The Happy Six and Me

Sometimes you meet a person and you feel instantly connected. I had that experience this past Friday except it was with six people.  I’ll refer to them as the Happy Six going forward.

The Happy Six invited me to attend their book club this month.  They read Eyes on the Horizon and wanted to discuss it with me. I think I may have learned more about the book from them than they learned from me. The experience was wonderful and it solidified my love of writing – specifically novels. I fell back in love with my characters simply because the Happy Six got to meet them – kind of like introducing two people you absolutely love and seeing how they hit it off and understand them to the depth you understand them. Kind of like that.

I introduced Claudia to the Happy Six with trepidation and a smidge of anxiety. After all, she’s quite mental throughout the book – sad, self-destructive, and depleted of hope.  They loved her.

I introduced Rose and Brooke, Maddie and Henry, and a couple psychiatrists, along with a real loser, Nigel. They liked all the characters. They may not have liked Nigel but they understood his role in the story and unfortunately, recognized that there are people like him in the world.

None of them hesitated to share their opinions or stories of grief and trauma. Everyone is grieving in some way, everyone is experiencing some kind of trauma. Everyone needs empathy, sympathy, and the acknowledgment that they're not alone in their journey. 

As we talked about the characters in Eyes in the Horizon, I observed the new characters in my life. The Happy Six is happy because they move together like hockey players on the ice.

There’s Lorie. She's sweet, smart, and full of entertaining stories that her daughter, Briana, flavors with some of the funniest quips I’ve heard in a long time. The love between them is obvious and Briana uses it to drive her mother nuts and at the same time, comfort her. It was a joy to observe. And it was also a joy to observe Briana’s love of teaching. I was happy to see she had a kinship with my character Rose because of it.

Louise was very warm, very kind, and so open and honest with her own stories and experiences that I got the idea she needed a pen and some paper to write them all down so she can share them with the world. 

Bridget was quiet, observing everything; and quick to nod and smile as she listened to her friends talk. And they talk a lot! I loved it. I loved the way Bridget absorbed the compliments from her friends as she embarks on saying yes to the dress - acknowledging their excitement but clear that "she'll know when she knows". I can’t imagine she’ll look anything but beautiful in whatever she wears.

Martha entered the room with a confidence and aura of contentment that almost seemed unusual given the amount of children she has! Franklin, her wee baby, does look like her, and has the coolest name I’ve heard in a long time. I absolutely loved her viewpoints about the book – especially because she liked it! – because she wasn’t shy about offering her opinion of Nigel, Brooke, and the ending. 

Last but certainly not least, Rochelle. She is quietly sweet and kind, empathetic in a way that makes everyone else in the room comfortable. I loved the comments she made about the book, but I also loved the way she made me feel welcome from the very first moment we greeted each other in Lorie’s driveway. Before we started discussing the book, she handed me a basket filled with Buffalo goodies from the Happy Six . Chocolates – sponge candy!, a beautifully scented candle, a Bills bracelet – Go Bills!, a Buffalo tumbler, bath essentials and a bottle of champagne.

Warmth.

Welcoming.

Wonderful.

I asked to become an honorary member of their book club and will attend whenever I’m in Buffalo and they’re meeting up. I intend to read along with them as I now have a new set of friends.  The Happy Six and me. 

It's Not Over, It's Just Beginning

I wonder if my best writing is behind me. I wrote Eyes on the Horizon amid great mourning. My heart was broken, my marriage was disintegrated, my day-to-day consisted of existing for the next day without doing something stupid and messing it all up. The years flew by. The kids, now grown, grew up while I existed in this weird place of growth.

I did grow. I learned that people you think you love sometimes suck. I learned that the ideal job doesn’t last when the company decides to accept the payout. I learned that cars break down, dogs die, houses sell, court cases are lost, and tears get shed.

Years of this. Years and years of all these ups and downs. The days where you fall asleep with a smile on your face because, well, “it was a good day.”

I’ve cried with characters that I made up in my mind! That’s amazing.

Yet, I do wonder if my best writing is behind me.

Maybe I’ve cried my last tear, felt my last giggle, killed my last annoying-in my face-buzzing and laughing fly, lost my last pound, cared about my last wrinkle, written my final email…

That’s how life is right? You don’t know if this is the last of all of it – good, bad, stress, love, fear, laughter, beauty, darkness, solitude, or merriment.

Maybe it’s all behind me now.

Maybe falling in love and laughing until my sides hurt with my very best friend made me this way.  Maybe this awesomeness made me a bad writer and I’ll never be able to soar again… to feel the speeding heart, the oxytocin in my brain waves, the thrill of zapping that annoying fly.

A second ago, I went outside and called for my cat, and my anxiety is sometimes so bad that I think, “Damn, the hawk got him” and I just think that the pain of losing him will be so horrible and I think about breaking the news to Paige & Tony and telling them, “I think the hawk got Goose”. Then I walked inside and started writing.

Goose just jumped on my lap and now I’m happy, and smiling again because the things I think in my head always seem to be worse than my reality. Until they’re not. And maybe the joy of seeing him after I experienced the darkness of my thoughts is how I exist now.

That’s messed up, no?

I’m happy these days. Happy that I finally got the courage to publish Eyes on the Horizon. Happy every time I nail an email at work and “get it” and “feel it” and know that I’m an asset; happy with every message I get that says, “I read your book in two days. I couldn’t put it down;” happy to see smiles on my own face. Happy. And anxious and worried. And anticipating, always anticipating that the dark cloud is going to stop and sit over top of me.

Life itself.

But right now, I’m happy.  I saw Springsteen in concert on Saturday at Nationals Stadium in D.C. and… well, my soul, my spirit, my joy was soaring and still is. Bruce is and always will be my muse, my hero, and a very close friend.  

I’m not done writing. I’m just getting started. Play the songs, Bruce!

Waah, waah, waah. I'm hideous

 Who knew the release of a book came with emotional baggage? Since announcing the release of Eyes on the Horizon and then seeing it for sale online, my nights have become sleepless. Is it good enough? Will my readers understand what I'm trying to say? Did I say it clearly?

The answer to each of these questions is YES! and NO! and I DON'T KNOW!

It took a minute, but I had the epiphany that not all the readers will like it or understand it.  And I'll never know if I said it clearly because as Einstein might stay, clearly is relative.

But enough about the book. I'll have plenty of time to ruminate about that. I want to talk about the emotional baggage that I've been carrying for so many years and thought I had shed. The baggage is there, stuffed into plastic garbage bags, taken to the street and dropped at the dump for a time... all  those secret (not so secret from my husband and loved ones) insecurities that rear their ugly heads just when I think I've beaten them down and dumped them.

I'm in my 50s for crying out loud! Enough with the emotional baggage and whiny insecurities. Yet, I think it's the human condition.

I'm late to the game but I've been binging Game of Thrones. It was popular for a reason because it highlights that human condition. The fear that breeds evil, the need for power that never abolishes the deep insecurities. And there are quite a few psychopaths in there. I cheer when they're shamed or sliced or beaten. I cheer when the good overcomes. I cry every time a freaking dire wolf yelps.

Prior to this binge, I watched Ted Lasso. It is and will always be one of  my favorite shows because the human condition is highlighted there as well.  All the weird things we say and do to keep our secrets hidden until one day - or many days - they're not. It's full of joy and kindness, fear and worry. It's the kind of show that needs to be made. Happy tears, poignant tears and hearty laughs.

What was it that made me so unsure of myself? So replete with doubt that I freeze in a swirl of thoughts and anxiety?

I remember going to a Tony Robbins event one time. It was when I was at the peak of my insecurities and I wanted to banish them forever.  We were put into groups of three and the instructions were to make a statement about yourself that you believe is true but others may not see or even know you think it.  My statement was: "I'm so fat and ugly, and I'll never accomplish anything."

How's that for horrible?

Anyway, we were told to make the statement and then have the other two people react to it.  I made the statement and one of the people responded by saying, "Oh my God, you're not fat or ugly. You can do anything!" Very sweet, indeed.

The other person put his hands to his sides, lowered his head and shoulders and in the whiniest voice I ever heard said, "Oh poor me. I'm so fat and so ugly and I'll never accomplish anything." He sort of stomped his foot and then wailed like a baby. "Waaah, waah, waah, I'm horrible. Hideous!"  

He repeated it until we were all bent over laughing. 

It was the best lesson I've ever gotten about self-esteem and it depleted about 85% of my insecurities from that day forward. 

The remaining 15% are vicious,  I won't lie. Yet, when I start to feel lousy, I think in a whiny voice "Waah, waah, waah. I'm hideous." It breaks it for me and I'll forever be grateful to the stranger who made fun of me.

So I'm anxious about the book and about people's reactions to it. Waah.

People may hate it. Waah.

People may love it. Yeah?

People may need it. Yeah?

I wrote a book and became vulnerable in those pages. I shared a part of myself, a part of the human condition that messed me up, a part of the human condition that helped me soar. 

I wrote a book and released it out into the world. 

I'm halfway done with book number 2. It's about dogs. Lots and lots of dogs. Yeah?

Yeah.

 

Book Release

 Eyes on the Horizon: Available June 1, 2024

Back in 2008, I started writing Eyes on the Horizon. It was the story of a young, whiny, angsty woman and I wrote the last page first, pretty much word for word, because I knew how I wanted her to emerge from the 300+ pages before.

In 2009, my brother Jeff died of a hemorrhagic stroke at the age of 38. I put the manuscript in a drawer and left it.

I picked it back up in early 2010 and wrote the majority of it. I workshopped it at a writer’s retreat in July of 2010 and it was nearly complete. My angsty protagonist was growing up. I was so excited.

Two weeks after I returned from that trip, my father died tragically. Then my Aunt Carolyn died followed by my Uncle Jim. Two more profound losses.

The book went back into a drawer.

I didn’t look at it again until 2013, and when I did, I scrapped 90% of it (keeping the last page) and started over. The writing in that first iteration seemed so meaningless, so fluffy, so small compared to the immense grief I was feeling inside.

It evolved.

Writing Eyes on the Horizon became my covert way of processing the deaths of Jeff and Dad. As I wrote it, I thought more and more about those who had died, how they had died and who they left behind; and I think, sharing my pain and my grief on these pages – albeit fictionally and dramatically – is necessary to help others tap into their own. The opening quote of the book is from Earl Grollman and summarizes what I’m trying to say here:

 

Grief is not a disorder, a disease, or a sign of weakness. It is an emotional, physical, spiritual necessity, the price you pay for love. The only cure for grief is to grieve.

 

When I finally got the book proof, I reread it. I’d only read it 100 times before, but as a whole book, I read it with fresh eyes. I’d change it, of course. I’d add details and cut some of it, but for me, it’s not really about the finished product. It’s about where I am now compared to where I was when I started writing it.

I became who I was meant to be while writing it; and I’m happy to know they live on and on; and I am so grateful for the love I feel. I hope Eyes on the Horizon touches you in some way and allows you to share your grief because sharing it helps.

Happy Birthday, Tim!

The day was June 16^th. It wasn’t quite summer in Buffalo, and if we’re honest, the snow piles were probably still melting at the end of the driveway like icecaps.  Like the birds, the humans wanted to mate after a long, cold winter.

Nine months later, and voila.  Another child born in the ‘70s.

My birthday is March 8^th, and many of you have probably done the math and thought, “Ew, she was thinking about her parents conceiving her.”

I wasn’t.

I was thinking about Tim’s parents conceiving him. Ew. That didn’t come out right. I wasn’t thinking about anyone mating, I was thinking about the day and the weather not the act of conception. Ew.

For the past 30-35 years on this day, I say “Happy Birthday, Tim” within minutes of waking. He doesn’t know it and I’ve probably posted on his FB timeline a few times over the years, but without a doubt, I’ve wished him a happy birthday every March 7^th since I can remember.

We were classmates forever.  His birthday is March 7^th, mine is March 8^th. One more day! One more day!

It started innocently enough during our birthday week. He brought in cupcakes, I brought in cupcakes. I imagine as we got into high school, he pilfered alcohol and cigarettes from his parents or his friends’ parents, I pilfered alcohol and cigarettes from my parents or my friends’ parents… it was a magical cycle through the years.

I suppose his birthday started the countdown to mine. Okay, Tim’s birthday is coming up. We’ll get the party started with him and then we’ll end it with mine. But it didn’t end with mine.  We still had Heb’s and then Missy’s birthday to celebrate in March. What a glorious week in cupcake/alcohol/cigarettes land!

I was always excited to get to my birthday. Not so much for presents, but because I knew the dark days of January and February were over. The birds chattered, the sun rose higher, the school year was nearly halfway done and it would be summer! The icecaps would be long gone… unless they weren’t; and overall, moods brightened. 

All because it was my birthday!

Happy Birthday, Tim.

Canis Lupus

Other than February 14^th being a kinda, sorta made up holiday, it is also the anniversary of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre where seven people – six of which were rivals of Al Capone’s gang, were murdered in Chicago. It’s strange to know that this happened 95 years ago in 1929!  95!  Two amazing things about this (to me) – 1) this historic date happened years before my parents were born yet they know who Al Capone was, and 2) I did the math in my head and I suck at math.

I spent a few minutes this morning thumbing through a magazine I bought last week : The History of Dogs.  It’s hard to believe that the domestication of dog breeding happened between 10,000 and 40,000 years ago. Yeah, that's a big space between years. Wouldn’t you just go with 40,000 years ago? I asked the same question and found that the dogs/wolves/canines that were domesticated didn’t live through the ice age. They went extinct just like the wooly mammoth. Duh.

Anyway, there is evidence of dogs (i.e. domesticated wolves) and humans spooning in gravesites together. And there is evidence that about five domesticated lineages existed at the time of the ice age.

Dogs have been bred and domesticated from wolves, foxes, and dingoes, but all dogs trace back to an extinct wolf species shared with the gray wolf: Canis lupus.

The descendants of the gray wolves we now know mate for life.  They have monogamous relationships and flirt with each other, nuzzle their snouts and bump their bodies together.  Of course, the male alpha and the female alpha in any pack have their pick of the litter during mating season. Semantics.

Other animals that mate for life: Sandhill Cranes, Beavers, Bald Eagles and of course, Macaroni Penguins where their joy at seeing one another is evident because they jump up and down, do chest bumps and flap their wings. Interestingly, the male stays at home with the kids while the mama hunts.  

Then we have the Gibbons, monkey-like creatures that mate for life with the occasional side tryst, break-up and make-up. They share a mutual need and understanding to coparent their offspring. 

Being that it’s Valentine’s Day, I fell into an article about love between humans and dogs. Did you know both humans and dogs produce oxytocin when they stare into each other’s eyes? I had no idea but now it makes sense why it’s impossible not to smile when your dog greets you at the door with their tails wagging and their bodies moving.  My Gracie used to smile when she saw me! That memory makes me smile just thinking about it.   

To end this, here is a picture I snapped of my boy while I was on a conference call:

 
 This is the picture I took about two minutes later, still on a conference call:

 
 He wanted to go for a walk and kept creeping closer. 

Happy Valentine's Day. 

My Default

 I wish I knew how to make the font Times New Roman the default font on Word. I’m sure there is a way to do it, I just haven’t figured it out; and it’s weird, but I dislike Calibri (body) because it’s the “go-to” font for everything.

I guess the morning hours are supposed to be about writing what comes to mind. If the font in Word is the first sentence then either I’m problem-free, not very intelligent, or avoiding something. I’ll go with the latter, but who knows?

I spent the better part of three hours trying to get to sleep last night. It could be because I play silly games in my bed, sitting askew on my pillows until my shoulder starts to hurt, and then try to fall asleep. I can’t seem to get anything to pull me away from the game. It’s another way to avoid things, I suppose. My heart starts to pound so fast in some moments that I think something is wrong and random pictures come to mind and I start to panic.  Then I inhale through my nose, long exhale out of my mouth a few times and my heart calms. Then I get scared that it calmed too quickly and oh no, what if it stops?

What is that? I mean, I know it’s anxiety but why?  Is it because I’ve failed to write every day – essentially gave it up for a few years in the early morning hours and because of that, my brain rewired itself to have panic be the default emotion?

I recall my early mornings before the kids got up, before the sun stretched it’s arms and yawned, before the birds peeped. Of course, my early morning consisted of a couple cigarettes and some big cups of coffee. It also included many words on paper, mostly about love and sharing kindness. It was my way of finding gratitude without mentioning gratitude or the need to find it.

I love that the Buffalo Bills players have the phrase Be Love on their helmets. I recall saying something similar. Show love, give love, be love. I remember using my label maker to write out the phrase and paste it to my refrigerator so I would repeat it a few times a day. It was so the kids read it too.

It seems a bit naïve now – 10 or 12 years later, but I don’t think it is. I think I was at a place in my life all those years ago where I needed to grow and from all the ignorance I had as a young(er) adult came the knowledge that I was imperfect, vincible (is that the opposite of invincible?), mortal and in need of a shit ton of love.

All those years ago. All those lessons I learned. That faith. It was so strong, so real, so necessary. I fell back on faith and landed softly.

Was I still a nervous fool? I think I was, but I don’t recall fretting over a lack of sleep. But I probably did.

I miss cigarettes right now. But at 51, it’s a habit I can’t have, especially since I’m so out of shape.

Yeah, I’d write, smoke, sip coffee, find faith, spout love and kindness and then I’d greet the children with joy, get them off to school, and start my day. I’d work out, get ready for work and be in the office vibrant and happy – even if I was broken inside, I always showed nicer. 

Kind of like Calibri and Times New Roman. 

For the past few years, Calibri has been my default. It’s fine. It’s convenient, it shows up regularly, it’s a bit rounder, and it’s what the majority of people use because it’s conveniently the default. But I don’t really like it. I tolerate it, sure. I use it conveniently, lazily. But Times New Roman is where it’s at. It’s slender, tighter, and reminiscent of my “finding Carrie” days. 

I’m going to switch it to be my default, minus the cigarettes.