The best laid plans ...

I had this really good plan. I was humming along this week, what three posts in a week? For me, that is really really good.

Anyway, my plan. I was trying to muster up some courage to post some fiction on the blog, finally prove to you that I really am writing, well I mean writing something other than this blog. I had a story I started a while back. Okay truth, I started a long while back, over a year ago. I started it and was in love with my protagonist. I loved the voice I thought she had.

Another person read what I had started with and felt the voice was too ... I don't know, too southern? Too affected? Whatever. Having little confidence in myself I started to change it. The story itself was there still and I was still writing but with every passing day I felt myself moving further away from where I had meant to go. Changing the voice changed the story, it no longer felt like it made sense and it had gone off on some path I couldn't even explain.

So I put it down. Hating what it had become and not liking it enough to keep working on it. I don't blame the other person. They may have been right, they may have been wrong, but the one thing I'm starting to feel certain about is that I have to trust my own gut. If I think I want to write in a certain voice or style then thats what I should write. If it needs to change when I'm all done and editing so be it, but the voice that was speaking to me I stopped listening to.

Back to my plan. So I asks myself, "self, what fiction you gonna post on your blog, huh?" Oh. That. Yeah, what fiction am I going to post.

I opened up the file folder and pulled out the story from over a year ago. I took only the first page, the first page from the first draft in the original voice I had written it in and I started over. The voice had changed slightly, mellowed some but it started to speak to me again and it felt like I had taken off.

But here's the rub (didn't you know there would be one?). I started thinking it was meant to be a short story, maybe a very short story or flash fiction. That took the pressure off me to feel like it was too big a project to tackle, and a short short story or flash fiction would fit nicely in a blog post. But that dang protagonist won't shut up. She's still yakkin' away at me. I'm way past flash fiction and way past short short story. I'm not sure where it will end. A long short story? A novella? A novel --- well probably not but who knows?

So here I am apologizing once again, no fiction posting this week. If this story keeps moving along and getting longer I'll try and post some other fiction or maybe a piece from the memoir next week. But for now I don't want to tempt the fates, this is just too good, haven't felt this good about writing in a very long time.

Lost in the stacks ...

Books, books and more books ....

Since cutting down my work schedule and devoting my time to things that make me happy, I have been reading a lot lately. I haven't been sticking to any one genre, I have been all over the map and it has been a blast. In case you are wondering, here's what I've been reading and my recommendations.

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

I don't usually gravitate towards YA. And I certainly don't gravitate towards sic-fi, fantasy or any of those. Although I have heard raves about the Twilight Series and of course the Harry Potter books, I have read neither. I'm not a snob, the ideas just haven't appealed to me that much. And neither did the story line of The Hunger Games but my daughter (a woman in her mid twenties), raved about this book couldn't wait to read the next two in the series and kept telling me I needed to read it. It was on my Kindle so I started it. Could not put it down. I was drawn in almost immediately, I was impressed by the plot, characters, relationships and language. So it only was right that I too couldn't wait to read the next two in the series and did. Both great like the first. Really, to me these are great books for parents to read with their YA readers, the issues raised, the moral dilemmas faced by the characters, all could be great discussion starters.

Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins (the second in the Hunger Games trilogy)
Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins (the third in the series)










Murder on Music Row by Stuart Dill

Hmmm, what to say. Did I like it? Yes. Would I recommend it? Depends. Dill is a Country Music manager, has been for 25 years. To say he knows the music business from the inside is an understatement. The book, Dill's first novel, is good, not the best I've ever read but had enough suspense to keep me reading. I like books that are set in places where I know the geography, the names of towns, and streets and businesses and I know the names of some of the people mentioned. Dill name drops plenty, some of the biggest names in country music but I guess when you have managed some of those same folks you get to to do that. I guess I think that if you don't know or don't like country music or the Nashville area you might not find as much to like in this book as I did. The character development was a little bit weak, the main male character was almost a caricature of the current country music star. A fun and quick read.


Room by Emma Donoghue

I think I've mentioned before that I am often drawn to books by their cover art. Room was one of those and I can't explain exactly why. I also knew it was shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize for literature. To say it was compelling is just not enough. It was beautiful and heart wrenching, sometimes frightening, and sad. Donoghue captured the thinking of a five year old who has known nothing other than his Ma, the room they live in and the man who comes and brings their food to them. It often reminded me of my previous life in law enforcement and the time spent as a detective in the crimes against persons division. It took me a little time to get used to the language of 5 year old Jack and to understand Ma's motivations for how she responds to him but once I became immersed in their room I wanted to stay with them til the end.

Sarah's Key by Tatiana de Rosnay

This one was recommended by my sister and was on the Kindle (two of my sisters and I share a kindle account so if one of them adds a book it becomes available to me as well -- lucky me!)

It took me a little bit to get into this book and I found myself at times annoyed that I still couldn't see how the title applied or how the stories fit together. Maybe it is that OCD part of me that likes to know how the puzzle pieces fit and to guess ahead at how things will turn out. But once deep into the story, especially of the Vel' d'Hiv' roundup of Jewish families in 1942 France, I was transfixed. I knew nothing of the history (which made me feel a bit ashamed, shouldn't we know these things?), I ached for the children who watched their parents being led away, unaware of the gas chambers that awaited them. But I also became engrossed in Julia's struggle to learn the story and her struggle to find her self in her marriage.



Time of My Life by Allison Winn Scotch

This is a book I bought after I began to follow Allison Winn Scotch on twitter and began to read her blog, about her books and writing. I think she is really funny, someone I'd like as a friend. She has just enough cynicism about relationships and people that I really love. The book is the story of a young woman, married, with money (think almost Stepford like) who gets to go back and relive her life years earlier when a relationship failed. Ahhh, to go back again and relive parts of your life, knowing what you know now .... and a reminder that the grass isn't always greener. It is a quick read but fun and funny in parts. Definite "beach read" material. I'd definitely recommend following Scotch on twitter. She does have a couple other books out and options for film, a name you might hear a lot more in the future.

The Help by Kathryn Stockett

I was late to the party on this one, it was all the rage in the bookstores and on Amazon and Goodreads. My sisters recommended it and it was on the Kindle. But I had bought a hardcover copy early, just hadn't picked it up to read it. Another one where I was drawn to the cover art. But, I really didn't know what the story was until much later. I admit, I'm an idiot, shoulda read it the minute I got it, I loved it!! At times it reminded me of To Kill a Mockingbird, maybe mainly because of the setting, the south where time sometimes stands still. But it struck me early on, I was alive during the time the Help takes place, I was young, younger than Skeeter, but this was part of my history, it happened during my lifetime. That kind of scared me, because I grew up in California a world away from Mississippi and I seemed to really have no clue about segregation (no one to segregate where I lived) or what was happening in the day to day lives of many people in the south. I lived in a fairly liberal household so racism wasn't even an issue for us, unless it was an issue my parents were working against politically.

I love the language, the relationships, Skeeter's strength, the strength of the maids ... all of it.

I saw the movie, usually I am disappointed by the film adaptation of a great book (don't even get me started on what Peter Jackson did to The Lovely Bones) but this time I was pleasantly surprised. I wished there had been more sometimes but then I'm not a director or producer making what could be a controversial subject into a mainstream commercial success. Overall I thought it was a good movie, a great movie, not as great as the book but can't have everything.

There was a lawsuit against Stockett, brought by her brother's maid who sued for Stockett using her name (Abilene) and likeness in the book/movie. The suit was dismissed by a judge in Atlanta. To me, this is the kind of book that should be on every high school reading list, teach a little about our country's not so great history.

Cowboy and Wills by Monica Holloway

This is a book I heard about months ago, maybe even a couple years ago, mostly on She Writes. It is a memoir about Monica Holloway and her young son Wills, who was diagnosed on the Autism spectrum when he was only 18 months old. It is also about the relationship Wills formed with his dog, a female golden retriever named Cowboy and how it helped him socialize in ways most never thought possible. It is a great read, funny in parts, very sad in parts but it gives you hope. He is an amazing little boy and I'm a sucker for a cute dog story. Holloway also adds a lot of humor, self deprecating about herself and her own "issues" and the fear and difficulty in raising a special needs child. It is a quick read and if you're a parent you will probably love it. Especially if your child is not anywhere near the autism spectrum, trying to provide structure to an autistic child would be difficult for any parent.

The Middle Place by Kelly Corrigan

Another one I've had on my to read list for quite some time, just it didn't make it to the top of the list until I had more time. This is also a memoir from Corrigan who, as a young mother of two small children finds a cancerous lump in her breast. Corrigan comes from a close family from a small town in Pennsylvania, her father her biggest fan and ally. He had already survived prostate cancer when while Corrigan is getting treatment for her breast cancer her father is diagnosed with bladder cancer. The book alternates between reminiscences of Corrigan's childhood and the present day as she and her father face treatment for cancer and Corrigan finds herself in that middle place a child and a parent. I was touched by the story, I loved the relationship between Corrigan and her father and between Corrigan and her husband who could have easily been overwhelmed by the Corrigan family.

Maybe because I just lost my own father to cancer and am somewhat in the middle place to, albeit without having cancer myself that I related to Corrigan's story. I was surprised when I looked on Amazon and found that the book received a lot of 5 star reviews but of the people that didn't like it they were very vocal about calling Corrigan whiny and self-indulgent. I didn't see her that way except to say, aren't we all sometimes? If Corrigan was perfect and not more like the rest of us when your life is in turmoil I don't think it would have been as interesting a story.

The Trust by Sean Keefer

This book I won from my friend Christi Craig who gave it away after interviewing the author on her blog Christi Craig. Keefer is a practicing attorney in South Carolina as is his main character in this, Keefer's debut novel, a legal mystery. That is one of my favorite genre's and I was looking forward to reading it. I really liked it overall but it was lacking in parts. I felt at times that Keefer made the two main female characters in the book too much alike, hard to tell who was who at times, and the dialogue dragged just a little in parts. But I felt it was a great first effort and could see Keefer's style and look forward to his next book.




The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson

This was a book I avoided. I tend to do that often with books that receive a whole lot of hype. I didn't really even look at the premise before dismissing it. It again was one my two sisters reviewed and was on the kindle. I didn't have much intention of reading it until I was at the movies with friends and the trailer for the film came on. One friend said she absolutely loved the book and couldn't wait for the movie. Since we agreed we would see the movie when it came out, I thought I would read the book first. I struggled through about the first 75 pages or so, getting used to the names of people and places was a little tough.  The girl originally came across to me as someone from a futuristic novel and this one isn't that. Once I got a bit further into the book I felt like the rough edges of the characters smoothed out some and I could enjoy them all as the story unfolded. About half way through, the book became one I didn't want to put down and I now look forward to the movie. Not sure though if I will read the other two books in the trilogy.


The Bird Sisters by Rebecca Rasmussen

If you read my blog with any regularity you may have heard me mention this book several times before and its author. I am fortunate enough to call Rebecca a friend, although we have only met in person once, at her book signing in Winetka, Il. But once you meet her you can't help but love her. The same is true of the two sisters in Rasmussen't debut novel, Milly and Twiss. As they age and recognize their lives are coming to an end the reader is taken on a journey, memories of their childhood and what brought them to the place they end up, two spinster women, living in the family home together, caring for the occasional injured bird that is brought to them. I loved Rasmussen's use of language and description and I imagined what Spring Green must have looked like many years ago. Rasmussen knows the area well, it is where her father lived as she and her brother were growing up.

Rasmussen's book brought to mind for me The Lovely Bones, not because of the story itself but because of the rich language and description, the setting and how the reader feels invited to come in and sit down in Milly and Twiss' home and listen to their story.

And as usual I was drawn to it's cover art, a beautiful book in every way. For those who would like to read it, it comes out in paperback this month!


Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson

I was fascinated by Steve Jobs, one of the boy wonders of my generation who changed our lives forever with the products produced by the companies he has run, both Apple and Pixar. Jobs has often been called an innovator and a genius and at least more recently he seemed to have a quality of calm and joy for innovation.

What I found when I started reading the book was someone I would not have recognized and may not have even liked had I met him and certainly had I worked for him. Yes he was a genius but to me it was almost like he was a savant when it came to marketing and a narcissistic prick when it came to everything else.

A couple of other interesting facts, I knew Jobs started the Apple Company in Cupertino, CA which is really close to where I lived growing up. Then I read the first couple chapters of the book and realize he lived REALLY close to where I did, we were practically neighbors. When I mentioned my surprise that I didn't know this fact before I was reminded by one of my sisters that another sister had at one time had a job interview with these two guys who were looking for a secretary or something but she turned it down, thought they were a little creepy ... working out of their garage and all. The two guys, maybe they were a little creepy were Jobs and Steve Wozniak.

I started Isaacson's biography not being sure if I would get through the 600+ page book. I wasn't thrilled with Isaacson's writing style but in hindsight I wonder if that wasn't also because I immediately was turned off by Jobs' personality as Isaacson described it and I wanted to blame Isaacson for that.

The entire story is amazing though and Jobs was a genius in many ways. And although he did a lot of things that made me want to hate him and his evil plan for Apple to take over the world, in the end I liked the guy, flaws and all, and enamored of his vision. It isn't just me, when you read the book, many people in Jobs' life talk about how awful he was to them but they all have a grudging respect for the man for what he accomplished and how he changed our world forever.

You have to give Jobs props though for as narcissistic and as much of a control freak he was, it must have really been a huge thing for him to give complete autonomy to Isaacson to write the biography and not have to sensor anyone or anything.

Jobs may have described it best in his final words on his death bed ... "oh wow, oh wow, oh wow".

So throw in a couple of books about underwater photography, a few diving magazines and training books, and the books I'm reading about writing ... I'm wading through the "to-read" stack.

What are you reading?

Besides writing ... there is this ...

Although I haven't been writing much, at least not anything I would let another human being read, I have been indulging my other passion ....

The first week of August I went to the Bahamas, lived on a 65 foot sailboat with 22 other divers and a crew of 5 and made 19 dives, learned a little about free-diving, beautiful weather, great friends.  Here is a link to a short video my friend Brian Erickson made of our trip, I have the long version which is even better.

Here are some pictures I took above the water ....

A dinner out before boarding the following day for a week at sea.

Our home as we boarded the first day.

It was the opening of Lobster Season!

 One of many beautiful sunsets in the Exumas Cays of the Bahamas.

Friends

How can you not want to jump in?

Beautiful.

I thought often of how much Dad would have loved the boat, the diving, the Bahamas, and most of the people I was with. It was a great trip.

After only being home a week I then traveled to California where my children, my sisters, their children and husbands, grandchildren, step children, husbands, boyfriends/girlfriends gathered and spent a day on the San Francisco Bay to scatter dad's ashes. It was chilly but a perfect day on the bay on a boat called Glory Days. On the way out under the Golden Gate we met a Russian Tall Ship coming in, full sail with the crew all on deck, incredible, then just out under the Gate to a spot where we quietly scattered dad's ashes and then were greeted by a pod of dolphins breeching all around the boat. Could not have asked for anything more perfect for dad.

It is just such a beautiful, picturesque bridge ...

A Russian Tall Ship on its way into port, can you see the crew on deck?

The family, saying goodbye to Dad, Grandpa, Great Grandpa, Mitch.

I felt like my life was a little out of control and I wasn't very happy. I decided that there really was little reason that I shouldn't be happy but it was up to me to make the necessary changes in my life. So I  decided I would work less, write more, play more. I now work one day a week, except for a couple of times that I have agreed to help out to cover for someone else's absence or need to be gone.

While we were in California for the ash scattering my daughter Cait had a few interviews about jobs. While sitting in the airport to come home she got a call from one and lo and behold she was moving back to California. So the first week in September the two of us took off on a whirlwind cross country drive. She now lives in San Francisco, temporarily at my sister's home and works at a high end hair salon in the Marina district. She is also starting school again this month to complete the additional one hundred hours she has to do to be able to take the state board test in California for her cosmetology license.

A long drive but we finally made it ...

3 days straight in the car but here, my little Cait ... overlooking Donner Lake

In October I took another trip, this time with a small group of only five people to Cozumel, Mexico. Another 20 dives. This time I added in another hobby, underwater photography. I'm not very good at it .... yet, but it sure is fun. Not sure how smart it is that many of my favorite hobbies can be a bit pricey, but oh well, it's only money.

Turtle

One of many beautiful swim-throughs

Splendid Toadfish

Angel Fish

Large Grouper amongst a bait-ball of Sardines

Lobster

Lobster

That is me behind those Sardines

Green Moray Eel

Since Dad has died I have started to fill my time with what makes me happy. I wish he were here to share some of it. My daughter has started her new adventure in California, I'm hoping she finds happiness there. My son returned from Afghanistan in June. He didn't get to see his Grandpa before he died but my dad did know that Brendan had gotten back to the states safely. And Brendan has gotten married to a lovely young woman named Elizzabeth. They are living in Virginia. So Brendan has found happiness as well.

So my next move is to dive back into the writing, the memoir, this blog, some fiction ... and maybe a move to somewhere tropical as well ... who knows? Oh but first, for New Years I think I am headed to Grand Cayman for another week of diving.

I AM THE 99%

I have sat quietly on the sidelines as I watched the unfolding of the Occupy Wall Street movement. I at times thought I would want to join them. As the movement and the protests have gone on the mood has changed and it has, at times, seemed to be an unorganized event with no clear mission or message. An ongoing occupation of a park seems to attract some who see it as an opportunity to take advantage of others, behave inappropriately, and commit crimes.

I recently saw a blog post. It was on a friend's Facebook newsfeed, so it showed up in my newsfeed. I clicked on it. I knew, even before I opened it, that I likely wouldn't agree with the blogger, because I was reasonably certain that my Facebook "friend" and I had very differing political views.

I like to believe though that I am smart and open minded. I do not automatically believe something because one political party or another espouses a view. I want to be informed. I do, however, sometimes feel like there is information overload and I no longer know where to turn for a simple, unbiased, explanation of a situation.

The blog post I read was written by a local pastor, Pete Wilson, who said, "I can see why they (the 99%) might be upset, but their tactics, while certainly their right, seem a little off to me. I've never been much of a protestor. I've never carried a sign. I've never participated in a march. I've never been a part of a sit in.'' Wilson then quoted another man (B.W.) who wrote, "Like most protests the Occupy Wall Street folks are better at indetifying something that is wrong than identifying a way forward that is right".

Wilson then went on to say, "And this is why I  don't protest. The reality is there are things that need to be changed. Our political system needs change. Our financial system needs change. The Church needs change. But I think all this "protesting" just shows that we would rather point fingers, lash out, and fight, then share blame and own up to how we've contributed to  the problems we face."

As I read that last part, about how we don't share blame and own up to how we've contributed to the problems we face I was annoyed. Excuse me, how are any of us really to blame for the financial crisis our country is currently in? How are any of us to blame for the mismanagement of mortgages and money by the banks and mortgage lenders? But I still have a strong belief in the right of free speech, that we all have a right to our opinions, that just because I don't agree doesn't make another person wrong.

And pointing fingers? Heck yes we should all be pointing fingers at the people and institutions that have created this disaster in our financial system. A CEO of a bank that was bailed out and is now accepting large bonuses and has not changed the way that bank does business should be pointed out at every opportunity and his ability to continue to make millions more while the majority of American's suffer for it is unconscionable.

I went on to read the comments. Most were from parishioners I think, regular readers of Wilson's blog who wholeheartedly agreed with his viewpoint and voiced anger and mentioned the "lawlessness" of many of the protestors. And I could understand how many people are now unhappy with the OWS movement, with reports of theft, rape, assault and numerous other crimes at the varying locales. But then one of the commentors (I'll only identify her as  L, because i don't know her nor have I asked her permission to quote her or speak on her behalf) on Wilson's blog brought me back to what makes me as well as most people I know part of the 99%. She started by writing, "What about the civil rights movement? MLKjr? Rosa Parks. When anyone with no power is being abused by anyone with all the power you stand up and defend them. Peaceful protests can and do bring change. We just heard on the news last night Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac, that was 'bailed out' their executives just received 7 figure bonuses. Millions of homes are still in foreclosure court. I bet everyone in church knows someone who is losing their home."

A response to that woman was, "MLK was all about moving forward to something that is right. That was his whole stance -- he pointed out the wrongs and offered solutions."

Another response was, "Sadly, these protests aren't peaceful. It has already been reported that 10 people have been raped at these protests ...." (I only am quoting a short portion of the response).

I began to feel a little angry and a little offended by some of these people. One, because there is crime at the location of the protests does not meant that the protest itself is wrong or at fault. Maybe rather than being concerned with arresting protestors we should work to protect their safety as well and find those who are committing crimes. Painting the protestors with the wide brush that includes criminals is unfair and unneccesarry. Two, to say that the OWS movement is not moving towards "something that is right"? What it isn't right that people should believe that those who caused the most horrendous financial crisis in our country's history should be held accountable and not receive continued wealth while the majority of those they made their money from suffer? What is not right about that?

Others commented after "L", some in support, some complaining about "entitlement" that some believe the protestors think they have, to some of the wealth of the 1%. "L" commented again, "I don't feel entitled. My home is being illegally foreclosed. We are NOT bums working the system, I worked for over 35 years, my husband still works two jobs."

The comments back and forth continued. One commenter in particular struck me as well informed, intelligent and even tempered. I will not restate all that he stated or the other commentors, I urge you to go read the entire post and it's comments yourself here.

I think my real point is, I am one of the 99%. I don't think that those who have worked hard and become millionaires or gazillionaires or whatever should hand over their money to me. I work hard and will make my own thank you. BUT, I do think that if I have to pay taxes on what I earn, we'll just say for the sake of argument, 20%, then why shouldn't they also pay 20% on theirs? If I am held criminally liable for my actions, should not the banks and mortgage companies also? For those that ran the banks that were a huge contributing factor to the housing market collapse and the failure of many banks, how can those people still be enjoying huge bonuses and not repaying the "bailout" money they received?

I also lost a house. I purchased in 2006 just before the housing market collapse. Do I take responsibility for my own poor money management and getting in over my head. I certainly do and beat myself regularly for it believe me. But I trusted people. The mortgage broker who I confided my fears of being in over my head before the sale went through and he assured me I would more than do well with the tax breaks I would receive for buying and with the increased value of my home over the next several years. Hmmmm, I wonder, do you think he already knew the forecast for the housing market? I'm kind of betting yes. As soon as it became undeniable that I was in some real trouble I turned to my lender. I asked for help. Their response, "well if you can just wait til the market turns around then maybe we can talk to you about refinancing". Ummm, if I could have waited til the market turned around I would not have been calling and I would have waited. I didn't just ask once I asked three times for help, I asked different lenders for help but by then the die was cast, everyone knew there wasn't going to be a quick turnaround in fact most thought there might not be a turn around at all. I tried to do a short sale, as requested by my lender. I had interested buyers within a week of listing the house. The mortgage company sat on the offers for months until they all just went away, to go spend their investment money elsewhere. Finally I gave up, I just let the lender have the house back. I bought for $350K, it sold two and half years later in a foreclosure for $200K and my life was forever changed. My credit my never recover either. I'm trying to move myself to living solely on cash, no credit card, no debit cards no nothing.

I don't feel entitled, just as "L" doesn't either. But those of us who feel powerless and believe we are in our current situation due to the greed and dishonesty of a majority of the 1%, see the Occupy Wall Street movement as one of the few ways we have a voice. Who would listen to me by myself? No one.

I have tried to become more informed, reading articles from all sides of the issue. I'm not sure that the park in New York that the occupiers are camping in is the best place for the protest, since the people inconvenienced by the protest are not the 1% but more of the 99%. But I also think that citizens of this country, standing up, or sitting down as another generation did, in order to speak with a voice of many in order to be heard is not a bad thing.

Occupy Wall Street may not be the answer but at least it has forced the entire country to start asking the questions, what are we going to do, continue to allow the 1% to get richer while the 99% continue to suffer?

 I don't know the answer to the problem, but I am willing to support those protesting peacefully for a change in our financial system and holding accountable those responsible for the current situation.

I am strongly in favor of criminally prosecuting anyone who is guilty of rape, assault, theft etc., at OWS or anywhere else. I am, however, also strongly in favor of the millions of American's who have been crushed by the wealthy, powerful, bankers and those in the pockets of politicians. I am the 99%.

Okay, I'll get off my soapbox. I try to not get too political on this blog, likely to send people running for the unsubscribe button. But once again, one of the great things about this country is my right to post anything I want.

And as an aside, it is election day today, hope you voted.

A voice from the past ...

It has been a long time hasn’t it? When I wrote my last post about my dad’s death I thought .... well I don’t know exactly what I thought. Maybe that with his passing I would turn to writing for comfort to help me work through all those feelings of loss.

Instead I froze. And with each passing day the words seemed further away. I have for now quite some time wanted to get back to this, to the writing, to what makes me feel best. But I would open my computer and stare at a blank page. I would write and then realize what I wrote was not what I wanted to say, it was whining and grumpy and not in the least bit creative.

I woke up more than a few nights, in the middle of the night, that place between sleep and waking with some brilliant idea for something to write. Not awake enough, or smart enough to grab a pen and paper and write it down. More often, in that dreamy comfortable place where I longed to go back to sleep to find out where the thought lead. Only to awake the next morning and not be able to recall the idea, or just recall a little shadow of the idea and only find myself constantly frustrated by some thought racing around in my already overcrowded brain but not being able to bring it to the fore.

I miss dad more than I even thought I would. Mom has been gone for fourteen years now and I still every once in a while think how I wish I could call her and ask a question, get her opinion, just talk to her. It doesn’t happen as often now but it still happens. But quite often now I see something ... a book, a movie, a song, a news story, and the first thought is that I want to pick up the phone and chat with dad about it.

I have however been devouring books, trying to reengage my creative mind that seemed to be lying dormant, hiding from the pain of rejection and that infernal internal critic.

I allowed the guilt to overtake me the other day. It was the first of November, you know the beginning of NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month, write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days??? No, stop, don’t worry, no need to slap me, I didn’t sign up, I at least knew better than that. But I have seen my writerly friends jumping in head first, damn the guilt, and the internal critics and sometimes even damn the other things on their to-do list, to attempt and to conquer NaNoWriMo.

I will watch from the sidelines this year. Maybe I’ll get something close to a novel, or a short story -- or several, or many blog posts written in the same time, but I won’t advertise it and I won’t beat myself up if I come nowhere close to 50,000 words or a novel. I will enjoy the writing and finding my creative voice again. I can tell it is itching to get out ... by the constant buzz that goes on in my head, the ideas zinging around trying to create the spark.

My father’s death was like a turning point in my life, or should I say another one. I know that his passing will change the way I write some things in the memoir. It still sits there waiting for me to finish revisions. I have a plan with an editor who is waiting for me to be ready to send it to her .. that is down the road a bit. I even had the stupid idea to start completely over and make it fiction, but I’ve gone back and forth on that idea several times now.

I should tell you, not exactly sure where this blog will go. I have missed you all and hope that those who have been patient enough to stick around will continue to do so, will comment and join me on the continuing journey. I know one of my next posts may be a little political, my own comment on the Occupy movement brought on by other comments I read regarding the protests.

As I told someone not long ago, I had an idea to rename this blog “Snippets” because I feel like that is what it will be, snippets of my life (diving, reading, writing -- not necessarily in that order or all at once), snippets of those things that strike me as important enough to bring up, snippets of my writing (maybe), and snippets of some other incredible writing that some people I know and respect are doing.

For now, the name will remain the same. Would love your thoughts and suggestions as we go along, how to make it better or if I have maybe caused you to ruminate on a subject yourself.

Thanks for sticking it out with me. I hope to make the wait worthwhile, sometime in the not too distant future.

Special thanks to consitently make me want to be a writer and a good one at that, and who somehow keep holding me up when I feel like I’m going to fall .... MendiD at First Grade Tales, E. Victoria Flynn at Penny Jar, Christi Craig at Christi Craig Rebecca Rasmussen @ The Bird Sisters, Beth Foulkes Lowe at Pine Meadow Pond and Susan Bearman at Two Kinds of People, and of course my little girl ... Cait Jeffs at Cait's Images.

Dad

It has been a while now. I’ve waited to write something, until I could write without making it sappy and sugary sweet. Dad was never sappy. In fact, when I was growing up I kind of considered him grouchy, a little cold, way way too logical. Mom was the emotional parent, dad was silent.

Somehow that changed when Mom died. Dad became, reflective, softer, kinda smudgy.

If you are a woman and have born children you probably know that thing that happens. You are one minute writhing in unbearable pain, or so utterly exhausted by the girth of you and the pushing and the desire to have that thing out of you. You scream at your significant other to never touch you again but don’t they dare to leave the room.  And then that thing is not a thing but your baby in your arms and suddenly by some miracle you can logically remember the writhing in pain and the pushing and the vitriolic words yelled at anyone who came near, but none of it matters and you look at your child and wonder when you can start all over to have another.

Dad was like that almost. Like some invisible force had suddenly changed his view, his memory of mom and of their relationship. He spoke with softness and sorrow and sweetness of their last kiss that had happened less than 24 hours before and said it was like their first kiss.

Where did that logical, unfeeling man I had grown up with go? I knew he loved me, I was his little girl, his tomboy that he went backpacking with, and fishing. I was the girl he called when he wanted to learn to scuba dive and wanted to have someone take the class with him. But there weren’t hugs and kisses and sweet nicknames.

I often felt I would never measure up, be smart enough, or pretty enough, or succeed enough to make him proud. As I began to work on the memoir I worried if my memories of my childhood would hurt him. I held back and stopped writing more than once, afraid of what his reaction might be if he read those words.

It has been seventeen days.

 About thirty days ago things began to change, dad had been doing well but then started to decline, rapidly. My sister and her husband were supposed to take a trip to California, a vacation, maybe to celebrate my sister retiring from her job so that she could work solely as a freelance writer.  They would be gone over father’s day weekend. I made plans to go up to Philadelphia, take my daughter and spend the weekend with dad. By Thursday, the 16^th, dad had fallen a couple of times, he wasn’t eating much, he was in pain and only wanted to sleep the days away. Hospice had been called. We started to talk about hiring a  private duty nurse to stay with him more often or at least to hire someone to  spend more time with him. Lisa and Garrett decided to cancel their trip. I was to arrive on Saturday evening.

Dad never liked Father’s day, it was a holiday made up by Hallmark he used to say.

Friday morning Lisa called, dad was much worse, sleeping almost the entire day, not communicative really, was getting moriphine and anti-anxiety medications. The hospice nurse said she wasn’t sure dad would last through the weekend. Cait and I changed our flight and arrived late Friday night. As we landed in Philly, Lisa called, I told her I was renting a car, Cait and I would go straight to the assisted living facility where dad lived. Lisa and Garrett were finally going home to get some much needed sleep.

We got there after midnight. Dad was in a hospital bed, slack jawed, pale, and gasping for breath. I talked to him, told him we were there. Cait and I took turns sitting by his bed. Cait wondered if he knew we were there, I assured her he did. I don’t know how I know, but I do.

The nurses came in every two hours to give him more moriphine. He had apnea episodes where he would not take a breath, one time for about 20 seconds. It scared me, I held my own breath, not wanting to use up any of the air in the room that he might need. And then he would suddenly gasp and take in another breath. The episodes became more frequent. I napped in a recliner in his room. They came, the nurses like clockwork, they told him they were going to give him some medicine, or they were going to move him. His expression never changed.

Early Saturday morning the hospice nurse told me that the apnea would continue, for longer times until finally he just never gasped for another breath. I called Lisa and told her and Garrett they should come back.

Debbie and Karen arrived a few hours later, along with Lisa’s sons, Josh and Noah. We talked, we sat with dad.

The nurses came and went, it was some of his favorite nurses from the facility. They liked him, they told me so. The hospice nurse checked him again, said she was going to be in the building for a bit if we needed her. Another nurse came in, she checked him too. I was on one side of the bed, she on the other. She looked at me and I knew.

“It’s time isn’t it?” I asked. She said, “Yeah I think so.”

I called everyone else into the room, we all took turns talking to dad, touching him. I leaned over and whispered, “it’s okay dad, we are all here. We love you.”

Shortly after noon on Saturday the 18^th, the day before Father’s Day, my dad took his last breath. It was quiet, I think he knew we were there, I don’t think he felt any pain in those last hours.

And then that thing kicked in again. For all the grouchy dad memories I have had, I now find myself almost unable to remember them. Instead almost everything I do reminds me of something else.

I went scuba diving with friends in Florida the following weekend. And as I dove in the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico I suddenly remembered  that it was dad that first got me to take Scuba lessons, some 33 years before. And I said to myself, and to my dive buddy, this dive is for dad. He would have loved it and the people I was with and the beauty of the ocean.

I put on a movie the other night, it was “An American in Paris” with Gene Kelly and Leslie Caron. Dad loved that movie. Me too. Gene Kelly is the epitome of handsome classy and boy can he dance. Dad loves dance, of  all kinds, Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire kind of dance, Mikhail Baryshnikoff kind of dance, Irish Step Dancing, the Joffrey Ballet, any kind of dance and he passed that along as well.

I looked for a CD to put on and chose Bela Fleck, playing some of the most amazing classical music on the banjo. Dad helped me learn to love classical music, and the banjo and Bela Fleck.

My sisters and I wrote an e-mail to dad’s e-mail list of friends, telling them of his death and the responses began to come in. And almost every one said that Dad always talked about his girls, how proud he was of all his daughters.

The words I longed to hear.

We needed a picture for the obituary we wanted to put in a couple of newspapers in California. As I looked through photos I had I found one of mom and dad at my graduation from the police academy, and one of dad at my swearing in ceremony when I became a Sergeant, and the one of dad as he pinned my Lieutenants badge on me and I wondered why I questioned if I had made him proud.

It’s okay daddy, we are all here and we love you. I remembered that in more recent years there was a nickname. When I would call he would answer the phone I would say “Hi dad, it’s Julie” and he would say, “Little Jules, how are you?”

I’m okay dad. I miss you but I’ll be okay.

For you dad, from your Little Jules.

http://www.mv-voice.com/obituaries/memorials/mitchell-balogh-bain?o=1388

I've said too much ....

I said the wrong thing, or too much, or at the wrong time ….. again. It seems to be my habit. When I hear someone I care about ask those questions, those unanswerable ones, the why questions, I have a desire to fill in the empty space. I want to help. I want to heal.

I think back to the advice my mom gave me. And then I remember, she didn’t give me any. I can’t remember a single conversation, about boys, sex, my dreams, her dreams, her worries, none of it.

Had she used up all her advice on my older sisters? Or did she just not have any words of wisdom. I want to pass it along to my own children, but there is only silence in my own past. I’m only guessing but I think she likely got little words of wisdom from her own mother either.

Does it say anything about my constant questions about people and how they behave – toward me, or about my inability to understand people, well mostly men.

The words sting, the ones where I’m told I need to stop talking like I know everything. But wait, didn’t you ask a question, my opinion, for advice? I don’t know everything, in fact most times I think I know nothing.

Okay, I’ll stop talking. Please don’t ask me for my advice. I have none.

Wish mom were here so I could ask a few questions.

Where do you turn for wisdom?