Take Time to Talk

Wednesday afternoon, the weather in KC was so gorgeous that I decided to veer off my typical walking route and hike over to Starbucks for an iced coffee. The walk back took me through our neighborhood park. As I passed the tennis courts, an elderly gentleman -- walking on the other side of the path -- paused a distance away and commented that he was surprised no one was playing tennis. 

Since he had stopped, I stopped. And we took the time to talk to each other. In 10 or 15 minutes of chatting, I discovered a lot about this friendly gent, including:

His name is Homer, and he was married to Wanda Lorraine for 69 years; they got married when they were both 20. Wanda died last January. Not long after that, Homer moved up here from Texas to live with his son, a retired professor. 

His life, he told me, has been filled with joy. He and Wanda met when they were 16 and he knew, right from the start, she was the one. In their 69 years together, there were hard times, of course, but they had a good marriage and raised a family that remains close-knit today. Homer and Wanda were both active in their church. 

She was, he assured me, a wonderful woman.

Homer (who is 91, if you're doing the math) said he stopped playing tennis not too long ago, and tried racquetball, but just didn't like it as much. He still goes for a walk every morning and every afternoon; he figures it's a one-mile path, so he's clocking two miles per day. 

He's starting to feel a little old, he admitted. That's one of the changes since Wanda died. 

Over the years, I've noticed that people often talk to me about their lives, but don't ask about mine. Homer, however, wanted to know my name, and we talked about my family. When I told him Tom and I had been married 35 years, he laughed. "Just getting started," he said. 

Talking to Homer was a moment of pure pleasure in the midst of everything else happening in the universe. He and I wouldn't have shared the joy if we hadn't both slowed down, made eye contact, smiled, and taken the time to talk and listen. 

The moment was good for my soul -- and my creative juju. I haven't had the urge to write a post in weeks. And yet, here we are ...

Talking. 

Old people tell the best stories. 
I'm not even telling you about how a cute girl
prompted schoolboy Homer to switch churches. 
Rest assured, that was before Wanda. 

#WednesdayWords - George Eliot

Did you know that George Eliot's real name was Mary Ann (or Marian, depending on source) Evans? Her pseudonym both concealed her gender -- a useful move in the 1800s -- and the fact that she was an unmarried woman, living with a married man. 

Basically, George was way ahead of her time. In many ways. She was not conventional in her choices or her appearance. According to a New Yorker article, "Henry James characterized her as 'magnificently ugly, deliciously hideous.'"

The same article refers to one man as someone who "declined to fall in love with her."

Isn't that a fascinating idea? The notion that you can "decline" to fall in love with someone? You could write a poem about that. But, I'm going to direct you down a different creative route. For today's creativity exercise, choose a pseudonym -- and make your selection with no regard to gender. 

Then, remember: It's not too late. 

#HappyNewYear - My Wish for You

To wrap up 2020 and send you marching bravely forward into 2021, it seems only reasonable to write about toilet paper. 

When Harry and Eva and I were kids, most of the annual family vacations were spent hauling our tent trailer around the country -- we had some great trips with Mom and Dad. On those travels, we typically parked the tent trailer at a KOA or state park. We packed toilet paper among our necessities; you couldn't count on a campsite having a decent supply in the outhouse. 

Yeah, it was fancy. 

As we got older, there were times when we could afford a nice hotel. I will forever remember Mom's thrill when she walked into one hotel room, inspected the bathroom, and squealed with delight -- the toilet paper had been folded into a point, welcoming us with style. 

Now, that was fancy. And, by extension, we were fancy. We were special. 

Harry and I live fairly close to each other -- Eva lives out of town. To this day, for any overnight visit, she and I still fold the toilet paper for each other. 

It only takes a moment.
But every moment matters.  

My Wish for You
In 2021, may you share your life with people who make you feel special. May you feel seen, heard, and supported. May you look forward with hope. May you look back with love. May you find new hobbies that bring you joy -- or reclaim old hobbies. May you set a goal, reach it, and celebrate. May you lose the right weight. May you stay safe and healthy. May you take small steps and applaud the progress. May you laugh often. May you breathe easy. 

May you accept that it's not all about you. May you realize that sometimes it is. May you know, wherever you go, that you are necessary and appreciated and loved. 

May you learn that starting and stopping are one and the same. May you never be afraid to stop. May you always be eager to start. 

Here's to old times and new years. Happy 2021, dear heart! 

B7, Go to Heaven

Two years. That's how long it's been. 

It was fairly early on Sunday, Nov. 25, 2018. I was sitting on the couch, sipping my morning coffee. I wasn't thinking about Mom -- I knew I'd see her in a couple of hours. I took her to the bingo game at Village Shalom, most every Sunday. 

Then the phone rang and life changed. Her life was over. 

In the two years since Mom died, I've missed her every day. I've also made approximately 104 Sunday dinners, written a book, made international presentations, gained new clients, joined a book club, reclaimed my yoga practice, laughed a lot, and discovered the joy of watercolors. 

Simply put, I've kept going. I've gotten up and put one foot in front of the other, even on days when grief felt stronger than gratitude. Even on days when staying in bed felt like the better option. Even on days when the pandemic and politics and life in general made me want to not only stay in bed, but pull the covers over my head and hide. 

That's what we do, peeps. We keep going. You know why?

Because, we can. Because along with those dreadful days, and sometimes in the midst of them, there's unexpected joy and welcome laughter. 

We keep going because we're here. Because every single day gives us a chance to do something that makes our lives -- or someone else's life -- a bit better. 

When Mom died, the hardest moment for me came after the Jewish whirlwind of death and almost immediate funeral. The hardest moment was after we cleared out Mom's room at Village Shalom, and I went back up there the next day -- by myself, by my own request -- to wait for the facility management team to move her furniture out to our waiting truck. 

The almost empty room was heartbreaking enough; Mom had filled that room the way she filled my life -- with laughter and love and songs and silliness. With joy. But the emptiness didn't break me. It was the sympathy card the Village Shalom staff had left on Mom's bureau. 

More than a dozen people, including staff members I didn't even know, signed that card, sharing their love for Mom in special remembrances like these:

"I am going to miss Lillian and the way she sang thru life. I feel lucky to have known her."

"I looked forward to seeing Lillian every day coming to work, because she always sang songs, made up poems constantly & told many cute stories. She spoke in the sweetest manner & was always so encouraging. She was the kindest senior person I've ever met &. knew how to cheer everyone up."

"I will definitely miss Lil's smile, laugh, poems and saying, 'Delicious and nutritious!'"

"She was one amazing woman. I loved visiting her and listening to her stories. She encouraged me to visit the Golden Gate."

"I will greatly miss her. She was a bright light to my days."

Mom was 97 years old when she died. Nearly blind. Hard of hearing. Her memory was scattered and her mobility was limited. She still managed to get up every day and make the world better. 

If Lillian can do it, we can do it. 

In keeping with Jewish tradition, I have a yahrzeit candle burning for Mom today. But her bright light shines year-round. I see it in my brother and sister. In my daughters. My best friend. My husband. I see it in readers, who discover Lillian in my book, and take her life lessons to heart -- the emails and reviews and notes I've received in the year since the book was published mean more than I can say. 

On that day, two years ago, Kansas City had a rare blizzard -- it took the funeral home hours to arrive at Village Shalom. Tom and the girls and I walked alongside the attendant, accompanying Mom's body to the waiting hearse. The route took us by the Social Hall, where the Sunday bingo game was in full swing. 

We had to laugh, because we could all hear it -- the rhyme Mom said at that bingo game every Sunday, often repeatedly. "B7 -- go to heaven!" 

Bingo! I love you, Mom. 

#Creativity Tips: Share the Love

As I write this, the first snow of the season is blowing down outside my office window. You know what that means: The holidays are almost here!

Let's wrap up this one-of-a-kind year with a one-of-a-kind holiday giveaway. For every two copies of Look Up: Your Unexpected Guide to Good that are purchased from now through the end of November, I'll donate one copy to a Little Free Library. 

Who on your gift list could use a pick-me-up? Look Up is filled with stories that make you smile, along with immediately doable creativity exercises. But why take my word for it? Listen to what readers are saying:

"I laughed, I cried, I sent quotes to friends. This was exactly the book I needed right now. I already know I'll be picking it back up when I need a fun creative exercise or pick me up."

"With images, graphics, and sweet, sweet surprises, Look Up brings unexpected good to life in a very real way."

"If you want to read something that will simply make you feel better, read this book. Read it in pieces, read it all at once. I recommend it highly!"

"Delightful, encouraging, uplifting & a joy to read."

Share the joy this holiday season! For every two books purchased between now and the end of November, I donate one to a Little Free Library! Find your copy/gifts at:

Amazon

Bookshop.org

Barnes & Noble

And at the Junque Drawer Studio in my hometown! If you live in the KC metro area and you haven't visited the Junque Drawer, do yourself a favor and go. Immediately. So many fun gift ideas, in all price ranges. Lots of good stocking stuffers. And don't forget to buy yourself a treat!

 Super fun to see the book
in one of my favorite stores!

#Creativity Tips: Look Down

 I know, I know. It's counter-intuitive and off-brand for me to encourage you to "look down" rather than "Look Up." 

But look! After a big storm blew through, I saw this on the deck -- raindrops captured in a spider's web. How cool is that? 

Life. It's all a matter of perspective, peeps. 

How's that Happy Working Out?

Life is busy, so you may not have noticed this ... but I haven't blogged all year. It's true. Now, I've been writing for clients. Promoting Look Up: Your Unexpected Guide to Good. Doing Zoom sessions for Creative Mornings. Staying relatively sane, all things considered. 

But I haven't been blogging. 

Why? Excellent question, my friend. I thought publication of the book might be a nice wrap on the blog. I posted Look Up tidbits on Facebook, Twitter, and LinkedIn. I wondered, once the pandemic hit, if I had anything encouraging to say. 

Then, some lovely woman on Twitter noticed that I hadn't blogged since December 2019, posed a question, and dang. Here we go again! 

YES. What I wrote at the end of 2019 holds true in 2020. Little happy moments are waiting for us every day. Unfortunately, they're a helluva lot harder to find these days, given everything that's happening to us and around us. 

So, before I launch into happy moments mode, let's pause for a second and pay respect to the unhappy truth: 2020 has been a year of loss. For all of us. 

First and foremost, some of us have lost loved ones. If that's the loss you're mourning, I'm so deeply sorry. Death in the time of COVID can be an intensely lonely experience. Please know: You are not alone. 

Beyond that deepest loss, some of us have lost jobs,  income, and insurance in the past five months. Some of us have lost friends to the shifting schedules and priorities of the pandemic. Weddings have been postponed, vacations cancelled. We've lost freedom and hugs and kisses. Smiles from strangers. Coffee dates and long lunches. We've lost our sense of normalcy, and it's hard to know when/what will return. 

We're facing an avalanche of losses, big and small. 

And yet ... those little happy moments await. Your happy will be different than mine, but in the extra time at home, I've enjoyed: 

• Trying new recipes, experimenting with the ingredients, and eating the delicious results
• Playing with watercolors, with no expectations of producing anything "useful" or "beautiful"
• Reading a lot -- I even joined a Zoom book club
• Getting back to yoga (Can we all just say a loud, "Thank you, Lord!" for Zoom?)

You know what else I've enjoyed? Embracing my inner introvert. As antsy as I've been at times to go anywhere, see anyone, it's been nice to have a valid excuse to simply put on my comfy shorts, a big T-shirt, and stay home. 

If you're having trouble seeing the little happy moments waiting for you, try the anticipation/gratitude exercise:

1. Anticipation
   When you wake up, think of three things you're looking forward to during the day. They don't have to be major -- you could be looking forward to your first cup of coffee, a hot shower, and watching "That Girl" reruns on TV. 
   
   
2. Gratitude
   Before you go to sleep at night, think of three things you're grateful for. Again, it doesn't have to be life-changing. For example, I'm grateful I can end a sentence with a preposition, because I'm not in college anymore. I'm grateful you're still reading the blog, despite the gap in posting. I'm grateful Mary is celebrating her 27th birthday today, and is feeling so much better (she was one of the millions who've had COVID).
   
   I'll even throw in an extra gratitude moment, based on something that happened while I was writing this blog: I'm grateful Kate drives an Audi and wasn't hurt when some guy rear-ended her this morning.
   

Healthy daughters. Now there's a huge HAPPY no matter what else is happening in the world.  

Stay tuned

I have a few ideas for posts, and I'm delighted to be back with you and our blog! If there's anything special you'd like me to discuss, explain, rant about, whatever -- let me know! 

My 2020 Wish for You: A Truly Happy New Year

I'm a writer; words are my toys. I play with them all the time -- in my head while I'm driving; in my Moleskine notebooks while I'm doodling; on my screen while I'm at the computer. This past week, I've been playing with Happy New Year!

The phrase is so automatic, it's becoming the December version of, "How are you?"

"How are you?"

"I'm fine. How are you?"

"Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year to you!"

We hardly hear the words. This year, my wish for  you is to hear the words, and then make them come true. In 2020, I hope you discover true happy.
I hope you find big HAPPY. Dream-come-true happy, the way I did with the publication of Look Up: Your Unexpected Guide to Good in 2019. That was a once-in-a-lifetime spectacular moment, and I'm still enjoying every bit of the follow-up activities. Major happy.

But ... every day isn't spectacular, is it? No worries. On even our worst days, there are moments of good. No matter what's happening in your life, I hope you find and appreciate the little happy: An unexpected card from a friend. A remarkably good cup of coffee. A chat that makes you laugh. A wink that says, "I know you." 

In 2020, I hope you find the day-to-day little happy in novels that read like poetry, movies that make you cry, daisies that last for weeks and weeks. I hope you find it in a shared meal, a solitary walk. Pet those puppies and kittens. Push a kid in a swing. Practice breathing in a long check-out line.
You may or may not have a huge HAPPY in 2020. Those days are all the more special because of their rarity. That said, I absolutely guarantee that little happy moments are waiting for you. Every single day. 

May this be the year you look up and see them.