The People, United.

“THE PEOPLE, UNITED, WILL NEVER BE DIVIDED!” Lainey got chills as the megaphone crackled to life and the chant rippled across the crowd. Everywhere she looked, up and down the intersection, people waved flags and held up signs, just like she and her mom were doing.

The white vans with tinted windows had started showing up not long after the election. They came early in the morning, when people were on their way to work or school. They had taken the dad of one of Lainey’s friends right from the school drop-off line.

As cars drove by many honked their car horns or cheered in support. Others ignored them, and one person flipped them the bird. Lainey wanted to do it back, but her mother hadn’t let her. “When they go low, we go high,” she said.

The white vans had taken many people since those first frightening weeks. They were sending people to camps, or to prisons in other countries. Some claimed it was because they had broken the law, but the laws kept changing, becoming harder and harder to comply with.

The atmosphere crackled with energy as the crowd continued to grow, eventually spilling off the sidewalk and into the street. Lainey’s pulse thrummed in her ears as traffic came to a halt. Not far away from where Lainey and her mom stood, someone dressed as the Statue of Liberty was trying to reason with an irate motorist.

The crowd began a slow surge down the street in the direction of the Statehouse. An unfamiliar sensation percolated in Lainey’s gut. It wasn’t fear, it wasn’t excitement. It was something new, something she didn’t have a name for.

A police line was forming ahead, officers in riot gear standing shoulder to shoulder behind heavy shields. Some held tear gas or batons, ready to use them on the crowd. Behind them, scores of white vans stood waiting.

Lainey looked around her, perplexed. Everyone was chanting in time with the drumming that was coming from somewhere at the back of the crowd, shaking their signs. She didn’t see anything bad happening.

Lainey’s mom saw the police line, too. She looked at Lainey with a worried frown. “Maybe we should go.”

”No, I want to stay,” Lainey pleaded. She took her mother’s hand in hers and squeezed. “We need to stay. Please. For Brisa, and her dad.” Their eyes met as Lainey’s mom searched her face for fear or uncertainty. Finding only determination, she nodded. “Ok. We’ll stay.”

The chanting got louder, everyone’s voices rising together in sync with the drums. The eerie wail of a lone bagpiper coiled around the beat of the drums, tying it to the voices of the people. Lainey felt the hair on the back of her neck begin to rise as a new surge of energy moved through the crowd.

The first street light to bend was almost over Lainey's head. She gasped at the pop of sparks as the metal gave way and the wiring within twisted too. All along the street light poles were bending into new shapes.

Up ahead, the men in riot gear looked at one another in surprise as their shields began lifting into the air and taking flight.

Throughout the crowd people began dropping their signs to grasp one another’s hands as they continued to chant.

One by one, the white vans began to sink slowly into the street as if the asphalt were hot lava. A cheer went up from the crowd as the drivers of the vans stumbled out of their vehicles and took off running across the sticky pavement.

The police line fell apart, with some of the officers blending in with the crowd as they, too, joined the march.

Hand-in-hand, the community pushed past the abandoned vans and surged up the steps into the Statehouse to demand change.

Lainey squeezed her mom’s hand, the strange energy fizzing all around her. Tears prickled in the corners of her eyes. For Brisa. For her own family. For everyone. As they climbed the steps, their voices rose together, “THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!”

Living to Fight Another Day

I'm sitting outside on my balcony on a balmy afternoon in June. The weather is absolutely perfect today. Flowers are blooming, the sun is shining, and the birds are singing. I have so much to be grateful for, and I am grateful. And yet, I am sitting here feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders as I type these words. It's to be expected, considering all that's going on right now. 

We're caught in the grip of a global pandemic, protests are unfolding around the globe, the White House is an absolute dumpster fire of incompetence, corruption, and bigotry, and thousands of immigrant children are crammed into concentration camps on American soil. Paid for by my tax dollars, no less. So yea, things feel kinda heavy right now, to say the least.

Today at church the sermon was about having compassion for everyone we meet. Love Thy Neighbor is my guiding principle, and it rarely leaves any ambiguity about how I should be conducting myself. Being compassionate fits right in. But sometimes, my good attitude gets a few dings in it. Sometimes I get tired, or grumpy, or frustrated.

If we're ever going to fix the things that are wrong in our country, then people like me (by which I mean white people who want to be anti-racists) have to get used to carrying around all these big, heavy feelings. We can't let compassion fatigue become an excuse to stop. We can't forget that our friends and neighbors who live with racism never get a day off from it. Self-care is ok. Pacing ourselves is ok. Being (somewhat) patient with ourselves and others is ok. But giving up, throwing up our hands and quitting, that's not one of our options anymore. 

This afternoon, I'm going to do some self-care and re-charge my batteries, because tomorrow is a new day and I need to be ready to do whatever I can to dismantle the racism machine from the inside out.

If things are feeling heavy to you, too, fellow white person, I get it. Everyone needs occasional rest so we can live to fight another day. But just remember, when rest time is over we need to get back up and keep doing the work. 

PS - I've started to put together an anti-racism reading list if you feel like having a look. Let me know if there are any other titles you recommend to be included. 

Back to the Future

The last time I posted to this blog was way back in the pre-Trump, pre-COVID19 era. Sometime around the end of 2014, to be exact. That post was an announcement about moving to my new (now old) website, which no longer exists. 

I happily blogged at the new site until my domain expired without my realizing it. When I tried to renew it, I found someone else had purchased it and now wanted an exorbitant amount of money to return it to me. 

Um, no.  

Fast forward a bit, and here we are, all staying at home trying to flatten the curve of this damned pandemic. It's just me and the animals here in the house, so I have a lot of time for introspection and reminiscence, and I happened to reminisce about blogging. 

On a whim, I searched up my old domain name. Apparently, I'd accidentally waited the bastard out, because kellyospina.com was available again. I quickly snapped it up. From there it didn't take much to un-archive my old Blogger account, link it to the domain, and here I am. Now, the question is what do I blog about? 

The original premise for this blog was trying to figure out what I wanted to do with myself after leaving the non-profit I helped co-found. Then, just as I was getting started, three kids fell into my life. Hand-to-hand combat with CPS, the legal system, and immigration became my daily grind, all while changing diapers, checking homework, and trying to manage everyone's Big Feelings. It was an intense three-year adventure, but at the end of it the kids went home and I found myself right back where I started, trying to figure out what to do with myself.

I had some big goals back then. I wanted to buy a house, get published, and get myself sorted out financially. So what happened with that?

Buy a house - check. I bought my condo in 2016, and I'm still just as over-the-moon grateful today as I was on the day I signed on the dotted line and it became mine.

Get published - check (kinda). I published two flash fiction stories, so I guess technically I'm "published." But both of the novels I wrote are still in first-draft status, and still not very good. Guess I gotta keep working on this one.

Get myself sorted out financially - check (kinda). I'm able to survive with just one job now, so that's a huge plus. I'm finally in the 401K at work, which is another plus, and owning a home means I'm building equity, which is also good. But I'm still only one big car repair away from financial ruin at all times, so there is still plenty of work to be done in this category too.

Do I have any new goals in 2020? Why yes, I do. But I'll blog about those another day. 

The thought I'll leave you with for now is this: I still may not be living in the fast lane, but if I'm going slowly these days it's by choice. I'm appreciating the small things, living in the moment. I'm "doing me" in ways I couldn't when I was raising a child by myself, fighting the good fight as an activist, or being a foster parent. 

I don't know where this blog is going to go from here, but I think I'm going to take my time and just enjoy figuring it out.

2014 Milestones

As 2014 draws to a close I am preparing to self-publish my very first book. If all goes well, Kate Gets On With It, will be published on Smashwords in early 2015.

Between preparing my manuscript, the Thanksgiving holiday, and various other things, blogging has fallen off the radar.

Standing here on the cusp of a new year, with such a big goal finally about to be realized, it feels important to pause and give thanks for all the good things that 2014 has brought, namely:

• The kids and their mom are happy, healthy and living together in their own home. 


• Big Brother has a year of experience in the elevator industry under his belt.


• All the nieces and nephews are doing outstandingly well in school.


• The Princesses continue to explore their love of reading and creative writing.


• Baby Brother, not one to be left in the dust by his big sisters, is also discovering the joy of books.


• A broken refrigerator, two car accidents, and a lengthy furnace installation provided timely reminders of just how blessed we are to have so many modern conveniences.


• Since the kids and their mom moved out, Big Brother and I have been rediscovering the joy of simply spending time together.


• The kids and their mother have continued to attend my church, which brings me (and I suspect the other congregants as well) great joy.

These are just some of the highlights of a year that has been chock full of blessings for me and mine.

What did 2014 bring in your world? What are you looking forward to in 2015? Feel free to share in the comments.

Guest blog post by Princesses Jasmine and Ariel



Princess Jasmine Gives Readers the Goods

 

Princes Jasmine working on her blog post.

Hi, I am princess Jasmine, the guest blogger for today. Today I will tell you about my story I am doing for Nanowrimo this November.

My story is about a dog who lost a lot of things, like moving house to house and getting separated from his family. At the end he finds a family, but will they let him stay?

That's it folks, hope I did not say too much.

Princess Ariel Muses About her Muse

Hi, this is Princess Ariel,

A silly story Princess Ariel wanted to share

I'm writing a story with my sister for Nanowrimo. We are figuring out what is about. I'm eight years old and my sister is ten. We had a brainstorm and then we knew what we were going to write. I don't know why I like writing, it's just my thing. I like to draw the pictures, too.

November Gratitudes - Part I

Since getting so caught up in "should I, shouldn't I" angst over maybe moving to Florida, my Attitude of Gratitude had a few dings in it. To polish it up a bit, for the rest of November my blog posts will be gratitude focused, beginning with this one.

Getting ready to type the story I wrote long hand on Friday.

Friday night my mom and I attended a writing group called "The Community Story." I think they started out with the intention of writing a story collaboratively, but it seems to have morphed over time into the group all writing from the same prompt. This was our second visit.

I was grateful, first and foremost, for being able to enjoy this activity with my mom. Writing is something we both love. I was grateful we could share something writing-related together.

The group meets at Factory Fuel, a coffee shop built on the site of a former commercial pottery. Our group actually meets inside one of the old cone-shaped kilns. Although the skills represented in the group are far from equal (members range from college professors to published writers down to amateurs, like myself), we sit in a circle around the tiny room, which creates the feeling of everyone being equal. I was grateful we could meet in an atmosphere that was both beautiful and conducive to creating. 

Although I suppose I could wrangle my laptop into the car and take it with  me, it is too large for somebody of my stature, whose feet are always dangling when seated, to manage using on my lap. I think I would be too afraid to drop it. What I didn't expect was how empowering writing long-hand would be, after so many years of rarely picking up a pencil. In some ways, I think the words flowed easier because I knew, before I put them down on the page, that they would not be easy to change. I was grateful for the sense of connection with my words that putting pen to paper creates.

Last, but not least, both times I've attended the group I wrote a complete flash fiction that only required minor tweaking after the fact. It is an important reminder that a little pressure and accountability is a good thing for the creative process. I was grateful that the writing group was not only fun, but productive. 

The Devil is in the Details

In my last post I asked you to help me decide if I should stay here in New Jersey, or move to West Palm Beach, Florida, and I haven't posted since. I'm sure you're wondering, am I staying, or am I going?

The answer is, I still don't know.

In my favorite sorts of books a parallel universe is sometimes created when a major event could go either way, with both possibilities then playing out oblivious to one another. I feel like this has happened to me. In one universe, I chose to stay here, and life goes on pretty much as it always has. In the other, I chose Florida and am living life among the palm trees. From here where I stand, at the point where the universe split into two, I can see both lives playing out in great detail, and it is in those details where the difficulty lies.

Neither universe has "happy ending" written all over it. In both realities there is both good and bad. In New Jersey, I'm here with my family, and still have my job, but as the years pass and the cost of housing increases it becomes more of a struggle. I'm not able to help as much as I would like with Big Brother's wedding, or the Princesses quinceañeras. In Florida, the money situation is better, but it is a lonely existence; I have sunshine and blue skies, but I don't see my son or family nearly as often as I would like, and the Princesses and Baby Brother even less; As they grow up, we begin to drift apart.

Anyway, for now I've decided not to decide. I spoke to the relative who has been holding his condo for me. We agreed he can't wait indefinitely, so if he rents it, he will let me know. If things change here, and Big Brother gets a better job and his own place, I will let him know.

Who knows what the next six months might bring for all of us? By then I might feel ready to take on a new horizon in a new state. Until then, you can continue to find me right here where I've always been, Stuck in the Slow Lane.

Civil War: Head vs. Heart

Did you ever have one of those moments when you are about ready to give up on something you'd be hoping for, when something surprising happens?

Have you ever had one of those moments, the ones where your heart and your head are telling you different things?

I've bumped up against a couple of those moments recently myself.

A relative in Florida has a condo he isn't living in at present. He wanted to rent it out, and asked me if I might be interested? My bank account having just been drained by the bed bug debacle and Big Brother's automotive issues, I didn't even think about it. I told him thanks, but no thanks.

That should have been the end of it, but after I hung up the phone I couldn't stop thinking about my decision, wondering if maybe I shouldn't dismiss the offer too quickly. No, moving now was never part of the plan, but plans can change, can't they?

The more I thought about it, the less crazy moving to Florida seemed. Long story short, I called him back and we talked through the details. For once in my life, the dollars and cents actually added up in my favor. At first I thought wow, this is a no brainer! But the more I thought it through, the more I realized, this isn't going to be an easy choice.

Big Brother is my heart. Do I stay here, with him?

While my head says this is a good idea, a great idea, even, my heart is saying it doesn't want to leave my son. My baby might be twenty-one years old, but he's still my baby. Being far away from him indefinitely isn't just upsetting, it actually feels wrong on the molecular level. And then there are Baby Brother and the Princesses to consider, too. How would my moving so far away affect them, after all the loss they've already been through?

Or should I choose palm trees, sunshine and financial stability?

All the things I love about Florida--the warm weather, the endless beaches, the more relaxed pace of life--all seem hollow and meaningless when I think about being there without Big Brother; Spending time with him is, truly, my definition of happiness. Yet when I try to envision my future if I stay, the picture isn't a pretty one. I can never afford to buy a home here, and rents will only continue to rise. Retiring isn't likely if I continue to be a New Jersey resident, not unless something big changes.

To only complicate the matter more, my spiritual beliefs have been nagging at me, too. How does moving so far away fit in with my desire to more deliberately live with an Attitude of Gratitude? Giving up everything and everyone I know in search of something more fiscally advantageous doesn't seem much like an act of gratitude, does it? But then again, is wasting an opportunity like this really any better?

The negative voices of my insecurities have made a point to weigh in, too, telling me that no matter what I choose, I'll probably just screw it all up anyway.

I know a decision needs to be made. I owe it to my job, to the relative who is holding his condo for me, and to my son and myself.

I'd love to hear what YOU think about this whole dilemma, so please take a moment to leave a comment with your opinion, or vote anonymously below.

My pocketful of dreams

My birthday present to myself this year was business cards.

I don't really need business cards, and it wasn't even about wanting business cards. It was more about making a promise to my future self not to give up on our mutual dreams.

In the month since the cards arrived I've only used six; I gave two out to real people, and four more went through the wash by accident. After the washing machine disaster I know I should keep them in my handbag, but I like reaching into my pocket and feeling them there, a tangible piece of my dreams.

Some might call this faking it till you make it, but I have a different name for it: motivation. I know that success isn't about the end result, it is about getting up every day and doing the work, even when it feels futile. And believe me, it feels futile pretty darned often sometimes.

So if you spot me on the street, feel free to ask me for my business card. I'll bet you dollars to donuts I'll have one in my pocket, ready and waiting.

Do you ever feel you left your dreams too late? I have. All in Good time tells how I got through it.

A letter to the Universe

Today I turn forty-seven and embark on a brand new year of life.

My happy birthday hug from Luna

I've been pondering what values, actions and ideas I should be cultivating this year. Out of that pondering came this list:

• Live in the moment. 
• Be grateful
• Be creative 
• Be kinder and more patient (with myself as well as others). 
• Less social media
• More walks
• Less talking
• More writing
• Less judging
• More listening

Today, I put this list out into to the Universe.

I am calling on God, or my own subconscious self, or whoever or whatever it is that needs to be put on notice that these are the things I want the forty-seven-year-old version of myself to be about, and to ask for help, for guidance, for strength and protection as I continue to splash along through the currents that flow beneath the surface in the river of life. 

Only a couple more scenes to go to complete my second draft

As I work on my novel today, fueled by strong coffee, kept company by my favorite feline/canine duo, I will be beginning the year as I intend to go on: present, creative, focused, and open to the magic of all the unexpected possibilities waiting to be discovered just over the horizon.

When only a stone remains

I took Toby for a walk the other day. It was much more humid out than it looked, so we took a short cut home through the cemetery.

Normally, we enjoy roaming through the grave stones. Toby sniffs for rabbits and deer droppings (and rolls in them, if he finds them), while I read the inscriptions on the oldest stones. Many of the stones pre-date the civil war. I like imagining what their lives might have been like, and always wonder what they would think of how we live now.

Many of the surnames on the stones are familiar. Names such as Reading, Kuhl, Dilts and Case, all of whom were prominent in the early development of the town, and still have family in the vicinity today. Two of Big Brother's cousins, in fact, are Kuhl descendents on their mother's side.

Then there are the stones so worn away, the inscription is illegible. Both name and date are gone, obliterated by the passage of time. I always feel bad for whoever put those stones up, probably thinking it meant their loved ones would be remembered in perpetuity.

The stones that are the saddest to see are the little tiny ones, for a baby or young child. Most of the family plots have one or more. One family I noticed seemed to have lost six out of seven children, probably to illnesses that are easily cured or prevented now. Their parents' heartbreak is still palpable, a century later.

In general, though, I don't find cemeteries to be sad or scary places. If anything, I find them to be a simple reminder from those who have gone before me to live life fully, while I still can. As I'll be turning forty-seven later this week, the reminder is a timely one.

So here is my advice to you: the next time you pass a cemetery, don't think of it a creepy place worthy of a horror flick. Instead, consider it an invitation to check-in with yourself. Ask yourself, am I spending enough of my time and energy on the things that are most important to me in life? If the answer is no, it might be time to think about what it would take to make that change.

Whatever it is you want from life, the time to commit to it is now, today, this very minute. There is no better moment to let go of the negative, to embrace the positive, to believe in yourself and your own power. Am I saying you should buck your responsibilities and go running off into the sunset? Am I overlooking the fact that you might already be working as hard as you can to get to where you want to be in life? No, of course not. There is a delicate balance between our responsibilities to others and our responsibility to ourselves that needs to be maintained. But I am suggesting that today is the day to start weeding out all the things you do and thoughts you think that are counter productive, that prevent you in some way from being your most authentic self. Think of it as a little spring cleaning for the soul, if you will.

One day, all of us will have a stone, just like these. The question is, will yours be a sad monument to hopes and dreams left too late, or a celebration of a life well lived?

Even if you don't know where you want to go in life, following these simple steps will surely help you find your way. 

Big Magic: An Afternoon with Elizabeth Gilbert

The county where I live is celebrating its 300 year anniversary this year. Literally hundreds of events have been planned throughout the year to celebrate the occasion, one of which I attended yesterday, a talk given by county resident and best-selling author, Elizabeth Gilbert.

The topic of Ms. Gilbert's talk was "Big Magic." She spoke about her personal journey as a writer, and how often magic, in the literal sense, factored into it. She is a excellent speaker and it was a great talk. She spoke about ideas, and how they flit from person to person, waiting for someone open enough to let them in, and ready enough to manifest them into the world.

So much of what she said resonated with me. I, too, am a firm believer in magic. In fact, I have always secretly thought of prayer as being a great deal like casting a magic spell. Both prayers and spells are powerful words, infused with the hopes, dreams and intentions of the one uttering them with devotion, and involve calling out to a source of power and mystery outside of ourselves in order to create change. I don't see a difference, personally, but maybe that is just me.

Regardless, I do believe there is a magical element to creativity, one that all creative people know about and can relate to. We may call it different things, saying "I'm in the zone," or "the muse took me," or "I had a vision," to describe it, but we've all been there and know that whatever it is, when it strikes, the best thing we can do is roll with it.

Something else that Elizabeth Gilbert said was meaningful to me, and very liberating. She shared how she discovered she simply cannot write fiction when her life is in chaos. She needs her house to be in order to be able to produce fiction, yet during times of chaos she still relies on writing to get her through it, and has, in fact, turned that writing into two best-sellers, "Eat, Pray, Love" and "Committed."

I thought I was the only person who felt this way. In fact, I considered it to be a major flaw in my creative ability. It is true that I clung to writing like a drowning person clings to a life preserver during my time as a foster parent; It was the one thing that allowed me to keep a sense of my own identity as I was swallowed up whole by second-time-around parenthood. Yet, looking back on that time period, when things were mostly under control, I was prolific, writing a new flash fiction every week. But when things got wild and wooly, I reverted mostly to blogging, using the blog as much as a tool to manage my own feelings as to document our journey together.

Judging by his smile, Toby approves of my current reading material.

I'm sure there are many people out there who can create while the storms of life swirl about them, whose creative genius is fueled by the force of the gale. I just don't happen to be one of them. Fact is, I'm an introvert who craves peace and solitude, so living with a crowd of boisterous house guests who stick around for three years is not the ideal situation for fostering my creativity. And let me just say, these damned bedbugs and the chaos that accompanies them sure aren't helping any, either.

When I zoom out, to look at the bigger picture, I can't help but see the connection to my three year plan. My plan is centered around three things, achieving financial stability through home ownership, getting published, and finding balance. What I didn't see before, but which is crystal-clear now, is that achieving these things has one true goal, which is to put my house in order so my most authentic self, the part of me that feels that magic and creates more magic from it, can flourish.

My blog has been a journey of self-discovery ever since the beginning, as illustrated by this early post "Who am I?"

The magic of happy

This image appeared in my news feed on facebook over the weekend. I've seen it around, but this time it caught my attention in a way it hadn't before. It appeared fortuitously, at a moment when I was particularly ready for its message.

Some people--you know who I mean, we've all met them--seem to have a higher natural set-point for happy. Just as others will always see the glass as half empty, they will always see it as half full.

I used to think that this was a characteristic that a person was born with. At best, I thought that people who posted images like this one didn't understand that not everyone feels this way. At worst, I suspected they were simply being insensitive to the challenges of mental illness, implying that depression can be willed away with a smile.

I do still think that we all start out with a unique biological set-point on the happiness scale. But more and more often, I'm realizing just how many people are quietly choosing to adopt a positive attitude, despite having gone through great hardship or difficult circumstances. Some of them are doing it despite grappling with mental illness or other mood disorders that make optimism pretty damned hard. I think I'm finally starting to see why, and how, that could be.

Since the kids and their mom moved out I have been working hard to process all the changes in our lives. I don't just mean the immediate ones, I mean all of them, ever since that phone call that turned our lives upside in the blink of an eye.  There is a lot there to process. I've written before about how stressful and hard some of the things that we went through were, and I don't want to go back over it now. I mention it simply because through this experience I've seen both the worst and the best of myself. Having experienced both extremes, I now have a chance to choose where in between I want to settle. Maybe it is just a case of realigning priorities, finally understanding what it is to let go of the rancor and bitterness of the past in favor of claiming whatever joy I am able to wring from the present. Whatever it is, I've chosen to be a deliberate optimist, a seeker of joy in an often-times joyless world.

As any good baker knows, you need a little salt to bring out the sweet. Without some trouble and hardship in life, you can't get to that magical happy place where the good, fulfilling moments are truly treasured. Without knowing what it is to lose, you can't truly appreciate winning. Somewhere in there, between despair and joy, in the raw, unseen places of yourself you never knew existed, that is where the magic comes from.

No, not everyone wants to choose happy. Being positive doesn't make the problems go away. Nor will being joyful save the world. Frankly, being grumpy or cynical works just fine for some folks, and I have no problem with that. Being an optimist should never mean judging others for not feeling the same way. Yet sometimes, at least in my experience, a strong person who has been through the fire standing up and showing how they can still look out at the world with optimism and hope can be life changing for those around them.

For me, that inspiration happened to arrive in my facebook news feed on a Sunday morning, received from someone who I happen to know has been through the fire, and who, in fact, walks through the flames daily. In other words, one of those happy people who believe in magic, and the magic of believing in happy.

Feeling stuck on the negative setting? Zoom out, look at the big picture, and spend some time contemplating the magic and mystery above.

Bumper Sticker Wisdom

I was parking my car on Main Street the other night, and spotted this on the bumper ahead of me. I just had to stop and take a picture.

Hours later, I was still mulling over the wise words of Jimi Hendrix:

I kept thinking about how many times in my own life I've let power be my priority over love. It is so, so easy to let wanting to be right, or wanting to be in control become my main focus - even when I'm trying to do good things with my heart in the right place.

A recent incident comes to mind. I got snippy with Big Brother when we were trying (unsuccessfully) to install a new cable modem. I was tired after a busy day, cranky from spending time I didn't plan on spending stuck in a customer service phone queue, and more than a little annoyed at Big Brother telling me (constantly) how I don't know what I'm doing (about anything, ever).

Immediately after snapping at him, I felt bad for doing it. He was tired, too, and just as frustrated as I was. I didn't need to be right, I didn't need to vent at him, and I didn't need to call him on the carpet just for feeling all the same things I was feeling. I didn't need to do any of that, but I did it anyway.

How might that interaction have been different if I had taken a deep breath, smiled at him, and asked him  nicely to give me some space while I was on the phone? It would have been a better outcome for both of us.

Being snappy and grouchy (especially when I'm tired or hungry) is a bad habit. When Big Brother does the same thing, I know he does it because he learned it from me.

Here's a thought - maybe if I work harder at changing how I respond to things that annoy me when I'm tired/hungry/grouchy, Big Brother might learn to do the same?

Thank you, Mr. Hendrix, for the reminder that the only true power we have in life is love.

Read more about loving thy neighbor and my take on whether or not good fences really make good neighbors.

Big News, Big Changes

The journey that began for the kids and Big Brother and I in December of 2011 has officially come to an end; The kids and their mom recently moved out to their own place. That chapter in all our lives is officially over.

So what now?

Big Brother and I are still here, in the house, at least for the short term. Big Brother's plan is to move out, too, either on his own or with a friend. He's been looking for a couple of months already, and it could be a couple more till he finds the right fit. Or the right place could turn up tomorrow, we just don't know. When it does, I'll be moving, too. I'll be going to live with my parents, to make saving for a house my number one priority.

In the meantime, Big Brother and I are enjoying our family time together. This is an important interlude for us, one we need to heal and reconnect. Grown up or not, he needs his mom, too, and I want him to feel loved and supported as he embarks on this next adventure in his young life. I also want him to feel mothered, something he has lacked for far too long.

We may not live under the same roof any longer, but I still hope to see the Princesses and Baby B often, and their mom, too. They are, after all, my family and I love them "up to the sky and back." I'm looking forward to many special one-on-one dates with each kid, and lots more group adventures, too.

A few people have asked me if I plan to foster again. I don't. In fact, I've already turned in my license. My mission is to stick with these kids, all the way up. I want to be there to be a part of and help with all the birthdays, holidays and special occasions in their lives. I want to be at their quincianeras, their graduations and their weddings (although I draw the line at teaching Baby Brother to drive. Somebody else will have to do that, I'm still traumatized from teaching Big Brother).

So there you have it, I am no longer a foster parent, just someone who is fortunate to be blessed with the four most wonderful kids ever in my life, and who now has two sisters instead of one.

Got your head in the clouds? Now your novel can be there, too!

I've been so caught up in my housing angst I haven't posted about much else, so this post about a great tool for writers is long overdue.

The tool in question is called Yarny, an appropriate name for software designed for storytellers. You can find Yarny online at https://yarny.me.

The first thing that jumped out at me about Yarny was its clean and simple interface. As someone with a design background, this appealed to me.

The screen is divided into three panes. The main pane is the text editor, which is front and center. When you type in this pane, the other panes fade out until you need them for distraction-free writing. Your work is saved automatically as you write, so no need to worry about remembering to hit the save button.

The pane at the left shows a list of "snippets." Snippets are simply sections of text. They can be paragraphs, chapters, or scenes, whatever works for you.  The benefit of writing in snippets is they can be dragged and dropped into any order you like, or combined into groups, which makes re-arranging your text a breeze.

Screen shot from the Yarny website. Click to enlarge.

The pane to the right is for keeping all your non-story stuff organized. You can use it for jotting down notes or for organizing research. It is conveniently divided into three sections - People, Places and Things, which makes it easy to find what you're looking for later. Like the pane to the left, material here can be grouped or re-ordered by dragging and dropping.

Down at the bottom of the screen there are buttons you can use to track versions of your work, or add keywords to make your text searchable.

Best of all, your work is automatically saved to the cloud, making it easy to access from anywhere with an internet connection. With Yarny it is easy to jot down a few ideas in the morning at home while you have your coffee, then work them into a story on your lunch break at work. Later, you can edit your work into a second draft on your tablet while watching the kids play at the park after dinner.  

All this, and it is free, too! There is supposedly a more feature-rich paid version available ($4 per month), but the paid features seemed to mostly be cosmetic (ability to pick a theme, typewriter sounds, etc.). I'm not sure that any of those things is worth $4 a month to me, at least not now while I'm saving for a house.

There were a couple of things about Yarny that didn't work so well for me. I'm a Planner, so I utilize the cork board and outlining features in Scrivener a lot. Yarny (at the last the free version I'm using) doesn't seem to have equivalent features. If you're more of a Pantser, this might not matter to you. Another drawback, albeit a minor one, is there is no formatting toolbar in the free version.

Overall, I found much more to like than not here. I still use Scrivener as my main tool of choice, but one of my major issues with Scrivener is the lack of a cloud-based version. If Yarny ever comes out with a tool similar to the Scrivener cork board, I'll be more than happy to migrate to Yarny permanently.

Give Yarny a try, it just might be the portable easy-to-use tool you've been looking for.

Little Pieces of the Past

I have a hard time letting go of memorabilia. I literally have boxes full of things that I'm holding onto for no other reason than they recall a specific memory, a time or a place that I want to hold onto.

Some of these things are worth keeping, like mementos from my time in Japan, and cards and letters from my grandparents and other relatives. But others are not, all the little drawings on the backs of receipts made by friends, my name tag from a former job and other mundane little items. I know I need to lighten the load and am fully able to pass on clothes and household goods we don't need. But for some reason I am having a hard time letting go of these things, even though I know there is no good reason to keep them. Call me sentimental, I guess.

Big Brother, who recently discovered the joys of throwing things out, cannot relate. He wants me to get rid of anything and everything that we don't use on a daily basis. Pictures, letters, greeting cards, his old toys or kid artworks all need to go, in his estimation. He made it clear he would even throw out half the furniture, too, if I let him. My attempts to explain why these sentimental things matter to me have failed to convince him.

I'm thinking I probably shouldn't bother to show him this handful of seashells I brought home with me from Florida, should ?

Salutations from The Beach

I finally made it here, to the land of palm trees and turquoise waters. I managed to forget my allergy pills and my phone charger, but it didn't matter; I was here at last.

Jupiter Inlet

The first day I was here I was so excited, I tried to do too many things at once and got too much sun. The next day was mostly about recovering from aforementioned overdoing.

Not having a schedule or anyone to be responsible for was a bit disorienting at first. I missed Big Brother, the kids, the animals. Now, halfway through the week, I have hit my stride. I spent a wonderful morning at Juno Beach yesterday, reading Journeys Under the Moon: Writing and the Hero's Quest. With no distractions and no time limits I was able to think through some of the concepts in the book in relation to my novel in progress, which sparked some ideas about how to make my story better.

The community garden at El Sol

Last night I spent time with Big Brother's cousins. They are such a nice family, and so open and welcoming to me, even after so many years of not having much contact. Playing with my little neices made me really miss the princesses and baby brother. I am going to start saving up to bring them here next summer, I would love to be able to share this with them.

The beach at Jupiter Inlet

Although I haven't been here long, and will be going home soon, I feel all the disjointed peices of myself coming back together. I am finding a new equilibrium here that got lost along the way. As I sit here on the lanai typing this, I am listening to the birds chirping and watching the sun come out over the palm trees, and it occurrs to me that I am more relaxed and at peace than I can remember being in years.

I know these positive changes are because of having time and space to spend on myself, not necessarily where I am spending it, but I feel increasingly certain that whatever my next chapter in life holds, it will be written here. I had been secretly afraid that maybe my plans to buy a home here had been based more on escapism than I wanted to believe. I worried that actually being here would burst the bubble. Instead, being here has put that fear to rest. There is just something about being able to walk on the beach or swim in the waves that I find soothing to the soul and I know I want more of that in my life. Exactly how or when I will be able to make that happen remains to be seen, I have accepted that it probably won't be this year after all. But this trip has helped reaffirm my goals, and that feels good.

Juno Beach

I will end this post by sending you greetings and good vibes from the beach, a Slow Lane I am happy to be in.

Sanctuary

Saturday mornings are one my favorite times. The kids are at the babysitter, their mom is at work and Big Brother is either sleeping in, or up early and out and about and I can enjoy a few hours of peace and solitude.

Today I feel like I really needed it. I've been stressed out these past couple of weeks, stuck in a cycle of angst over the swirl of unanswered questions that loom ahead of me. Will Big Brother get the more stable job he's trying for? Will the kids and their mom find a place? Will I be able to get a mortgage?

The mortgage question is especially bothersome. I've been asking myself why am I so fixated on buying a place in Florida? I did post about the timing and a limited window of opportunity that might pass me by if I don't act, so there are good and valid reasons why now needs to be the time. Yet underneath it all is a sense of anxiety and urgency that I know is out of proportion with reality. There are some Big Feelings at play here, and I'm glad to have time and space today to try to find my way through them.

We moved a lot when I was growing up. The first time was when I was about three and a half. I clearly remember throwing a massive tantrum when given the news. The thought of leaving my home for some place unknown was, and remains, traumatic. Although I enjoyed all the places we lived, there was a bit of a feeling of not really belonging anywhere. Then, as a grownup, I finally had the chance to buy a home of my own. But that didn't last either, as divorce only a few years later made selling the house unavoidable. After that followed a long period of living with my parents, followed by several more years of living with roommates. The only truly stable period of feeling like we had a home was our little second story apartment, the one I had to give up to get my foster license.

This house, where I live now, has never felt like home to me. It was always the kids house, their space first and foremost. Then, when their mom moved in and pretty much took over, it felt less like home than ever.

So there you have it, why the stakes feel like they're so high right now. I want to finally put down some roots and know where home is, once and for all. The thought of not being able to pull it off, after all this, is almost too much to bear. I am trying to simply not think about it.

A few years ago, even before I put my three year plan down on paper, I made myself this vision board. All it is, really, is a collage of photos with little captions that I printed out on the computer.  I have a copy here, next to my computer at home, and another at work. I look at it often, to remind myself what I'm working towards.

Frequently, the little voices in my head try to derail me. They tell me 'you can't have that, you don't deserve that, you'll never achieve it."Having a detailed plan has helped quiet them down a bit, but lately, those little voices aren't so little. They're screaming in my ear most days, getting louder the closer my Florida trip comes.

What it all comes down to is I'm seeking sanctuary, some stability financially and emotionally, and some relief from those annoying negative voices in my head.

When I walk Toby at night I meditate on gratitude and focus on being in the moment. I gaze at the charming Victorian architecture and Mayberryesque facades on Main Street and I think about what a lovely place this is, and how grateful I am to have grown up in this area. I pass by my job and I think about how fortunate I am to have it. I pass by the building in the park where we hold our church services and ruminate on what a true blessing the congregation has been in my life. As a flock of teenagers on skateboards zip past I remember my son at that age, and think how glad I am that he survived his teen years in one piece.

I am trying very hard to let those things be enough, to convince myself that what will be, will be, and either way I will be okay. In my head I know that to be true, but in my emotional core I'm not so sure.

For now, the sanctuary I seek arrives in small doses. I find it in my morning coffee, with a dog at my feet and a cat nearby. It is in the walks I take in the gloaming and in the voices raised in song at church. It is here, in a peaceful Saturday morning of solitude and reflection.

When I get on that plane next week - on Friday the 13th, of all days - I will be holding on to the hope that it might be the beginning of a dream realized. But whether it is or not, I will have a whole week to revel in turquoise waters, sandy shores, and time spent reading and writing under a beach side pergola shaded by bougainvillaea.

I am looking forward to visiting the butterfly museum, feeding Lorakeets and communing with nature. I am looking forward to a week of sanctuary in an otherwise turbulent world.

Water Babies

Over memorial day weekend we had the proverbial backyard cookout at Grandma's house. Grandpa set up the sprinkler and the hose and we let the kids have at it.

Watching them run shrieking and yelling through the spray made me remember just how much they enjoyed going to the local swim club last summer. We were able to go because an agency we were affiliated with got guest passes for clients. The Princesses were super excited to put their previous summer of swimming lessons to good use, while Baby Brother splashed and had fun in the kiddie pool.

Some of my best childhood memories at their age are of that very same pool, and all the summer afternoons we spent there with my mom. I want the kids to have those same memories with their mom, so I started a Booster campaign to raise money to make it happen.

Follow the link to buy a tee shirt and help three little water babies enjoy making fun memories in the sun this summer.

https://www.booster.com/summeroffun

Baby Brother enjoying the pool last summer