Fill The Bucket

Na Pali Coastline is gorgeous

Yesterday afternoon as I was caring for our youngest son who is severely disabled, I received a phone call from my oldest son. At the moment he’s in Kauai Hawaii instead of Alaska. (Wise choice, I’d say, considering the winter Alaska has had so far.  )

Anyway, our conversation wasn’t overly long. He was on his way to see yet another part of that beautiful and lovely warm–79 degrees–he mentioned, but he wanted to check in to see if all was well with us back here since we got a serious taste of winter over the past week. (And yes, we’ve been spoiled this season which only made the week more miserable.)

But after we finished our conversation and I was sure both my oldest was in good shape, I thought about the trip my hubby and I made to that same island to celebrate our 11th wedding anniversary. Now you might be wondering why the odd number?

Well, he was a widower who’d been married 10 years when his first wife died tragically. I was a divorced woman who’d stayed 10 years in a marriage before I had the sense and gumption to end it.

Let's celebrate! He's almost done...

So, we both knew we could easily make 10, but 11? Well, if we accomplished that, we deserved to celebrate. We chose a place we’d both always wanted to see but had never been: perfect choice for a couple who had marital baggage.

Plus, a trip like this was on our individual bucket lists. (See, my title does fit.  )

Now, since I’ve been fighting a nagging headache all week, my brain cells have been flitting around faster than dragonflies during a mosquito infestation. So what thought popped into my head?

The comment my hubby made sometime in the last few months (repeated several times since) about having all the items on his bucket list checked off but one and he wasn’t at all sure he’d ever get to do that. What?

The first time he said that, after I picked my multiple chins up from the floor, I asked if he was telling me he was terminal or planning on kicking the bucket which contained his lists sooner than I wanted. He said no but was proud of the fact that he’d done what he wanted with his life.

Well, darn…I’m not that much younger than he is but my list keeps growing and I’ve still got items on it from years ago! So, what’s wrong with this picture, folks? I need some serious help here.

Suggestions please.

Or maybe I need to figure out how I can live to be 150, but look and feel like a healthy, energetic 55 year-old woman. Or maybe…

Do you have any ideas? Help me fill my bucket, please.

A Birthday, A Bottle of Wine, and Snow

Birthday Sunrise

Today, I’ll be guest blogging on Stacey Joy Netzel’s website for her Sunday Share. She asked me to talk about my book Fireweed. She is reading it now and has lots of questions for me to respond to. And as you all know, I love to talk. J And I think you might enjoy reading about how this book came about. Plus I’ll be available to answer questions my answers might inspire. And if that doesn’t entice you, I’ll be giving away a digital version of Fireweed to some lucky commenter who stops by and chats before Wednesday. At least I think that’s the day Stacey set up.

So take a minute and click over to visit me at Stacey’s cyber home today.

This was a busy week. We got our first measurable snowfall of this winter season–really late for Wisconsin. But I can’t complain since my Alaska son and all Alaskans residents are REALLY dealing with snow. When I talked with him on Wednesday night he said they were expecting another minimum 18 inches of the white stuff on top of the already 90 inches on the ground.

Winter patio

Now that’s some snow!

Another reason this was a big week was another birthday for me to chalk up. It was a great one even though it was very low-key. At this point, birthdays to me mean I’ve survived another year and all its experiences and hopefully have grown wise as a result.

Oh, and besides a great meal that my hubby made he also made his famous key lime pie. And we had a very special bottle of wine. It was a spectacular wine: delicious and brought back memories of the perfect day we spent in the Paso Robles area of CA with my brother and his wife doing wine tours. And of course, days and trips such as that one also helped me gather background information for my recent book Seasons of Wine and Love.

Here’s a linkto the boutique winery where we bought this particular bottle of Nadeau Syrah 1997. The vintner even autographed it for us. He also took us into the ageing cellars where he pulled samples of wines not quite ready to move on to the next stage of his life. He gave us a sample of the wine we had for my birthday and when we bought a few bottles because we loved it, he told us to take it home and lay it down for a few years.

What a grand Syrah

Well, I’ll tell you this. He was so right.

So this bottle of wine is significant for many reasons and I’m keeping it forever.

Thanks for stopping by today.

An Island No More

Available January 27, 2012, Romantic Suspense

As many of you know, I am a writer. After all, I blog every Sunday, right?

However, that’s not all I do. Squeezed in between everyday chores such as occasional dusting, baking, ever-demanding loads of laundry and ironing, I also write novels. And get them published. And for those of you who aren’t writers, that’s much more difficult than depicted in movies and on TV.

While I enjoy Castle on Monday nights, especially for the great characters of his daughter Alexis and his flamboyant mother, his life as a writer is really a fantasy. Trust me on this. Our lives should be so exciting and with enough time left over write, revise, and promote best sellers while never worrying about if you can do all this between loads of laundry and fighting crime in NYC.

But I love what I do as a writer so this week during a lunch with friends when I was asked when my next book would be available. That answer prompted additional questions which I also answered because I love to talk about my writing life as much as I love writing. However, my friends were very surprised at just how much time and effort is involved with writing a book which isn’t related to the actual writing.

The next day I heard from three of them saying they didn’t think they would ever want to work that hard. Which is exactly why they love reading books but not writing them. And thank goodness for that! Because if we didn’t have readers, an important element of being a writer wouldn’t happen.

What is that element?

Hearing what readers have to say about our stories. What they liked and additional questions they have. Writers love it when a reader comments on certain characters and why they appealed to that particular reader. Those comments feed a writer’s soul. These comments inspire me anyway to keep at all this hard work. And it is work. But I love it.

That leads me to another exciting moment which happened last week. I heard from my publisher, The Wild Rose Press, that my author copy of my next book, An Island No More, is available. On January 27th, it will be available in their online store, Amazon and Barnes and Noble. Print copies and digital copies will be available.

I love this romantic suspense for many reasons. Maggie, my heroine, is a college professor who’s determined to keep her life the way she wants it to be. But life has a way of interfering with expectations and goals. Maggie has to learn that what she’s worked so hard to achieve may not happen. But other options will, and they might be better.

My hope is this book will appeal to my readers as much as it called to me to write and polish it. It was a book that insisted I get it done, no matter what might be going on in my personal life. No matter how many loads of laundry demanded to be done.

I am a writer; read my book.

2012: A Better Year?

London New Year's Eve 2011

New Years Day. If you believe the Mayan calendar, it will be the last one. So enjoy it.

Maybe sleeping in–if you partied too late or too hard last night.

Or perhaps, you got up early to watch the sunrise. Winter sunrises where I live can be spectacular. But that kind of spectacular event didn’t happen today.

New Year’s Day isn’t just about the birth of a new year. It’s the day when babies are born, especially those special ones we read about every year on January 2nd or late news on January 1st. You know, those first babies of the year.

To Nancy

I have a dear friend who was one of those special babies–or a few years ago–who’s celebrating her birthday today. Knowing her she’s probably hoping the Packers win their last regular season game.  My birthday wish for her is to have a good year, a healthy year, a relatively stress-free daily life.

That would be the best gift other than my forever friendship that I could give her.

New Year’s Day is also a day when people make resolutions. You know those goals or changes individuals write out. Usually those goals relate to becoming better or more successful, either in their personal, professional, emotional, intellectual, family, or spiritual lives. Some people write out goals for all those spheres.

Many of them are never achieved or even remembered after the first week of January. I have my theories about why this happens. But that’s the topic for another blog.

Anyway, I have a few goals for this year. One of them is to identify and write out what’s on my bucket list. I think I’ve reached that time in life where I should really think about doing this. But I’ll have two of them. One will be a bucket list of things to do if my life changes drastically.

The other one will be what I want to achieve if the parameters of my life conditions remain stable. I hope these become the items I achieve. For the most part I like my life and those who are part of it.

So here’s my point–if I have one today. Resolutions, goals, bucket lists–all of them are helpful to reinforce motivation. They provide the framework from which we can direct our daily, weekly, monthly yearly goals and accomplishments occur.

But the unexpected will happen and significantly change a person’s direction in life. Those who are successful realize this and work with it.

Same Time, Next Year?

My wish for all of you is that this coming year sees you all with the energy and verve to achieve your resolutions or goals–and if you’re faced with major changes, you see the opportunity and challenge and use the circumstances to grow and see the implications for creating unexpected adventures in your lives.

Happy New Year.

Christmas Day 2011

Merry Christmas, everyone.

For years I sang in choirs and loved the music of this season. Below is my favorite song sung by Julie Andrews. It’s not one often heard, but is so meaningful for the bittersweet lovely season we are in. I hope you take time to click and listen. It’s so worth it. 

 

 

This last one is for my sisters. Who can’t identify Der Bingle with Christmas and in a much lighter tone than Julie’s. My sisters will no doubt sing this once or twice this holiday season but we don’t limit it to the Christmas season. We rarely use the blue feathers either.

White Christmas? Bah, humbug!

Snow on railings before sunrise

We got our first measurable snow yesterday morning. Measurable—but not so much you had to get out a shovel. Actually a broom handled it just fine unless one wanted to wait until the sun came out to melt the white powdered sugar away.

Now if my Grandpa were still alive, he’d make a note of the date and write it on the calendar.

Then he’d tell me that’s how many measurable snows we’d have this winter. If his theory holds true, I can count on 17 measurable snowfalls this winter season.

Right now, that doesn’t sound awful but measurable can be what we experienced early this morning. Or it could be of blizzard quality.

My Alaska son had one of those last weekend. And that wasn’t the first they’d endured already this winter. Our east coast has already gotten a nasty blizzard just before Halloween. In my book that’s way too soon for such weather.

Now life should be like this White Christmas

But Christmas is next weekend. In this northern climate we often think of Christmas as being white, just as in the song White Christmas. Or the movie by the same name (one of my favorites) with a subplot about no snow which is badly hurting the Vermont ski lodge where a good portion of the movie takes place.

Of course, at the end on Christmas Eve, snow arrives and makes everything gloriously beautiful, white, and very romantic.

I remember another Christmas Eve which started out warm. While our family was celebrating at my sister’s home the temps dropped dramatically. Snow accumulated quickly. The winds whipped up off the lake. That usually means more snow—the heavy, wet variety.

This was one of our first Christmases dealing with our disabled son and his huge, very complex wheel chair. We hadn’t learned yet to be prepared for everything bad to happen, just in case. Power wheelchairs, deep snows, and high winds are a recipe for disaster. Our family learned that lesson that night.

So what happened you’re asking?

The Cousins

Well, my hubby was choir director and I was in the choir. Since we had a short choir practice before the Christmas concert and midnight Mass, we left my sister’s before the others. (We had a caregiver helping us with our son that night and his male cousins were very good at dealing with his wheelchair.) Practice went well, the concert was perfect. But the family never showed. Mass went on and then we headed back to my sister’s. (This is well before cell phones were generally available.)

That drive wasn’t easy and as we turned onto her street was saw our son’s modified van. In a ditch. An ambulance was visible along with tow trucks trying to extricate the van from the drifts and the ditch. My family members were busy trying to help as they could.

No one was hurt. Our disabled son was laughing about the whole situation. So were my nieces and nephews who were about the same age. My sister was consoling my mother who’d missed midnight Mass, my other sister was trying to calm her husband who was upset by the whole incident, and everyone was talking at once while my husband and I were trying to figure out what had happened.

And still the snow came down. And the winds roared. And I was beginning to HATE a white Christmas.

So what happened?

Here’s the scoop. When Stephen, his caregiver, and the rest of the family prepared to leave for church, they realized just how much the weather had deteriorated with all the white stuff. First task was get Stephen loaded into the van; however, his chair broke down when the controls got too wet when he barreled through a drift like he might have with the snowboard he used to use. Well, the chair quit. The cousins pushed the wheelchair (weighs about 250 pounds without him in it) back to the warmth and safety of the garage and then tried to get the van closer. Because the van didn’t have the high clearance for all the snow, it immediately swerved into the ditch.

Everyone went back into the house, scrapping Christmas Mass. Calls were made to a towing service. No one was working on Christmas Eve. The only way to get our son home was to call an ambulance with a gurney which they could lay him on and keep the ventilator functioning properly.

Slow driving on a Christmas Eve night

By the time we got there, the plans were in process. We all finally got home. And that was a hassle getting Stephen into our home without his wheelchair which still didn’t work. So with the cousins extra help, the paramedics got him downstairs and settled into his bed.

By that time our son was hypothermic because he can’t control his body temperature and had been in the cold too long. Thank God, the very competent nurse, a, little woman who weighed maybe 120 pounds and never could have gotten him home alone, knew exactly what to do to warm him up and get him settled in for a long winter’s nap.

No clatter of reindeer hooves or Santa’s sleigh woke him or us that night.

It was a Christmas to remember and to learn from. White Christmases are not always romantic or lovely.

In fact to this day, if we think snow is on the way, we change plans if it means taking our son out on Christmas.

But do I like snow on Christmas? Yeah, probably, as long as it’s gone in a few days.  What about you?

And to all, finally, a good night...

Bittersweet December

Painful but Pretty

December is one third completed. How can this be? Didn’t I just turn the calendar over from November to December?

But December has happened, and I have to say these first eleven days of December have brought both great sadness and monumental joy.

The month started off with an email from a dear friend. The email was very short but its message devastating. Her husband had died quite suddenly during the night. As I read this email I pictured him as I saw him last. My husband and I shared a lovely lunch together when they visited us. I will always remember this lunch and those few hours the four of us shared.

My heart aches for my friend. My husband has had several very close calls with his health and I’ve lain awake many nights making sure he’s breathing. I’ve spent too many nights in hospitals wondering if he would pull through. I’ve always been thankful that he’s survived those times. I don’t know why. But I feel my friend’s loss, perhaps because I’ve felt the whisper of what she’s enduring and by a miracle escaped.

But December is not an easy month for me and this recent death solidifies that fact. You might ask why?

Ed & Grace

Because December has claimed too many people I dearly love.

First of all, my beloved Grandpa, Ed. He died quite suddenly during a blizzard while he was shoveling snow. The date? December 23, 1959. Christmas wasn’t really Christmas that year though it was a holiday he loved celebrating. Why was he shoveling snow? Because he couldn’t miss work—that wasn’t in his nature, and it was to be his last day before he retired.

I had helped him shop for Grandma the week before and then I wrapped his gifts for her. We were all devastated by his loss.

My dearest Grandma, Grace, Ed’s wife also died in December. But several years later in 1976 on the 13th. I remember she called earlier that day and asked me to stop by after my night class. I did and what she wanted was to give me a few very old photos that she’d written who the people were and about when the photos were taken. We talked about them. Two hours after I left her, I got the call to get to the hospital. She lived a few more hours, long enough for me to speak briefly with her.

And then she was gone. That was awful. Another not-so-great Christmas. A terrible December. The only good part? I know my grandpa was waiting for her and she’d missed him all those years he wasn’t with her. But as a family we needed her during those years. I guess that was God’s plan.

Perhaps the most difficult unexpected death, however, was my son, John. December 22, 1999. He was far too young to die. My grandpa never held John in his arms; he would have had he lived. My grandma held him, loved him, watched him grow to a teen–always with a smile on his face, a deep love for his family and Christmas. But oh, how that loss still haunts me, especially during December.

So December has often been the cruelest of months for me and my family.

Zach--just a few hours old

But this past week—a joyful event occurred. My dear niece and her husband welcomed the birth of a son, Zachary Charles. Family members are already referring to him as Zach. This anticipated babe joins his big sister who was also born in December. Thank goodness for these two precious children. The joy they bring eases the sadness of the month.

So my message this week?

Life is bittersweet. The bitter makes us strong. The sweet gives us the courage to be strong.

Birthday Women–Pure Platinum

For Stella and Ella

Two very special women are celebrating their birthdays. My world is better for knowing both of them. I’m quite sure others who know them feel the same. While I can’t be with them today, I’m with them in my thoughts and I’m remembering the times I’d see them regularly.

Stella came into my life first. My mother taught her children. Her family attended the same church my family did. She taught at the college my brother attended and she was one of his professors. When I started back to college part time, I would nod at her and she’d nod at me. After all, we did see each other in church. She knew who I was. I knew who she was.

Then my life fell apart. My husband and I separated after 10 years of marriage; I was basically single parenting three young boys and trying to support them on a work/study job which only allowed me to work ten hours per week. Just prior to this, Stella was promoted at the college and became the head of her division. She heard I needed a job or I’d likely have to drop out of school. Now if my personal life was a mess, my academic life wasn’t. I was doing very well, exceeding in all my classes.

Ella--tiny and terrific

Well, one day just as I got home from picking up my sons from school the phone rang. The caller was Stella’s assistant. She indicated Stella suggested she talk to me as she needed some help in the office. She would like to interview me for some work in the office. Could we establish a time to discuss what she wanted.

That assistant was Ella, the other birthday woman today.

Ella offered me the job. While I worked in that office under her direction, Ella taught me so much. I have used that knowledge in so many ways with every task and in every position I have held since then. She was a mentor, a friend, a woman to admire. I owe Ella. And she holds a very special place in my heart. Working full time around my classes and on the same campus made my life much easier.

While taking classes, I was able to take several from Stella. I not only learned grammar, writing skills, and literature from her, I watched and learned how she handled her classes, interacted with her students, displayed her deep love of her subject in such a way she pulled her students into her world and learning became a powerful adventure.

She became professor, mentor, friend. But I never called her Stella until I started teaching and she offered me a part time position teaching writing. But I still found it difficult not to call her by her title. She’s that inspirational.

When I left the college to pursue graduate work in another city, my days of interacting daily with two women ceased. But not our friendship. Not what I owe them for aiding me on my journey to become the woman I am. (The photos today were taken at the “goodbye” gathering on my last day of work.)

Stella and Me

Stella and Ella are pure platinum. These days their hair color reflects their inner worth. I am honored I had my time in your very special worlds.

So a very happy birthday, Stella and Ella, my two platinum friends. And thank you so much for taking me under your wings and into your hearts when you did.

Ella and me

Now Here’s a Thought…

Thank goodness, another sunrise...

Several years ago I went through a reading phase where I read many books by women mostly who pondered elements in lives, some dealt with past lives, some mired in the present, some determined to share the path they thought most valuable to attain the future we all wanted. The writers wrote to appeal to the all inclusive we.

However, I believe for most of them they were mired in the I perspective. I had no problem with that; in fact many of the books gave me something to chew on. I can’t say that any of them became my guidebook for living. My mother might refer to that as my stubborn nature.

Maybe I am.

But while I’m an educated woman and I’ve read an incredible number of books, from mind numbing academic texts and treatises to commercial fiction, from books dealing with religions and their philosophies, from biographies to cookbooks, and everything in between, not one of them has totally changed my life.

None of them by themselves turned me into a better woman, a wiser woman, a more caring individual.

Maybe because I’m stubborn as Mom always said.

Am I sorry I read all those books, some more than once?

Of course not. In some way, in a measure larger or smaller depending on the book, its contents became useful to me—if only as a measure of what I didn’t like and agree with.

So as I ponder my life what has made me wiser, better, more caring? Maybe even more stubborn?

Don’t laugh when I tell you. And please don’t think I’m simplistic and dismiss the idea I put forth. But the most influential learning tool I’ve had is my life experiences and all that encompasses.

That means first of all accepting life is full of personal pratfalls—and I’ve had many. Literally. But if I don’t get up, dust myself off, and keep moving on, well, I haven’t learned a thing. In one particular case of taking a well-witnessed fall, I learned always to watch where I was walking, hang on to my skirt (that’s another story), and wear sensible shoes.

To paraphrase Frank Sinatra’s “My Way” (and my brother Jerry’s favorite song), mistakes, I’ve made huge ones. But I learned to learn from them, analyze them, figure out what I was responsible for so I could change it, and then work on that. I also learned to be wary of situations similar to my mistake so I could avoid them or prepare to deal with them in a better way.

Did I learn from them?

In both the above examples, I’m sure many of those books helped me come to my conclusions and knowledge gained from the experiences. However, I don’t think those concepts would have been as meaningful to me had I not been able to apply them to real life situations. My real life.

We’ve all heard that old saying, “Walk a mile in my shoes and then judge me.” Some of us may have used it. I’d like to alter it a bit and to say something like “If I walk a mile in my shoes with my eyes and mind wide open, I will learn more about me and life.”

Or maybe it’s that stubborn nature my mom talked about with me.

Stubborn nature or not, here’s my thought for the week: The more days we live, the more we walk/live a life. The more we learn. So treasure each day, each experience along the way. Do you agree?

Uncle Jim: A Thanksgiving Memory

Late November 2011 sunrise

I’m posting late today, but my reason is I’ve been busy caring for my disabled son. He’s a vent dependent quadriplegic—think Christopher Reeve a.k.a Superman. Neither one was disabled by Kryptonite but falls. Different circumstances for my son and Christopher Reeve, but the result was the same—a catastrophic life change. Neither one of them would ever be able to do anything for themselves again.

Catastrophic for the injured party. Catastrophic for their families.

In our case one of the consequences is that if we can’t leave him alone and often must miss events or appointments if we can’t get help with caring for him. Sometimes we can’t plan on this. People get sick, have accidents, die. That often messes with a schedule or free time.

So do holidays and vacations.

And this week in November has Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving week and Christmas/New Years are always difficult. But several years ago, 2002 I think, my uncle and godfather died on this day. I was caring for my son and wouldn’t be able to get to Minnesota for his funeral or to the small farming community in Iowa where he would be buried. I felt so bad then about that. I still do.

But I knew then and still do, that he understood why I wasn’t there. By staying positive about my responsibilities to my son I was honoring him in a manner he always understood. He practiced it himself. And by his example he passed that characteristic on.

Uncle Jim and me

Of course, he had a fantastic example in his father and mother. Both were always about family and being nurturers. My grandfather even extended that to his occupation as a farmer. Hed nurtured his land and his animals as he did his family and his friends.

As an adult my uncle and I lived a great distance from each other. However, my connection and deep affection for him never faltered. I loved his quiet sense of humor. I admired how hard he worked in his life to provide the best life possible for his family. I loved that he always honored his parents; I adored them.

I remember as a little girl and before he married, he tried to quit smoking. He always had a carrot in his pocket or a toothpick. I suspect he started smoking when he was in the service during WWII because my grandfather hated the smoking habit.

My Uncle Jim was younger than my mom but always her big brother. She loved him dearly In the last few months of her life when I was staying with her at night, she would talk of her brother and different experiences they shared growing up. A few days before she died she mentioned she was ready because she would soon be with those who went before her, especially Jim and my dad.

And that reminds me of another part of Uncle Jim. He helped me to understand my father and the complex man that he was. They were very different Uncle Jim and my dad. But they respected each other. They loved each other. Uncle Jim told me once he’d never forget that my dad drove my Gram, Uncle Jim’s mother, to Minnesota when Uncle Jim was very ill. He reminded me my dad had a sense of family and I should never forget it. (Sometimes that wasn’t easy with my dad and me)

Uncle Jim. Dad, Mom

And another special memory I treasure concerns a strawberry milkshake. I was at the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota and had endured two extensive and very long surgeries on my back. I’d not been able to keep any food down for over a week. The result—I wasn’t starting to heal. My uncle and aunt came down for the weekend. My mom who was staying up there to be near me was very worried. Uncle Jim had his usual calming effect and after about half an hour, he slipped from the room and returned later with milkshakes. Mom had strawberry so he got a tiny one for me. Just in case.

He teased me in his own special way, trying to get me to at least taste it. I had to try. After all, Uncle Jim asked.

That shake tasted so good. Even better it stayed down. Before he left the next day, he managed to get another one down me. Two weeks later I was finally able to go home.

I swear that shake was what started my healing process. Thank you, Uncle Jim.

So every year, Thanksgiving comes around. Every year I’m spending more time with my son. And every year I think of Uncle Jim and how he helped shape me to be the caregiver I’ve become. It’s tradition. It’s family. I’m thankful I had Uncle Jim in my life.

So who are you especially thankful for having been part of your life?