Sacred Muddle

I planned to tie up the last few months in a tidy bow,
to give you a round
beginning, middle, and end
to the stroke saga.
What we writers like to call a story arc.
Alas.
Some stories take longer to figure out.

My story for now is just a middle... or a muddle:
stroke,
brain blips,
ambulance rides,
hospital stays,
doctors,
uncertainties,
looming surgery.


None of our swell summer projects.
No happy new manuscripts.
No tidy bows. 

With each shift in the family balance,
part of me shrinks.
I hope it's the right part. The part that needs to go.
I hope it's the part that, before this muddle,
tried to hold everything together alone,
that didn't ask for help,
that got too busy to rest
in the numerous small things around me.

With each slip,
these small things come into focus.


Not my grand plans.
Not measurable success.

But joy.
thankfulness.
light.

cousins.

good books.

kisses.

cupcakes.

forgiveness.
rocks and sky.
breath and bread.

Life is short,
but humble things
make it deep.

Thank you
for your generosity to us through so many gifts -
art and cards, books and pens,
food and a clean house,
help with bills and the wildebeests,
prayers and wishes.
Thank you.

I am amazed at the love around us.
Amazed at how love makes every story beautiful,
no matter how long or short it is.

Here's to the sacred muddle, my friends.
To going deep!
to mysteries.
spyglasses.
buried treasure.
puzzles.
great books.
friends.
and small things.

Mystery and Adventure Books We Have Loved This Summer:

Where The Mountain Meets the Moon, by Grace Lin
The Willoughbys, by Lois Lowry
Nathaniel Fludd, Beastologist, by R.L. LaFevers
Half Magic, by Edward Eager
The Brixton Brothers, by Mac Barnett
The One and Only Ivan, by Katherine Applegate

The Book of Beasts, by E. Nesbit, ill. by Inga Moore
The Red Book, by Barbara Lehman
Flotsam, by David Weisner

 

(my best reads of the summer)

Hattie Ever After, by Kirby Larson
Howl's Moving Castle, by Diane Wynne Jones
The Thirteenth Child, by Patricia Wrede
A Grave Mercy, by Robin LaFevers

Beautiful Battlefields, by Bo Stern

Love Your Brain?

"You're alive...That means you have infinite potential."

- Neil Gaiman

Two weeks ago,  I had a stroke. 

I was alone on a walk, phone-less, in the middle of nowhere.

I got wobbly. My vision went out. I thought I would faint.

I crouched on the ground, trying to recover,

couldn't lift my arm, and my head hurt all on one side.

They say a stroke can happen to anyone, at any age.
Anyone.


I diet and exercise like a heart-healthy zealot, rarely drink, don't smoke, and yet...

After more doctors and hospitals than I ever thought I'd need, I'm home.
Fuzzy and shaken. Tripping over my own feet.
Headache-y.

And so beyond thankful
that I still have words and sight, and everything!

I tried to explain this to my hubs, tried to tell him
how important my words, my wit, my thoughts, all of it,
how essential it is to me,
and he patted my hand,
"We all love our brains, honey."

We do. We love our brains!
But do we realize?

It's my revelation of the year.
Would you rather have brains or beauty?

39 years,
many of them obsessed with cals and carbs,
grapefruit juice and healthy exercise...
and guess what?

When it all flashes in front of you,
who cares if you are a size 2 or a size 20?
Alive!

Love that mirror.
Enjoy it. Every inch of yourself, no matter your size,
no matter your foibles.
Enjoy your bumps and lumps, your warts, your wrinkles.
You are a living masterpiece.

Enjoy your messes, your arguments, your in-laws, your guffaws.
Family? Snuggle with them!
Friends? Keep warm by them!

Not published yet? Not a beauty queen?
Our measure of success can be so misleading.
Alive!

It took a stroke to remind me again of my SACRED DIRT -
this life, every blessed day of it,
dishes, mismatched socks, paper piles,
my beautiful, beautiful life.

I have coherent sentences,
the ability to wipe tears
and kiss each sticky face,

even if sometimes things change,
even if it takes a while to paddle back out and find my rhythm,

what a beautiful, sacred dirt I stand in
every day.

Alive!

 

If you get anything from this post, please get this:

Anyone can have a stroke. 

If you or someone you know has an episode 

with ANY of these symptoms, 

call a doctor, or 911 immediately. 

They have ways to reverse a stroke
if they catch it right away.
Learn the signs.
You might save a life...
even your own!

Thank you to my dear ones who have reached out 

during this time.

Bless you, bless you.

Your love brings strength.

 

The Snail Mail Author Project

Do you remember when you thought you might be able to fly,
if you just jumped high enough?

Do you remember when anything was possible?

 
On Monday, I helped at a young writer's conference.
I was surrounded with small writers
belly-full pleased with their writing,

oblivious to that dreaded taskmaster Revision,
unconcerned about snagging a publishing deal,
purely finding joy in their words.

All that youthful buoyancy
made me want to climb out of my writing slump
and grow some wings!

How do we as writers return
to that weightless pleasure in our words

without losing
the wisdom earned
from critiques and rejection slips,
writing groups and how-to books...

How do we find both our feet AND our wings?

As soon as we returned from our very long day,
the girls embarked on a writing project:
to send letters
to 100 authors and illustrators
of some of their favorite books.

Think we can do it?

If you're an author or illustrator friend and a crooked little envelope comes to you,

would you be kind and write back?

Please!

 
We have two hopeful writers, who think anything is possible. 

In Need of Some Snail Mail?

Leave us a comment, and we'll put you on our snail letter list - whether you're published or not.

 

Happy writing!


Books:

A Letter to Amy - Ezra Jack Keats
The Gardener, by Sarah Stewart, ill. by David Small
Toot and Puddle - Holly Hobbie
Click, Clack, Moo! Cows That Type - by Doreen Cronin, ill. by Betsy Lewin
Mailing May, by Michael O. Tunnell, ill. by Ted Rand

Incorrigible Creatives

 

Some children are raised by wolves.

 

Others, by creatives. 

And really, is there a difference?


 
Sometimes, the lines between "creative" and "fur-brained" blur.
And that's the beauty of it.

To be a creative,
you get to strap on your courage boots every day
and write,
paint,
parent,
sew, stitch, cook - whatever your bent - 
and be prepared
for surprises.

Surprises like tears and paper wadding.
Snapping pencils.
Earnest screwdrivering until the cabinet doors fall off.

(Thank you for that, my wildebeests.)
Havoc. 
Howling at the moon.
Eating paint.

raised-by-wolves days,
and sometimes, gleams of brilliance.

Have I mentioned this book?

"The Incorrigible Children of Ashton Place, the Mysterious Howling" by Maryrose Wood and illustrated by Jon Klassen
(the Caldecott 2013 doublescoop!)
I love this book! I am in a happy swoon.
Jane Austen meets Agatha Christie meets Alexander McCall Smith, only with heaps of originality and humor. Well done, Maryrose Wood. Wow. wow. wow.

More wolf-ishness we love:

[For the record, and in case any great-grandmothers are concerned:
dry ice is considered dangerous in some contexts.
As such, it should probably not be given to toddlers...however, the children in these pictures were skillfully trained stunt-models, posing as children, and obediently avoided actually touching the ice.]