Kudos to Jill

The local morning paper held a surprise today. Right there on the front page was a familiar face. Not the people and pets photo – the “Moving forward by looking to the past” article on the right hand side. I was so excited to see this article that I almost choked on my coffee.

Jill Morris teaches memoir classes. I am pleased to be a part of her advanced writer’s group which will resume this fall. She’s a fantastic teacher but for quite some time we wondered if she was ever going to get her memoir on the market. “It’s coming out soon,” she’d say. We waited patiently. Finally the release announcement came to my inbox.

I ordered “Eating the Walls Breaking free from the ghosts of the past” on Amazon, expedited delivery since I couldn’t wait another day – plus I was leaving on vacation and definitely needed to take it with me. If it were on Kindle, I would have read it that night. I am woefully addicted to instant gratification. Jill assures me it will be available on Kindle later. Meanwhile, I packed the paperback edition in my carryon and devoured it between beach visits. You know how people go to Kauai and come back with golden tans? Could I blame my lily white tones on this memoir?

The book is all that I expected from Jill. It’s a powerful and inspirational story of moving forward after the tragedy of her husband’s suicide. Her narrative is a fascinating portrayal of this journey with her two small children. Grief and humor cross the seas. I’ll be looking forward to her next memoir.

Now back to those classes Jill teaches. Her book is out. You know her style. Her encouragement and gentle critique will entice you to finish yours.

The Nameless One

Truth is I experienced a moment of insanity shortly after Christmas. My heart ached for JJ during winter vacation. His friends were all out of town, Santa sent the wrong gifts, and on top of that he had to deal with the mingling of dysfunctional family personalities over holiday meals. Suddenly I had this great idea that a new kitten would bring moods of elation back into the house. And so we went on a kitten hunt.

Kittens are sparse in January. The youngest at our local shelter was six months old. “I want a kitten. One that will grow old with me,” JJ insisted. We called all the pet stores with adoption signs. No one had anything young than a year. I called a friend who works with feral cats. “We have three little black kitties just ready for adoption,” the lady said. She continued, “they are loving, sweet and feisty. Their mother abandoned them. You could take all three.”

We went to visit the lady. JJ fell for the runt kitten, a dainty little girl, a bit timid but warming up to him as we spoke. A week later we went back and picked her up. “What’s her name?” I asked. JJ didn’t respond.

We decided we would call her “the nameless one” until she developed a personality. We posted her kinky tailed photo on Facebook asking for suggestions. While they are all appropriate descriptions, none of them came near her personality traits. Shadow, Blacky, Smokey, Natasha, Cocoa, B&B, Ebony, Mystic, Smolder, Bitimunous, Amber, Cinnamon, Superwoman, Kinky. All good suggestions but she just didn’t answer to them.

From the picture above, one might want to name her Bright Eyes. But look a little closer. Look under the rocking chair she is so precariously clinging to. This is just one small piece of evidence that her name could be Destructo. Touring our house, I can come up with a few more – Shatter (broken glass), Litter Queen or Sh*t Disturber (thinking out of the box), Psycho (night terrors), Rug Rags (shredded carpet), Pensive (where have all my pens gone?), Curtains (shredded), Photo Bomber (see photo album), Infinity (the figure eights at my ankles to trip me), Xfinity (remote control), Disdress (closet alterations)… and the list goes on.

Maybe I’ll name her when she reaches the senility of Wanda cat. Notice I said “I’ll name her.” Yes, I have been granted guardianship of this cat that JJ no longer allows in his room. Thank God we didn’t take all three.

20 Minutes and Turkeys

Returning to California summer after eight days of tropical greenery and wide open beaches of Kauai shocks the body into reality. Temps reached 100 here today. It seems hotter than the humid 85 in Kauai. I long to plunge into the ocean. I’d settle for a pool which gives me second thoughts about the burial of our pool a few years ago.

The sunrise alarm of Kauai’s colorful roosters is replaced with these turkey youngsters outside my bedroom window calling for their mom. They spent the morning with cries of abandonment. Maybe mama turkey couldn’t take it anymore. Maybe she needed a morning off. Late morning we heard her call, far off down the hillside. I watched the young ones mindfully waddle down the driveway.

So why did I include “20 Minutes” in my title? Because the last four weeks I committed to the exercise of writing 20 minutes a day. Everyday but Sunday. I managed to do this in spite of an eight day vacation proving to myself that I can find 20 minutes out of 24 hours. Not always easy, and sometimes writing into the late hours, but the course is complete. I thank my instructor, Len, from Story Circle Network for offering this class. Len offers a binder full of lessons, generous feedback and gentle reminders. If you need inspiration, go there. Check it out. You won’t be disappointed.

I can’t promise 20 Minutes a day posted here. My priority is to finish the first draft of my memoir before Labor Day. But, you can be sure I will be writing 20 minutes a day somewhere.

I think I hear the turkeys calling. Later.

Beautiful Kauai

Contemplation

The View

Aloha and Mahalo

When JJ heard that grandma was going to Kauai again there was a tense moment of rebellion. “Why can’t I ever go with you?” he asked. Funny, children never remember when they have accompanied you on trips. I gently reminded him of our trip across country to Virginia to see Uncle Don and Aunt Bonnie. I pointed to the scrapbook from our Alaskan cruise. “But I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii,” he says, arms crossed. I assured him that his day would come.

Plans changed a bit. One of our friends couldn’t go and our hostess offered JJ the spot. Who could say no? We bought the tickets. And plans changed again. This time our friend said she worked it out and could now come on the trip. A bit of trepidation ensued when JJ found out he’d now be traveling with three grandmas. Eight days is a lot of time for a thirteen-year-old to hang with three old ladies.

We managed to pull it off. JJ got his own room high up in the loft. We got the run of downstairs. We wore him out each day – shopping, snorkeling, shopping, eating, shopping, snorkeling, traveling around the island, shopping, snorkeling, eating. We’d end the day with an hour in the swimming pool. JJ escaped to the loft for refuge and slept nearly ten hours each night. We are tough old ladies.

The biggest challenge was catering to his dietary whims – for the most part. He had a brief change of heart about diet once we sent him 1/2 mile up the street to Taco Bell for breakfast on a hot, humid morning and he returned with two cheeseburgers from Burger King because Taco Bell doesn’t open until 11am. Our explanation of Hawaiian time fell on deaf ears. Bubba Burger was 1/2 mile the other direction and that became the favorite fast food of choice. Next time he may eat what we eat. For the month of July he has agreed to thirty-one days of no fast food. We shall see.

Snorkeling was the highlight. With rented gear JJ had a quick snorkeling lesson in the pool and we were off to the beaches. First up was Lydgate Beach Park, an area with two enclosed ponds, perfect for beginners. For a kid who only had one two week swim lesson session in his entire life, JJ surprised us with his ability to outswim any of us. Snorkeling is now his favorite sport.

We moved on to Poipu where we returned three times. It was the best – except for one day – the day we crossed the sandbar to the adventurous side of the beach. Maybe a little too exhausted and heading back to shore, a huge wave plunged us over to the rocky area. A little banged up, JJ missing one fin and the snorkel gear, we bumped and scooted our way to shore, a big lesson to be learned. An expensive lesson.

Moala’a Bay was the favorite beach. I promised my friend I wouldn’t advertise this one. It’s mostly private, not so easy to get to, but the most beautiful beach we visited. While it was lovely to bask in the sun there, on this particular day, it was too risky to snorkel. We tried to follow the channel out to the reefs but wind and waves warned us not to proceed. Don’t go there 🙂

Did I mention we went shopping? I tried my best to fill up that extra thirteen pounds of space in my suitcase but bottom line, I added only five pounds to the suitcase, five pounds to my body and a weighted fistful of charge slips. Of course we absolutely needed everything we purchased. JJ caught on to the math quickly – one gift for grandpa – two gifts for us – one gift for daddy – two gifts for us – one gift for mommy – two gifts for us.

While it was the adventure of a lifetime for JJ, I think he is happy to be home cuddled up with his nameless cat. JJ survived eight days of three grandmas and questions their ability to agree on anything. We three old ladies survived the teenager the only way we knew how:

FB_IMG_1466485876307

Circle Way

Years ago, sometime in the 1990s, I had the privilege to attend the Women’s Dream Quest at Grace Cathedral. It was during this time of much strife and uncertainty that I discovered the labyrinth in this cavernous gothic cathedral. Not knowing what to expect I entered this sacred space nervous and scared but hopeful of finding a sense of spiritual peace. Sleeping bags, pillows and overnight bags lined up against one wall, eighty women gathered around the labyrinth for the opening ceremony.

I took my place in the circle, skepticism growing as we began with chants, songs and dance. Not being gifted with a pleasant singing voice or rhythm to dance I followed in awkward evolution hoping no one would notice I wasn’t verbalizing the words. When the time came to draw cards for smaller group assignments, I was relieved and yet worried knowing I would have to participate. I was assigned to the turtle group. My first thought was at least I can stay hidden within the shell.

We tossed the talking ball back and forth as each woman volunteered to reveal her purpose for being there. I waited to be last whereupon I blurted out, “I just want to sleep overnight in the cathedral.” It wasn’t exactly the truth but I wasn’t willing to share with these people I had met only a few minutes before. I’d have to sleep on it. That was okay.

After changing into our night clothes and having a light snack, we returned to the cathedral for the nighttime activities – pretty much whatever you chose to do – some art projects, meditation, blessings, journaling, walking the labyrinth. Not blessed with much artistic capability, the doll I made was simply a head with a purple robe. I still have her tucked away in my nightstand. As I snuggled into my sleeping bag on the hard concrete floor, the building was abuzz with action. Women walked, danced and crawled the labyrinth. I waited, wanting to walk the labyrinth in the dark peace of night. Soon the lights dimmed.

I slept for a bit, waking up to loud husky snores echoing from a cot on the other side of the pews. I wondered if the woman would be embarrassed if she knew. It was dark except for the candles around the labyrinth and only a few women were still wandering around. I picked up a small green rock that I had brought with me and headed to the labyrinth. Slowly I made the circuits into the center, dropped to my knees in meditation and made the journey out of the maze. I placed the rock on the altar.

At daybreak as the sun shone through the beautiful stained glass windows, Judith Tripp (our leader) strolled through the cathedral with her guitar singing Morning Has Broken. Soon she had a parade of women behind her. My sleeping bag was warm and I chose to stay cuddled up as I watched the procession in awe. When the call came for our first group, I stopped by the altar and picked up the green rock, surprised by its warmth in the chilly environment.

By noon we had finished up our small groups, had breakfast, and performed skits related to our animal cards. I felt blessed, at peace, and at ease – ready to make the journey to the hospital where my son lay deathly sick. I placed the healing rock in his hand praying that good health would return. He still has the rock.

I bring this up over two decades after the experience because I was checking the Grace Cathedral calendar for the labyrinth walk schedule. I was surprised to find that Judith Tripp has a Women’s Dream Quest this coming October. It might just be the nudge I need back into spirituality.

For more information see CircleWay and Grace Cathedral websites.