Hard things and good days

foggybayThis poor blog has been neglected this year. But 2015 hasn’t been kind to this writer. Last year this time, I was celebrating. I had just sold my debut novel. I was staring in wonder and bliss at my deal announcement in Publisher’s Weekly. I was gearing up for my first phone chat with my editor. “My” editor. The sound of that is just lovely. I was ecstatic. Jubilant. All the words there are for happiness. The remembering is painful, because I sold to Egmont USA, and anyone who’s involved with publishing teen fiction knows they closed down early 2015. Contract void. No book, no debut. Sorry about all those dreams come true; have fun back at square one!
“You’ll see: This will all work out for the best.” Continue reading Hard things and good days

My lovely stranger

Pete

I heard a poem on the radio about a man with a wife who noticed him as a stranger. It was simple and raw and it didn’t rhyme, but it made me think of you, who I notice as many things.
You and me, who change like rocks beneath a river.
You and me who don’t rhyme, but flow together,
Converging, diverging, running parallel.
Always a pair.
Always strangers.

 

A Sunny Day

On a Saturday morning, this happened:
SunnyDay
I watched my husband start to order the clothes back on, but then he just closed his mouth with a sigh and a smile. We stood there, watching our two-year-old run with gorgeous, giggling abandon through the grass and smothering pangs of longing to do the same thing––to dip back to the days when streaking across the yard would have earned us amused smiles, rather than a visit from the sheriff and a lecture on common decency. Oh, to be free and unselfconscious and joyous. Eventually, the diaper came off too, to be hung amongst the yellow flowers of the forsythia bush (in photo at left) and my daughter transformed into full-fledged wood nymph, complete with trailing flowers and muddy feet and shrieks of pure joy. It was beautiful to observe and a poignant reminder how magical these early days of warmth are. Plants crack through the soil, the ends of branches swell red with tightly curled leaves. It’s all proof that no matter how formidable winter can be, a new season is right around the corner, ready to fill the days with warmth and wake up all the sleeping things.

Choices, even the bad ones…

I didn’t say anything when my nearly two-year-old daughter dipped her cheese pizza in strawberry-banana yogurt and ate it. I stopped myself, and the horrified expression cued up on my face. It really did look disgusting. The yogurt was supposed to be dessert, by the way. The kid must have thought it was okay, because she kept eating the stuff. In the end, her hands coated in yogurt and pizza sauce, and she seemed to think that was okay because she licked her fingers. I just tried not to look too much. You should be thankful I didn’t post a photo of it. This is much more palatable:

But who am I to judge? I treat sugar and salt like their own food groups and drink honey straight out of the bear. But that’s perfectly normal. I once knew an adult person who dipped french fries in ice cream. For realz. I witnessed this act of heresy with my own two eyes. Didn’t say anything, of course.

I’d like to think I’ll always know when to intervene (or not) with my daughter’s choices. I’d like to think I won’t butt in and try to “help” her in life when she needs to work shit out on her own. I probably won’t. I’m not that wise. And I’m way too interested in her. But today, I patted myself on the back for letting the kid eat her nasty lunch without so much as a curled lip. It’s a victory, and I’ll take it. Even the little ones count.

(This post also appeared in my tumblr)

The. Worst. Day. Ever.

Kali, "Wiggity-Wu" and "the girlie face" 9/11/01 ~ 1/5/13

When we went to bed that night, we didn’t know that would be the last night she would sleep at the foot of our bed.

I guess that’s just the thing: we never know. I live the best life I can. I try to be good to the people I love. And even to the people I don’t. But I’m not, always. With this dog, I have no regrets. She lived a good life as a beloved member of our family. She was a very good dog; so easy to love. Her sudden passing is a reminder to me–be gentle, be soft. Slow down. Forgive.

Ah, the lessons we learn from our dogs.
Even after they’ve left us.