have a little over fifteen hundred words left to write.

I am SOOOOooOOOOOO close . . .

I have to say that this has really been a good experience.

I started it a little overwhelmed and scared, worried that I could NEVER write fifty thousand words in only thirty days . . . and I have discovered along the way that I most certainly CAN . . . and it didn't even have to take over my life to do it. I still had time to watch TV in the evenings with my husband . . . serve in my callings (even prepare for and teach a RS lesson during the month) . . . play with my grandkids . . . keep my house cleaned . . . cook actual meals . . . I even took Sundays off, with no ill effects. Well almost no ill effects . . . I do have to admit that on Mondays it was a little harder to get back 'into' my story after a full day away, not even THINKING about my story line or characters.

Despite that little difficulty, however, I still think taking a break each week was a good idea. I liked the mental break, and I think it has kept me from being totally overwhelmed or consumed by this project . . . because frankly, I can get way obsessive . . . ;o)

And, I have to say that I like my story . . . in all its rough edges-currently-unedited/unpolished glory . . .Oh, its not an 'important' story . . . It really isn't. It isn't epic on any level . . . and I know that, but I wont apologize for it.

It is just the quiet little story about a young girl growing up . . . learning to deal with changing family dynamics . . . navigating the shifting loyalties of friendships . . . being willing to try new, stretchy experiences . . . making new friends . . . dealing with new feelings and new experiences . . .

She doesn't have all the answers . . . she doesn't speak in a steady stream of witty, hip one-liners . . . the adults are not stupid, two-dimensional cartoons that are the perceived cause of all her problems in life . . .

I like my characters . . . I like how this is flowing together like a story, and that the characters are almost taking on a life of their own, saying and doing things that I hadn't envisioned, and that almost seem outside my control, though, of course, it IS my fingers on the computer keys . . .

I am so glad I gave this a try, even though it was scary for me.

This has been GOOD for me . . .



And I am already well aware that I will MISS it . . . even though, there is, of course, nothing to prevent me from continuing to write, continuing to work on this story, continuing to polish it and work out the inconsistencies and smooth the rough edges . . .

Still, working on this challenge this month has seemed almost magical . . . and I am loathe to have that end . . . It has added a little sparkle to my life that I have absolutely LOVED . . .

I think that it has turned me into . . . yeah . . . one of those . . .





A writer . . .


WOW . . .