Z is for ZEAL

Zeal-- eagerness and interest in pursuit of something

A little over a year ago, I committed to writing in this blog.  At the time, I just needed somewhere to write things out.  I was in a not-so-good emotional place, and my sole purpose then was merely to write out the hurt, write out the confusion.  I hoped wildly that, by doing that, I would somehow write myself to somewhere brighter.



I look around me now with a great big smile on my face.  Where I am now is definitely brighter.

I got what I wanted.  I wrote myself to somewhere brighter.  So much healing has gone in the past year, and I feel lighter and brighter and happier.  I believe in myself so much more than I did before.  I spend so much less time blaming myself for things and more time believing in my own worth. I am enjoying the friends I've always had, and happily making new connections and friendships every day.

Too, I feel like I have a purpose in mind.  For so many years, "just surviving" was my purpose. I was very young when I became a parent, and the children pretty much all came at the same time.  At 22 years old, I was a young newlywed.  At 23, I had premature twins. At 25 and 4 days, I had my third child.  Three kids under the age of 2, and I was barely out of my childhood myself.  I didn't know what I was doing.  I couldn't hardly see what God was thinking when He gave me all those kids, I was so sure I couldn't do it and that I was going to majorly screw them up.  So often, it was all I could do just to get to the next day.  I couldn't let myself even THINK past that next day, much less plan and dream about what might come after it.

So to sit here today with a purpose in my heart seems almost novel! I have plans. I have things I want to work toward. I have things I want to accomplish that are more than "get to tomorrow without killing anyone."  To me, they're exciting. I wake up in the morning and, instead of dreading getting out of the bed, I think about what thing I can build into my day that will bring me one step closer to what I want.

Write to someplace brighter...  it worked.  It worked better than I could have hoped.  It wasn't pretty along the way...  but oh, it worked.

Y is for YAWP

I was 13 years old the year that I found myself in the midst of a set of clique of girls.  Jennifer, Betsy, Erin, and me.  Every slumber party, whatever the occasion (or sometimes none at all), found us at each other's houses, gorging ourselves on Cool Ranch Doritos, Double Stuff Oreos, and A&W Root Beer.  We talked about school, giggled over the boys we liked, and watched the same set of movies: Top Gun, Beaches, Steel Magnolias, and Dead Poets Society. 

Oh how we loved Dead Poets Society.  Partly it was probably the cute boys. Partly it was that it was funny in parts, sad in parts. But, I think mostly it just touched us. It made us cry. It made us think. It made us feel.  Even today...  I watched this, and I cried.

Did you watch it? If you didn't, go back and really listen to it.  Even if you've seen it before.

There's something about it, isn't there? Something that is so powerful that it speaks, not only to the 13-year-old girl that I was, but the 30-something woman and mom that I am today. I believe that we all have that in us, don't you? The barbaric yawp, only most of us keep it covered up and hidden in some way. Maybe we believe it isn't there. Maybe we doubt it.  Maybe we're so afraid that others will laugh at us or not understand or think that we're stupid and worthless that we never allow it expression. WHAT IF IT SUCKS?  And then everyone will know. Everyone will know that we have this yawp inside of us and they will know it completely lacks worth.

Only no.

What we don't know is that the yawp is amazing.  It's really amazing.  When we finally find the guts to let it slip out, when we stop worrying about what other people are going to think of us, when we stop keeping it locked up, it slips out.  It slips out and lets itself be known, and that look on Robert Sean Leonard's face in the last seconds of the clip?  THAT is what people have for us.  Not ridicule, not laughter, not belief that we're idiots.

It's amazement.  It's "I had no idea that was inside of her." It's awe.

That is what is waiting for us.  That is what is waiting at the end of our YAWP's expression.  And isn't that incredible?  It's waiting for YOU.  Don't be afraid of it.  Stand up and yell it, for it is what you were meant to do and be.

Don't be afraid.

Sound your barbaric yawp.  Mr Keating would be proud.  O Captain my Captain.

W is for Wishes

Julia Cameron tweeted this the other day:

Every so often, I make a list of twenty things I wish for. That list brings me clarity. Clarity seems to attract the next missing piece.

In the interest of brevity and the fact that I have to be out the door in 35 minutes, I'm going to stick with 10 today.

10 Things I Wish For

1. I wish to finish WIP #1 and start real WIP #2. (For the uninitiated, WIP = Work In Progress)
2. I wish for more consistency and patience in my parenting.
3. I wish for better organization of the time allotted to me each day.
4. I wish for better commitment and time invested into the lives of those I love.
5. I wish for a summer of fun with my family.
6. I wish for permission, if only from myself.
7. I wish for forgiveness, both in my ability to grant it to others and in others' to grant it to me.
8. I wish for understanding.
9. I wish for the courage to take the first, second, third, and fourth steps to achieve the things I hope for.
10. I wish for success.

V is for Vacancy

"Remote, 5 miles," Natalie read on the road sign through the rain.  I can make five miles, she thought.  It was late, she'd been driving for hours, and the rain was now coming down so hard that she could barely see the road.  She hoped there would be a small motel or an inn that she could stay in Remote.  If she tried to drive much further, she'd drive herself right off a cliff.

As she crossed into city limits of the quiet town, she wondered if anyone even lived here anymore.  The houses seemed sad and empty. Signs hung off the walls of old businesses like pictures someone had forgotten to straighten for the past fifty years.  But, toward the end of town, there was a single building with a light on.  "Far and Away Inn," it read. "As Remote As Can Be."  Under the sign, a neon red sign blinked, "VACANCY."

Natalie pulled into the small parking lot next to the other cars, grabbed her duffel bag from the backseat, and pushed open the door to the office.  "Hello?" she inquired. "Is anyone here?"  The front desk was littered with yellowing papers and chewed-up pencils.  A rusty bell sat on a ledge over the desk.  Responding to her shake, the sound reverberated jarringly through the quiet of the room, like she had disturbed something meant to stay untouched.

Just as Natalie was about to retreat back to her car, a door creaked open at the end of a hallway, and an old woman with fuzzy gray hair limped toward her.  The woman was short and plump, with a gray shawl to match her hair draped around her shoulders.  It was almost like the grandmother from Little Red Riding Hood had jumped from the pages to check Natalie into this place. "I'm sorry, dear," came the creaky voice from the woman as she reached the desk. "I just don't walk as fast as I used to. Can I help you?"

Natalie smiled assuringly. "It's alright, ma'am.  I'm on my way to Denver, but this storm is just terrible.  I was wondering if you had any vacancies?"

"Call me Bessie, darling.  Everyone here does." Bessie flipped thoughtfully through the pages on the counter. "As it turns out, we do have just one room left.  It's at the end of the first floor, and has two beds.  Would that work out alright for you?"

"Oh, that would be fine, Bessie. I just need someplace to sleep for the night."

"Alright then, we'll get you checked in." Bessie flipped a switch behind the desk with an air of finality. The light in the room seemed to change.  A dimming? A different tint?  It set Natalie on edge, something was odd here.  "Nothing to worry about," Bessie assured her with a nod toward the window.

Natalie turned in the direction of Bessie's nod and noted an orange "NO" had been turned on outside in front of the red "VACANCY."  She laughed inside at her own unease.  It was just a quiet small town.

Bessie pulled a key from the wall behind her, invited Natalie to follow her and to mind the cats that swirled around their legs. "We don't get a lot of nighttime visitors here, and they just like to say 'Hello.'"

"Oh, it's no bother," Natalie responded, dutifully.  There was something about Bessie that stuck in her mind, but it was nothing she could really put her finger on.  She waited while Bessie opened the heavy door to her room, and then bid the woman goodnight before closing it and sinking tiredly onto one of the beds.

Outside the room, Bessie began making her way back to the desk, murmuring to the cats. A scream emitted from the room she had just left, and Bessie smiled with satisfaction.  Her limp disappeared, and when she arrived at the desk, she turned off the "NO" sign that blinked outside with garish annoyance. "That makes five, my dears.  Will the storm bring us a sixth?"

Natalie had one final thought before the life drained from her completely. It was her eyes. They just didn't blink enough.

U is for Understanding

Ok, I'm just going to be straight up with you today.  I've talked a lot about kindness the last few months because it's what I want to be.  I want to be kinder. I want to be more patient. I want to be less snarky where the result is someone else's hurt.

But I'm going to tell you something...  Sometimes it's hard.  Sometimes my patience wears out faster than I can even imagine. Sometimes I want to stare at people in amazement at their crap and go "OH. MY. GOD. STOP IT."

I think they call this "being stretched."

There's this person.  I'm pretty sure this person is THE MOST NEGATIVE person I have ever met in my life.  Remember a week or so ago when I said I was a "glass half full" person and I liked to be happy?  I know this is going to come as a shock to you... but I don't think I mesh well with Captain Negative.  Sometimes I just sort of sit in amazement as they run through every possible negative aspect of their life.  And REALLY, there are NO positives.  NONE.  

And me, being Miss Not Negative, is all throwing glitter confetti and trying to poke holes in all the negativity.  "But look!  There's puppies!  And rainbows!  And CHOCOLATE!  Dear god, the chocolate!!!!"  I don't think negative people like people like me.  But, it's okay.  I'm pretty sure the feeling is relatively mutual because what I really want to do is shake them and yell "JUST STOP IT BEFORE I THROW YOU IN A PIT OF RABID ALLIGATORS!!!"

And then, my GOSH, I hate it when I'm all STOP IT, YOU ANNOYING THING, and the nice little person that I keep locked in the closet of my head shoves her nose in and goes "Hey.  YOU stop it.  Have you tried understanding them?"

"What's to understand?" I retort back. "They are BUGGING me."

"I know," she says. "But what do you know about the things in their life?  Tight finances, a hard family life, bad health.  You don't know.  Sure, maybe they could stand to smoke some of that happy gas you pipe into your head all the time, but would it be so bad to spend a little more time trying to understand them and a little less time plotting their accidental demise?"

Begrudgingly, I know she's right.  So before I lock her back in the closet again, I try to take a deep breath and find some grace and understanding somewhere in me.

Full disclosure...  Sometimes I don't.  Sometimes I can't find the understanding, and I say things I shouldn't.  On the plus side, so far, I haven't ACTUALLY pushed anyone into alligator pits.

But it's only April.

R is for Responses

• Where do all the socks go?
• There is a little known legend in Ireland about a wicked leprechaun who goes around stealing lone socks for the sole purpose of the delight he finds in watching the frustration of the stolen-from as they search and search for the mate of the leftover sock.  He is also responsible for the eventual suicide of aforementioned leftover sock when it realizes its lifelong mate will never return.  It's very sad.
• Why can't my children ever stay in bed?
• There is no answer to this.  Not enough Nyquil?
• Why do I have to sacrifice staying up late to get all the sleep I need?
• BECAUSE THE UNIVERSE IS WRONG!!!
• Who was the moron that cancelled Firefly?
• I don't know, but he should be beaten!!!  I miss Mal and Jayne and River and Simon and everyone!
• What are you hoping for?
• Organization. Success. Courage. Reconciliation. Growth.
• What are you afraid of and what can you do to conquer it?

• I am afraid of not being enough. I am always afraid of not being enough. The thing is, I know that's a lie, the idea that I'm not enough, and I know it's something I fear that isn't real. And yet, there it is.  Just stop giving it the right to exist, I guess.
• What have you lost? 
• Half the library books in the King County Library System. Truth.
• What are you looking for?
• Uhh, the same things I'm hoping for? Who wrote these questions, anyway?
• What can you always say about yourself?
• Hmm.  I can always say that I'm trying, that I'm looking for the bright side, and searching for the little bits of humor that are tucked into every life and situation. I can always say that I'm learning, and that even when the lessons are hard and painful, and even when I have to learn them over and over again, each time I learn a little more and I get a little wiser.
• What have you survived?
• Family setbacks, loss of friendship, prematurity (my children's, not my own), losing focus, starting over, IKEA
• What is ugliness?

• Being selfish, the inability to forgive, settling, cruelty to others... and yourself.
• What is beauty?
• The opposite of all that?  Kindness, innocence. Mercy and grace. A life fully lived. Wisdom. 
• What do you need more of in your life?
• Time! Also patience, understanding, drive, commitment, strength
• Less?
• Disorder, traffic, conflict, Justin Bieber.
• What is the most basic rule that you live by?
• It has become something like "It doesn't hurt me to be kind."
• What makes you unique?
• LOL  That I'm a mess?

Q is for Questions

• Where do all the socks go?
• Why can't my children ever stay in bed?
• Why do I have to sacrifice staying up late to get all the sleep I need?
• Who was the moron that cancelled Firefly?
• What are you hoping for?
• What are you afraid of and what can you do to conquer it?
• What have you lost? 
• What are you looking for?
• What can you always say about yourself?
• What have you survived?
• What is ugliness?
• What is beauty?
• What do you need more of in your life?
• Less?
• What is the most basic rule that you live by?
• What makes you unique?

P is for Play

My kitchen is kind of a mess. I am in the middle of painting my kids' room. I have 20 pages of editing to do. My garage needs to be cleaned and organized. My email inbox is in DESPERATE need of attention, and I'm four days behind on replying to comments.  I haven't read blog posts for two days.

But you know what?

I'm not going to do any of it today.  TODAY, I am going to play.

Playing is important.  As adults, how often do we really play?  We ALWAYS have all that stuff to do, don't we?  Work, kids, house, yard, etc.  It's not like it's ever going to go away, and we always have that mental list of things we need to get done in the back of our heads.  We certainly can't play until all that's done!

Wait, what?  You can?

Oh yes, you can.  I'm not saying to blow it off every day.  But every once in a while?  Heck yes.  Blow it off.  Put off what you can do today till tomorrow.  Go outside. Dance in the rain or the sun or the thunderstorm (not recommending golf as a mode of play on those days, kids). Go see something you've never seen before.  Visit your favorite place.  Eat caramel apples and milkshakes and sunshine.

ENJOY YOUR LIFE.  You've only got one.  Put a little play in it.

O is for Opportunity

Every moment.

Every moment is an opportunity.

An opportunity to reach someone, an opportunity to stretch your character. An opportunity to help someone who needs it, an opportunity to do something to get you one step closer to your dream. An opportunity to raise someone's spirits with a smile or a kind word, an opportunity to climb over your own "stuff" to reach for something bigger.

Some days, it seems like the roads we walk are full of obstacles, full of things we have to get through, full of things that make it hard and frustrating and UGH! But underneath all those things are opportunities.  Opportunities to prove that we are more than our obstacles, that we are more than our "stuff."  But when we look only at the stuff, only at the obstacles, only at how goshdarned hard and unfair it all is, we miss the opportunities.  We miss the chance to be better and bigger and more freakishly awesome than we are.

Don't miss them.  They will make you amazing.

N is for Naive

Definition: having or showing a lack of experience, judgment, or information; credulous: She's so naive she believes everything she reads.

I see a lot of myself in that.  Naive...  some people call it gullible.  I suppose that's me, too. I don't always know how I feel about that.  I'm easy to use, I know that. If you come to me with what looks like sincerity, I will most definitely be inclined to believe what you tell me.

Part of me doesn't want to be like that.  Sometimes I wish I was more discerning. Sometimes I wish I was better at being able to tell if someone is lying to me or not. But, I'm not.  I'm really really not. I suppose it's why I make sure to surround myself with people that I consider to be wise. I suppose it's the hope that if I can't see what I need to see, maybe they can and maybe they'll be willing to share it with me.

On the other side, I'm not always sorry to be naive either. I don't think I'd want to be the kind of person who mistrusts people all the time, either. But, maybe a happy medium would be nice?

Sorry this is a short post... my mind's been elsewhere the last few days, and we're heavy into painting my kids' room today.  Anybody have any "O" suggestions?

M is for Manipulation

It was a friendship that was over.  If there was blame to be placed for that, there were multiple places to do it.  Some of it belonged to me, some of it belonged to them, which is probably the case with most ended friendships.  Rarely does it fall on just one, and if you start to thinking it does, then you're not being honest with yourself.  I was at the stage of the healing where you go over every minute of the friendship, thinking of what could have gone differently, if you did right, if you did wrong, if you were right to walk away, if you were unreasonable.  I began to realize how strongly manipulation was a part of our friendship.  It wasn't until that moment that I had even seen it. I hadn't realized how easily it was to manipulate me, and it's not been something that I have been able to un-see.

Guilt trips. Passive Aggression. Self putdowns.  They're all things that I've found myself to be really susceptible to, and I cave all the time.  Do you have things that you find yourself kowtowing to constantly?  Or people?

I've been really trying to get away from that.  I don't like feeling used.  I've been trying to adopt a stronger resolve, and to be more resistant when those aforementioned methods of manipulation are used on me. I feel like people will think that, when I don't cave like I used to, that I've become a harder person, that I don't care, that I'm mean, and I don't like that much, either.  But I'm not sorry for becoming stronger, I think it's a good thing. In a roundabout way, it's actually allowed me to be a much better wife and mom, and I can't be sorry for that. I just don't want to be the girl that allows herself to be so manipulated anymore.

Don't you allow yourself, either.  Folks who use manipulation to make you change who you are aren't really your friends, and you're worth more than that.

L is for Line Dance

I've always wanted to try line dancing. I don't know why, I just always thought that it looked like a fun thing to do.  But with a husband who thinks country music rots your speakers and who is... ummm... not the most skilled when it comes to moves of the dancing variety (but he's a killer basketball player... *strokes male ego*), my opportunities for such were relatively dismal.

Last year, I decided I was going to try it anyway, so I signed up for a class.  This was slightly embarrassing than it sounds because I could only find local classes at one location.  So, while my peers were all "Woot, I just had the best Zumba class at the uber-cool gym," my contributions to these conversations went more like:

I don't look like this, but I pretend I do.

"I'm taking a line dancing class!"
"Really?  Where at?"
"Umm.  At the... senior center."

Nothing cooler, kids.  Nothing cooler.

So now, I've been doing it for a little over a year, and I was right.  It is WAY fun.  I've moved to a dance studio in Renton, and while it's a farther drive, it's worth it.  My instructor is very cool.  I've been happy to realize that he's figured out I know what I'm doing, and he's started to throw in extra turns for me to learn, which has been lots of fun.  And yesterday, he gave me permission to sign up for the advanced class next session.  YAY ME!!!  I'm actually hugely excited about that... I've watched some of the advanced class before, and their choreography is WAY COOL!

Yeehaw!

(Actually we learned a dance to Will Smith's Men in Black yesterday, so it was more like...umm...  whatever you say when you're all hip and cool.)

K is for Kinder

Imagine, if you will, high school.  (This is probably going to work better if you're a girl.... or if you can imagine BEING a girl.)  Veronica, the prom queen, trips your best friend Jennifer, and suddenly, out of loyalty, you and your entire clique now hate Veronica.  To demonstrate said loyalty, your friend Lori pranks the locker of Veronica's best friend Ann.  So now, Veronica, Ann, and HER entire clique hate YOUR entire clique.  Spread this tendency out over four years of high school, and you've got layer upon layer of friendship cliques at war with others for incredibly dumb reasons.

Now. Age everybody by about 20 years.  Girls don't really get smarter.  We just get older, and this is basically where I found myself last summer. It was a stupid place to be, I knew it.  But even while I complained about how high school it was, I still participated in it. I still perpetuated it.  That is, until a voice inside my head said, "Look, stupid. If you hate it so much, you have a choice. Stop playing high school and be nice."

"But no one else is going to be nice. It's just going to be me, being nice, all by myself."

"Who cares what everyone else does?  You be in charge of you.  You choose who you want to be.  And you want to be nice."

So, in July, I did.  That week, I made a choice to be kinder. I made a choice to be nicer. I made a choice to stop engaging. (I'm sorry, I'm trying to make this short.)

The truth is that I don't think anyone noticed at first, and for a long while.  I think that, when you've acted one way for a long time, people don't quite believe you when you start to change.  It was during that time, when I was really struggling with that, that I wrote "Changing When You Can't."  Because what I wanted to say, really, was "I'm TRYING. I'm really TRYING," and I wanted someone to see it and acknowledge it and say "I get it. Keep going, it's working."  But nobody said that, and it was sometimes hard to keep going when I felt like nobody believed me.

In January, I was ready to take this a step further and made another choice to make an effort.  Instead of just being "not a bitch," I made the choice to try to reach out and extend kindness with effort.  That's different from just being "not mean."  It meant putting myself out there more. It meant risking more.  Actually, it meant risking a lot.  Not only do you risk being slapped down by the people who lie on the other side of your warlines...  but you also risk getting slapped by the people who lie on YOUR side.  "Why are you talking to them?  They're the BAD PEOPLE, remember??"

But I want to tell you a secret. It's worked. Clique wars are stupid and I'm not sorry to be extricating myself.  In recent weeks, I've made acquaintance with people who I don't think I would have if I'd kept up where I was before.  And I laughed.  I laughed and said, "Is it really just that easy?"

Yeah, Sherlock.  It actually is.

Be kinder.  Honest, it works.

J is for Joel

(I promised him he could have J Day.)

Five Reasons Joel (My Husband) Is Cool

(Please do not tell him I wrote this list.  Our marriage works on a very carefully managed balance in which we keep each other's heads from blowing up from our own mutual coolness factors. *nods*)

1. He's super smart.  Like... really super smart.  People ask me what Joel does for Microsoft, and my answer is usually "I have no idea."  That's not entirely true, I SORT OF have an idea.  And if you pressed me, I could give you a general ballpark answer.  But the truth is that it is very far over my head, and I've learned over the last seven years that just about the time I figure out what he does, he changes positions or groups or his group gets re-orged, and then I have to start all over again.  So...  it saves me a lot of energy to just tell you "He's super smart but I have no idea what he does."

2. He's handsome.  Ok, admittedly, I don't have a lot of pictures to show you to prove this point.  I have a very intimate relationship with my camera.  I'm all "Oh! It's been a WHOLE WEEK since I've had a massive self-portrait session with myself... I am so slacking off!!!"  Joel, on the other hand, finds reasons to hold books, newspapers, plates, and mattresses up in front of his face if he sees a camera in my hand.  Not a fan of getting his picture taken.  But trust me, he's handsome. This is what he looked like when we started dating.  Come on... Tell me he wasn't adorable!  See, you can't.

3. He's funny.  I mean, he's REALLY funny.  Not everyone knows this because he's also kind of shy and will take some time to warm up to you before he lets that out.  But, he's really funny.  (Seriously, if you tell him I said this, I will have to unfriend you.  Our relationship depends on us pretending that we don't think our spouse is seriously the funniest person alive.) He makes me laugh all the time.  Someday, I will tell you one of his favorite jokes.  It's not a GOOD joke, mind you.  It's terrible.  It's long.  It goes on forever and 18 days.  And the pay-off is... non-existent.  But, he just enjoys it so dang much.

4.  He is an awesome awesome dad.  I think that sometimes he doesn't think so.  But he is.  I know he worries that he doesn't spend enough time with them, or that the time he does spend isn't quality, or that he's not doing enough or doing enough right.  But, I'm of the mind that the very fact that he DOES worry about all that stuff is what makes him a great dad.  He is adored, absolutely adored by our girls.  He can just about do no wrong.  He is always the cool parent.  Last year, Alicia had this school concert.  It was scheduled terribly for parent attendance.  The middle of the day in the middle of the week.  Joel had meetings scheduled all day long.  It wasn't convenient in any stretch of the imagination.  But, she'd asked him four times if he was coming, and when I asked HIM if he was going to be able to make it, he said "Not every meeting needs me.  I'll figure it out."  And he did. I might have cried a little. (Well, this isn't about why I'm cool.)

5. He's a pretty fine husband, too.  I'm difficult.  Let's just admit that.  I'm high maintenance and I'm moody.  But, for some reason, he loves me.  He works hard as a provider.  He works hard as a dad, and he works hard as a husband.  He's not a "flowers every week" kind of a guy, but the things he does are GOOD.  I remember when we were dating, he gave me a tape of this one song.  And I will never forget when he said "I've been saving that for a long time...  I've just been waiting for someone I cared enough about to give it to."  On my 17th birthday, he made the most romantic date ever.  On our 1000th day of being married, he took me out on a date we could barely afford with 1000 pennies.  It was his idea to return to where we spent our honeymoon to celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary. He DOES bring me flowers, but it's on days I don't expect it. "You sounded like today's been a hard day, so I thought you might like these."  He randomly brings me home lattes and frappaccinos. He apologizes when he feels like he's said something that he didn't mean, or that just came out wrong. I have the most up-to-date computer in the world because it's what he does, and it's one thing he knows he can do to take care of me.  and I realize that, to someone else, having the most up to date computer in the world is not the most romantic thing ever.  But I know that I have it because he loves me, and maybe that sounds weird...  But I understand that it's his way of saying "I love you and I want you to know that you're important to me."

I'm a lucky girl, friends.  Very lucky.

I is for Idols

While I don't remember the person or the infraction, I remember the moment clearly. I was out to lunch with my three impressionable girls.  The Disney Channel, and its many leading ladies, were the focus of many starry-eyed gazes.  Over dessert, one of my girls spoke, "Did you hear about *Insert Idolized Actress Here*? I heard that she got arrested for *Insert Infraction Here*."  It could have been drugs, it could have been a DUI.  It doesn't really matter.  What mattered was the immediate dousing of the light in their eyes, the understanding that the person they had held up as wonderful and amazing and WOW... was maybe not as wonderful as they had previously thought.  As a mom, I sighed.  As a fellow girl, and maybe just person, I was sad, knowing this wouldn't be the first time.


... because we do it, too, don't we?  Even as grown-ups, even when we know in our heads that the people we idolize (whether they be sports figures, actors, musicians, authors, etc) are really just normal people, there is something that dies in us just a little bit when we're faced with their very real humanity.  We want them to be "more than," we want them to be worth the devotion we give them.  And when we find out that maybe they're not, when they lose some of our respect, it's sad and it's hard and it's disappointing.

And maybe that's inevitable and just a part of life.

H is for Happiness

I am one of those annoying "Glass is Half Full" kind of people.  I make no apologies.  I am a fan of happiness. I am a fan of BEING happy.  And I'm a believer in our own roles in creating that happiness.  It's why, if you follow me on Twitter for any length of time, you'll probably see a sampling of quotes about choosing happiness, about choosing positivity, about not letting things get you down, about choosing how to respond to our own emotions.

Because I am ALSO something akin to a preteen on hormone crack with mood swings that tend to fluctuate wildly (it must be seriously so fun to be married to me), I NEED those quotes.  It's my own form of self-motivation.  If you see those from me, you know I'm probably feeling mopey about something and I'm whipping myself into a better mood.

But you know what?  It totally works and I'm glad of it.  I'd a WHOLE lot rather choose to embrace happiness and joy than melancholy and anger and depression.  And if I annoy you... well... good.  :)

"If you cannot annoy somebody with what you write, I think there's little point in writing." --Kingsley Amis

G is for.... ?

I woke up slowly and shivered. Not again, I thought irritably.  Luke was always stealing the covers at night and then hording them with an iron grip.  Without even opening my eyes, I threw an arm behind me, trying to locate a corner so I could wrestle at least an inch or two away from him.  But there was nothing.  I really mean there was nothing.  No bed. No husband. No nothing.  My eyes flew open and I found myself staring at the ceiling.  Normally, this wouldn't really be the biggest deal in the world, but in this case, the ceiling was an inch from my face.  What in the world?  Why was I not in my bed?  And more importantly, why was I on the ceiling?

I spun myself around and looked down, sure I was going to fall at any second.  I blinked.  There I was in my bed, next to Luke, who was sharing the blankets quite nicely for once.  Maybe this was one of those dreams where you're watching yourself do things from outside of your body.

As if reading my mind, a creaky voice spoke. "You're not dreaming, dear."

I somehow managed to figure my way into a sitting position, feeling something like a floating genie, and spied a very old woman, creaking away in an equally-floating rocking chair, serenely knitting a blanket.  "Grandma... Rachel?" I asked.  Grandma Rachel had been dead for 20 years.  This was most definitely a dream, no doubt brought on by all the cold medicine I had taken the night before.

"Oh no, dear.  It isn't a dream," she insisted.

"Would you stop doing that? Of course it's a dream.  How could I be up here?  And how could you be here?  You're dead!"

Grandma Rachel laughed, her needles clicking away.  "Well, of course I am, Sarah. How else could I float up here like a ghost?  And so are you."

I stared at her. "Me? I can't be dead.  I can see myself right down there!"

"And your chest isn't moving so much now, is it?"  She pointed a knitting needle at me.  "You really should check the interactions on your drugs, Sarah.  Anyway, it doesn't matter now.  What's done is done.  Read the letter from Grandpa Bill, it explains.. well, some of it."

I looked around me.  "Letter?"

Grandma Rachel looked irritable.  "Yes, the letter that's floating right next--  Oh.  Well, I always forget this part."  She snapped her fingers, and a letter appeared on my lap.  "That one."

I picked it up and opened it carefully.

"Dearest Sarah," I read. "If you are reading this, it means you're dead. Sorry about that.  I hope it was painless.  But now you're a ghost, and can carry on the family legacy.  You'll be expected at the mansion in Lexington at 2am sharp tomorrow night.  Will explain the rest then. Love, Grandpa"

F is for Fackrell

That's my maiden name.

It's a curious thing to be a woman and marry into someone else's family.  You leave your name behind, and take his.  It becomes part of who you are now. I don't begrudge that at all.  But, even if you don't have what your name was anymore, it never stops being a part of who you are.

It's the part of me that, no matter what weight I am at, determines that my cheeks will always make me look like a chipmunk gearing up for the nut-free apocalypse.

It's the part of me that thinks "I wonder where this goes" every time I stumble upon a new road.

It's the part of me that strikes up random conversations with people in the line at the grocery store and makes my children whisper urgently, "MOM.  You don't even KNOW HER."

It's the part of me that gets mad fast, but makes up fast too.

It's the part of me that tries to hide everything I really feel under a blanket of humor.

It's the part of me that says "I am clearly reading a book.  What you are interrupting me for better the heck be life-threatening."

It's the part of me that never finds a chocolatier that is quite Van Duyn.

It's the part of me that is so stubborn, I make a mule look compliant.

And, yeah, it's the part of me that says "Ok" when my mom decides to make all of our Christmases themed from now to the end of eternity.  New road, let's explore it.

E is for Enough

E is for Enough

Truthfully, I've put this on so many different letters, not sure what angle I wanted to approach it from.

The three years previous to this past one, I haven't really been writing. There are a number of reasons for that, most of them silly.  But, a big one was that I was devoted to someone else's dream. That was my choice.  For some reason, it had become really important to me that they achieve theirs, and I threw myself wholeheartedly into whatever small thing I could do to make that into a reality.  I don't know that this, in itself, is a bad thing.  Everyone needs people to believe in them and support them to make their dreams a reality, don't they?

And then I heard this song by a singer I admire:

I listened to it a few times through... and then I broke down and cried. It made me realize that I hadn't just been supporting someone else's dreams, but I had been completely ignoring my own in favor of theirs.  Again, my choice, but a bad one, and completely unfair to myself.  So I came back to writing.

I've thought a lot about what my dreams are, and I'm not sure I've come to a conclusion yet.  But I know that writing makes me happy.

I follow the blogs of a lot of other writers, and I like that.  I like being stretched.  I like learning from others.  I like always finding areas where I can grow and get better.  And, honestly, I LIKE coming along while a lot of you write your books.  But can I admit something?

I'm not sure that's the writer I am.  I've had people tell me I should write a book.  Admittedly, most of those people are also listed on my birth certificate, and are therefore significantly biased.   And, maybe someday, that will become my dream. I'm open to my dreams ebbing and flowing and changing.  Despite my kids' claims, I'm still young.

Right now, I like blogging.  I like finding ways that you and I can connect. I like not having a product I'm trying to push on you, and I like not worrying about building up my search engine optimization for whatever search term.

I think I know why this is bothering me.  The other day, I read a post from someone that drew this line between "career writers" and "hobbyist writers."  Let's just say that the "hobby writers" were not the cool kids, but more like the cool kids' nerdy pointless 4th cousins, relegated to the pigpen at Thanksgiving dinner.  I was irked because I guess that's me.  Right now, what I want is a successful blog.  And to me, "successful" doesn't mean multi-million dollar worth.  It doesn't mean 5000 subscribers.  It means that I'm able to touch whoever walks in the door, whether that's 10 people, 500 people, or just my mom.  Sure, making money off of it someday would be cool, but I don't care about that really.

I feel like that makes me a hobbyist writer.  But I don't feel that this makes me a less than writer.  And I do feel like it's okay for this, right now in this very moment, to be enough to make me happy and pleased and fulfilled... as a writer.  With no qualifier.

It's enough.  And I think that's okay.

D is for Different

Be different.

Stand out from the pack. March to your own drummer.

Have the courage to be you.

There is tremendous pressure to be one of them.  Looking the same, thinking the same, saying the same.  Being the same.

But, be you.

Being you shouldn't be hurtful.  Not to you, not to them.  But, being you should be unique and wonderful.  It should be a gift.. to yourself, to those around, to those who don't even know you.

Being you can be lonely.  When everyone else is the same, and you're the only one who isn't, it can feel lonely to be the only one being like you, thinking like you, feeling like you.

Be different, anyway.

The Thrill of the Catch, Chapter 11

To start from the beginning, find the prologue here

CHAPTER 11

The summer passed quickly for all.

Iona’s father arrived the day after the wedding party, ready to spirit her away to Lord Covington’s estate.  To say that he was angry at the subterfuge that Philip and Iona had pulled off would be an understatement. But, he was soon won over by Philip’s gentlemanly charm, and admittedly, his wealth.

Seth and Regan played cat and mouse for weeks. Under Darren’s watchful eye, Seth continued to feign indifference, all the while fanning the flame of Regan’s interest. To be fair, he wasn’t always particularly skilled at feigning indifference, which helped Regan to be assured that he was far more interested than he pretended to be.  He was certainly interested in the moonlight kissing.  By summer’s end, their romance had bloomed and was given ample encouragement by the doting villagers.

Briana and Kira effectively changed places.  Kira moved into the cottage with Darren and Seth, while Briana remained in the gypsy camp with Colin. Kira’s outfits made her the constant subject of village gossip, but she refused to dress in clothes that she considered “dowdy” just to still busybody tongues.

Local crime came to a considerable standstill as the two biggest instigators found themselves more and more occupied with the new loves in their lives. Colin began considering the idea of giving up his life of crime in order to put his personal knowledge of criminal behavior to better use in the form of local security management, while Darren found himself taken under Patrick’s wing with the intent of grooming him to take over the mayorship when the time came.

Colin sat in his wagon on a sunny day late in the summer, absently tallying the camp’s supplies as they approached the beginning of autumn. A swish of skirts behind him and the creak of feet on the stairs brought a smile to his lips. Any second now, he knew he would feel her hands at his shoulders and the scent of her hair would fill his senses. 

When the figure didn’t move after several moments, he turned, an eyebrow raised in question. But, it was not his beloved Briana that stood hesitantly in the doorway. “Kira!” Before he could think twice, he jumped up and wrapped her in his arms, swinging her about the room. “I’ve missed you!”

Kira laughed and held her head, dizzy, when he finally set her down. “I’ve missed you, too.”

Colin turned to fill two mugs. “I didn’t mean what I said before, you know. You can come back.”

“I’m not really here to come back.” She took a deep breath. “I’m here to invite you to our wedding.”

He set the jug down carefully. “Your… wedding? Well, that’s nice that you’ve found some other unsuspecting groom who doesn’t hate my guts while you’ve been gone. I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Darren,” she glared at him. “My wedding to Darren.”

“I’m fairly certain I’m busy that day.”

Kira stomped her foot. “Colin, I’m your sister.”

“Yes, and apparently marrying a man who hasn’t stopped trying to assault me since I was seven years old.” There was something of the little boy trapped behind his eyes. “Don’t ask me to do what I can’t do.”

She threw her hands up in frustration. “Fine. You are the stubbornest person I’ve ever met!” She yelled as she stomped out of the wagon, slamming the door behind her, “Just see if I come to yours!!”

She nearly collided with Briana who was just returning from the river. Her fury at fever-pitch, the gypsy girl vented, “My brother is the most pig-headed, moody, obnoxious man on the planet!”

Briana tried to keep a straight face. “I don’t think I can really disagree with that.”

Kira shook her head with a wry smile. “How can you stand being with him?”

Briana shrugged and answered simply, “I love him.”

The dark-haired girl nodded in understanding. “I suppose. Darren sends his love, by the way. I- I came to invite Colin… and you… to the wedding.  We’re getting married soon.”

Briana’s face lit up in a smile. “You are? Congratulations!” Her eyes strayed to the wagon and her smile faded a little. “But, no… I don’t suppose he would respond very favorably to that. I’m sorry, Kira.”

“I guess I knew it wasn’t very likely.  I just hoped he might have come around.” She sighed.  “Does he make you happy, Briana?”

The blond girl thought of the young gypsy boy who’d helped her free a rock from the ground, and of the teenager who had been her first kiss, and finally of the man who now filled her nights. “Oh yes.  Very much.”

Kira smiled. “Darren will want to know that.”

When Kira had left the camp, Colin emerged from the wagon. “I suppose she told you about the wedding.”

Briana nodded.  “She did. She also told me that you won’t go.”

He reached for her and she slid her arms around his waist. “I just can’t,” he murmured.  His hands stroked her back as he laid his cheek against the top of her head.

“I’d like to go.” She held her breath as his hands stilled. “He’s my brother.”

Colin’s voice was quiet. “Okay.”

“Okay? Really?” Her face lit up with happiness, but she studied his expression carefully.

“Really,” he answered. “I guess I can put up with anything for one day. Love does strange things to a man.”

Briana slid both hands around his face and pulled it toward hers. When his lips were a mere breath away, she whispered, “Oh I love you too, Gypsy. Always,” before sealing the declaration with a kiss.



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Author's Note:

I think that most of the people who have been reading this story know this, but I wanted to be sure that credit was given where credit is due.

I've been adapting this story from Celtic Thunder's "Storm"production.  It's been a lot of fun to take the framework that Celtic Thunder created, and try to make the characters a little bit of my own, too.  A little awkward for a couple of those chapters, too, I'll admit, creating bedroom scenes originated by people I've actually met!  But I had a lot of fun doing it, too.  :)

Thanks to everyone who read along...  I hadn't really meant for it to get this long!  I have really appreciated all your encouraging comments!

C is for Captivating

(Please forgive me if this is incoherent... I have the flu, and if all my typing makes actual words, I figure I'm doing pretty well.)

You are captivating.  Did you know that?

Definition: to attract and hold the attention or interest of, as by beauty or excellence.

Synonyms (and these I love): bewitching, enchanting, enthralling, entrancing, fascinating

Too often, when we look at ourselves, we see only the things that are not captivating.  We see physical imperfections. We see all the ways that we don't measure up to someone else.  We see the mistakes we've made. The thorny paths we've gone down.  We believe in the supposed truth of every negative word and glance that we've ever had to endure.

But I don't see that when I look at you. I see beauty, and I see talent, and I see courage. I see kindness, and I see worth, and I see compassion. I see grace, and I see the enchanting gift of having you in my life.

You're not the ugly duckling that we sometimes feel ourselves to be.  You're the swan, beautiful and regal and accomplished.  You're the beautiful princess or the handsome prince.

You are enchanting.
You are fascinating.

And, yes, you are captivating.  Can you live it?

B is for Bhoy

As a group, Celtic Thunder fans tend to be connoisseurs of all things Irish and Scottish.  A couple years ago, this video clip started circulating its way around the fanbase.

Danny Bhoy is a stand-up comedian from Scotland, and just funny as heck.  I quickly made my way through just about every available YouTube video of the guy, then discovered, to my dismay, that I had just missed his performance in Vancouver, BC.  I live in Seattle, so that would be just a quick 3 hour-ish jaunt over the border.  But I had discovered him literally days too late.

Since then, I've followed him religiously.  Every time he released a new tour schedule, I'd hope that he was making his way back here.  Every time, I've been disappointed.  UNTIL last fall.  He tweeted that he had a new Canadian tour in Spring 2012, and before I was even done reading the tweet, I had jumped to his website, discovered he was coming to Vancouver again, bought two tickets, and only THEN did I inform my best friend (also a huge fan) that we were going.

She cleared her schedule.  :)


So, that's what we did this past weekend, and can I just say that he was awesome? You know, sometimes you see recordings of comics or any entertainer, really...  and then when you see them in person, they're not quite as great as you had previously thought.  But, not so with Danny.  He was just as funny in person, and cute, too!  To make it even more fun, Lisa yelled out an answer to something he asked, and we soon found ourselves part of the show.  So loved him.

As it turns out, cute Celtic boys who sing have far more crazy fangirls than cute Celtic boys who are funny. So, mild dark alley creative loitering in the middle of the night in big cities we're not familiar with totally paid off. (This is perhaps not the SAFEST thing we've ever done.) He seemed really touched that we drove "all the way from America" just to see him.  I'm not sure he realized just how close he was TO America.

A is for Abercrombie

I'll admit it.

I walk by the Abercrombie and Fitch store with a certain amount of curiousity and fascination.  I've seen the actual clothes that people buy at A&F, and they seem more or less normal.  But the store itself fascinates me, though I've never been in one.

The closed shutters?  Odd.

The pictures of half-naked barely-pubescent men of questionable masculinity on the front wall?  Disturbing.

The overwhelming stench of men's cologne that wafts out of the doorway?  OH MY GOD, overpowering.  Do they pump this stuff out of the vents? How do people breathe inside?  Do they hand out asthma inhalers inside the entrance?

Do they actually sell clothes in there, or is it just some front for cologne-addicted orgies?

Someone please tell me, because I'm afraid to go in and look.