Scintilla#13, Day 12

Family ties....that bind and sometimes gag us, sometimes liberate us. This is the prompt:

Those that went before us have walked paths that we may never fully understand. Talk about a time when you learned something important about your family history.

Today the Supreme Court began hearings on marriage equality. Crowds of people are outside the Supreme Court building, demonstrations are both online and in cities and towns, and polls indicate that the majority of citizens support gay marriage.

My parents would have agreed.

But some years ago there was a disturbance in the extended family force that touched on this issue and also on the actions and ethics of our then-president, George W. Bush. What came out of that changed my feelings about those family members, and I seldom hear from or see them, both by instance of geographical distance and by moral and ethical distance.

The details don't need to be completely exposed in this venue. One family member clearly outlined in a family letter his opposition to Bush's war and the intolerance of thought towards gay and lesbian rights. It was a strong letter, but well thought out and supported, and it was emotionally and intelligently written from the heart. He acknowledged that he knew there would be differences of opinion, but hoped there could at least be discussion.

At least two family members shut him off completely first with angry, insulting words, and then with complete silence. They did not respond to phone calls, to letters, to any gesture of reconciliation, and to my knowledge at the time of his death a few years later, had never again spoken to him other than to say 'Don't ever call or write me  again.' It weighed deeply on him, and he talked with my mother at length about it, and even to me, and, I suspect, to other sympathetic family.

But what I think it did mostly was to bring out years of unspoken resentment and anger, based on I don't know what exactly -- probably a lot of history I don't know about that stretches back decades --  and divide the family.

I am too liberal for most of that side of my family. So was he. So were my parents, truth be told, but they pretty much subscribed to the 'don't ask, don't tell' school of getting along with family members with whom you don't agree, in the interests of not rocking the boat.

While there is shared history with my extended family members, there are apparently few shared values or morals or ethics with many of them. I can dance politely on the unsteady surface for a few hours at rare family gatherings, but  not for long. And I can't forget how they treated their family member when he spoke his truth from his heart. 

"Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go by any rules. They're not like aches or wounds; they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material." ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Scintilla#13, Day 9

And here we are again. Scintilla is a limited time prompt project, so I'll eventually get caught up with the prompts, but I'm trying not to feel so pressured to get them done. These are the Day 9 choices:

1. Talk about where you were going the day you got lost. Were you alone? Did you ever get to where you meant to go?

2. What is the longest thing you know by heart (for example, a prayer, speech, commercial jingle, etc.)? Why did you learn it?

Apparently the Muse prefers the second option today, although I intended to write about the first:

I am good at memorizing and have committed many words to memory throughout my life, including a good bit of the Declaration of Independence once upon a time, just because it was there in my fifth grade classroom and I could.

Like many schoolchildren, I could recite Lincoln's Gettysburg address once upon a time. Of course we learned the Pledge of Allegiance (since we said it daily then) and I even remember having to relearn it with the words 'under God' which Wikipedia says were added by law in 1954. We also learned songs like "America the Beautiful" and "The Star Spangled Banner" by heart because we had music teachers in the schools then.

As churchgoers, we learned early to recite the prayers and Creeds, and sing so many hymns.  I have sung in many church choirs over the years, at least half-memorizing most of the anthems and cantatas and oratorios. I can still sing most of Messiah from memory (and I know my brother can too).

Singing is actually a really good method of memorization, and I can recite today a Robert Frost poem -- Choose Something Like a Star -- that I first sang back in high school. Frost is one of my favorite poets, though, and I have a few more of his works stashed away in memory. I still use them to focus on when I'm stressed or anxious. Snippets of other poems often come to memory, especially the works of Eugene Field which my mother read to me when I was very little. Sometimes I have to go find the rest of the words; usually I can remember most of them.

And then there are the plays.  The longest was probably A Flea in Her Ear in which I played Lucienne -- that was back in 1996 and I loved every moment of that experience, although I don't think I could recite much today. Steel Magnolias, on the other hand, I have been in three times -- once as M'lynn, once as Ouiser, and once as Clairee, and with only a little prompting, I could probably get through most of that play from heart -- truly from heart, as it is my favorite play and story.

Words stick in my head: stories, poems, plays, song lyrics -- and pop out in my writing, my speech, my thoughts. I try now to focus on meaning, not rote recitation, and that digs them in even more deeply. They sometimes can help me express a meaning, an emotion or situation, more clearly, and I like that I can usually find a quote or song to make my own words more clear to readers and listeners.

Rediscovering the power in a good book

The last time I spent hours and hours reading was when we rented a house on the Oregon coast in the fall of 2011 and it rained for three days. I started Diana Gabaldon's Outlander series that week and read my way through at least two of the 1000+ word tomes (on Kindle so I didn't boink myself when I fell asleep at night!) during that lovely time away.

Since I'm in full rest and recovery mode, meaning that I need to spend time with my leg elevated, and am fair-to-middling useless when it comes to doing regular chores or running around these days, I have been reading. Yeah, messing around on Facebook and reading blogs and email and so on, but reading honest-to-god books, some of which I found on the free or under $3.99 Kindle list, some of which have been kicking around my nightstand for months.

 I polished off Three Moons Over Sedona by Sherry Hartzler, one I'd gotten as a kindle freebie quite some time ago, in just a day or two, not reading constantly. It was entertaining enough to keep my interest, although fairly predictable and sometimes a little disconnected, but I liked reading about the area and the (again, fairly predictable) growth of the main character .It is not unlike something I have thought about writing, actually....

I've already mentioned Anne Lamott's Help. Thanks. Wow. which was NOT a freebie and indeed is MORE than the hardcover version. It was inspirational and touching and amazing, as I always find her writing.

I'm reading now The Blue Tail by Kim Antieau, in the soft cover version. It was a birthday gift from my lovely and literate friend Melissa, to whom I gave Antieau's Church of the Old Mermaids a few years ago and created a fan of Antieau's work and the mermaids. Antieau lives in Oregon and I've read her blog for several years.

But I've really been wrapped up in two books from the All Souls Trilogy by historian Deborah Harkness, starting with A Discovery of Witches (which was a deal of the day on Kindle several months ago), and then I just HAD to buy the second book, Shadow of Night. She's still writing the third book, blast-and-damn, but I'll snatch it as soon as it's published this year (just like I'm waiting for the eighth in the Outlander series, also to be published this year).

The trilogy is about a witch and a vampire who fall in love.

It is nothing.~~ NOTHING.~~ like Twilight or True Blood, neither of which I've read, but have only seen the movies and the TV series. (I heard such criticism of the Twilight books that I just haven't been interested, and I've found the movies fairly insipid; the Sookie Stackhouse books upon which True Blood is based may be better, but again -- not really interested.)

These two are scholars, educated and interesting, who have these, uh, big character differences. The books are chock-full of historical references (indeed, the second book contains a glossary of sorts that tells you which characters are historical) and detailed descriptions of places, including the Bodleian Library at Oxford University as well as Elizabethan England and Prague and France (in 1590). As a fan and long-time reader of historical fiction, at least some of it, I loved all the description and history.

The world that Harkness creates for her lovers begins in present day and goes back to the 16th century -- yes, there is time travel involved, which I also enjoy. There are four kinds of creatures inhabiting the world: humans, vampires, witches, and daemons, and the author vividly brings them to life with their character differences and flaws and misconceptions.

I had to pull myself out of the books, reluctantly closing my Kindle cover, to come to dinner. The device rode with me on my knee roller and even on my trips to the bathroom, I would pull it out of the little basket and read another few pages. And yet, I forcced myself to leave it alone to watch some television or to do some emails or to read a bit in a magazine or newspaper, simply because I didn't want it to be done, to have to read the last page, especially knowing that the third book isn't out yet! I wanted to savor the story longer, prolong the anticipation of finding out what happens next.

That's a good book, in my humble opinion, when you don't want it to end. (And that's one thing I adored about the Outlander books: there were SEVEN of them to read all in a row, long, long books full of places and history and adventure and great characters, which took me months to do...and then I dragged my feet through the last one, knowing it would be the better part of a year before the eighth book is out!)

So I'm onto the next -- right now The Blue Tail -- but followed soon by The Rose Garden by Susanna Kearsley (another Kindle bargain!) who has several other books. I've read good things about her writing and am looking forward to another good read.

I am loving all this reading, I'll be honest. While I always have a book or two and a magazine or three waiting for me, I haven't taken time to read during the day for a long time, saving it for bedtime (when I always read). These days I'm whipping through magazines almost as soon as they hit the mailbox, two newspapers, and also books. I will not give this up when I'm again two-legged and mobile -- another lesson I'm learning. I need to read. I have always been a reader. It's time now to indulge that more often and for a longer time.

Kindle owners -- or Kindle app readers -- see Kindle Deal of the Day.
See 100 Kindle books for under $3.99 here
There is also a Kindle blog.
Kindle apps for your iPad, your laptop or martphones are free. More info here.

Disclaimer: Don't get me wrong. I love paper and ink books and own many, but I love the Kindle and being able to take huge books with me in a tiny format, and also being able to read pretty much anything I want to read RIGHT NOW. Many of my paper books are going to be donated to our local Friends of the Library over the course of this year as I continue my quest to downsize and eliminate things I won't re-read or don't need or don't cherish.

Reverb11 -- Day 31 -- Reflect and Choice

#1 Prompt: Reflect - Take a moment to think back on your reverb11 responses.  Have you learned anything?  What surprised you about this experience?  Which of your responses was your favourite?

#2 Prompt: Choice: What can you choose in 2012 to make your life better?

#1 -- When you take the time and make the effort to reflect on past experiences -- not to beat yourself up or to think about ways things coulda-should-woulda been handled differently, but truly examine the experience in the clear light of after-the-fact, it should always end up being a learning experience.

With Reverb, the year is up for review -- something I don't know I'd do so introspectively otherwise. I've learned that there were too many sad moments in 2011, too many mucky bogs to slog through a step at a time. I've learned that there were too few joyful moments, too little laughter, not enough fun.

I was most surprised, I guess, by the revelation that Mary Oliver's poem "The Journey" turned out to be the defining moment of 2011 for me -- a real 'Road to Damascus' moment that has shaped most of my actions since that dark night. I knew it was important; it is in the looking-back that the impact becomes noticeable in what my life has  been since, and in the direction that I've been at pains to continue walking towards.

In that poem, that revelation, I was able to release my fears (mostly) and desperate need to make things better for someone else -- to 'fix' them. I was able to let go and turn towards my own life, and I've stayed on that path since.


What a strange place to find the light -- an issue of O Magazine, reading late on a dark and stormy night.

I like the honesty in my responses this year: I've put a lot out there for people to see, and yet I felt I was writing these letters to myself alone. I liked especially this post because it was a revelation to me as I was writing it, at least the part about forgiveness (I knew I liked food ;>}}}.

Reverb is a powerful writing tool and a revelation if approached with a willingness to examine oneself candidly and honestly. I think there will be additional Reverb-related e-mails this year and I'm also planning to seek out other writing prompts. That really helps with the discipline -- the 'doing the work' part -- of writing daily.

#2 -- What can I choose to make my life better? Being proactive about health issues, losing weight, easing stress will go a long way towards making my life better. I'm mostly doing that now, well, maybe except for losing weight. But I don't want to wait until some big health crisis looms large (like I'm in the emergency room) before I address issues that I know I have some control over -- and all too many of us do.

I can choose to do things I enjoy doing and to be with people who are positive, easy to be with, and who care about me as much as I care about them. I can choose to avoid groups and individuals whose negative energy and attitude are spirit-suckers -- you know, sort of like the Dementor's Kiss in Harry Potter?

I believe that even in the darkest of times there is always a glimmer of hope (reinforced by our current viewing of the entire extended edition of The Lord of the Rings, where the blacks are pretty darned dark and it's hard to see much hope, unless you're Arwen, who always finds it). I choose to be with people who share that outlook, and to ask them for help if I find myself falling into the pit of despair.

I can choose to make my days meaningful, whether that is cleaning out clutter or spending time with a friend or simply sitting and reading a book. And always I can choose gratitude: it helps prolong life and makes even difficult issues easier to bear (I know that is a very Pollyanna-ish attitude and there will be some who scoff. I've tried it both ways. Gratitude is a lot better, lemme tell you. And it is your own perception of any situation that makes the difference as to how easy or difficult it is.)

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I am grateful for the writers who took the time and made the effort to formulate and e-mail Reverb prompts this year. It makes a difference to my own life.

Happy New Year to all tonight. May 2012 bring you blessings you didn't know you needed, joy you never visualized, and love you always hoped for.

I'm not Occupying Red Bluff any more...

and here's why.

I enthusiastically participated in the first Occupy Red Bluff march a couple of weeks ago, waving my sign at cars going up and down Main Street.

The original Occupy Wall Street movement which, spore-like, has sprung up in communities around the world, began mostly as a protest against corporate greed.

Says the website: "Occupy Wall Street is leaderless resistance movement with people of many colors, genders and political persuasions. The one thing we all have in common is that We Are The 99% that will no longer tolerate the greed and corruption of the 1%. We are using the revolutionary Arab Spring tactic to achieve our ends and encourage the use of nonviolence to maximize the safety of all participants.
This  movement empowers real people to create real change from the bottom up. We want to see a general assembly in every backyard, on every street corner because we don't need Wall Street and we don't need politicians to build a better society."

So okay, I absolutely can buy into that.  That seems to be an issue that transcends party lines and will register with politicians and corporations that we 'little people" are not going to lay down and watch our dollars disappear into your coffers without a protest.

And I print my signs about being one of the 99 percent and show up.

The Occupy Red Bluff group gets on Facebook. Well, okay, that is a great social media communication device as is Twitter for communicating and staying in front of people.

And then I read this post: "Every Monday @ 11:00 am there will be a gathering of occupiers @ BofA, 955 Main St. Red Bluff CA. Plz bring a sign and express your feelings about what is going on in Congress, on Wall Street ,The War, Guantanamo Bay, etc....Be nice, be polite, be humane"

More posts appeared in support of the Humane Society, the homeless, famine in America and hungry children, pictures of hippies back in the day, lots of news about other Occupy cities (which I'd have expected, of course), domestic violence, even Lindsay Lohan news. 

And I was done. 

The protests against corporate greed,  about misuse and non-repayment of the federal bailout money, and about the rich (both individuals and corporations) not being fairly taxed was one I could embrace and one which I believe could do a lot to bring people in any political party together on an issue has now devolved, at least locally, into a mishmash of liberal causes. 

Don't get me wrong: I support many of these causes individually and have donated time and money over the years. I've marched on picket lines and written letters to the editor and supported various of these causes. I support spay/neutering of pets, shelters for the homeless, ending domestic violence, and the like, for instance. Each of those causes already has an organization devoted to furthering its message and call to action.


But Occupy Red Bluff (and, I suspect, many other local Occupy events) has become too unfocused, too broad for me to want to get out there with my 99 percent sign again. I don't have a passion for some of the other causes that have been all tossed in together like grandma's old crazy quilt, and I don't want my friends and neighbors to mistake my action and conviction for something else. 


Unfortunate. Really unfortunate that it has become just another "liberal" vehicle for the Tea Party and conservative Republicans to scoff at and dismiss as a place where all the 'commie liberals' hang out and wave their protest signs. 


It should not be labeled as such. The root of the protest is one we all should be concerned about and be vocal about because it strikes at the heart of our economy, our investments, our government, and our future . The leaders of this 'leaderless' protest would be better served to stick to the issue. Because they've lost this one of the 99 percent, who is now slipping back into that silent majority who don't participate in picket lines and marches. (My pen, however, remains my most trusted sword....)

More on life and death

Two poems I cannot get out of my head:

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas -- one of my favorite poets and the subject of my senior English thesis in college. "Rage, rage against the dying of the light." 

No Man is an Island by John Donne, another favorite from my college courses. "... any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

Too many conversations about death and dying and endings and letting go are running through my brain non-stop: Did I say the right things? Is he going to go through with it? What else should I have done? What can anyone do? What right have we to interfere in another adult's decision -- assuming, of course, that his intent is to harm no one except himself,  and thereby harming himself,  he harms others, undoubtedly irreparably, inconsolably. A moral conundrum. 


Until death at last appears unbidden on our threshold to complete our journey, there is always another chance. There is always a way through the pain, the uncertainty, the despair. It is hard work, to be sure, but there are many helping hands along the way if the person only can ask, can admit that death may not be the best solution at this moment, and allow himself to be vulnerable enough to accept a hand. 

We are always stronger working together than we are standing apart. An integral part of every 12-Step group is drawing on the collective strength of the group to keep going on every day, moment to moment, knowing that they are there to fill you back up at yet another meeting, to give you encouragement to keep on, to help you stay on track. 


I want so much for my cousin to know this and to find one shred of something that he still wants to do, to find, to be. Just one tiny thing can make all the difference between life and death. 


I always analyze my own actions and words after they've been done and spoken, and am a harsh critic: did I do enough? Did I do it well enough? Did I say what I meant, and was it received as it was intended? Could I have said something better, more clearly, more meaningfully? Why didn't I think to say/do this, or that, or something that would have worked better?


Yeah, I know. Gotta let that go.

 Deep breath.

Mine is the only life I can save. But may my prayers and my words and my actions reach others who need to hear that someone cares, that there is a way through the dark, that we are not alone in this world. 

So I'm a little late...

...but I've signed up for #Reverb10, a daily blog prompt to help me reflect on this past year and "...manifest what's next..." whatever that may end up. (thank you, Melissa!)

It started yesterday, but I was enroute to pick up Princess #1 at the airport who was coming back home from visiting her dad, and also playing Elizabeth in a 'Journey to Bethlehem' event at the local Presbyterian church (for you local readers, it continues Wednesdays from 12-1 in December, and is well worth taking half an hour at lunch to remember Christmas's message).

So, that said, on to the first prompt of Dec. 1:

One Word. Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you're choosing that word. Now, imagine it's one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?

My word for 2010 is Transition. Almost from the first day in January, much of my life was disrupted this year because of a fall that broke my right wrist, which meant that I couldn't take notes or type (very efficiently at least) to continue on the freelancing path I've been on these past two+ years. It meant that I couldn't do the simplest chores, like folding clothes or washing dishes, without some major creativity. It meant that I spent the first three weeks of January in a pain-and-medicine-induced fog, with side effects that were in themselves very unpleasant -- like urpy nausea every time I needed one of the narcotic pain meds, or not being able to pee even though I badly needed to, or nightmarish dreams and restless sleep, with my right arm propped up on pillows.

The week between the accident and the surgery to repair the bad break was the worst: the body-mind connection is very real and gets stronger as we age, I believe, and my body knew that things were not right.

I came out of it all eventually and have most of my strength and movement back, thank you universe, but it took a very long time -- most of the year -- to find myself again, and actually I'm still working on becoming who I am supposed to be at this point in my life, and figuring out how to do what I need to do (whatever that is). I'm no longer freelancing, but was able to turn that over to a dear friend who loves the writing and meets the deadlines without the anxiety that they were provoking in me anyway. Clearly I was meant to give that up -- and I don't miss the deadlines, although I loved hearing the stories!

Top that off with some stresses and angst about other loved ones' issues and problems, and it made for a year in transit.

For 2011, I'd like my word to be Renewal. I want to move ahead, to put things to rest and to clean out the old (literally as well as figuratively), to remember every day that this is not a dress rehearsal and that every day is a new beginning if I so choose.

For Dec. 2:
Writing. What do you do each day that doesn't contribute to your writing -- and can you eliminate it?

I get bogged down in little things, mostly, but also spend too much time putzing on Facebook, on e-mail, on Internet browsing about things that aren't really all that important. I do read several blogs every day but I think that's a GOOD thing, like reading the newspapers. But I do procrastinate -- always have, or at least to the point where I'm down to the eleventh hour and 58th minute before I get going -- and I'd like to NOT do that. I'm working on trying to allow a certain time period for putzing, and then doing at least ONE thing for the good of the order -- like vaccuuming a rug or dusting a table or cleaning a drawer or a closet -- every day. I also need to plan to spend at least an hour a day writing or working on a plan for a book. Progress, not perfection.

Five years

I've been writing this blog for five years as of Oct. 11. Not counting this one, I have 334 posts, only around 66 or so a year, which is not impressive, although it averages out to a little more than one a week.

I've ranted and raved. I've whined. I've reminisced. I've preached. I've told stories. I've enjoyed myself immensely.

Someone asked me recently what I most like to write, and without even giving it a thought, I said, "My blog. It is all for me -- whatever I want to say, whatever I want to write, however many words I choose. It's my therapy, my safety valve, my journal."

As I was skimming back over the most recent posts, I did cringe a bit at some of the sentence structure -- sometimes I will go back and edit, but mostly I don't. Whatever comes out of my brain through my fingers is what you get. If I ever organize these posts into some sort of book, I'll edit then. Otherwise, you're stuck with my brain dumps.

I love interviewing people, learning about their stories and how they got to where they are. But writing the subsequent story is hard work, and I sweat out every paragraph, sometimes every word. I let their stories perk in my head for -- oh, let's just say that I usually wait until the deadline is looming large. And then I MUST write it, must tell the story to make that deadline.

Yes, it would be better to just write it immediately and not sweat the deadline along with how to best tell the story. But I bet nearly every writer does the same thing I do -- waits until the eleventh hour. I have tried to do it differently. Doesn't work.

I can dash off a news release about an event with no trouble at all -- years of experience in writing them. But a feature -- you can take so many different angles with most stories, and I want to be very careful to be true to the subject's words and intent. So I agonize.

But this blog -- I never lack for subjects. I never lack for a lede. It simply comes pouring out, sometimes faster than I can type. The only thing I must be careful about is saving my work, pausing occasionally to select and copy, even with the auto-save, because I've found the hard way that one little slip of a finger will delete AND save the document, and my profound words are...gone.

Not that I have any illusions about their profundity (is that a word?) This is my story. I get to write what I want. You get to choose whether or not you want to read it.

I love that you do, those faithful few of you. I love it when something I say strikes a chord in your story, and you tell me about it. For those few moments, my words have connected us, even if I don't know you.

There are a lot of words in the archives, and many of the posts have not been tagged (an ongoing project). Thank you for reading them for the past five years. Let's see where this next one takes us.

Seeing the future

I watched the Miss Tehama County competition last night at the Tehama District Fair. Six young -- young -- women answered questions and demonstrated talent and poise on an outdoor stage right on the fair's midway, supported by friends and family and a host of onlookers.

And I puddled right up as they came out, one by one, escorted by their fathers or family friends.

They are so beautiful, each of them, in their youth, their optimism, their courage, their hopefulness. They are the up-and-comers, the next generation, the ones who, in another couple of decades, will be the lawmakers, the parents, the CEOs, the cornerstones of the business world.

Maybe that makes me officially "old." But I can see this passage of time so clearly, almost physically feel it move from my generation to theirs.

I remember feeling that way when I was young, like there wasn't anything I couldn't do if I wanted to do it. I remember a time when my hair wasn't grey, my face was unlined, nothing hurt, my muscles were stretchable and lithe and strong, when life was full of possibilities, and I could pick from everything.

I don't think I really understood my potential then. And I'm not sure I ever reached it, the highest I might achieve, looking back at my life now.

Maybe that is the source of the tears: both the beauty of youth and the yet untapped potential each holds within herself, and the understanding now that we have all these choices available to us in our youth and that we ourselves are responsible for determining our own destiny as we choose, as we act over the years.

It's not that I don't still have choices and options and potential: I know I do until I take my last breath. But I had no real idea how much power I did have back then; I'm not sure any of us do until much later in life when we have made the choices that have determined our futures.

Perhaps it is always that way: the older generation realizes what a gift the younger generation has in front of them, but young seldom listens with to old with any real comprehension of what we're trying to say. And the curse of the older generation is that we have this knowledge within us, but it is rarely recognized for the insight that it is.

I'm sure I'll continue to puddle up at weddings and graduations as I grow older. And I hope I will gain wisdom and more insight along with the years. And what I truly hope is that somehow I will be able to communicate that through my words so that someone, some time, will understand what a gift youth is, what an incredible opportunity we have in time, what thoughtful care we should take in making our choices and decisions. And how we always have second chances, even when we find them hard to see.

Four years -- happy blog-iversary!

This blog is four years old, believe it or not. I wrote the first post on Oct. 11, 2004, wondering if I would even like this medium for my thoughts and words. After four years and 276 posts, I think it's obvious that I do.

I'll never have the readership of some of the blogs I read, it's not likely to get a lot of referrals from other blogs, and I don't care. There is a little group of regulars who check this site most days -- I know who some of you are because you've told me, and I can take a guess at who others are based on location. And then there are those who just find it because of a key word search.

Probably the words that show up most often in a search have to do with getting out of life what you put into it -- words I've used over and over in this four years of writing. I know this to be true: life is what you make of it, good or bad. How you react to problems and issues determines the course your life takes and how happy or unhappy you may be.

Not that there aren't things beyond our control. But it's our reaction to those things that determine what course our lives take.

The other thing I know is true: this too shall pass. Nothing lasts. Everything changes.

That goes for everything. Savor the good, learn from the not so good.

Thank you for reading my words, all of you. I hope you find a few nuggets in the stories and memories that help you along your path. In writing, I often find renewed energy and hope to continue along mine.

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My brother came through his surgery very well, although I haven't talked to him yet, but it sounds as though he will have the best possible outcome. I am grateful for prayers and energy that have been sent to him and to me, and to my dear sister-in-law. I am grateful for surgeons who are skillful and compassionate, and for ever-advancing techniques in cancer treatment.

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One day at a time is all we can ever live. Today I am grateful for my life and for those who I love.

Choosing your words 2

Okay, so I don't really have time to write much, but there's a story on Dianne Sylvan's blog Dancing Down the Moon that you really ought to read.

You know how you always think of the PERFECT comeback long after the person who has zinged you is far, far away?

Dianne -- for once, she says -- got to make that comeback. Immediately.