My Own Velvet Room

A Slice of Life Writing

2010-12-31T11:45:00.000-08:00

Thank you for stopping by!

My Own Velvet Room is now A Slice of Life Writing. You will be redirected there in 6 seconds. I hope you will become a regular visitor there.

Missing Y'All!

2010-11-18T18:02:00.000-08:00

I've discovered that changing homes on the web is not all that different from changing homes in real life. I moved to A Slice of Life Writing a couple of weeks ago and I'm feeling kind of lonely. Some of the friends I have here in the Velvet Room haven't made it over to the new place to visit yet.

I'm still unpacking and putting things away but I would love to have you drop and check out the new place. I'll be cruising around to your places as soon as I can too. This moving business takes more time and effort than I imagined - not unlike my last move in real life.

Hope to see you soon over at A Slice of Life Writing

Moving Day

2010-11-09T05:49:00.000-08:00

Over two years ago I moved into this cozy Velvet Room. Over the years I tweaked things here and there and made it my own. Along the way I have been blessed to have come into contact with a fantastic group of fellow bloggers and writers and friends. Thank you all for stopping by the Velvet Room whether you were a regular or occasional visitor, I have appreciated you greatly.

Sometimes, when one looks ahead to future plans and goals, they come to the realization that their abode is not quite going to do what they need it to for them. And today, dear friends, that is the case with me.

Over the past while I have been packing and moving to a new home. Well, it's not technically new because what I am doing is combining My Own Velvet Room, Arms of Adoption and my writer website into one brand new home.

I hope you stop by my new home at A Slice of Lifewriting. C'mon over and leave a comment to let me know you've arrived! And don't forget to become a follower; I don't want to lose anyone in the move!

With warm hugs and thanks,

Adoption Awareness Month

2010-11-05T17:56:00.000-07:00

November is Adoption Awareness month. Have you been touched by adoption in some way? According to statistics posted at Grown in My Heart, chances are you have.

In the absence of an "official" symbol to commemmerate the month I have adopted these hearts as my adoption awareness symbol.

Check out Arms of Adoption to find out why.

Smells Lke Hanukkah!

2010-11-03T18:55:00.000-07:00

A few nights ago it was Halloween. Gerry and I settled in for the evening to watch the baseball game knowing there would be many distractions. We had a fire in the fireplace and I lit my new pumpkin scented Yankee candle. (Yankee candles are one of the reasons I appreciate the change of seasons.)

Chelsea went crazy every time the doorbell rang; I would hold her 2.7 pounds feisty frame in my arms while Gerry doled out the chocolate. Maya on the other hand, a substantial 7 pounder, sat where whe was told to and watched the action from her spot at the edge of the carpet.

At one point when Gerry opened the door to a group of young boys one of them must have caught the scent of the pumpkin candle because he exclaimed "Oh! It smells like Hanukkah!"

I'm not Jewish and I have no idea what the smells of Hannukkah might be but I was struck by his remark and reminded of what a powerful took the sense of smell is in evoking memories.

I have a bottle of body lotion tucked away and every so often I pull it out and take a whiff and I am transported immediately to the Dominican Republic where we enjoyed a vacation a few years ago. I slathered that lotion on every day while we were there.

The scent of Jergens hand lotion reminds me of Mom and tiny squirt of lotion she would put on my hand when I was a child and we were getting ready to go out into the cold Saskatchewan winter.

A strong coffee smell makes me think of Mrs. Crooks, a neighbor who lived behind us when I was a child. Mom used to take me with her when she went to visit and Mrs. Crooks always had one of those Pyrex coffee pots sitting on her stove and the scent of perculating coffee filled her kitchen.

As we get older we amass an array of memories that are grounded in smell. What smells evoke strong memory with you?

Panic

2010-10-28T17:29:00.000-07:00

I almost killed my husband once. It would have been unintentional had I succeeded; I'm sure it would have been ruled accidental or I would have been declared not guilty by reason of insanity; for insane I was.

We were on vacation in Mexico, spending the day at a beautiful place called Xel Ha, and planned to go snorkeling. I'm not a water person so it was only to please my husband that I agreed to don the flippers. life jacket, mask and snorkel and get into the water.

I am blessed with the most patient and understanding man in the world (he has to be to put up with me!) and he gently encouraged me and held on to my hand as we moved farther out in the water. Finally, when we were far enough out, he coached to put my face in the water and, well, begin snorkeling.

I managed to keep my fear in check and began to appreciate the beautiful underwater world but suddenly I was overcome with panic and instinct took over. Even as I was doing it I told myself to stop, but I was unable to prevent myself from climbing onto my husband's shoulders in an attempt to get myself out of the water.

Logically, I knew my behaviour had the potential to drown the man I loved, but I was absolutely unable to stop. Self-preservation, the will to survive, panic, instinct, call it what you will, it was a force to be reckoned with.

Finally, Gerry managed to fling me off of his shoulders and away from him far enough to prevent me from climbing back on top of him. My patient husband wasn't upset with me, he proceeded to calm me down and even got me to resume our snorkeling adventure.

I was in awe at what we were seeing in the underwater world, but I never quite got over my fear and every now and then an involuntary sharp intake of breath signaled to me that panic was not far away.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night when I can't sleep, I feel something similar to that physical sense of panic. In the wee hours, my mind wanders hither and yon and sometimes rests upon a "what if" scenario that stabs me with a bolt of fear.

It's silly really, getting worked about about an imaginary situation that will likely never happen, but the nighttime world is not unlike the underwater sometimes. Inexplicably, involuntary, irrationally, I'm pierced with a panic that I find myself powerless to resist.

When I started writing this post my intention was to write about someone who's life I think about sometimes as a way of quelling the fear of the unknown, but I think I will save that story for another day. I'll leave you with this tale of the power of panic and ask you: have you ever been gripped with a fear you found difficult to let go of? What did you do to overcome it?

Apology

2010-10-24T05:23:00.000-07:00

I posted discussion on my Arms of Adoption blog between two women who, as young pregnant unmarried woman, had thier newborn babies taken from them according to government policy.

Hearing these woman recount what they went through breaks my heart. I hope you'll hop over and have a listen to an adoption experience from the perspective of the adoptive mom.

It's powerful and moving.

The Grandma

2010-10-20T18:32:00.000-07:00

Many of us remember her from our childhood - that older woman who lived on our street who knew the names of all of the neighborhood kids. She may have baked cookies and handed them out now and then (back in the days before we had to forbid our children to take anything from anyone). She may have taken time to sit and listen to a child rattle on about a whole lot of not very much. Perhaps she had a little dog and would stop so you could pet it when she was out for a walk. She was nice, but she wouldn't hesitate to scold anyone who misbehaved, either.

Remember her? She was the Neighborhood Grandma.

I remember Mrs. Montgomery who lived across the street from us in a brick house. I am not sure how old she was, or if she was a grandma or a mother at all. She was my mom's friend and had known me my whole life. When I was twelve years and we moved away, she gave me a red wallet with the name of my hometown written on it.

Next door to Mrs. Montgomery, lived Mrs. Small. Mrs. Small also lived in a house made of bricks, but it was smaller than Mrs. Montomery's. Oddly enough, in my mind Mrs. Small herself was of a more diminutive stature than her neighbor as well. Hmmm.

It warms me to think of these grandmother-type women who knew me from the time I was born and who, in my mind, assumed the title of Neighborhood Grandma. I am sure that having these woman in the periphery of my life contributed to the sense of security and safety I felt in my neighborhood at all times.

This afternoon after work, I was out in the yard enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. I had geraniums to take out (we winter them), tulip and daffodil bulbs to plant, and winter pansies to put in the ground. They continue to warn us about a harsh winter ahead, but I am not thinking that far ahead. I'm enjoying the here and now.

After I got all of my gardening tools out, I set up the pen for Yorkies so they could enjoy the sunshine with me. No sooner had I deposited the dogs in the pen with a treat and one of their favorite chews, than a batch of children ran over to pet the dogs. One little one in particular caught my attention and made me smile.

Her name is Piper and she lives with her mommy and daddy and older siblings across the street from us. I have known her since she was born too. She's a sweet little one, just a touch older than my grandchildren, with a soft heart for my dogs.

Her mommy followed her across the street and we chatted while I showed Piper how to gently pet the dogs. Eventually, it was time for her to go home and as they walked back across the street I heard snippets of their conversation.

"The grandma let me pet her puppies!" said Piper.

The grandma! Oh I had to smile when I heard her say that!

And I thought, not for the first time, that I think Gerry and I are the oldest couple on the block. We are the neighborhood grandparents! With this realization comes responsibility. I am going to have to make sure I learn the names of all the children on the street, and which house they belong to. I may even have to start baking cookies again!

The thought that one of these little ones might remember me as their Neighborhood Grandma one day made me smile. Life is like that, isn't it?

Circles within circles like ripples on a pond.

Friday Already?

2010-10-15T18:24:00.000-07:00

Oh my, it's Friday already!

Most weeks I am saying Hallellulah! It's Friday! but this week it snuck up on me mainly because I got home from vacation on Wednesday and was only on the office for two days this week. It was just enough time for me to realize how far behind I am on some things. My to-do list and desk at home is no better; it's stacked with things that need my attention too.

I would like to go to the library and spend some time working on my book this weekend.

I would like to finish (actually start) the piece for my writing circle that meets next Saturday.

I would like to spend an hour or so curled up with a book I want to finish.

I would like to try out a new recipe.

I would like to spend time in the yard and get my winter flowers planted.

I would like to update my website.

I would like.....

The list goes on and on. Some things will get done and others will have to wait - it's just the reality that I have so many things I want to do and not enough time to do them all.

I hope that everyone reading this has a wonderful autumn weekend filled with must-do's and a splash of want-to-do's!

Tell me, what's on your list for this weekend?

P.S. I do want to tell you all about the new look for Story Circle Network's Telling Herstories blog. It's jam-packed with all sorts of useful information about lifewriting.

A Ticking Clock

2010-10-13T07:50:00.000-07:00

We are heading home today after a wonderful time in Calgary. The "official" reason for our visit this time was to look after our grandson while his parents were away. We are fortunate that our granddaughter and her parents live just twenty minutes away so we have been blessed to have been able to spend time with both of them.

It seems that each time we are hear I hear the faint sound of a ticking clock counting down the minutes until we have to leave. Every day, every hour, every minute, every second we spend here is so precious.

I hear the ticking clock more often these days - even when we are not here.

Perhaps part of the reason is that I will turn fifty-two in a few months and my mom died suddenly at age fifty-five. I can't help but think about her and what dreams and hopes she may have had when she was fifty-two and all that she missed out on.

She adored my children, her grandchildren, as much as I adore my own grandchildren. It breaks my heart that she died so young and did not have the opportunity to see Michael and Laurinda grow up; just as it breaks my heart to consider not having that opportunity with Makiya and Jaxon. It's one of the reasons I started paying more attention to my health, and it's another reason I want to retire early so I can spend more time with them.

Sometimes the sound of the ticking clock is so loud that I forget to stop and enjoy the small, seemingly insignificant, moments that each day brings.

This week I have enjoyed time reading to the grands, playing with them, taking them for walks, and sitting an amazement at how much that have grown and changed in the short time since I saw them last. I have also been blessed to have been able to spend time talking with Laurinda about things that are important to each of us, though those precious moments seem to have been so brief.

I took time to appreciate the beauty of fallen fall leaves, the crunching sound they make when you walk through them, smile at black squirrels running across a yard, laugh as a jack rabbit caught the attention of my grandson, breath in cool morning air, and appreciate the sun on my skin on unseasonably-warm afternoons.

The clock continues to count down; I am filled with gratitude that the moments between each tick-tock are filled with wonder and beauty and family.

A Mystery

2010-10-07T17:51:00.000-07:00

I love a good mystery, don't you? This week I received an anonymous invitation to visit a brand new blog written by someone known as Enna Scott.

Who is Enna Scott? Well, I don't know!

What I do know is that The Story of Enna Scott will unfold post by post on her blog and I am intrigued.

Join me, won't you, in the unfolding tale of the elusive Enna Scott.

Ladders

2010-10-06T10:56:00.000-07:00

In my newspaper column this month I am discussing early retirement and ladders; yes they do have something in common!

Check out my article in the Covington Reporter site and find out what it is

I would love to hear your thoughts on this article.

Ghosts

2010-10-03T20:01:00.000-07:00

There have been ghosts all around me today.

I am in a city where I used to live, where I lived for a very long time as a matter of fact, and took some time this afternoon to visit some once-familiar places. I walked, I drove, I remembered, conjured ghosts of days gone by, the kind of thing I have enjoyed doing in the past.

It was different this time.

I was overcome with a powerful sense of grief; the kind of grief that I remember from many years ago, the kind that hurts physically as well as emotionally. And lonliness.

I can't say what prompted these emotions. I am the kind of person who has always cherished solitude, sought it out even, so I was taken aback by the overwhelming emotion that came over me for no apparent reason. I pushed through it as I have done many times in the past.

Later, I worked for a number of hours on my memoir. I went back in time to the 1970's and found ghosts there as well. I learned that in my writing I tend to gloss over periods of deep emotion and the 70's were, most definitely for me, filled with periods of deep emotion.

So now, at the end of the day, having coped with these ghosts all day, I am exhausted. I pray that I sleep deep and dreamless and that the ghosts have moved on by morning.

Running Away

2010-10-02T18:38:00.000-07:00

I am running away from home tomorrow.

I am going to get up early, when it is still dark, and throw some necessary things into my car. I'll take my Kindle, my Droid X, my laptop, the hard-copy draft of my memoir, toiletries, and a change of clothes. I won't need much else.

I will stop for coffee before I go too far: a venti soy carmel macchiato. I will plug my Droid into the auxillery jack in my car and listen to the Pandora radio that I recently discovered. Perhaps, after a while, I will switch to the satellite radio and my favorite classical station for something different.

In time, I will turn it all off and enjoy the silence.

Road trips stimulate my brain; I find myself thinking of things I want to write about. That reminds me, I will need to take my notebook and favorite pen along too.

Solitude. It is what recharges me when I am exhausted. It is what I need right now.

I have an appointment to go to on Monday afternoon, but this trip is also a mini writing retreat. I should arrive at my destination around lunch time tomorrow and will have lots of time to myself. I have a reservation at a nice hotel that I know has comfy beds, quiet rooms, and good writing desks.

There is a park not too far away and I may take my pen and notebook and sit by the water for a while. I may go for a walk to a special place I know of; I may take a few pictures. I know I will go to the bookstore. I will probably get a cup of coffee and spend a hour or so browsing.

Later, when it gets dark I will go to my hotel room, pull on some comfy lounging clothes, turn on my laptop and bring up the fourth draft of my memoir. I have got a flow going and it's hard to maintain when life keeps getting in the way of writing time. This time alone will be good.

Don't look for me at church tomorrow; don't look for me at work on Monday. I am running away to write; I am running away to find someone I have been missing lately.

Happy Birthday, Laurinda!

2010-10-01T01:21:00.000-07:00

Thirty-two years ago today, at 11:24 in the morning this sweet little girl was born!

She weighted 9 lbs 12 oz, she had a lot of black hair, and she was the first human being I every saw who shared my DNA.

Laurinda is a precious gift;

she is both my daughter and my friend.

Laurinda is a gifted writer, an avid reader, and a creative photographer.

She is an amazing mother.

One of the greatest sources of pride and joy in my life has been watching Laurinda blossom into motherhood.

She is introspective and comfortable with solitude.

I am often blown away by wisdom she shares in posts on her Seasons of Life blog.

Happy Birthday, Laurinda!

I am proud of you in more ways than you could imagine.

Happy Birthday, Michael!

2010-09-25T01:55:00.000-07:00

Thirty years ago today this smiling baby boy was born! I was looking through his baby book yesterday and was flooded with memories of that day.

The book records that he arrived at 5:24 pm on Thursday, September 25, 1980. He weighted 8 lbs 15 ounces and he was 21 inches long. He had black hair and deep blue eyes.

We brought him home three days after he was born and Grandma Brauer (my mom) was there. "We came home around noon and it was a beautiful day. Michael just slept all the time. Everyone thought he was just darling and Laurinda gave him a big kiss!"

Michael is a joy and a delight to have for a son.

He has always had a goofy sense of humor and delights in making people laugh, he is tender-hearted and generous, he is gifted as a carpenter, he is an outstanding cook.

He loves baseball (New York Yankees) and hockey (Vancouver Canucks). He is an avid reader (Wilbur Smith and Clive Cussler).

What a handsome young man he has turned out to be!

Happy Birthday, Son.

I'm proud of you today and every day.

Missing Manderley

2010-09-21T17:40:00.000-07:00

Perhaps you remember my Manderley dreams from earlier this year.

We first went to Manderley in the spring. It was mid-March when I stood on the snow-covered land and breathed in the peace of the place that fed a hunger within me that I didn't know I had.

Six weeks later we were there and discovered that spring had come to the farm. I shared othe story in four posts (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4)

I even shared some video of the land with you.

It's been five months since that last trip to Manderley; since we came to the decision not to purchase the land, but I have not been able to put Manderley out of my mind.

I saved the link to the real estate listing in my favorites, I even memorized the MLS listing number, and every once in a while when I feel the need for a break I call it up. I remember the peace; I remember who I was when I was there.

Sometimes, unexpectedly, Gerry or I will say "imagine if we were at Manderley right now" or "remember what we were going to do at Manderley". We haven't forgotten our Manderley dream.

A few days ago I felt the need for a bit of Manderley and I clicked on the link I had saved. Like so many times in the past I expected to see the picture of the farm yard come up in my browser; instead I found myself looking at the real estate page but the listing for Manderley had been removed. My heart must have stopped for a moment as I considered what this meant.

Had someone else purchased it? Had the owner taken it off of the market? I did some Google searches; perhaps it had been relisted with another real estate company. All of my searching turned up nothing; I found myself feeling empty.

I'm not sure what to make of this longing, even grief, that I have felt since then. Manderley was, and is, more than just a piece of land to me. It represents hope, my future, my past, a simpler way of life, and it conjured up the woman I might have been, might still become one day.

I liked the "me" I was when I was there. I hope I find that woman again.

Embracing Autumn

2010-09-19T15:40:00.000-07:00

This morning when we came out of church there was a light mist falling; later we had to run from the green grocer to our car as the rain was coming down in buckets. When we got home with our harvest bounty of fresh fruits and vegetables, and after we enjoyed a bite of lunch, we agreed that it felt like the kind of day that was made for settling down on the sofa with a good book, so that's what we did.

I lit the new pumpkin pie scented candle I bought yesterday, brought down a couple of quilts, and we curled up with our books. That's my idea of a good way to spend a Sunday afternoon!

I am determined not to let the demise of summer discourage me this year; I am working on embracing the change of seasons and welcoming autumn into my life. This afternoon reminded me of one of the pleasures of the cooler weather and how cozy it can feel to be indoors on a blustery rainy afternoon.

The cooler weather, and the return to indoor living, will allow more time for going through closets and cupboards and getting rid of unneeded and unwanted items that serve to complicate my life. The older I get, the more I am drawn to that what is simple.

A few forgotten knitting projects have caught my attention lately and I'm looking forward to getting back at them. I remember the serenity that the rhythm of knitting brought me last year; I could use some more of that.

I want to cook more as well. Big pots of stews and soups that simmer on the stove all afternoon and are eaten with biscuits still warm from the oven and smothered with melting butter.

I want to bake some apple pies using Mom's recipe; this will be the year I return to making homemade pastry.

I was at the mall yesterday and saw some beautiful fall sweaters. Oh to feel cool enough to want to wear a sweater! Maybe this will be the year for that too!

I have learned to rejoice at many of the changes that have come in what I consider the autumn of my own life. In fact, I am looking forward with great anticipation to many more changes in the next few years.

It's time for me to begin to appreciate and welcome the season's change as well. After all, if there was no autumn, there would be no winter, which would mean there would be no spring. And I would most definitely miss the return to spring.

Morning Lesson

2010-09-15T12:42:00.000-07:00

It was almost six-thirty this morning when I climbed out of my car, tossed my keys in my purse as I flung it over my shoulder, picked up my tote out of the back seat, and reached in to grab my coffee cup before closing the car door. It was still dark and the morning air was cool, but the light sweater I wore was more than enough to keep me warm.

The short walk from my car to the office building where I spend so much of my day is a pleasant one. The campus where the office is located is surrounded by trees and green space; there is a large pond next to the office where geese make their home and the building itself is covered with ivy. I appreciate the serenity of the quiet walk every morning yet I still find myself walking quickly, my mind already on the day ahead of me.

This morning as I drew near to the office door and got ready to loop the handles of my tote bag over my arm so I could transfer my coffee to that hand allowing me to reach for the security badge attached to a lanyard around my neck, I heard a voice from behind me.

“I’ll get that door for you; you’ve got your hands full.”

I turned and saw a young man walking about twenty feet behind me; another early-riser who starts work before many others have even gotten out of bed. My first instinct was to brush off his offer of assistance.

“It’s okay, I’ve got it.” I had to choke back the words before they escaped from my mouth when I realized how rude it would have been for me to ignore is gesture.

I have done this throughout much of my life - refused assistance and insisted on my own self-reliance. It struck me for the first time this morning, how the independent demeanor I portray might be perceived as impolite and how many times I miss interacting with someone, however briefly, when I insist on relying on my on ability.

This morning I did something different.

“Thank you!” I smiled at the young man and then stepped aside and allowed him to use his security badge to unlock the door and pull it open for me.

I walked through the door, wished him a good day, and we both went our separate ways. To an onlooker it would have seemed like nothing, but in that moment I made a conscious decision to do something different, I deviated from the well-worn path I was used to taking, and allowed myself to act upon a prompting from within.

I believe that it is often in the small, seemingly insignificant, moments like this when God speaks to us, when we can feel the hand of God resting upon us, when we can learn the lessons He would have us learn.

It was a good way to start this day.

Gelessenheit

2010-09-14T17:49:00.000-07:00

Central to the Amish culture is something called Gellassenheit, a German word roughly translated to mean submission to the will of God. It is based on the words of Jesus "not my will but thine be done."

The dimensions of Gelessenheit permeate every aspect of the Amish life:

Personality: reserved, modest, calm, quiet
Values: submission, obedience, humility, simplicity
Symbols: dress, horse, carriage, lantern
Structure: small, informal, local, decentralized
Ritual: baptism, footwashing, confession, ordination

I am not Amish but the concept of Gellassenheit appeals to me on some level. Sometimes I think we (me) care too much about appearance, posessions, and status. What does it really take in order for us to be happy?

Shelter over our heads, food in our belly, health, family and friends.

Does it really matter if we have the fanciest house, the fastest cars, food that has come from the other side of the earth? Of course it doesn't.

I have been thinking about simplicity lately and the word Gellassenheit came to mind, out of the blue, one afternoon when I was struggling with a stressful situation.

I am now using it as a mantra of sorts, a kind of prayer, a whispered reminder to slow down, appreciate simple things, and to be thankful for the many blessings I have in my life.

Gellassenheit.

Covington Reporter Columnist: Linda Hoye

2010-09-09T17:35:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago I posted about my first visit to the local library and in her comment, Karen suggested that I submit it to the local paper. I took that post, tidied it up a bit, contacted the local paper, and the rest is history.

Here is a link to my first column in the Covington Reporter! I am going to be a monthly contributor!

Thank you for the encouragement and suggestion, Karen! And thanks to everyone else who leaves such kind comments on every post. I appreciate each and every one of you!

Bookshelves

2010-09-08T17:35:00.000-07:00

I had the best of intentions: clean up my bookshelves, find a few to donate, make room for others I have scattered about the house, and make it look more aesthetically pleasing like the bookshelves I see in magazines. It was a simple goal, one easily achieved on a Labor Day afternoon.

To me books are like old friends, and sorting through the shelves was like taking a walk down memory lane or going to a family reunion. Some titles made me smile as I remembered a time in my life when I came to own a book. Others reminded me of more challenging times, like my copy of The Joy of Stress which is tattered and well worn and which I set aside to reread.

I sorted and made piles and gradually my bookshelves began to look like something I could work with. I imagined little knick-knacks, photographs, special souvenirs I could put here and there on the slelves. With my bookshelf looking less cluttered I was certain I would feel less stressed each time I walked past; the tidy shelves would be a source of peace.

Later in the afternoon when Gerry came in from outside where he had been working, I called him to come upstairs and see the shelves. I wasn't finished yet, but I was certain he would be impressed with my progress thus far.

"I kind of liked it with all the books piled together on top of one another," he said upon observing the shelves and hearing of my plans.

And with that I began to doubt my plan. If Gerry liked it filled with books and he wasn't even a tenth the bibliophile that I was, could I really be happy with designer bookshelves? Would I miss the old friends I decided to dispose of? Were bookshelves really meant to hold ornaments instead of books? And what about my fantasy of having my picture taken in front of my bookshelves for the author photo on my first book?

I decided to sleep on it.

Today, my bookshelves are full once again. I changed the orientation of some books to add some visual appeal, but the shelves are definitely full. In removing some books, I made room for others that I had stored in my nightstand and in my office so my effort wasn't in vain.

Now I have four full recyclable grocery bags filled with books that I removed from the shelves. My intent is to donate them but, just for now, I tucked the bags in the attic. I'll wait a few days, probably go through them again, and then make the final determination of what goes and what stays.

Like my dad, and Robert Burns, used to say: "the best laid plans of mice and men gang aft aglay".

Getting Personal

2010-09-02T13:02:00.000-07:00

Excuse me if this seems too personal, but do you have a history of heart disease or cancer? What about diabetes or depression? Your doctor is interested in things like that because the answers may determine how he treats you. You are probably interested as well; if you have a close relative who had heart disease you may take extra precaution to make sure you are living a heart-healthy lifestyle.

As an adoptee, I have struggled with questions about my family medical history all of my adult life; there are no easy answers. I've written about that on my Arms of Adoption blog where I am celebrating the publication of a new report published by the Adoption Institute about adult adoptees access to their original birth certificates.

Miracle Baby

2010-08-31T06:10:00.000-07:00

I caught a glimpse of the story yesterday as I was taking my daily walk around the perimeter of my office building. We have flat screen TV's posted in strategic places that play non-stop news and provide company information. Yesterday, I was drawn to a picture of a young woman cuddling what looked like a new born infant and I had to stop and see what the story was about.

From what I could glean in the few moments I stood there, the baby had been born premature, pronounced dead by the doctors, and then held lovingly by the mother for two hours, presumably as she grieved and attempted to say goodbye to her child.

Then the child began to move. Some are calling it a miracle.

I was thinking how interesting it would be to catch up with this miracle-child in a few years to find out how his life turns out. Surely, this child is born to accomplish something wonderful!

Then I thought about my own life; all of our lives really. The story of my birth, the story of your birth, they all have snippets of the miraculous. Our lives are meant for greatness too.

Sometimes, I have faltered and greatness of any kind is the last thing I ever thought I would accomplish in my life. Othertimes, I have caught a glimpse of a miracle in the birth of my children and my granddaughter.

Truly, I believe we are all miracles destined to do great things and those great things are as unique as wel are. We may be destined to make music, to write, to speak, to travel. Maybe our destiny has smaller parameters tha involve making a home for our family.

Or perhaps like Baby Jamie's mom, our destiny is to cuddle a premature baby back to life.

I am still fascinated to see how the life of this precious baby turns out in the years to come; just as I am looking forward to seeing what twists and turns yours and mine make in the future.

Because we are alll miracle babies at some level.

It's Not You; It's Me

2010-08-30T06:04:00.000-07:00

Today I am sharing a post I wrote last year at this time with you. I hope you like it!

Before I start, let me just say that there's nothing wrong with you. You are beautiful in your own unique way and it's not your fault I don't appreciate you more.

When we first met a few months ago, I confess that I had a touch of spring fever. Who wouldn't after a long, dark and wet winter? I remember those first sunny weeks when it seemed like there was rebirth wherever I looked. I wanted to take in as much sunshine and fresh air as possible. It was glorious! And then one day, there you were.

I knew there was something different about you from the beginning. You stood out from the crowd, your appearance as distinct a your name. It was useless for me to try and resist your charms, I wanted to have you from the beginning. I was ready for a change.

I watched as you tried to fit in, but soon realized that something wasn't working. By the time I admitted to myself that I had made the wrong choice it was too late to do anything about it. When I look at pictures taken last year, when another was in the place you now occupy, I regret my impulsive decision.

Tidal Wave Silver Petunia, you just didn't turn out the way that I had expected. You've seemed a bit spindly from the beginning. Perhaps it's your color, or lack thereof, that makes you look like you've passed your prime. In another garden, in another flower pot, perhaps with different plants to accent your unique hue, I'm sure you would be beautiful. Just not in my garden.

I just should have stuck with my tried and true Tidal Wave Pink Petunia. Don't feel bad if I walk past you next spring as if I don't know you. Just remember: It's not you, it's me.

P.S. I did walk past the Tidal Wave Silver Petunia this year. Lesson learned!

Welcome to the Blogosphere

2010-08-27T21:09:00.000-07:00

Won't you join me in welcoming Mary Jo to the blogosphere. Pop over to her brand new blog called Musings From a Patchwork Quilt Life and read her first post. I promise, you won't be disappointed.

Welcome, Mary Jo! I look forward to reading more from your Patchwork Quilt Life.

This 'n That

2010-08-26T18:10:00.000-07:00

The last week of August is typically one of the busiest of the year for me at work and this week is no exception. During this week last year I ended up in the hospital with chest pain; I am doing much better at managing my stress this year!
In addition to dealing with all that is happening at the office, I have been preparing for the first meeting of the Story Circle group I am starting. I'm looking forward to meeting a group of women on Saturday who are as interested in lifewriting as I am. (It's that whole "tribe" thing that I've been thinking about lately, and that I am sure will become a blog post one of these days.)

Gerry and I got our new Droid X phones this week. I've felt like a child waiting for Christmas morning these past few weeks! We have the phones now and I've put my geek hat on and spent some time checking out all of the cool features. I am expecting that the Droid will help me simplify my life and stay better organized. In fact, just this afternoon I was able to respond to some email and check in on my Facebook friends while waiting for my doctor's appointment. (Speaking of my doctor's appointment: Soy + Yoga = Lower Cholesterol.)

So, no, I haven't dropped off the face of the blogosphere. I am still here: somewhat frazzled, a little bit tired, a tad cranky, but looking forward to what's ahead.

By the way, if you are not a regular visitor to my Arms of Adoption blog, I invite you to drop by and read about my brother, Frank who lost his battle with cancer this week. He was a man of integrity.

I Guess I'm Home

2010-08-21T02:41:00.000-07:00

I have had a library card for as long as I can remember. I can still picture the library in the city I grew up in; it was a big old brick building in park in the middle of the city.

I found it comforting to be in the library in the winter when the frigid wind blew snow into drifts outside.The blanket of quietness inside the library warmed me from my earliest memory.

On summer days when it was too hot to play outside, the peace of the library was a cool haven away from the summer heat, filled with books that could take me places I could only imagine.

Sometimes, the library came to me in the form of a bookmobile that parked just down the street from where we lived. I always visited the bookmobile and stocked up on a fresh stack of books that I could lose myself in for a few hours.

I started taking my children to the library when they were infants; they grew up going to the library. Whenever I wanted to learn about something new, I went to the library. I learned to quilt by reading library books; I learned about my Mennonite heritage by reading library books; I learned how to take care of cats by reading library books; I learned what it meant to have faith by reading library books.

When we moved to the Pacific Northwest three years ago I stopped going to the library. Every time we drove past I would say "Oh, I have to sign up for a library card" but I never fot around to it.

Until today.

Something prompted me to turn into the parking lot of the library this afternoon, to walk through the tree lined courtyard, to open the glass doors, and to go inside. I walked up to the counter, told the lady I wanted to sign up for a library card, filled out a sheet of paper, showed her my ID, and just like that I held in my hand a brand new library card.

Card in hand, I walked through the library getting a feel for where everything was. The familiar Dewey Decimal numbers posted on the ends of the shelves directed me to the sections I once spent so much time in. My body remembered the library-posture of tilting my head to the right to read the titles on the spines of the books. My mind recalled the hours I spent in a library browsing, reading, forgetting everything else except the books.

I checked out three books from section 305 (They have self-checkout now!) and as I left the library with my books in my arms, my walk seemed a little bouncier, and I seemed to breathe a little easier.

Having obtained a library card I guess I am officially planted here for now.

I guess I'm home.

Feels Soy Good

2010-08-20T07:30:00.000-07:00

It's interesting that when I was diagnosed with high cholesterol I made a less-than-half-hearted (and unsuccessful) attempt to control it with diet and exercise but when Gerry was diagnosed with high cholesterol a few months ago I got down to the serious business of paying close attention to what we eat. (Why I didn't pay attention when it was only me affected is likely the subject for another blog post one day.)

One of the changes we made is to switch from cows milk to soy milk. I don't drink milk per se, but I do like my lattes and prefer them with half coffee and half milk (heavy on the milk), and I use milk on my Bran Buds (another concession to aging) in the morning. I've also been turning more toward a vegetarian diet and enjoy a healthy sprinkling of diced tofu on my daily salads.

Physically I have been feeling good since making these small changes but one day a few weeks ago something odd happened. I was walking down the hall at work one afternoon and it was as if the curtains of my mind were thrown open and my thinking was crystal clear. Now, I know this may sound strange for those who have never experienced mid-life brain fog like I have for a few years, but the sudden change in perception was so strong that I had to call Gerry and tell him about it.

I've been enjoying this clarity and attribute it to the switch to soy. It's been such a pronounced change that it's been easy for me to stick to my small lunch salads, miniscule dinner portions, and just one (very large) soy latter per day. I feel like "me" again.

So why is it that when stress comes, as it always does at this busiest time of year at work, I revert back to craving pasta and parmesan cheese for dinner? Two nights this week of a bowl of pasta comfort and I can feel the difference.

So now I find myself in a quandry. Do I choose healthy eating and feel like I can conquer anything, or put my jammies on and dive into a bowl of pasta at the end of a tough day?

Shoot.

Lavender

2010-08-16T17:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was in the garden harvesting the lavender. It smelled like sweltering carefree summer afternoons; it smelled like childhood; it smelled like love.

As I knelt beside the flower bed and plucked the scented blossoms, I took a journey in my mind.

The first person I met who was biologically related to me was my aunt Esther. She was a quiet and caring woman who told me many times that "you are a part of this family".

In the years that I knew Esther before she passed away she gave me little things that an aunt might give her niece like freshly baked bread, a ceramic figure she had made, a crocheted afgan, and a little container of lavender.

I am sorry to say that I don't know whatever happened to that container of lavender. Sometime, in one of my moves since then, it has been left behind.

Yesterday afternoon as the hot sun beat down on me as I plucked lavender from my own garden I resolved in my mind that I would do something special with this lavender to honor my aunt and the way she included me in her family without question.

As an adoptee, it means a lot to me to have honor my past as well as my present. Dawn Espelage is blogging on my Arms of Adoption blog today about a special way to honor the past and present of an adopted child. I like the idea so much that I may create a Life Book for myself.

Saying "Yes"

2010-08-12T17:37:00.000-07:00

The other night I was watching TLC's Say Yes to the Dress; it's a guilty pleasure that I indulge in every once in a while. For the sake of those who may not have seen it, it portrays a bride-to-be's experience of selecting her wedding dress. There are always a few "helpers" that come along to help the bride select the perfect dress, and on the episode I just watched, it was mothers of the bride-to-be who were there. One mother was so critical that it made me want to cry for her daughter.

I couldn't help but remember when Laurinda and I went shopping for her wedding dress. That shopping trip ranks up with one of the best days of my life! When she chose the dress that was going to be hers, I managed to snap a picture before we found out that taking pictures in the bridal store were strictly taboo!

On her wedding day she was a beautiful bride wearing that dress and jewelery that had belonged to my mom. If only mom had lived long enough to see her granddaughter marry. I imagine we both would have been blubbering fools as we watched the bride walk toward her future husband!

My daughter and her husband celebrated their fourth wedding anniversary this week and she has written wise words about how the magic of the wedding transforms into to a deeper commitment as the years go by on her blog.

Getting married is much more than saying yes to a dress, it's saying yes to hard work, commitment, dedication, love, and tons of fun and laughter.

Pretend I'm Dead

2010-08-11T12:40:00.000-07:00

It’s a pleasant morning, almost noon, and the Wife is outside, enjoying the sunshine, and deadheading her flowers. Her Husband moseys over to where she is kneeling next to the flower bed.

Husband: I’m hungry, what is for lunch?

Wife (sighing): Can’t you see I’m busy right now. Why don’t you pretend I’m dead and you have to make lunch today?

The Husband moseys on toward the house, presumably, to make some lunch.

A short while later, the Husband, munching on a sandwich and carrying a newspaper, comes out of the house and sits down in a lawn chair.

Wife (calling to him): Hey, where’s my sandwich?

Husband (sly smirk on his face): I thought you were dead.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This little vignette appeared in a comic in the Sunday paper a few years ago. Gerry and I were sitting in bed, enjoying our coffee and the paper, when he saw it and shared it with me. We shared a laugh together over this little joke that the husband played on his wife and since then we have made it our own, in the way that husbands and wife create for themselves a unique way of communicating with each other.

I’ll send him an email at work some afternoons that says "P.I.D. until 6:30". (P.I.D. being an abbreviation for "pretend I’m dead".) The concise email communication means “I want to work on my book after work so I’ll be upstairs in my office until 6:30”.

Or he’ll send me an email at work on Friday afternoon that says "P.I.D. tomorrow morning". I take that to mean that he has booked a tee time and he’ll be out golfing with the guys on Saturday morning. (Which means I’ll have more time to work on my book!)

I love the intimacy that comes with being married for any length of time like the way I can look him from across a room and know what he is thinking, or the way that he understands what I am trying to say when the words just won’t come to mind. (Remember that guy we met at the thing we went to that time?)

And I like the special language that develops over the years that includes things like P.I.D. that no one understand except us.

Accident

2010-08-09T18:11:00.000-07:00

It started out as an ordinary morning. My car had to go in for routine maintenance so Gerry followed me to the dealership where I planned to leave my car and ride with him to my office. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and it appeared to be shaping up to be a beautiful summer day. We had decided to take the dogs with us, so Maya rode with Gerry and Chelsea rode with me.

When we arrived at the dealership, Gerry went into the office to drop off the key, and I gathered my purse, tote bag, and little Chelsea and began walking toward Gerry's car. Suddenly, the morning calm was pierced by a squeal of tires and I saw a white pick-up truck careening over a meridian on two wheels. New cars on the dealership lot prevented me from seeing exactly what had happened.

A split-second later I heard a woman's voice screaming from the direction where I had seen the truck go over the meridian, and at the same moment the truck, travelling on rims only and throwing off sparks along the way, bounced up onto the sidewalk in front of me.

He's stopping to go back and help the accident victim, I thought.

But I was wrong. Somehow, the battered vehicle kept going leaving a sparky trail behind it. I watched as it picked up speed and drove out of my line of sight.

I turned my attention to the screaming that continued down the street, opened the door of Gerry's car tossed my things inside, and started running toward the sound of the screaming. When I got off of the parking lot, I was able to see a woman standing on the sidewalk beside her vehicle trying to dial her cell phone as she screamed and cried. I had no idea what I might find when I reached her. Was there someone in front of her vehicle who had been hit by the white pick-up truck?

I reached the woman quickly and was relieved to find that there was no one else involved in the accident. I put my arm around her, tried to calm her down and encouraged her to sit down on the curb. She continued to cry, but managed to reach her husband on her cell phone and I listened to her describe what had happened when the white truck had come barreling down the one-way street headed straight toward her.

There was a restaurant directly across the street from the accident scene and the customers had spilled outside where they stood and watched as I tried to comfort the hysterical woman. Gerry arrived shortly after I did, turned off the woman's vehicle, and took the phone from her to speak to her husband to reassure him that his wife was okay. Two other people who had been following the white truck showed up and told us that he had been weaving and crashing into things on sidewalks for a few blocks before hitting the woman's vehicle. Someone had called 9-1-1 and four police cars went speeding by in the direction that the damaged truck had gone.

The whte truck had sideswiped the woman's vehicle and the damage was not as bad as it could have been. Damage to the woman's presence of mind that morning was immeasurable, though. I was shaken for hours after I got to work by the accident, but also by the reaction of the people across the street who stood watching and did nothing to see if the screaming woman was okay.

A quote by Edmund Burke came to mind: "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing".

Chronic Pain

2010-08-04T06:06:00.000-07:00

Searing, aching, dull, sharp, intense, acute, chronic, sore, white-hot. Here, there, everywhere.

You know all of the words; you have claimed them all for yourself at one time or another. Over the years you learned how to manage it. The best way out is through. And so you put one foot in front of the other day after day and did what you needed to do.

The treatment was often worse than the problem and so you shunned traditional medical treatment, unwilling to walk through your days in a medicated fog, willing to endure rather than dull your mind. It took the medical world almost ten years to diagnose you with what you already knew you had. The diagnosis gave a name to it but couldn't fix it.

Then came periods of relief; sometimes years went by and you stopped identifying the condition as your own. Then, out of the blue, a surprise of another kind, just as relentless and wearing showed up. You accepted treatment eventually and it was okay.

Now you are angry at this new manifestation. At first you were unsure as to the source, the pain receptors in your body did not always point to the source of the problem. In the wee hours of the morning when the house was quiet you lay awake and considered the source. It could be this, does it seem like this? What about that? Then it came to you.

Now you know what it is and your first reaction is anger. Your husband is frustrated at your unwillingness to immediately seek out medical attention, he wants to be able to help. You are frustrated because you don't want to open another Pandora's box. You have learned to trust your instinct and you know what this is.

For now that is enough.

Losing It

2010-08-01T17:36:00.000-07:00

In my memoir, I am writing about a time in my life when I came close to losing it. What in the world does that mean, anyway? Losing it.

For those of us who have lived some or all of our lives as one of the hyper-diligent, the concept of losing control of anything is incomprehensible. As impossible as I knew it would be to do, the thought of letting go of feeling responsible for everything was oh-so-alluring for a season.

Sometimes, these many years past, on a hot, sultry summer night, I remember those nights when my family slept but I wandered the halls, scrubbed the floor, or sat on the patio, and considered what it might feel like to lose my mind.

I wondered how it was done. Did one just decide to let go of all manner of decorum? What would others think?

I was tired of keeping my finger in the dyke; I was so tempted to pull it out and let the flood come.

It was another lifetime. I was another person.

Back Away from the Blogger Dashboard

2010-07-31T08:30:00.000-07:00

I've been tweaking again. It's like eating potato chips (which I have stopped doing as I try to lower my cholesterol and lose weight), but I can't stop at just one change. If I make one tiny change, I see other things that "need" to be adjusted and I can happily while away an hour changing the format of my blog.

STOP!!

It's good enough, I tell myself, it's the content that really counts.

Okay I am finished making changes. For now.

As I was mucking about I noticed that I have published 365 posts - that is something of a blog birthday, isn't it? So, help me celebrate!

See that little "Follower" widget to the right? I've been watching the number of visitors climb steadily but ever-so-slowly recently. Have a reached a plateau? Oh how I want to make it to triple digits. I can't tweak the number of followers, so I need your help! If you're a regular (or even semi, or even occasional!) visitor and you are not already a follower, won't you consider becoming one. There will be special recognition for whoever is the 100th one to join!

Happy Saturday. I am now leaving the Blogger dashboard.

Evening Commute

2010-07-29T18:35:00.000-07:00

I rounded the corner and there it was - traffic. Far as my eye could see in front of me there was traffic backed up. I grumble to myself.

Generally I have a great commute. It takes me about 12 minutes to get to work in the morning because I leave home shortly after 6:00 am and there is little traffic on the highway. My evening commute is somewhat longer, but generally not by much. Every now and then there is something that causes traffic to move slower and delay my arrival at home.

Today, my first instinct as I caught a glimpse of the backed up traffic was to become crabby and gripe about the slowdown. It was the end of my work-day and I wanted to get home! My radio was tuned to NPR as usual and I was half listening to the talk as I drove, somewhat preoccupied with tasks I had to do when I got home. The flurry of the day's activities were still driving me just as they had all day. I had places to go and things to do.

Then, something shifted. I switched my radio over to a favorite satellite station and heard a Mozart melody come from the speakers. My breathing slowed as I listened to the crisp notes and soothing melody. I looked toward the traffic lined up beside me on the right and glimpsed a metallic blue PT Cruiser with the words "Just Married" printed on the back window. I could not help but smile.

In that moment I was transported away from a freeway on a summer afternoon to another day in spring when I married Gerry. I carried a bouquet of pink roses, white babies breath, and green ivy. I have some of that very ivy growing in my bathroom.

Then I thought of another bride - my daughter. It's getting close to the date when she will celebrate her wedding anniversary. I can still picture her climbing out of our Chrysler Concorde wiping an odd tear from her eyes, as we arrived at the park where she was to be wed. A more beautiful bride I cannot imagine!

The point is that in the moment I made a choice to switch off the talk radio and turn on soothing classical music I changed my perspective. Sometimes all we need to do is take one deliberate action to change the course of a day. I had a choice: I could sit there complaining about the traffic or I could switch gears. In shifting from high gear to idle, I was able to enjoy a few moments of that made me smile, and I'll bet reduced my blood pressure and maybe had a good effect on my cholesterol.

Life is all about choices that change the course of a lifetime. What choices have you made lately that changed the course you were on?

Sweet Summer Memories

2010-07-26T17:14:00.000-07:00

Big thanks to Kim, Dawn, Angie, Kat, and Janna who dropped by while I was on vacation last week! I knew that I was leaving The Velvet Room in good hands with these talented women holding down the fort!

Why is it that it takes so much work to get ready to go on vacation and so much time to get caught up with everything when we return? I think there should be some kind of vacation grace period - just a few extra days tacked on to the beginning and the end to provide time to handle these things.

So, my body went back to work this morning, but my mind was still back with the family in Canada. As I watched my grandchildren experience summer last week, I couldn't help but be struck by the wonder of the circle of life. I recalled my own endless childhood summers, the summers when my children were young, and now these precious days seeing it all again through the eyes of Jaxon and Makiya.

The delight of enjoying a simple ice cream cone.....

Learning to ride a new tricycle.....

The swimming pool on a hot afternoon.....

Sweet smiles....

Sidewalk chalk...

Drinking cold water out of a hose...

And my favorite....Grandma love....

Do any of these pictures bring back special summer memories for you?

Share some of your own favorite summer moments from the past or present with us.

Guest Post - Janna Qualman

2010-07-23T04:20:00.000-07:00

My guest today is Janna Qualman from Something She Wrote with a piece of flash fiction that is dear to my heart. You'll understand why when you finish reading! Settle back with your favorite summertime treat and enjoy Janna's piece.

She’d been nine miles out when her check engine light came on; five when she felt The Beast—her extra-large, ’06 SUV, a definitive beast—shudder. She’d heard a whine. Pop. Hisssssssssss. (That’s how she would describe it to Sal, at the garage, whenever she saw him.) And she’d coasted, speed slowing, feeling a new notch of panic as each second ticked by.

Now she sat on the shoulder. The engine wouldn’t start, wouldn’t turn over. She’d looked under the hood, but for what, she didn’t know. Her eyes had seen nothing.

The air, it was so hot-awful still, in the car and out. Sweat was a string of beads along her hairline, and inside the fabric of her bra. Her thirty-two ounce iced tea, gone already and no solace. The tree line out to the west was too far for shady relief.

She thumbed the keypad on her cell. She hadn’t noticed its battery was so low, or she’d have grabbed the charger, there on the counter as she left the house. Some good it did to imagine it different, though, with the phone dead in her hand.

She considered the route she’d yet to travel. It was what, two miles? Rural area, little traffic. Gravel. She’d just have to take it by foot. Forget the heat. Forget that she wore sandals, and not the walking kind. What other choice did she have? She had somewhere to be.

She loaded her purse and the two wrapped packages into a canvas grocery tote, anchored it over her shoulder, locked The Beast, and set out.

Her calf muscles burned. She’d been walking mindful and quick, toes up, so her sandals wouldn’t slide off the ends of her feet. Lord, she needed a masseuse. And a cold shower. And a nap. She was too old for this.

There it was! The mailbox and a few balloons floated above tall grasses, maybe another quarter-mile down the road. She shifted the tote to the opposite shoulder, breathed deep, used the back of her hand to fling the wet from her brow.

I can do this. Her legs moved, pumping harder as motivation kicked her from behind. Her focus was those balloons, as they danced in a breeze. A breeze, she noted, that would have been delicious twenty minutes ago.

She cut around the mailbox and into the drive. Propelled herself the last several feet, past her son’s car, climbed the four steps. She just needed to find her breath, and so she paused at the door. Through its glass, she saw down the hall and into the kitchen. A cake, heavily iced with blue, lay waiting on the island.

As she lifted her hand to knock, a small body barreled into sight. In his grip was a plastic airplane, and when it rose in his hand, his eyes rose to the door.

“Gamma, Gamma!” The airplane crashed to the floor, and his trunky legs carried him forward. “You here for my bird day!” He pushed the door open, letting a gust of conditioned air welcome her.

She stepped in, kicked off the dust-caked sandals. Laid the tote aside. Shook her hair, and then her shirt, so the coolness of indoors could spread.

“Hello, little lovey.” She stooped low, from exhaustion, yes, but also so she could get a better view of her grandson. His towhead, the bow lips. That tiny freckle on his nose. Three today, she thought. Impossible. She opened her arms, wide as they could go, and he jumped right in. “I’m here.”

Janna is a freelance and women's fiction writer. She lives with her family in the Midwest, where she captures life through writing. Janna's fiction and essays have appeared both in print and online, and she's working on revisions of her second novel.

Guest Post - Kathryn Magendie

2010-07-22T05:57:00.000-07:00

I'm happy to introduce Kathryn Magendie to you this morning. I have long appreciated Kat's sense of humor and have been delighted with her books Tender Graces and Secret Graces. Sit back, grab a glass of cold sweet tea (or whatever your favorite summertime beverage is) and enjoy Kat's very own sweet summer memory surge.

Memory Surges: What Words May Come

The summer we installed screen doors on the front and back of our little log home, I said to GMR, "I need to check them out."

“They work,” he said. “I already tried them.”

“No, what I mean is: I need to check them for slammability. What’s the use of a screen door if it doesn’t slam properly?” I opened the door. The spring made that scraaang sound. So far, so good. I stepped out and away from the door and let it fly shut: SLAMMERSMACK!—

— I am running on summer-heated grass. A just-mown yard leaves my feet green-tinged. Sweat and dirt hides in the creases of my neck. Youngest brother shouts, “No fair!” Impish brother answers, “Haha! Is, too! Nya Nya.” I say, “I’m a winged horse flying up to the skyyyyy. No one can catch me!” Oldest brother runs to catch me, trips me into the grass, teases, “Haw haw! I caught you!” Daredevil brother swings from a tree limb, calling out, “Look at me! Look! LOOOOK!,” and he flips up and over and lands on his backside—we kids all laugh, mouths open wide, fingers pointing. Wait, what’s that?—Pop Goes the Weasel from two streets away. We rush inside through the screen door—SLAMMERSMACK! SLAMMERSMACK! SLAMMERSMACK!—to shake out nickels and dimes from our ceramic piggy banks. We hurry back out—(SLAMMERSMACK! “You kids stop slamming that door!”)—holding the coins in our sweaty palms. Mr. Ice-Cream Man turns the corner and is here. We crowd around his truck. He opens the freezer and cold air whooshes out. I ask for a Flintstone’s Push Up, and after he hands it to me, I let loose of my sticky coins. Trade. Even Steven. Off I go, push up dripping down my arm, and nothing else is as sweet—

—“It works,” I said to GMR. And it worked in ways I’d never imagined, for a memory-surge came calling from a simple echoed sound.

Those memory-surges can be translated into our writing, even when we are not aware of it. Imagine that into your opened window comes a familiar scent or sound (barbeque charcoals, lawnmower revving, sweet olive, ka-shi-shi-shi ka-shi-shi-shi of a lawn sprinkler, bumblebee buzzzz, peaches), and as you are writing your brain receives, and from its storage banks stirs Memory. Your writing takes a turn, even if you are not noting it consciously. And then, your words or scene or character will have a wonderful Truth to it, tangible evidence of something real.

I once said to an English instructor, “I didn’t know I’d done that. It was accidental.”

She answered, “There are no accidents in writing. Everything comes from that brain of yours.”

If we relax into our writing and allow our subconscious some freedom, who knows what magic may come? Who knows what sensory happenstance will provide a hidden memory, and then, as we type away, particles of that memory are placed into our stories, even if ethereally, even if obliquely, even if only by the placement of one tiny phrase, or image, sight, or sound. It’s all a part of the process.

Sit back. Relax. Fingers to keys. Trust the process. The words will come.

And I’d like to know: What are some of your favorite summer memories?

Kathryn Magendie is Co-editor/publisher of the Rose & Thorn (http://www.roseandthornjournal.com/), and author of the Graces Series: Tender Graces & Secret Graces (the third Graces book will be released in 2011). Kathryn's novel Sweetie will be released fall 2010. Her short stories, essays, poetry, and nature-inspired photography have been published in online and print publications. Kathryn lives tucked in a cove at Killian Knob in the Great Smoky Mountains of western North Carolina. You can follow her on twitter (http://twitter.com/katmagendie) or Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/kathryn.magendie), her blog (http://www.tendergraces.blogspot.com/), or her website (kathrynmagendie.com).

Guest Post - Angie Ledbetter

2010-07-21T06:19:00.000-07:00

We have company in the Velvet Room today! Angie Ledbetter, also known as Gumbo Writer has stopped by! If you have not yet had an opportunity to visit her blog, I encourage you to stop by. You'll find that she's got a heart the size of Louisiana and a sense of humor to match. She's always got a recipe, a good story, or something writer-related to share. Settle in now, let's hear what she has for us today.

Those Crazy Editors

I’ve come across a lot of wacky editors in the ten years I’ve been in the freelancing biz, especially in magazine and newspaper industries. Prose and poetry publications aren’t totally immune either, but they seem to have a more stable staff on the whole.

As a newbie, I thought it was inexperience preventing me from understanding the parameters, instructions and requests dictated by editorial folks. But as I started moving in writing circles, I heard similar horror stories from other writers and poets. While it made me feel marginally better to know it wasn’t just me who dealt with less than professional people, it also meant the path to writing success was going to be fraught with roadblocks and potholes I hadn’t considered when seeking my journalism degree.

Here’s what (who) I’m talking about:

The Switch-and-Baiter – This editor never can get her publishing deadlines or editorial vision straight in her own mind, much less communicate to writers what she really wants for her magazine. An edict to write a 2,500 word article on the life of the fruit fly turns into a demand for a 700 word book review on The Lord of the Flies. She thinks nothing about asking for multiple rewrites or switching topics at the last minute. Any and all requests of writers, to her mind, are covered under the measly payments they will receive sometime in the distant future.

The Commando – Meet the man who annually appears on the Worst Bosses list. He held a mishmash of odd jobs over the last 20 years before taking over Uncle Elias’s weekly newspaper. He makes ridiculous demands of writers because he doesn’t know his butt from a hole in the ground. This little Napoleon thinks MLA style means Martinis at Lunch Always. He also has no idea he is publishing a rag that is journalistically/literarily bankrupt, and thinks nothing of making frequent outlandish requests of staff and freelancers. This unqualified oaf often butchers perfectly lovely prose or sound articles because he is in love with himself and wants to impose his “vision” on every piece of work that comes across his desk. He is dating the Switch-and-Baiter.

The New at the Helm – Akin to the Commando, this editor just took over editorial duties at a struggling publication last week. She has inherited unfinished projects, half-written articles or prose, communiqués with writers begging for promised clips or payment for work long ago published, an indecipherable editorial calendar, a deadline for the next issue which has already passed, and a large bottle of aspirin. By the end of her first day on the job, she realizes the terrible mistake she has made signing on with this outfit. There’s no way she can fix the mess the many previous editors have left. She will quit as soon as she lands a position with a reputable employer. Writers past, present and future will be left to figure out what’s what and who’s who and if they will be paid.

The God Complex Commando – This supreme being thinks he is doing writers a favor allowing them to write for his publication or website. For the wonderful benefit of a portfolio clip and below minimum wage salary, writers are forever beholden to him for allowing their work to see the light of day. Any and all demands made by this little Napoleon are to be met with absolute compliance and joy...no matter how ridiculous, callous or just plain inconsiderate.

The Sweat Shop Employer – This unethical editor wants all writing done for free. If you refuse to provide it, he’ll get it somewhere else. He’s a fan of journalism job bidding websites and knows he can get free labor if he searches hard enough for new but desperate talent. If he runs dry of material, he will often steal it off the Internet or elsewhere, remove the author’s name, and publish it on the sly for free.

The Purely Insane (TPI) – There are more and more of these editors out there all the time. Maybe they got that way from working with those described above. Or maybe they were born that way. They come in a large variety: hazy addicts who picture themselves as heirs apparent to the literary throne, creative geniuses who can’t be bothered with mundane things like giving writers reasonable and understandable guidelines, and those afflicted with a host of untreated mental disturbances. Like the stock market and real estate fields, TPI are attracted to the writing world because of its constantly changing and exciting nature.

Thankfully, there are still some talented, considerate, aboveboard editors whom writers are lucky to work for and with. They are jewels in the literary crown, but like most good things in life, must be searched out. As they often go unrecognized and under appreciated, I’d like to say Thank You to the Rose & Thorn founder and staff for being some of those gems.

Angie Ledbetter is Co-Publishing Editor of the Rose & Thorn Journal and Co-Author of Seeds of Faith: An Inspirational Almanac. She is a writer, editor and poet and is currently working on a novel.

Guest Post - Dawn Espelage

2010-07-20T05:40:00.000-07:00

What is a Life Book? Dawn Espelage from Life Lines Journaling is telling us at Arms of Adoption today.

Guest Post - Kim Michele Richardson

2010-07-19T05:16:00.000-07:00

We have a special guest in the Velvet Room today!
I'm pleased to chat with Kim Richardson, author of The Unbreakable Child. Sit back, grab a cup of something cold, and meet my friend Kim.

Welcome Kim, I'm pleased to have you join us today! The Unbreakable Child is a powerful book. Can you tell us why you decided to write it?

The Unbreakable Child was written as more of a journal to get me through the stressful lawsuit. The lawsuit, which finally came to light in 2004 and gained national recognition, was the first of its kind in the US. It documented the first court-awarded justice for decades of brutal abuses that I and other former orphans suffered from an order of nuns and one priest at the St. Thomas/St. Vincent Orphan Asylum in rural Kentucky. After the lawsuit, I gave the draft to the lawyer and my male protagonist, William F. McMurry, who is woven throughout the book, as a gift and to show him his own self worth.

Also we all know that writing is catharsis. And the healing also deepens and multiplies when you can help others. I’ve been honored and rewarded by the countless readers who’ve read my work and reached out to me. The Unbreakable Child has also become a valuable resource tool for teens, medical professionals, advocate groups and students entering the field of social work and or law. The Unbreakable Child is still, yet, the first book of its kind to be released in the US traditional publishing world. And with the 2nd and better detailed edition of The Unbreakable Child due out October 1st 2010, it will now reach a wider audience.

Talk to us about forgiveness. Have you forgiven your abusers?

Yes, and forgiveness is such a powerful weapon for moving forward and healing. It serves no purpose not to. If you can’t forgive; you’re just giving free brain rent to your abusers. Stifling your own growth. But, still, for many survivors, I understand the painful difficulty of granting forgiveness and also the all-too-difficulty of forgetting. The Unbreakable Child serves as a strong reminder to religious leaders, our children’s caregivers and the government; that these important parts of history should never be forgotten and should serve as a strong reminder – lesson so that history never repeats itself.

I know that you're an active volunteer with a number of charities. Can you tell us about some of your work in that area?

I receive countless letters from people around the country and worldwide, which keeps me busy. As you can guess, many are from survivors of abuse, but not limited whatsoever to just victims of clergy abuse. They come from all walks in life. So, I devote a lot of my time and energy into helping them first.

But one of my favorite charities is working with Habitat for Humanity. It is such a rewarding experience when you are physically building a home for a family without, and when you stand beside them and see the pride and joy as they contribute to building their home from the ground up. A most wonderful joy and rewarding learning experience!

Do you have plans to write another book?

Yes, I have two I’m working on. But first I am committed to promoting this new edition of Unbreakable and getting it back out into the world.

That's exciting! I look forward to hearing more about your new writing projects! On a lighter note, what are your summer plans?

It’s a busy and fun summer. I’ve been enjoying my family and catching up with friends. Gardening. Huge garden this year. My luv has even bought us matching farmer hats (LOL) and I’ve just purchased an old-timey lawn mower for our small farm. I’ve also been interviewing for my new release of The Unbreakable Child. Preparing for upcoming tours.

It sounds like you have got a lot going on over the next few months. Thank you for taking the time to stop by. I wish you much success with the release of your book!

The second edition of The Unbreakable Child is due to be released on October 1, 2010 by Behler Publications. Kim maintains a blog at Writer in Waiting. You can ready my review of the first edition of Kim's book at Story Circle Book Reviews.

Evolution of Clothes

2010-07-15T06:23:00.000-07:00

When I was a girl I had two distinct sets of clothing: my school clothes, and my play clothes. When I was a young stay-at-home mom, not only was there no money for two distinct sets of clothes but there was no need. Later, when I returned to college I again had a set of school clothes. After all the years of not having a separate and unique set of things to wear, and even though finances were tight and so shopping was challenging, it was fun to have new outfits.

Over the past 20+ years as I've been a career-woman, I have always had work clothes that have been separate from my every day outfits. The other day I was thinking about this and realized that as the years have gone by the delineation between the two sets of clothes is blurring somewhat.

No longer do I wear suits and pantyhose (heaven forbid!) and tight high heel shoes that cause my feet to almost sigh audibly when they are removed at the end of the day. The older I get the more important comfort becomes to this aging body of mine.

Now, in the summer months, most of us wear capri pants at work. There are some who continue with the high heeled sandals I, for the most part, have gone the way of flats. Some still wear jackets to dress up their outfit, as do I depending on my mood and the day ahead.

My play clothes these days also consist of capri pants and my new favorite thing - yoga pants. They're like capris only softer and with an E-L-A-S-T-I-C waist. Need I say more?!

The nearer I get to my "R" day the more my two sets of clothes seem to be merging. They're turning into a single set of comfortable but nice-looking set of clothing. No more work clothes vs play clothes - just clothes. I think it's a metaphor for the new life that is ahead.

Meanwhile, I'm cleaning house here in the Velvet Room. Tweaking settings here, moving things there, adding and removing other things, getting ready for company coming next week. I'm looking forward to visitors dropping by!

Website Makeover

2010-07-11T16:14:00.000-07:00

I created a website for myself earlier this year using tools available on the hosting service. They were basic and very limited and I have never really been happy with the look but, not knowing how to build my own, I accepted the limitations.

Since then I have educated myself a bit and taken inspiration from what others have done. This weekend Gerry was busy much of the time and I found myself with the time I needed to start a on website makeover!

I'm just a baby in website development but I've set a goal for myself to be come web-savvy. In a previous life I was an IT Consultant (or Computer Programmer) so I should be able to do this. I've decided to use my website as my canvas with which to unleash my website creativity and skils.

If you've a mind, pop over to lindahoye.com and tell me what you think! I hope you'll visit periodically as I hope to update it monthly to show what I'm learning!

P.S. Don't tell my husband about this new project. He already thinks I tend to overextend myself. Mum's the word, now!

Blog Award, Company's Coming, and Kindle Subscriptions

2010-07-08T17:47:00.000-07:00

It's a happy day in the Velvet Room today! There are lots of fun and exciting things happening around here!

First of all, thank you to Kathy at To Write is to Write is to Write for giving me the Silver Lining Award. Click over to her blog and read an entertaining tale of how this came to be. It brought a smile to my face!

It's summer time, and I mentioned earlier that I am loving the heat-wave that we're enjoying. Another thing I like about summer is company. I'm pleased to let you know that in the coming weeks we're having company here at My Own Velvet Room! That's all I'm going to say for now, so stay tuned for some surprises this summer!

Here is a piece of news I am excited about. It's now possible to subscribe to My Own Velvet Room and Arms of Adoption on your Kindle! Really, isn't it an amazing world we live in.

Reading Material

2010-07-07T20:26:00.000-07:00

When I'm traveling, one of the ways I like to amuse myself is to try and catch a glimpse of the titles of books that fellow-travelers are reading. It's a form of people-watching, I suppose. I also like to hear from friends and family about the books they’ve been reading. (Like The Girls from Ames: A Story of Women and a Forty-Year Friendship - thanks Nicole!) I think that the reading choices people make say a lot about them.

It's not only books that reveal the character and interest of an individual, it's also magazines. Here's what's on the stack of "to reads" in my house at any given time.

I've been reading Good Housekeeping for more years than I can count.

I always learn something new when I read the Ladies' Home Journal.

To keep on top of current events Time has to be on the list.

And to keep abreast with news from Canada, I enjoy Macleans.

More recently, I've been enjoying Hobby Farm Home (ahh...Manderley...sigh)

The latest issue of Mary Jane's Farm arrived in the mail yesterday.

I enjoyed the TV show in the past and now I'm enjoying the magazine as well Harrowsmith Country Life

Whenever I am in Canada I always pick up the latest copy of Chatelaine and Canadian Living. I think Chatelaine takes the prize for the magazine I've been reading for the longest period of time. I was a teenager when I started reading Mom's copy, and for a time there was a version for younger women called Miss Chatelaine.

Okay, your turn. What magazines arrived in your mailbox or found their way into your shopping bag lately?

Giddy With Excitement!

2010-07-06T17:15:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I have felt this much anticipation. It's silly really - it's not like I'm going on an exotic vacation, or purchasing the iPod I covet so much. It's just that the weather is turning, the sun is shining, and the temperature is rising!

I know many of you are suffering the effects of summer heat where you are and you may be longing for some of the cool weather and rain that we've been experiencing here in the Pacific Northwest for what seems like an eternity. But I can't contain my excitement at the fact that it's 80 degrees at my house, and they're forecasting in the 90's tomorrow!

I am going to grab a book and head out to the lawn swing to soak up some sunshine. I might just do a little happy-dance on the way!

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

2010-07-05T01:40:00.000-07:00

Gerry and I went for a walk around the neighborhood yesterday capturing some photographs of the flowers in some gardens. What a beautiful area we live in!

Dual Citizens

2010-07-04T11:32:00.000-07:00

The girls are celebrating Canada Day and the Fourth of July!

Rainy Reflection

2010-07-02T17:28:00.000-07:00

I've been looking forward to getting back into my manuscript; it has been sitting on the corner of my desk since I had it printed and bound three weeks ago. I have felt the need to take time away from my work before plunging into the next draft and today was the day I planned to dive in.

I left the house early this morning and headed for my Friday morning office - a corner table in Starbucks where I like to settle in and write. Armed with my favorite pens and highlighters, a notebook, and my manuscript, I headed out into the morning rain.

When I got to Starbucks and climbed out of my Ford Escape I noticed how still and quiet the morning was. I congratulated myself for taking the time to be present enough in that moment to appreciate the stillness that reminded me of a winter morning back home when big fluffy snowflakes fell. It was that same kind of quiet.

I walked across the parking lot in the rain, leaving my umbrella in my purse and the hood of my sweater down. After three years here I must have officially become a Pacific Northwesterner - it's natural to walk through the rain without attempting to shelter myself from it. (My newly discovered curly hair might have something to do with the lack of panic I felt at the idea of having my hair get wet!)

Happy to find my favorite corner table vacant, I settled in with my Carmel Macchiato and began to read my manuscript. My intent was to read through the entire thing before beginning revisions, but alas the red pen in my hand could not be contained and I jotted notes here and there as I read. I am blessed with the ability to block out distractions around me so as Starbucks got busier with the usual morning crowd, I was able to continue reading and revising.

When I surfaced from the past I was reading about and looked at my watch I was surprised to see that an hour and a half had passed, so I began to to gather my things together. As I walked toward to the door I couldn't help but notice an older man sitting in one of the soft burgundy chairs near the door. He wore a ragged coat, was unshaven and slightly disheveled, and he sat staring into the space in front of him. The look on his face gripped my heart; I saw sorrow in his eyes and wondered what he was thinking about.

Was he remembering someone he loved who was no longer in his life? Had there been a recent death or falling out? Was he reflecting upon opportunities lost or roads he had not taken? Was he waiting for someone? Was he lonely?

And it struck me for some reason that he had once been a little boy, a mother's precious son, a father's pride and joy. For a moment I could picture him as a lad running through a field throwing a stick for his dog, his pockets full of special treasures like bubble gum and bottle caps.

I walked past him, heading back out into the rain, the vision of a carefree lad who grew to be an old man my silent and invisible companion.

Yoga

2010-06-30T18:39:00.000-07:00

A short time ago I started a simple yoga stretching routine in the morning. Yoga, I thought, something slow and simple like that I can handle. I was looking for something that would stretch my aching body, help with pain management and perhaps provide some relaxation and stress relief at the same time. Low impact, slow, nothing that I could injure myself at, right? Wrong!

I've pulled a muscle or something and now I am hobbling around like an old woman. Every time I stand up, with each step I take, I am in more pain than I was before I started. I am not even sure what exactly I did to cause this, but I've pulled something somewhere somehow.

But I do enjoy putting my yoga outfit on each morning, rolling out my yoga mat, and setting out my yoga block and strap, and putting on my yoga DVD. I can even talk myself into believing that I am doing somthing that will benefit me in the long run.

Gotta love this aging thing.

Grandma Time

2010-06-26T07:29:00.000-07:00

I was out and about yesterday running errands. It was a pleasant day - no rain for a change - and I enjoyed listening to the light jazz playing on NPR as I made my rounds. First stop: the post office, I had a fresh batch of books to mail to SCBR reviewers. I am finally learning to navigate my way around the convoluted road system in downtown Auburn and made it in and out without getting lost or turned around. Chalk one up for me!

Second stop was the Natural Food Store in Federal Way. We are working on making changes in our diet both for health reasons and because we think it is the right thing to do. I stocked up on fresh organic produce, eggs, tofu, and a few other odds and ends before heading upstairs where they have a deli and other natural products like lotions and things of that sort. As I browsed the aisles (where I found a gorgeous cotton shawl that followed me home) a little girl and her grandma came running over to the essential oil section.

She must have been about two years old and her eyes sparkled as she reached up toward the oils. Grandma had promised that her good behavior would earn her the opportunity to smell each different fragrance. I smiled at the pair as I heard Grandma tell Little Miss that “Grandma has made pretty bottles like this at home. They must be thirty-five years old.” I doubted that the words meant much to Little One, but I considered that day-after-day, month-after-month, year-after-year, as Grandma told these stories to Little Miss they would become a part of her.

From the Natural Food Store I continued on to Barnes and Noble. I had learned that they had a Dummies book specific to the fancy schmancy camera that Gerry bought a few weeks ago. Though we have attended two classes, honestly much of the instruction was way over my head. I hope that the Dummies book will be remedial enough to help me to begin using this camera the way it’s intended.

I found the book and then headed over to the children’s section. How sweet it is to have a reason to browse in the children’s book section again! There, sitting on a tiny chair was another Grandma reading to her grandson. Little Guy was younger than the Little Miss at the Natural Food Story, and in typical boy-manner was having trouble concentrating fully on the story that Grandma was reading. Grandma continued to read, gently drawing his attention back when in wandered. I knew what a gift she was giving to Little Guy on that day as she read to him, and I suspected that she read to him often.

As I traveled home the longing for my own grandchildren intensified. Jaxon had his second birthday this week! It seems like yesterday that I held him for the first time! Now he likes Manny the Handyman, and hockey (true Canadian child that he is!), and even sleeps in a “big boy bed”.

Makiya is eighteen months old and can point out a plethora of animals and colors and shapes in her picture books, she says sweet little things like ‘tickle, tickle, tickle’, and best of all knows how to say “grandma”.

As a child I didn’t have the blessing of a grandma in my life who would read to me and take me shopping; it will be different for Jaxon and Makiya.

I am feeling very homesick this morning. It’s time to head back to the “old country” for some grandma time.

Assault

2010-06-25T08:51:00.000-07:00

In this country we are very conscious of being sensitive to ethnic and cultural diversity. We pay close attention to the diverse nature of our workforce and believe strongly that a diverse workforce is a strong workforce. We have come a long way.

I work for a corporate entity that is considerate of employee well-being and the diversity of it's workforce. If I were to break a limb I would get a preferred parking space at work; if I were to become ill I have the relative security of short and long-term disability plans; if I have a family emergency and need to leave work unexpectedly I don't think twice about it. I am fortunately to be able to spend my day with a great group of people, each one carrying his or her own degree of personal diversity.

I was taught at an early age to be considerate of those around me and I have tried to do that throughout my life, with varying degrees of success to be sure. I've read things about how we as corporate employees prefer to send an email to a co-worker across the hall rather than taking a few steps into their office to talk to them face-to-face. I would say we have moved past that into thinking it's okay to yell to co-workers across the hall or even a few doors down the hall with little regard for those who may be trying to work around us.

People! If you have something to say to someone get out of your chair and go to them and have the conversation. Be considerate of those trying to work around you!

Then there are the so-called teaming events and games that have overtaken us. At first it was fun to spend an hour or so every few months taking a break from the stressful routine of work and do something different. Now we have ongoing games that creep their way into everything we do. As always, there are those who are hard-wired for games and events and they are in their glory. Others, at risk of being called out as not being team-players, have begun to rebel against the onslaught of "fun activities" and boycott activities.

When I go shopping, almost without fail, I come across people talking on their cell phones while they go about their business. It's rude and it's inconsiderate to continue a phone conversation while standing in front of a check-out person at the grocery store. If the roles were reversed and the check-out person chatted away on a phone while scanning your groceries, would that be okay? Come on!

Sunday afternoons: if it's sunny and warm I want to be outside enjoying the day. I'm often surrounded by the sound of lawn mowers, leaf blowers, lawn edgers, motorized skateboards, and even music coming from the windows of cars as they drive past. When I was a girl there were bylaws about maintaining the peace and quiet on Sundays.

By nature, and by choice, I tend toward the quiet, introverted, and introspective sort and frequently I feel assaulted by the cacophony of voices and activity around me. I can't be the only one!

"In quiet and confidence is your strength." (Isaiah 30:15).

Life Changing

2010-06-19T09:55:00.000-07:00

Megan noticed first, my cute little hairstylist who looks so different every time I see her that I sometimes barely recognize her. This time, her hair was the same beautiful copper color as that of my granddaughter's, it was cut shorter than last time I saw her, and she wore stylish glasses.

As she prepared to start cutting my hair after shampooing and giving me the most heavenly scalp massage, she hesitated for a moment.

“Have you noticed the curl in your hair?” she asked.

Curl? My hair? Not a chance! Much to my chagrin, I’ve fought with stick-straight hair my entire life, but as I looked where she was indicating, there was a bit of curl! Now where in the world did that come from, I wondered. She began to play with my hair and fluff it here and there, and sure enough more curls began to form!

Can hormones change hair from straight to wavy? Perhaps it was the never-ending rain and cloudy skies here in the Pacific Northwest that caused my hair to change from its natural form (probably not, but I'm sure this ugly weather is changing something within me). Whatever the cause, I was intrigued.

This morning after my shower I did something I haven’t done since I was a girl; I let my hair dry naturally. Oh, I fluffed it a bit, applied some product, and arranged it and rearranged it, and then I left it alone and let it dry without the benefit of my blow dryer and round brush. And, you know, I think it looks pretty good! A light spritz of hair spray and I’m good to go!

This change in my hair routine could revolutionize my life let alone my morning routine! Just think of the extra time I will have for writing, blogging, yoga, catching up on email, or whatever I choose! This could be the catalyst that enables me to finish the next draft of my book according to my self-imposed timeline!

Take note all you writer friends of mine: check your hair tomorrow morning to see if you too have some newly formed curls that will give you some extra writing time too!

More Celebrating

2010-06-16T18:54:00.000-07:00

I am celebrating with my friend Kim Richardson and with the fortunate folks at Behler Publications who have welcomed Kim and given her powerful book The Unbreakable Child a "forever home"!
Watch for the book to come out in October.

Your heart will break as you read Kim's story, but you will also be inspired as you read of her faith and forgiveness.

Kim is a true hero.

P.S. Guess who is honored to be working on putting together discussion questions to be included at the end of the book?

Photographs

2010-06-13T18:12:00.000-07:00

Gerry recently got a new DSLR camera and we took our first class last week. You know it's a good camera when you have to take a class to use it correctly. I have so much to learn, but spent a bit of time outside today playing around. The instructor said we would have to take 500 bad pictures before we started taking really good ones so I thought I better get started!

Celebrating!

2010-06-12T07:36:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I finished the latest draft of my memoir! The sense of satisfaction I had coming out of Office Depot with the printed spiral-bound copy was like none other. I feel that I have nailed the structure this time and fleshed out what I want to communicate with this book. The value-add for me is that I have learned more about myself, gained a new perspective on certain circumstances, and have a greater sense of gratitude about my life. Not bad for more than a year's work!

I'm going to set the manuscript aside for a few weeks before beginning the next draft. I had set a personal goal to finish this draft before the warm summer weather arrived. (Mother Nature, if you're reading this you can bring on the warm summer weather anytime now! We have had enough rain, honest!)

I did some quiet personal celebrating yesterday afternoon in the form of enjoying a Carmel Macchiato while shopping for shoes. Sounds like fun, doesn't it?

I'm doing additional celebrating in the form of a blog makeover. I thought that the Velvet Room could use a bit of a lift, after all we all enjoy a new outfit now and then don't we?! I hope you like the new look!

Value-Add

2010-06-09T12:48:00.000-07:00

It’s a popular concept in business: Value Add. It refers a marketing strategy that offers something that increases the perceived value of a product in the eyes of the customer. It could be something like a rebate, free delivery of the purchased item, a guarantee, or loyalty rewards. It is a term that irritates me in the same way as many other marketing tactics that seem to assume limited-intelligence on the part of the customer.

This morning I accidentally stumbled upon an application for the term that I can relate to; I had my own value-add epiphany.

I started new morning routine a few weeks ago that I alluded to here. My body has been crying out to me of late, and I’ve been wise enough this time to listen and react to what I know I need to do for my physical and mental well-being. I need to stretch; I need gentle exercise; I need to move.

One step I have taken is to start a simple yoga stretching routine every morning. I have shied away from yoga in the past assuming it was some kind mystical practice that I wanted to part of in my life. I have found, however, that a simple routine in the morning has begun to satisfy the craving in my body for stretching. Perhaps it is coincidence but I find that I am more emotionally balanced and my thinking is clearer these days.

This morning I realized another benefit of my changed morning routine.

Last night Gerry and I were up later than normal as we attended our first photography class. Truth be told, I was struggling to stay away toward the end of the class. (A class that goes to 9:30pm? It must be geared toward the younger generation!) This morning when I heard the voice of the NPR news commentator at 4:45 the time I normally rise, I reached over and hit the snooze button a few times until I found the strength to rise from my fitful sleep and begin the day. Bottom line: no yoga routine this morning.

As I stood at the bathroom vanity this morning and leaned toward the mirror to apply makeup, I discovered eyes that were puffier and more bloodshot than they were the day before, and skin that seemed to sag just a little more than I remembered.

I realized that for the past few weeks I have taken time for myself in the morning before putting my face on for the rest of the world. Whether it is a result of the grounding and relaxation, or whether it’s because I have not been immediately beginning my morning ablutions when I rise, I look better by the time I get to the bathroom mirror.

The physical and emotional benefits yoga is providing me are wonderful. The value-add is that I see a fresher, more relaxed, and younger looking face in the mirror in the morning.

That works for me!

Mother's Hands

2010-06-07T18:08:00.000-07:00

I have worn contact lenses since I was a teenager and few years ago I got reading glasses to wear over my contacts for seeing things close up.

First thing in the morning when my eyes are naked, so to speak, without the benefit of a corrective lens of any kind I see some things clearest of all and sometimes what I see startles me. Like the other morning when I saw my hands and realized that they are no longer the hands of a young woman.

At first I was somewhat dismayed to find that my hands have aged along with the rest of my body. Fine lines crisscross the back at all angles; flesh that was once taut and firm is now softer and lies in soft folds at the base of my fingers; a bluish vein snakes a prominent path from one side to the other.

I recognized the hands as those of my mother. Mom was almost exactly four years older than I am today when she passed away. It has been twenty-five years since I saw her, I barely recall what her voice sounded like, yet I recognized her hands when I saw them that morning.

They were the hands that fed me, bathed me, caressed me, played with me, and even occasionally spanked me. They were the hands that cooked for our family, cleaned our home, painted our walls, mowed our lawn, and planted gladiola bulbs in the spring. They were the hands that made crumb cake, banana bread, peanut butter cookies, and heavy brandy-soaked Christmas cake. They were the hands that sewed dresses and knit mittens and scarves. They were the hands that poured peroxide on my skinned knees and held me when I cried. They were the hands that smelled like Jergens hand lotion.

They were the hands that held my mother’s head in them as she wept when she was told that my father had died. They were the hands that held mine and my sister’s when we walked to the front of the sanctuary to stand before his casket on that surreal day when he was laid to rest.

My hands, the hands of a woman who is no longer young, have their own story. Tucked within the wrinkles and folds is the story of my life. What point would there be in longing for the youthful hands I once hand or despairing over the changes that have taken place?

After all, my hands are also the hands of a mother.

A Goal Without a Plan

2010-06-01T17:52:00.000-07:00

Recently, I've had conversations someone about our respective five-year plans. I have a five-year plan for certain areas of my life and I'm realizing that I need to put together a concrete plan for other areas as well.

After all "A goal without a plan is just a wish" (Antoine de Saint-Exupery), right?

I happened to glance up at my magnetic poetry board today and noticed that I had formed sentence fragments about wishing for something.

I long to write but .....

I long to garden but ....

I long to read but ....

I long to believe but ....

What wishes or longings are whispering to you right now? What is the "but" that is holding you back from having them? What goals do you need to put in place today to help you move closer to obtaining them?

Wendy Ann

2010-05-31T20:15:00.000-07:00

It has been another good writing weekend for me. I'm getting close to finishing the third draft of Two Hearts, One Baby: An Adoption Memoir and I want to be finished this draft in the worst way. Writing a memoir is not something for the faint of heart. It is hard and emotional work but also, I am trusting, healing and teaching work.

Yesterday I was writing about my half-sister and the "coincidences" that seem to surround our sisterhood.

The picture attached to this post was taken at Christmas when I was just shy of my second birthday and Mom and Dad bought this doll for me. We used to say that it looked like I was looking at her and asking "Why don't you talk to me?". This doll was like a sister to me until my parents adopted a second daughter about a year after this picture was taken. The name of this doll was Wendy Ann.

One day about twenty years ago, out of the blue, I received a phone call from a woman telling me that I had a half-sister who was looking for me. The name of this half-sister was Wendy!

When Wendy and I met we learned that for a time we had lived just a few blocks apart and attended the same school at the same time!

Yesterday I was telling my husband about Wendy Ann and Wendy as I was making a desert to take to a Memorial Day gathering today. I suddenly realized that the recipe I was using had been given to me by Wendy!

I don't believe in coincidence; I believe that everything happens for a reason. Today I don't know the reason for the coincidence that seems to crop up where my sister is concerned, but I hope one day to learn what it is all about.

Adoption Poetry

2010-05-31T13:41:00.000-07:00

The adoption writers at Grown In My Heart are having a poetry carnival this week. It's been many years since I wrote poetry so I decided to participate by using one that I wrote when I was a teenager and posted recently on my Arms of Adoption blog.

I Was Adopted

I was adopted when I was a babe
My identity taken away
And I never knew the woman who bore me
Or the reason she gave me away

My name was changed – my records were sealed
I started my life anew
But I never knew where I got my blonde hair
Or who gave me eyes of blue

When all of my friends were tracing their lines
And climbing their own family trees
I had no names to put on my branches
All that I had was me

I always have feelings that I don’t belong
No matter where I go
And all of my past – all the family I had
Is something that I’ll never know

The family I have is the best there could be
I couldn’t love anyone more
But all through my life in the back of my mind
There’s been something that I have yearned for

I don’t want a mother – I already have one
The best one there ever could be
I’d just like to have enough blank spaces filled
To fill every branch on my tree

Drive-Thru Rage

2010-05-27T09:13:00.000-07:00

It is hard to believe it's been one week since I updated my blog. I am heading back home today after an unexpected trip to Canada to help my daughter as she has battled a health issue. I'm greateful to have been able to come and help her with caring for my granddaughter and everything else that young moms have to take care of. Thankfully Laurinda is on the mend, though the doctor says it will be an up-and-down recovery.

It has been a blessing for me to spend time with both of my grandchildren this week though. They grow and change so quickly, and Gerry and I have made it a priority to visit as often as possible during these early years.

Only one experience somewhat marred what has been a blessed week. One afternoon I had taken my granddaughter to visit our son, his wife, and our precious grandson at their home to give Laurinda an opportunity to rest. I was on my way back to Laurinda's house and stopped to get an Iced Capp at Tim Hortons for her and, as Makiya was in the back seat, I decided to go through the drive-thru.

I followed the arrows; I thought I knew where I was going; but it turned out that when I reached the end of the parking lot where I intended to turn into the drive through there were three cars blocking the way and they were also going to the drive-thru. When the car immediately in front of me pulled forward, and the one behind stayed back to leave a gap, I could have driven through, driven down the road, turned around and joined the back of the queue. I didn't. I assumed that the driver was waiting was giving me an opportunity to join the queue, so I waved in a gesture of thanks, and turned into the line-up.

I assumed incorrectly and the woman driving the car that I turned in front of was not happy.

She rolled down her window and began spewing obscenities at me and calling me names. When it was my turn to place my order at the speaker she blared her horn. She made gestures toward me that left no doubt about her state of mind.

I felt bad that I had misjudged her intention but it wasn't like she was going to have to stay in line that much longer because of it. There was also only one car behind her when I turned in front of her so it wasn't like I was affecting numerous other people either.

When I got to the window to pick up and pay for the Iced Capp I had ordered for Laurinda, I told the girl that I also wanted to pay for the car behind me; it turned out that she had also ordered just an Iced Capp.

For the sake of thirty seconds and a couple of dollars she lost her temper and spewed anger. I wondered what her day had been like up to that point and what she had ahead of her for the rest of her day. My hope was that my gesture of paying for her order would diffuse some of her anger so she wouldn't carry it with her and direct it toward anyone else. My fear was that she would feel justified and entitled.

I glanced in the rear view mirror and smiled at my granddaughter who was humming a little tune, said a quick prayer for the angry woman, and continued on with my day.

Cacophony

2010-05-20T18:17:00.000-07:00

Cacophony. Don't you love that word? It sounds just like what it is, which is, according to dictionary.com, a "harsh discordance of sound".

I confess that the cacophony of my daily life wears me out and the older I get the less I can bear the constant noise that surrounds me as I go about my daily activities. When I am home alone I rarely turn on the television, the radio, the CD player or anything else that will disrupt the sweet solace of silence. (I confess that the sound of my computer keyboard clack-clacking away doesn't bother me in the least, though!)

Recently, almost by accident, I discovered that an album (do they still call them albums?) I purchased from iTunes has the opposite effect. It contains an assortment of selections, some of which are familiar others not, played softly and gently on an instrument like the piano or flute. I connected my iPod to my external speaker the other day while I was writing and something about the music soothed me to the point where I was inspired to take my writing to another level. I believe it was one of the most productive writing days I have had in some time.

I am still worn out by the end of the day, exhausted by the constant cacophony generated by people, traffic, and even sometimes the geese that fly overhead. I still crave silence whenever I can get it. I have also come to realize that my sense of hearing is a blessing and, in the right form, sound can sooth me.

Time Out

2010-05-18T18:02:00.000-07:00

It's hard to imagine that this sweet little girl looking up at you could behave any differently from what that little innocent face portrays, isn't it? It's true she is the sweetest little sixteen-month old girl on the planet, but according to her mom she's quickly closing in on what they call the "terrible twos" and I can attest, due to the magic of our frequent Skype visits, that she has a mind of her own and knows how to push her mom's buttons already! My daughter has started giving her short periods of time-out to teach her what's acceptable behavior and what isn't.

I was thinking about time-out as I was driving home this afternoon. The concept is to separate the little one from the unacceptable behavior and provide an opportunity for them to calm down and make a better choice when they are removed from the time out. I think I could use a time-out sometimes. I have a tendancy to become very focused (perhaps obsessive) on the task at hand to the exclusion of everything around me.

My husband might suggest I need a time-out on Saturday mornings when I am driven to write; my yorkies might suggest I need one when they want to play and I am in the middle of a good book; my co-workers might suggest a time-out would be in order when it's time to participate in one latest team-building "fun" activities and I feel I have too much work to do.

I recently realized I needed a time-out first thing in the morning. For years I have had a morning routine that I rarely deviated from from the moment my feet hit the floor, but for the past few weeks I have mixed it up a bit. I'm forcing myself to slow down and take better care of myself. (I heard someone say recently "if you wear out your body, where are you going to live?") Unbelievably, it's working! Those few minutes that I take my morning time-out carry through to the rest of my day and help me be more mindful of making healthier choices for myself. Who knew it would actually work for an old 'gal like me?!

Have you taken any time-outs lately? Do you need to take any time-outs?

And the winners are.....

2010-05-18T06:02:00.000-07:00

Three books and three winners to announce today!

Leaving Microsoft to Change the World is leaving my house and going to CJ's house, Then She Found Me is going to my daughter, Laurinda, at Seasons of Life, and Mary is going to receive The Blue Cotton Gown.

Happy Reading, all!

Book Giveaway!

2010-05-14T11:15:00.000-07:00

The weather has finally turned warm and the sun is shining! I'm feeling the pull to the lawn swing in my back yard where I hope to spend many hours with a good book over the next few months. The problem is that to make room for new books I have to get rid of some of my current books. So, I have decided to have a giveaway!

I read Leaving Microsoft to Change the World while I away from home on a business trip. John Wood and the Room to Read organization he founded is an inspiration.

Then She Found Me by Elinor Lipman is the story of a birth-mother and the daughter she gave up for adoption thirty-six years ago. Is there any doubt that I would have related to this one?!

I read The Blue Cotton Gown: A Midwife's Memoir by Patricia Harman as part of a memoir challenge of reading four books in four months. I couldn't put this one down.

There are the books; here are the rules. To be entered into the drawing, become a follower of My Own Velvet Room if you're not already one, post a reference to my blog on your blog if you have one, and leave a comment here letting me know which book you would like if you are chosen.

That's it! I'll draw for the winner on Tuesday!

I Was Blogging When Blogging Wasn't Cool

2010-05-12T19:43:00.000-07:00

I was a blogger before anyone knew what a blogger was.

I've been making my way through pages and pages of writing I did when I was younger, in an attempt to connect with the younger me as I'm writing my memoir.

I started writing in earnest when I was a teenager when Dad brought home a discarded typewriter from his office and I claimed it for my own. Suddenly the scraps of paper I had been scribbling on became real pages filled with poetry and short stories that I wrote and rewrote.

As I read these pieces today I remember that cynical young woman who sat at her desk in her lavender bedroom working her way through adolescence seeking to find her true self, that self that wasn't affected by circumstances, the self she was created to be. She felt out of place much of the time, but when she sat at her typewriter and allowed her thoughts to flow through her fingers, the clickity-clack of the keys brought release and she felt strong.

Fast forward a few years to a young mother still struggling to reveal herself to the outside world. She wrote stories, she wrote poems, she dreamed dreams that seemed so close she could reach out and touch them, and yet so far away they seemed part of another life. But still, she wrote.

Today, I leaf through the yellowed and tattered pages where I typed and retyped the story of my life and I remember that young woman. She wrote because she had to; it was her way of standing strong and declaring her place in this world.

If there had been such a thing as "the internet" or "weblogs" I would have been online with a different version of My Own Velvet Room; as it were I blogged on sheets of yellow newsprint instead of a computer screen.

It is not so much the medium, as it is the practice of writing that I am drawn to. While I love the twenty-first century technology that allows me to put my writing out there, I realize that I was blogging long before the first time I heard the weee-waaa-weee of dial-up internet that connected me to the world back in the 1980's. I was blogging in my lavender bedroom as I composed poetry on my typewriter and listened to Peter Frampton on my record player.

I will bet that many of us were.

Gliding

2010-05-05T18:54:00.000-07:00

We have had some extraordinary spring storms this year and there was a wind storm the other day that resulted in trees coming down and power outages all over the area. We lost electricity at work and, as these days it is difficult to function without computers, the office was all but closed down.

The drive home required my full attention as I navigated through the traffic; it moved slowly because of heavy rainfall and standing water on the road. I felt the force of wind resistance on my vehicle and gripped the steering wheel with both hands as leaves, twigs and debris flew by.

Then, just for a moment, I happened to look up.

There in the sky above me were two birds, their wings spread wide, gliding on a wind current. I watched their bodies dip down, then rise, turn one way then the other, all without any effort on their partl. I wondered if they were calling out to each other: This is great! Isn't this fun? We've been waiting for a day like this!

And I thought how it would be if, when storms come into my life, I could let go and allow myself to be carried by the wind. I know there is Someone looking out for me, that all will turn out in the way it is meant to in the end. But sometimes I forget I don't need to flap my wings and try to get through it on my own; I forget that to try to navigate on my own power will only wear me out.

So in the midst of a stormy afternoon I heard a still, small voice whisper to me. Rest easy..

Book Review...and Manderley Video

2010-05-03T16:24:00.000-07:00

My review of Anne Lamott's Imperfect Birds was just posted on the Story Circle Book Reviews site. I found it to be a riveting read that sent me to bed early every night until I finished it! (I do most of my reading in bed.)

I fixed the Manderley video clips on my previous post as well. Take a relaxation break and see what prairie serenity looks like!

Relaxation Break - Video of Manderley

2010-04-30T15:49:00.000-07:00

I think my voice sounds so Canadian on these videos! Oh wait - I am Canadian - no wonder!

Here is some video I took when we were at Manderley last week. It was so peaceful despite the wind you can hear at times. And even though I refer to it as "our property" in the first video it's not ours just yet.

Signs?

2010-04-29T17:32:00.000-07:00

I am the Distribution Editor for Story Circle Book Reviews which means I have the pleasure of receiving books from publishers, which I then send out to a member of our top-notch review team to read and review. (By the way if you are looking for something good to read be sure to check out our site! It's your ultimate source for reviews of books written by, for and about women.)

I had to smile when I opened the package that was waiting for me when I arrived home today. Hay Fever: How Chasing a Dream on a Vermont Farm Changed My Life.

Do you think it's a sign?!

Through the Eyes of a Child

2010-04-28T18:33:00.000-07:00

Oh, to see life through the eyes of a child again!

What causes you to feel a sense of wonder and awe?

What makes you feel the joy of childhood again?

For me it's being with my grandchildren,

playing with my dogs,

watching my garden come alive in spring,

the ferocity of the rainstorm that is currently passing overhead,

the peace of nature when I stood at Manderley,

the expectation of going on a trip (usually to see the grandchildren!),

the love of my husband.

Tell me, won't you, what brings joy to your heart?

Two of Me

2010-04-27T06:25:00.000-07:00

My friend Susan Ideus has a post on her blog right now about the dichotomy of the two Susans that, in many ways, parallels my own struggles with the two Lindas in my life at the moment.

If you are perhaps struggling with something similar, why don't you pop over to Susan's Being Me - Beliefs, Blessings & Blunders blog and see if you can relate to what she is saying.

I know I can.

Manderley - Part 4

2010-04-25T11:52:00.000-07:00

As we drive away from the small town after talking with the Realtor, my tears began to fall. Gerry and I have spent countless hours over the past number of months talking about Manderley. We came prepared - there is a check tucked inside of Gerry's wallet meant to accompany the offer to purchase, but despite our love of this land there remains one stumbling block that prevents us from writing the offer on this afternoon.

Though we are not shutting the door on Manderley completely, I grieve for the momentary loss and for the Linda who surfaced on the land. We will spend a few days with our children and grandchildren before heading home. As we travel across the prairie Gerry notices that we are both looking at every farm house we pass and comments on it. We smile at each other. We are both grieving in our own way.

The quest will continue and those discussions will come in time, but just now I sit quietly in the passenger seat of our Ford Escape and drink in the prairie with my eyes. In the distance, if I look hard enough and wish strongly enough, I can catch a glimpse of Linda standing in the middle of a wheat field. She feels no stress, her body carries no pain, and she is content.

~~~

We arrive home after a long and tiring day on the road; and this morning I wake to the familiar pain in my neck and shoulder. I throw open the bedroom window and hear birds, reminiscent of that morning at Manderley, yet a weak comparison to the prairie choir that sang for us near the marsh. A plane flying overhead and the distant drone of Sunday at the race track assaults the morning quiet.

Last night I dreamed I was at Manderley again; tomorrow I will head back to my office. Today, I wonder what lies ahead.

Manderley - Part 3

2010-04-24T10:48:00.000-07:00

We stand at the edge of the marsh together, then Gerry suggests a walk toward the high point on the land a short distance away. Together we step across the stubble left from last years's crop of canola. Foolishly, I've worn sandals and the short sharp remnants of the canola leave scratches on my legs. Tangible memories of Manderley that I will carry back home when we leave.

As I stand on this little hill and look in all directions I realize that I feel like myself in a way that I had forgotten. There is a Linda I barely know anymore.

The eclectic selection of music we've been listening to on our road trip includes a song co-written by Canadian performer Michael Buble called Home. The music and the lyrics tug at my soul; I too want to go home. One line in particular speaks of a place I have been often lately. "And I feel just like I'm living someone else's life."

The pain in my shoulder and arm that I've been dealing has disappeared since we arrived on the prairie. I felt the stress begin to fall from my body a few days ago when we drove out of the Rocky Mountains and the prairie appeared. Somehow, my body instinctively knew to breathe deeper.

We walk; we talk; we drive slowly back toward the town and our appointed time to meet with the Realtor. We're already late but it's okay.

Manderley - Part 2

2010-04-24T05:28:00.000-07:00

We are honored the next morning to go to the home in town where the couple who own Manderley now live. They welcome us into our home and talking with them feels like talking with old friends. Gerry has brought questions about Manderley, and we spend a pleasant hour talking about life on the land with the Husband and Wife.

Later we all meet at Manderley: Gerry and I, the Realtor, the Husband and Wife, and the Young Man who farms the quarter-section of land that makes up part of Manderley. The Wife and I naturally migrate toward the garden. She shows me the hot bed where she would normally be starting lettuce at this time of year, I can tell that she will miss life on the farm.

Gerry, the Realtor, the Husband and the Young Man move toward the quonset and the barn discussing, I assume, the land and the farming equipment stored in the massive silver structure. I wish I could be with them at the same time as I am with the Wife. I want to know everything about Manderley.

The Wife tells me about early life on the farm; she points out to me the location of the original house that has long since been torn down. She tells me of the early years after she had married the Husband and come to live on the farm. The history is almost palpable as I listen and drink in the prairie with my eyes.

Eventually the men join us and arrangements are made. Gerry and I will stay at Manderley for a time longer, while everyone else returns to their day. We want to walk the land; we need to talk and pray.

What Matters Most

2010-04-23T14:12:00.000-07:00

Manderley - Part 1

2010-04-23T07:37:00.000-07:00

I feel at home when we arrive at Manderley. Armed with a rough description of where the land is, and our memories of our last visit, Gerry and I set out to see if we can find it again. We want some time to walk the land alone before we call the realtor.

The last time we were there the land was covered in snow and it was dead quiet. This time, the snow is all gone and we are delighted to find that there is a marsh behind the garden area.

The marsh and the trees nearby are alive with the sounds of birds, frogs, and ducks. The quiet of the winter is a distant memory but the sounds of nature equally feed a part of my soul that has been hungering for something more than city life.

The garden still bears subtle evidence of last year's harvest. It waits -the promise of spring planting and a new bounty of produce ahead.

The weathered outbuildings still stand proud and speak of past generations; past years of toil on this land we are calling Manderley. There is history here; we look forward to meeting the older couple who have retired from farming this land and moved into town.

I look out across the prairie to the trees that mark the edge of the property and I am reminded once again of something Gerry had said. This is not property we are considering purchasing; this is land. And more, for us it is a lifestyle.

The pace of city life has lost it's charm for me; things that once seemed to define success no longer seem important. I am restless and feel a call toward home.

The night before, I underlined a passage in a book by Sharon Butala called The Perfection of the Morning. The book is a memoir of her own return to the Saskatchewan prairie. "What I could remember about that natural world from which our family had been separated by so little was a combination of smells, the feel of the air, a sense of the presence of Nature as a living entity all around me. All of that had been deeply imprinted in me, but more in the blood and bone and muscles - an instinctive memory - than a precise memory of events or people. I remembered it with my body, or maybe I remembered it with another sense for which we have no name but is no less real for that." (highlight mine).

Having walked the property we return to our vehicle. I stand for a moment before climbing into the passenger seat and breathe deeply, feeding my soul.

We set off across the dusty road toward town.

We're Off!

2010-04-16T13:56:00.000-07:00

We're about to begin another road trip! It makes me feel sad when we are getting ready to go somewhere and the girls aren't coming. The way they look at us with their beautiful big eyes, I am sure they sense we're leaving them behind. I know that they'll be well taken care of and have lots of fun with their pal Lisa though!

This time tomorrow I plan to have a granddaughter on my lap, and I'm looking forward to snuggling my grandson a short time later. We're blessed.

We're heading off to Manderley on Sunday morning. Stay tuned for pictures and perhaps much more!

Sure Signs of Spring

2010-04-12T17:43:00.000-07:00

I took some pictures around the yard yesterday afternoon; spring is everywhere!

The Lamb's Ears are filling in nicely.

My hostas are doing well.

The wisteria is soon going to be filled with beautiful sweet-smelling blossoms!

Lots of color in the front yard (and I'm old...and momentarily forget the name of this one!)

And a sure sign of spring....it's time for husbands everywhere to begin the annual lawn competition.

Gentlemen....start your mowers!

Someday

2010-04-10T17:02:00.000-07:00

I was talking with someone the other day about retirement. She made a comment about not knowing what she would do with herself after she retired and, for a moment, I felt like one of those cartoon characters doing a double-take. Wha-a-a-t?

There are so many things on my "someday" list, things I try to fit in when I have time now, that I will enjoy having time for in the years to come.

There are quilts to be made.

There are books to read.

There are books to write!

There are grandchildren to enjoy.

There are flowers to plant.

There are flowers to smell.

There are plots of vegetables and herbs to tend.

There are photos I need to put in albums.

There are grandchildren to enjoy.

There is knitting to do.

There are recipes to try.

There are trips to take.

There are long walks and long talks with my husband to enjoy.

There are grandchildren to enjoy.

There are lazy summer afternoons spent doing nothing more than dozing in a lawn swing.

There are cozy winter evenings spent snuggled under a quilt with a dog on my lap and a book in my hand.

Did I mention that there are grandchildren to enjoy?

What is on your "someday" list that you are looking forward to?

The Story

2010-04-06T17:29:00.000-07:00

Recently I was speaking with someone about the memoir I am working on and she spoke six words that I cannot get out of my mind.

"The story is in your body."

The fact that those words play over and over again in my mind tell me that there is something there I need to pay attention to. What does it mean?

Is the story in my twisted back, still bent from scoliosis despite surgery when I was younger?

Is it in the deep and intense pain I felt first in my upper arms, then throughout my body, for which there has never been lasting relief?

Perhaps it is in my heart; perhaps it is in the virtual body of my emotions. Is it tucked beneath stifled feelings or forgotten dreams?

Do the relentless hot flashes that keep me awake at night hold the key to the story?

Is the story hidden within the deepening wrinkles on my face, or in my sagging eyelids, or perhaps in the dark circles beneath my eyes?

Maybe the story is in all of these things; it could be in none of these things. The one thing I know for sure is that it is only in telling it that I will find out.

So, I write.

He is Risen!

2010-04-04T03:19:00.000-07:00

He is risen, indeed!

Happy Easter, everyone!

Honor the Past

2010-04-02T11:08:00.000-07:00

This is a picture of the house I grew up in. In fact, that's me with my mom sitting on the front step.

Looking at this picture evokes warm memories of my childhood. I played Barbie's on those front steps with my friends; we spent endless hot summer evenings playing tag in that front yard.

Behind that large picture window is a living room with hardwood floors that were polished to a golden sheen by Mom. That window on the other side is where Mom and Dad's bedroom is.

The basement windows? Well the one under the picture window is where the basement kitchen was. Yes, we had a kitchen in the basement. When Dad built the house he thought he might have renters downstairs at some point but we never did so that basement kitchen was used for Mom's sewing room. The other basement window was for a room we called the rumpus room. You don't hear that term very often any more; it was really just a play room.

Fast-forward fifty years. Here is the way that house looks today. Appealing? Comfy? Homey? I hope that whoever lives there now finds it to be so.

I wish they would cut down those trees that have been left to take over the front. It doesn't look cared-for any longer, and that makes me sad when I think of the years and effort that Mom and Dad put into making that house our home.

My plea to anyone who lives in an older home is to honor those who were there before you. Remember that the house, no matter how run down it may be today, was once a source of pride for the original home owners and they worked hard to take care of it.

We honor the past by caring for the present.

A Bruise to the Ego

2010-03-28T18:50:00.000-07:00

It was funny when he did it. Remember the opening to the Dick Van Dyke TV show when Dick came in and tripped over the ottoman? Classic comedy performed by one of the masters. It was hilarious!

Not so funny when a fifty-one year old woman does it when she's going downstairs for a late night snack. Who put that ottoman right there? Oh yeah, it was me. How embarassing. All for the sake of crackers and cheese.

I scream and Gerry comes running to find me flat on my back on the living room floor.

Was the bruise on the side of my leg worth it? You bet it was - c'mon we're talking about crackers and cheese here! Was the bruise to my ego worth it? That one's a little tougher to justify.

A Sweet, Sweet Sound

2010-03-27T12:26:00.000-07:00

While I was Skyping with Laurinda and Makiya today something precious happened.

Makiya said "grandma"! Then she said it again!

She made my day!

What Do I Do?

2010-03-26T06:22:00.000-07:00

I've sometimes wished that I was a teacher or a nurse - not because I feel especially drawn to those occupations - just because it would be easy to answer the question when someone asks what I do for a living.

As it is I've stumbled to explain what my current job actually entails. In the early years it wasn't too bad - I was a Programmer/Analyst. Most folks knew that was business-speak for "computer geek". Time passed, my work changed and I became an IT Consultant. Try explaining that one to someone who's first question is "what is IT?".

A few years ago I left the technology/computer field and ventured out into a brave new world under the umbrella of Human Resources. My official job title today is Work Management Analyst. Clear as mud?

The other day someone forwarded me a job posting from monster.com and there it was. A concise description of my job. So for your reading pleasure, here is what I do.

Sr. Business Analyst HR Systems

Business Analyst
Customer Service
Design
ERP
Oracle
PeopleSoft

Technical Support
HR Module
Functional
Requirements Gathering

.....looking for a Senior Business Analyst who specializes in HR systems with a preferred focus on PeopleSoft. There will be a focus on analysis, requirements gathering, creating functional specifications and some other technical aspects. They are not looking for an overly technical resource, but more functional with some technical skills. Communication and client facing skills are a must.

So there's my day job in a nutshell. Next time someone asks what I do for a living I'm going to spout this off. Someday I hope to be able call myself Writer, but this is what it is for now.

What is your response when asked what you do for a living?

Serenity in Starbucks?

2010-03-25T19:10:00.000-07:00

My car had to go in for some quick work today so we made arrangements that I would drop it off after work, head down to Starbucks, and Gerry would pick me up after he got out of work. It was a great plan - a Carmel Macchiato, my notebook and favorite pen, and an hour or so to write. What could be better?

All went well until I arrived at Starbucks and sat down at an out-of-the way table and pulled out my notebook. The place was hopping, but I am pretty good at tuning out background noice when I have to, so I wasn't worried about being able to write.

Then I saw, and heard, a young boy. Now you know that I love little ones; I don't fault this little boy in the least for his behavior. His mom sat in one of these big soft chairs they have in Starbucks chatting away to a friend while her child ran wild. He played with the door while she weakly chastened him and took no action to actually make the behavior stop. He hid around a corner and called at the top of his lungs for his Mom to come and find him. At one point she took him to the bathroom and when his business in there was finished, he came running out of that room leaving the door to slam behind him, screaming yet again.

I was sorely tempted at one point to stand up and chasten the child myself.

I didn't; I did my best to ignore the undesirable behavior. I did get some writing done, but my nerves were frazzled by the time Gerry arrived to pick me up. It wasn't quite the serene picture I had imagined it would be.

My day to be cranky

2010-03-21T12:43:00.000-07:00

For no particular reason I woke up feeling cranky this morning.

Perhaps it's because yesterday was the first day of spring and it was beautiful! Then, last night, we woke to the sound of rain again.

Here are some pictures I took in the yard yesterday.

Spring...come back.....!

Middle-Aged Spread

2010-03-19T17:37:00.000-07:00

Gerry and I went to bed early last night, still recovering from our extremely long road trip of last week. He settled in with his Suduko book and I was looking forward to getting back to the book I had started the night before called Middle-Aged Spread: Moving to the Country at 50.

I set my pillows up in my favorite reading position, snuggled in under my blue bargello Amish quilt with the dogs curled up beside me, and was immediately transported to the author's Ontario country home. As I read visions of Manderley danced through my head.

I hadn't been reading very long when I was disturbed by a persistent thwack-thwack-thwack from outside - seemingly originating from right above our house. It took a few moments for me to realize that it was a helicopter flying overhead. Thwack-thwack-thwack, over and over, back and forth, again and again it continued.

Gerry got up and peeked through the blinds.
"Is it the news or a police helicopter?" I asked, as if it made any difference.

He couldn't tell what kind of helicoptor it was even though it sounded like it was hovering right outside of our bedroom window. Regardless, my peace was disturbed and I lamented once again about the constant stressors we find ourselves facing in this 21st century life.

It wasn't enough for me to be disturbed by the thwacking coming from outside, I also had to speculate about the cause. Was there a terrible car accident on the nearby highway? Were the police in pursuit of a criminal in our neighborhood?

I found myself longing once more for a silent and solitary place to live.

At some point the helicopter either went away or I was able to block the sound from my consciousness and, somewhat disgruntled, I returned to my book.

Sometimes I am afraid that I am turning into a curmudgeon and I wonder if I should resist this crusty character that overtakes me at times or embrace it as a part of growing older.

Something to think about.

Missing Megan

2010-03-18T06:18:00.000-07:00

I think of her first thing in the morning and last thing before I go to bed at night. We meet regularly and I feel much better after a visit with her. We had planned to meet the week Gerry and I were on vacation but we had to reschedule. Unfortunately, between her schedule and my schedule, we won't be able to get together again until next week.

I am finding it hard to get going in the morning since it's been so long since we got together. It takes me longer to get ready because nothing seems to look right. At night when I am getting ready for bed, sometimes I look in the mirror and wonder how in the world I could have gone through the day looking so terrible. Really, it's true.

Some mornings I try little tricks to try and make myself look and feel better, but nothing seems to help. I am counting down the days until we can get together next week and I can get back to looking and feeling like myself.

Megan is my hairstylist. I miss her.

The Land

2010-03-14T09:38:00.000-07:00

I stand alone in the yard of the farm I've started calling Manderley and look and listen. The morning is foggy; low cloud blankets the prairie like a soft cotton quilt. The landscape looks cold because of the fog but it isn't really. I find it pleasant standing here.

I look to the west at some of the outbuildings. They still stand strong after many years of service to the family that originally homesteaded this land, joined now by a silver quonset and a trio of silver granaries.

I turn toward the east and see the house; Gerry is inside looking around in the nooks and crannies at pipes and structural details that have little interest to me. No one lives there now but it has not been completely cleaned out yet. Earlier I saw little sign on the wall near the entry way that said something about fun happening at Grandma's house.

Then I turn my gaze toward the south where snow still covers the quarter-section of land. In a few months wheat will be growing on that land that now looks so barren.

As I walk back toward the house I find myself breathing deeply as I take in the crisp morning air. It feeds a part of me that has been starving for something lately.

Behind the house is the area which is reserved for garden. A homemade greenhouse stands nearby just waiting for a fresh batch of seedlings to fill it's shelves. An old outhouse, no longer used, adds character to the space.

As I hear the voice of the land whisper to me I realize that there is no other sound. There is no other sound. It is still and absolutely silent this morning, and it is that silence that allows me to hear the voice of the land.

Zoo Day!

2010-03-08T07:48:00.000-08:00

It was a beautiful day here in Baby-Land and we all went to the zoo!

Going to the zoo for the first time as a grandma was a different experience. I'm vaguely remember seeing some animals, but what captivated this grandma the most was the smiles and giggles of my grandchildren. And that's just the way it is meant to be.

Lessons From the Road

2010-03-06T21:06:00.000-08:00

I enjoy road trips with my husband. It is a great opportunity to enjoy good conversation, good music, and good singing. Well, perhaps good singing might be a stretch, but we sure enjoy belting out some of our favorites! A road trip is also an opportunity to be still and contemplate. I found myself looking at some things we saw on this trip in a new light.

I took this picture while we were driving over a mountain pass where avalanche is not uncommon. There is a kind of wire mesh netting hanging down over the rock-face along this stretch of the road that is intended to stop rock from falling onto the highway.

Wouldn't it be nice to have protection like this against avalanche in our own lives? Avalanches like a late night phone call bringing bad news or a call from a doctor's office asking you to come in to discuss recent test results. Just something to soften the sudden blows that hit us head-on sometimes.

Instead, we go through these things the best way we can at the time using personal strength that we didn't know we posessed. We struggle, we cry, we despair, but ultimately, if we allow the trials to teach us things, we find that we come through them stronger and wiser than we were before.

Robert Frost wrote that "the best way out is always through". There is no short cut to navigating our way through grief or depression; we must allow ourselves to give in to the experience, however painful it may be, in order to make it through to the other side. Without this "giving in" and "going through" we find ourselves stuck in the darkness. This stretch of mountain pass highway, cut right through a piece of mountain, reminds me of Frost's words.

Every time I go over this piece of road that goes through the rocky mountain, I take something away. The last time it had to do with determination and this time it reminds me of the need to let go of some things.

I wonder if the men and women who labored so hard to build this road had any idea that there were creating something that would be a source of inspiration to someone.

Looking Forward

2010-03-03T19:21:00.000-08:00

I have this picture on the wall beside my desk at home. There is a caption under it that reminds me to "Take care of this girl's grandma!" It serves as a reminder for me to try and eat right, get some exercise, and deal with stress more effectively. I love this baby girl very much and I want to be around for a long time to watch her grow up and contribute to her life.

Starting tomorrow, Gerry and I are off on a journey! It's been much too long since I have had this much time away from work and believe me when I tell you that I am long overdue!

I am looking forward to a visit with my BFF on Friday - time spent with her is always food for my soul. There is no one quite like her and I know we're going to have so much to talk about (and not enough time to get it all in).

I'm looking forward to a road trip with my husband that provides lots of time for us to talk and listen to music that we like. And when he wants to turn the satellite radio to the 60's station, I'll have my iPod tuned into some SCN Podcasts. I've got my SCN tote bag packed with all sorts of necessities like lotion, lip balm, special pens and pencils and my notebook. I've tucked in a few chapters from my book and plan to get some editing and rewriting done as well.

I'm looking forward to seeing Brandon and Nicole and Jaxon and Laurinda and Gord and Makiya! Words can't express how much I love this family of mine. The babies (well, I guess they're actually toddlers now) will have grown so much since I saw them a few months ago. Skype is wonderful, but it's no substitute for the real thing.

I'm looking forward to standing on the prairie, closing my eyes, and taking a deep breath. I'm looking forward to gazing over the vast prairie landscape and just letting go. I'm looking forward to seeing the property that we have been looking at only in pictures for the past few months.

I'm looking forward...Oh how I'm looking forward....

Home

2010-02-28T05:32:00.000-08:00

What does this photograph say to you? To me it says "home". These proud beacons of the prairie, the few that remain standing, call to me in my dreams and bid me to return.

I wonder if as we grow older, and perhaps wiser, something within us awakens and amidst the clamor of our day-to-day lives enables us to hear a whisper that calls us back to a simpler time. A slower time. The place where we began.

As our lifestyle changes to fit our circumstances does something within us protest, causing physical aches and pains that are a manifestation of the discomfort we feel at not being in the place where we belong?

Can an attachment to a place be as important as it feels? Is it nostalgia or is it something more? Is it really true that "you can't go home again"?

What do you think?

Beauty Treatment

2010-02-27T16:57:00.000-08:00

The girls spent the afternoon at the beauty salon. Could they be any cuter?!

Rebel Grandma

2010-02-27T14:25:00.000-08:00

You might not realize it, but there is a bit of a rebel inside of this grandmother. I may seem quiet and mild mannered but sometimes I just can't resist doing something unexpected like dance in the grocery story or clap my hands when I find the "perfect" outfit for one of my grandchildren.

It's in the spirit of unexpected rebellion that I had to have this Anne Taintor tote. If you have never checked out any of her products I cncourage you to pop over to her site.

She's got just the thing when you're in the mood for a quiet rebellion.