Standing at the Trailhead of Winter

Ever since I can remember, I've wanted to be able to call myself a writer. An author. When I was seven and eight years old, I wrote little stories about elves and fairies that lived near a stream. I wrote sappy poems. This continued until seventh grade when I departed from the usual and wrote a very weird story that involved a circus and death via high wire and trapeze. I gave it to my English teacher to read, hoping she'd give me some constructive feedback. That didn't happen. There was feedback, but it was simply "This isn't even plausible." Nothing more. I was disappointed, to say the least. And I stopped writing. Then, when I was in college, I started writing again. I found writing classes to take, both poetry and short fiction. I had one professor write me a note about how he truly enjoyed my poetry. I had another professor tell me one of my short stories was first-rate. They both gave me encouragement and hope that maybe one day I'd see my dream of b...

I have no clue as to what's going on at the USPS, but given the adventure a book I ordered back in December has been on, it appears there are individuals who need some geography lessons.  The book is a Christmas present for Funny Delightful Son's girlfriend, who is taking a graduate course this semester. She has several books on the reading list, so I ordered four of the books for her as I remember how it was to be a grad student with not a lot of money but a lot of books to buy. The other three books I ordered arrived well before Christmas. This one, though, has been on a journey. It started out in Maryland. From there it went to Pennsylvania then up near Chicago then to Champaign. For a week, it sat in the Champaign distribution center. Logically, it should have shown up in my mailbox a few days after arriving in Champaign. At the very least, if the post office didn't want to deliver the book, it could have just called and I would have driven to Champaign to pick it up. T...

Lovely Beautiful Daughter looked at me the other day and said, "You've always been independent, but the last few years, that independence has grown. You've changed over these past few years, too. It's a good change." And from the little conversations I've had with Funny Delightful Son, I know he's happy I've finally asserted myself, taking the steps to get this mess under control. He even called me last evening, specifically asking if I had called the guys in suits. Yes, I told him. I have. I could see his smile through the phone connection. I called a lawyer and have an appointment set to discuss the financial issue as well as a legal separation. I told my husband of my intentions. I didn't back down when he argued what I am doing is going to make matters worse rather than better. I didn't back down when he suggested my decision will put him in a difficult position. I didn't back down when he pressed me to wait. I didn't back down....

Yesterday, and even more so today, I have felt immense relief. Relief that my youngest graduated from high school though he nearly shot himself in the foot over one class. Relief that Funny Delightful Son kept his apartment in such wonderful shape during the last year, making moving then cleaning a quick endeavor. Relief that Lovely Beautiful Daughter texted with the message that her apartment has rented, so she will get her security deposit back though she is breaking her lease a month early. Relief that at least two members of my family are now aware of what is happening between me and my husband. And they found out because of me, the person who had agreed to keep things quiet, writing on this blog. A space that had gone silent for nearly two years. A space I decided to use to think through all the junk in my head. A space I returned to with the thought that no one would be reading it. So I wrote openly, and each time I wrote, I felt a working through happening. I'd not said ...

From my daily journal: Tuesday, May 2, 2017: I am in the writing center. I sit and listen as a student confides in me about a tough decision she had to make this week: telling the man she’s been in a relationship with for some time to leave. He doesn’t support me, she says. He’s always telling me I can’t do this (return to college), she says. I’m 50 and this is the third time I’ve tried to get a degree, she says. I will do this. I will finish, she tells me. As I watch this beautiful woman’s face go from sad to determined to resigned to happy. I tell her about all the women I have met over the years whose boyfriends or husbands were unhappy with them going to college, learning, finding out how smart they truly are. And I think back to just yesterday when I arrived at work, feeling so fortunate for being able to extricate myself from a toxic relationship. Thinking about all the women out there who cannot because they don't have a support network. Or they...

Sometimes, when I'm working on a new written piece, especially a poem, I'll sketch out what I'm seeing in my mind, what I want to take from the swirling that is in my head to paper. Today, as I was working on a poem that has been pulling at me, I had the overwhelming urge to get the sketch pad out and let the pencil go to work. At one point, I felt as if I wasn't even the one sketching. I wasn't thinking about how I wanted the image to look. It just happened. I've never felt this experience before. I thought, too, that I'm not truly worthy of this kind of experience since I'm not an artist. But I quickly checked myself. For some reason "something" was speaking to me and helping me get what was in my head to the sketch pad. I need to honor that and work to make my vision become tangible. Now, with the image in front of me, I'm finding the words are happening though the writing is slow. Last night I dreamed I was with a friend from work an...

The other day, a dear friend of mine witnessed a woman working at the thrift store being especially nasty towards a customer. While I don't know all the details, I know enough to say bravo to my friend for stepping forward and letting the thrift store woman know her behavior was out of line. My friend did know the customer, an international student who doesn't speak English as her first language and who has a tough time understanding what is being said to her at times. Unfortunately, this young woman was subjected to the ugly that some individuals live by. Today, I finally said enough to the negative comments of one individual towards another, both cyclists who rode the BTUSFMS during the summer. I consider both friends, and because I tend to shrink from confrontation, for four months, I kept my thoughts to myself. At this point, I decided my silence about the issue was actually an endorsement of the negative comments. I don't agree with this person's position and fin...

New Bike the US for MS total: $7324. I'm still in awe over how thoughtful, generous, kind, supportive, and encouraging so many people have been these past six months. P.S. Even since posting this last night, another donation came in, making the total now $7424. Never in my wildest dreams . . ..

Back in September, I received notice at work that I was eligible to apply for promotion. I filed the email away, not sure if I wanted to actually go through the motions of putting a promotion portfolio together, and when only a couple of days remained for me to declare my intentions to do so to the VP of Instruction, I decided I would go ahead and let the chips fall where they may. At that time I had six months to work on the portfolio, so I began sorting through all the "stuff" from the last three years and categorizing according to the different sections of the portfolio. Then Mom collapsed. The promotion portfolio was the furthest thing from my mind. And with Mom's death, thoughts about the promotion portfolio became nonexistent until about three weeks ago, when I could feel myself beginning to ease out of the grayness of grief. With encouragement from Hubby and colleagues, I began considering trying to put the promotion portfolio together. I didn't think I had e...