Saving Daylight

Are we sure...? This is how a lot of us would probably sum up 2021 - a kind of “Eh?”  I always find it helpful to take a concrete look back, so if you’re interested, join me for a bit. -I took a total of 27 weeks of online writing courses.  It was three classes total: Memoir I, Memoir II, and a blog writing class.  I expected the memoir classes to be great and they absolutely were.  I didn’t expect the blog class to be all that interesting or inspiring, yet it was both.  It included the most eclectic mix of people and pursuits, from medieval manuscripts to peace management to growing up with a schizophrenic parent and the class itself covered a lot of ground in genre and audience. All three teachers were warm and encouraging with unique and realistic feedback, and as you might guess, my standards for teachers are pretty high.  I also attended an online writing conference and a few random seminars, mostly to learn about the process of querying and publishing. I also joined the National

My dad died 20 years ago today.  I’m appropriately blah and fast-track grumpy as a result.  So, I decided to draft a list of 20 people and things that have helped me feel less blah and fast-track to grumpy town over these last two decades.  This is extremely rough draft-y and quick reflection.  I could easily write an entire piece about all twenty (plus two) of these. Here goes: My mom, who just knows and who has picked up all the slack, all the time, since 1977. My grandparents, particularly my grandfather who always had a patience and a kind word when it came to my dad. My friend George and his wife Abbey, who drove 3 hours round-trip, twice in one week, like it was nothing, to attend funeral-related stuff.  Both have also been down this path.  My friend Kevin J., who called and asked what he could do and followed through with exactly what I asked.  My husband, who always treats this topic gently and with kindness and patience.  Michelle, who has been down this path and is a constant

 Our garage door broke again.  I'm not even mad about it anymore.  This is the fourth time in eight years, the achilles heel of our house.  I grew up without a functional garage, so whenever it breaks I remind myself that having a garage with a working door is an extra tidbit, untethered to happiness.   I was kinda proud of my limited reaction to its breaking.  I said one small string of curse words then immediately switched into problem-solving mode and cruise-directed our taking turns holding it up for the other to back our cars out - unlike the time where we had to take Ubers to work and back.  I think part of me expected it would break. I was significantly less surprised.  More surprising was my lack of day-slumping reactive mode.  I almost behaved as someone with...maturity.  Grace, even.     *  *  *   This week marks one year since experiencing my first ever panic attack.  It was not because our garage door broke.   I used to think panic attacks were a made-up thing for the d

 My dear friend Caitlin told me about it over a Marco Polo.  If you don't know what 'a' Marco Polo is, even though you know 'who' Marco Polo is, it just means you're not young, or young-at-heart, or some other cliche' that indicates how not-young you are.   Marco Polo, an app that allows you to video text with friends or family without the need to be live or have matching schedules, was a pandemic bright spot.  It's like leaving a video voicemail for someone, and they're free to look at it whenever it's convenient for them.  You can get to the point, including tone, very quickly rather than pouring over text messages trying to say just the right thing.  That might be something I do that no one else does.  Anyway, I like it.  I plan to continue using it.  It's how Caitlin and I primarily stay in touch.  Something will happen that I know she'll appreciate, I turn on the app, tell her about it, and move on with my day, excited to eventuall