My Thoughts and Meanderings

Welcome to my blog. My place for my wandering thoughts and meanderings. You never know what may fall out of my brain.

Life, The Universe, and Being Brave

I have started this post many times since the beginning of January, but it never seemed to be written the way I planned. I wanted to regale the tale (rhyme not intended) of how well I did. I think I waxed poetic about what I was going to do with my writing, and my bass playing. It was my year of being brave and dammit, I was going to make things happen. But sometimes being brave goes much deeper. Sometimes it demands facing things you don’t want to deal with. It was harder to be brave than I thought.

I have anxiety and depression. And sometimes, no matter how faithfully I take my meds, life can be so overwhelming. All I wanted to do was stay in bed, or hide under the bed and never come out. Last February, somthing happened that I won’t go into, and I stopped playing my bass. I was mad and hurt. After that, I had to send my poodle, Sandy, over the rainbow bridge. She had doggie dememtia and sinced my mom had dementia and she was originally my mom’s dog, it brought back a lot of sadness and grief. I think that’s when my spiral began. I wanted to go hang out with my Mom, Dad, and Sandy.

Life was barreling down on me and I was so overwhelmed. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how, or want to ask for help. I’m supposed to be able to do this. But I couldn’t. Everything suffered, my writing, my crafting, my work, my house. I’m not sure anyone realized how bad off I really was. The only thing that kept me going was the fact that I’ve been in this hole before and have climbed out. I may tell that story one day. I also have a great family and a wonderful group of friends. Remembering this gave me the courage to keep on.

In November I decided to do Nanwrimo. It stands for National Novel Writing Month. The goal was to write a novel. Fifty thousand words is the goal. I had decided to work on my YA, G. W. Sanders mystery. My story went way off couse, and I couldn’t seem to steer it back. I was so mad. So I put that one aside and pulled out a Philippa Marlowmellow detective story. That story went sideways. I was frustrated and angry. I wondered if I needed to be writing at all. But instead of quitting, I took a deep breath and went on. I knew I could fix it later. I didn’t make the 50,000 words, but I got over 10,000 and that was an accomplishment for me. I was happy. I’m not sure I’ll do it again. I felt like I was more concerned about the word count than the story. But I did move up the long wall to the top.

December. It’s holiday season and holiday stress. I slipped a little. I got so overwhelmed. I got jury duty which put me behind on my gifts. I was making most of them. I think my cat, Charlie, knew how I was and kept trying to comfort me in her own cat way, but I couldn’t stitch and have her sit on my chest. I did complete them, but it wasn’t as much fun. I didn’t bake, or make sausage balls like I normally do. I just wanted it to be over.

On Facebook, I saw a post from the Crazy Lady Bookstore about an open mic poetry reading. I got it into my head that I was going to do this. Why? I don’t know. It was so far outside of my comfort zone. So on that Saturday in December, I went and read my poetry. I was a bit intimidated. Everyone else’s poetry was so serious and well, mine wasn’t. I’m a storyteller. I tell stories. If you want to know how Persians got flat faces, I have a story poem about it. My performance went really well. My husband, son, and one of my sisters came to watch. When I was finished, my 21 year son gave me a big hug and told me he was proud of me. That was the highlight of the evening. And the light brightened.

I woke up New Years day with a glad heart. Christmas was better than I expected. I am thankful for my family and friends. Am I at a 100%? No. I crawled and am standing on the precipace. But I’m better. I have a great life. No, it’s not easy and yes, I’m going to go through this again. But I have people who love me. I saw this saying on the back window of a car and the words spoke to me. I need tomorrow as much as it needs me. It’s all good.

Suicide awareness

Oh, and by the way, Kitty Blue (My bass) and I got reaquainted. I’ve picked out a song I want to learn and we’re going to have a good time.

When Being Brave Is Hard

In my last post I quoted Mirriam-Websters definition of bravery. Here it is again: “having or showing mental or moral strength to face danger, fear, or difficulty.” I waxed poetic about improving my bass playing, going outside my comfort zone, and of course, my writing. I even made a graphic with our new kitten, Simon, that says: Be Brave! I’ll post it another time. My orignal post was in March and now it’s May.

What happened to being brave?

Life happened. Of course that really doesn’t change anything does it? Life happens no matter what. And sometimes it takes acts of bravery to get throught it. I had to make a decision that took a lot out of me. I had to be brave.

The Friday before Christmas of 2017 my mother had a stroke. While she was in the hospital, I took care of her little black poodle, Sandy. Mom developed vascular dementia. My sisters and I put her in memory care. It was a good decision. They could take better care of her and we could visit and just be with our mom.

Sandy became my dog. She was a rescue when Mom adopted her. We think she was abused by a man. She didn’t like men at all, and would bark at my husband and son. She would yell at them all the time, and when my husband would try to kiss me, she got very upset. It did cause some issues, but I have a wonderful husband and great children. They understood I needed to take care of her. I needed to take of her for mom.

Sandy was a senior dog when she came to live with me. She had gray on her muzzle and in her fur, but she was still playful. She had her favorite toy, a hot pink and green squeaky bone. Sandy knew when my car came down the hill and would bark incessantly until I opened the front door. We were sure our neighbors would call animal control and tell them we were abusing her. Our neighbors knew better. Sometimes my family would let her out when I parked. She would run to my car panting, wagging her tail, do zoomies, and was just happy to see me.

Senior dogs can develop health issues like we do. Mom was a heavy smoker, and Sandy had a smoker’s cough. She would do her zoomies and at the end would cough and hack. And like us human, they can develop dementia. It’s called Canine Cognitive Disorder. This is what happened to Sandy.

The first episode happened in the Summer of 2022. It was horrible. She didn’t know me. She shivered and acted afraid of me. She wasn’t eating. There was no playing with her toy. No barking at my family. She didn’t sit on the couch with me. She didn’t sleep at the foot of the bed anymore. Sandy’s safe place was under the bed. A call to our vet said is was probably dementia. We couldn’t afford the tests that could really determine the diagnosis, but all the symptoms were there. I didn’t know what to do. I froze.

What if she gets worse?

Can I handle it?

Luckily, I didn’t have to do anything. She came out of it. The barking started back up, she annoyed my husband and son, and all was right with my world.

Until it wasn’t.

Once again, Sandy changed. Once again, she didn’t know me. No more barking. No more recognition. She did act a little afraid, but there wasn’t the shivering like last time. Her appetite left. No more sitting on the couch with me. And she was sleeping under the bed under the bed again. My heart broke. Once again, I spoke to our vet.

Now, I had to think of the other option.

The one I didn’t want to do.

The decision I didn’t want to make.

I decided to see if Sandy got better like last time. I watched and analyzed every little thing she did. I’d check under the bed to see if she was breathing and hoping she wasn’t.

“Is she getting better?” I constantly asked my husband.

I have the best husband in the world. He didn’t like Sandy at all. I guess you could say they were frenemies, but he didn’t force any decisions on me. He told me to wait until I thought it was time. The thing was, I didn’t know.

What do I do?

She’s still sleeping under the bed. She wakes up every hour during the night thinking it’s time for food. Neither one of us got any sleep.

This was tearing me apart. I couldn’t write. I couldn’t play my bass. I couldn’t cross stitch. I was barely functioning. Mom had dementia and now I was reliving it with Sandy. My family worried about me.

One Friday, I had taken my son to a PT appointment and while I waited, I did some research on when to euthanize a dog with dementia. I found this site dogdementia.com. It has a lot of imformation and support for dog owners in this situation.

I read the article, Euthanizing My Dog With Dementia by Eileen Anderson. It helped me so much. The words, “Better a week too early, than a day too late” stuck with me.

Once again I watched Sandy. I analyzed her every move. Questioned everything. Checked under the bed hoping…

She was eating better, but still under the bed. At night she was up every thirty minutes to an hour thinking is was time to be fed. The coughing and hacking got worse. That phrase came back to me time and time again, “better a week too early than a day too late.”

I had to make that decision. I didn’t want to. I wanted someone else to do it for me, but there wasn’t anyone else. I had to be brave when I didn’t want to. I had to be brave and do what’s best for Sandy.

Mom passed in 2019, and on May 12, 2023 I sent Sandy to go live with her. She was the last thing I had of Mom and it was like losing her all over again.

It was the one of the hardest things I had to do. I know it was the right decision. I don’t regret it. The one thing I do wonder: was I that one day too late. Did I make Sandy suffer unnecessarily?

My sisters told me I gave Sandy a good life and she was happy with me. I hope so.

I miss her. I miss the greetings when I came home from work. I miss her unconditonal love for me. But I know she’s in a better place where she can run and play. Where she can do her zoomies without coughing and hacking.

I know you’re with Mom. I know she’s laughing while you do zoomies all over the place. And I know that I will see you both again on day.

Mom, I hope I made you proud.

I love you.

Being Brave

I don’t make New Years resolutions. I have the belief that it sets you up to fail. You made the resolution to lose 20 pounds and you didn’t achieve it. How does that make you feel? It made me feel like a failure. So no resolutions for me. Now I have yearly themes. I know it’s weird, but I embrace the weird. Last year was the year of the Tiger and I flopped on that. Am I going to beat myself up? Nope. This year’s theme: Being Brave.

So what does it mean to be brave.

According to Mirriam Webster the definition of brave is: having the mental or moral strength to face danger, fear, or difficulty. Having or showing courage.

That definition says a lot. Do I consider myself brave? Not really. For some reason my friends think I am. Go figure.

What am afraid of? What is instilling this lack of bravery on my part?

I know I’ve written about this before. But for some reason it just sneaks up on me and says, “I’m baaaaack.” And I say a not-so-nice word and struggle through it again. After this revalation, I decided this is the year I need to be brave. I made mental list of things I need to work on.

One thing is music. I’m not very brave where my music is concerned. I am a self-taught bass player. I know I could be better than I am. Am I afraid to be better? Maybe. Probably. Okay fine. It’s a yes. Why? Have no clue. It’s really silly if you think about it. Why would I be afraid of being able to play my instrument? Why would I be afraid of improving my skills? I gave myself that face I give when my husband tells me a dad joke.

I bought a Udemy class in 2020 that I had planned to take while quarantined. Did I do it? No. Have I started? Kind of. What I need to do is pull up my big girl panties and be brave. So I’m getting out of my own way and am going to a better bass player.

I don’t get outside of my comfort zone very often. It’s way to scary. I have a problem putting myself out there in any way shape or form, which is why I’m not on the New York Times best seller list.

My sister is an extremely talented photographer. This year for my birthday, she wanted to do a photoshoot with me. I was like, “That would be so much fun!” We had a hard time getting together. You know how life sometimes gets in the way of fun. Finally, our schedules freed up a the same time and it was on the calender. I don’t normally wear makeup, but my photoshoot included hair and makeup. That part was fun. Getting in front of the camera scared the hell right out of me. But this is my year of being brave, and I took a the plunge. The pictures turned out great! But spending time with my sister – priceless.

I was brave!!!
https://www.tracybadhamphotography.com/

Okay. Here comes the big one – writing. I love finding stories in the everyday. Seeing the magic in the world and telling a story is so fun. The first foray I did into this wonderful wacky world was to submit a couple of my pieces to an antholgy. One piece made it. It was poem titled Ponderings. I got the idea from a toilet paper commercial. It’s posted on the website if you would like to read it. https://lisahaman.com/poems-and-shorts/

I haven’t published anything since 2016. My first two stories were self-published. Were they bestsellers? No. I consider them my learning curve. I made the mistake of reading the reviews for Fat Farm. Some were constructive, but one hit me real hard. After that, I became very hesitant to put myself out there. I know not everyone is going to like everything I write. There are authors I absolutely love, but every now and then they write something that I don’t like. It’s the nature of the beast.

There are so many unfinished stories that deserve to be completed. I need to sit my happy butt in front of my computer and tell them. I need to let my characters talk to me. I need to set the stories free for people to read. My son is supposed to make origami animals out of my rejection letters. Something positive in a not so positive moment. How can I have my origami zoo if I don’t send anything out?

What have I done to be brave for this venture. I entered a first chapter writing contest. Someone, other than my friends, is going to see the first chapter of my novel. I am going to be judged. It was hard. Am I going to win? Probably not, even though it’s a good chapter. Do I want to win? Of course! But the point of entering was to be brave and send something out. We’ll see what happens.

Hopefully, I’ll be brave and keep blogging regularly on my Being Brave adventure. We can do this together, so go out and Be Brave!

Inner Bratty Toddler vs. Living Wide

I have an inner toddler. She is a bratty little girl. I think my inner demons are using her since I’ve been trying to get rid of them. She was content for a bit, in my subconscious, happy as a little clam. My little toddler was not happy when that quirky trait of mine came calling.

What is that quirky thing of which I speak? If something comes across my path three times, it usually means God is trying to get my attention and I need to act upon it. There are so many time I don’t listen, and I know He is shaking His head saying “Lisa, Lisa, Lisa. It would’ve been so much easier if you had listened.” Yea, well…

Here are my three things.

Jordancon 2022

In 2019 I read a blog post about the writing track at Jordancon, a science fiction and fantasy convention. I looked at their website and liked what I saw. A big surprise was one of my favorite authors, Faith Hunter, was one of the guests of honor. I was stoked. I hadn’t been to a writing conference of any kind since Killer Nashville. My best friend, who is also a writer, prepared to go with me. We paid for our tickets, got a room and prepared for our adventure. This was 2020. You know what happened. And the same thing happened in 2021. Now, it was 2022 and off on our quest we went.

We checked in, went to our hotel room, and planned our weekend. We picked panels, shopping time, everything we wanted to do, but one thing. Meals. Being a type 2 diabetic, I’m supposed to eat my meals and have my snacks. But, unfortunately, my bratty inner toddler was in control, so I was only playing lip service to trying to do what I was supposed to do. I had been doing that for a while.

I don’t remember what I had said about that, or if I played the martyr. I’ll just deal and be fine with my mini Slim Jims. I really hope I didn’t do the martyr thing. I probably did. The Slim Jims were the only thing I brought, but Beth had a whole arsenal of heathy foods she was willing to share. I hemmed and hawed of course, but in the end, I ended up eating every two to three hours, like a good little diabetic, on the healthy snacks my BFF strongly encouraged me to eat. My glucose levels came down. Bugger. Don’t you hate it when your best friend sneaks a teachable life lesson on you. The very best friends are the ones that call you out. And Beth did that very well.

I went home. Changed my diabetic regimen. My inner toddler was not happy. Tough tacos!

The Loss of An Adopted Aunt

My family moved to Georgia from Washington state when I was about five or six. We lived with my grandmother in Augusta for a while, then moved to Marietta. We lived in an apartment for a couple of years, then my parents bought a house. My mother became friends with the woman down the street. They ended up being best friends, sister friends like Beth and I.

While I was attending Jordancon, I received a message from my sister telling me my adopted aunt was in hospice care. She passed a few days later. Her daughter and son gave a wonderful eulogy. The preacher came to the podium to speak.

He said the eulogies made him think of Ecclesiastes 3:1-8. Most people know this from “Turn, Turn, Turn,” by the Byrds.

He talked about walking through cemeteries and looking at the birth and death dates. He mentioned the dash between the two. That dash is your life. I felt as though I had been knocked upside the head. In that moment I realized I wasn’t living my full life. My mobility sucks because of a bad knee. I need it replaced and was supposed to be working on it. Like I said, lip service.

Living in the dash, or hashmark, as he called it, spoke to me. It encouraged me to try to do a better job at living. My adopted aunt’s name was Hope. And that’s what she gave me.

American Ninja Warrior

You read that right, American Ninja Warrior. My husband and I sit on the couch encouraging these people and help them get through their obstacles. This season a young man, Christopher Jones, ran the course and did very well. He made it through and hit the buzzer. He was wearing a Living Wide t-shirt. Christopher ran the course in honor of his father who passed from lung cancer. And although, Mr. Jones’ prognosis wasn’t good, he didn’t let it stop him from living. His father called it Living Wide.

On the landing page of their website scrolls their mission. It says that we may not control how long our life will be, but we can control the width. This group helps people with critical illnesses to live their best life. To live wide.

That was another head slap. I don’t have a critical illness, but it didn’t matter. It was another reminder that I’m not living my best life. That needs to change.

I need to write more.

I need to play my bass more.

I need to get out of my house and spend time with friends.

I need to stop letting my bratty inner toddler control me.

I need to get out of my own way.

I need to live wide. And that’s what I’m going to do.

LIVE WIDE IN THE DASH.

See ya soon!

Everyone Needs a Doug

This is my first post of the new year and it’s very late. I had this big plan. It’s the year of the Tiger. My post would be done by the 16th of February, which was the end of the Spring Festival. I was going to regale all of you with my plans for the year. I recieved permission to use this absolutely beautiful tiger picture from a very talented photographer. I found a cool font called Asia Tiger. It was all coming together. Being born in the year of the tiger was exciting. I was excited about writing. I was excited about learning to be a better bass player. I was excited to get on with living a healthier life style. I am tiger, hear me roar!

Things didn’t go as planned.

I live with anxiety and depression. I’ve got a handle on it most of the time. Don’t worry, I have help. But sometimes when things are overwhelming and certain incidents happen all at once, it throws me into the pit. And that’s where I’ve been the past few weeks. The pit is a bad place where all those nasty voices live. The ones that tell you how horrible you are. The ones that say you have no talent. The ones that tell you to give up. The big one that tells you that you’re a waste of space. I’ve been fighting them all.

When I think of writing, the voice says, “why bother.” When I think of playing my bass, the voice says, “why bother.” When I try to get my health together, the voice says, “why bother.” I’m not going to self harm or do anything drastic because I know in my heart of hearts, I can get through this. I got through it once, I can do it again. But it’s hard. Sometimes you have to find something to help you get out of your own head. And I have found that thing.

Meet Doug.

I love Doug. He makes me smile everytime I pass him when I’m drving home from grocery shopping. I think he showed up early in the pandemic. And I’m glad. I’m surprised he doesn’t cause any accidents because they dress him up every holiday, Santa Clause at Christmas, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day; he has an outfit for it all.

We had some weird weather a few weeks ago, strong winds with a bit of snow. I drove by Doug’s house on my way home and he was gone. He was lying on the ground. I was upset. Probably more than I needed to be for a big plastic skeleton, but upset. He was gone for what seemed like forever. And one day, a couple of weeks later, he was back in all his Valentines Day glory. I was so happy to see that ginormous statue of bones. I smiled all the way home.

I decided, with the reapperance of Doug, to fight those nasty voices. I decided to do the things the voices tried to take away. First, make my Valentines Day mummy. Yes, it’s a bit weird but fun. I make mummies out of CVS receipts. I had it all planned, but the voice said, “Why bother?” After seeing Doug, I slapped a zipper on that voice and made my mummy. He may have been late, but I finished him. Meet Tino, the Valentine mummy.

Kitty Blue and I got reaquainted. I was prepared to play that Sunday at church. I messed up a couple of times, but it was all good. I played.

I am working on the health stuff. And I finished writing this post. And I will keep on writing, playing, and making mummies.

After all:

My Year of Living Dangerously: Embracing the Weird

I haven’t blogged in a long time. To be honest, I had no clue what to talk about. Last year was horrible, as it was for everyone. While we were on lockdown, I thought of a lot of things I wanted to do and was too afraid to try. I decided when things went back to our new normal, I was going to do something about it. Yes, I know it’s seven months into the year. I will be talking about some of the things I’ve done, and the things I’ve realized. Embracing the weird is where I’ll begin.

Let me introduce myself. I am Lisa and I am weird. Yep, I said weird. You may ask, “What makes you so weird?” To be truthful, I’m not sure. I took my son to visit one of his friends. I met her mom and we had a nice conversation. She told her daughter I was weird. Well…okay. I can get behind that.

All I know is I am pretty good at doing some creatively quirky stuff. One of my kooky things is to make mummies out of my CVS receipts. I saw a meme poking fun at how long their receipts are and one included a mummy. My brain said to me, “We can do that.” And George was born.

I’ve done some for the holidays. I made mummies to honor the first responders and essential workers. And one to commemorate 2020.

Of course, I had to do something really fun for my husband’s birthday. I mummified the King of Monsters. I thought it was hilarious. He had a hard time thinking of Godzilla as a mummy. There will be more mummies in my future.

As a writer, I think being weird is probably a prerequisite. How else can we come up with the stories we tell. One of my favorite classes in high school was creative writing. I loved coming up with stories to match the writing prompts. My tales were so different from the rest of the class. We were given the subject of a picnic. Everyone wrote about your normal everyday picnic. I wrote about ants and Raid. A prompt of a dark room had me writing a ghost story. One of my poems was published in our literary magazine. I wish I still had a copy.

I like writing things that aren’t ordinary. My most current quirky tale is the story of Philippa Marlowmellow, a private chick in Mallowtown. The characters of this story were inspired by Peeps. Yes, the squishy marshmallow candy. It was fun to write, and more stories are in the works.

There are a lot of us out there. Those creative people who think outside the box. I found this photograph on picturequotes.com. I love what it says.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is be-crazy-be-weird-dont-be-afraid-of-what-anybody-thinks-quote-1.jpg

Those people jumping off the rocks into the unknown. This is what my year of living dangerously is all about. Jumping into the unknown. Facing the things I’ve been afraid to do. No matter how weird they may be. And it’s going to be awesome!

Meet Philippa Marlowmellow – A new Cover

When I was in high school I had a creative writing class. We were given writing prompts and mine were always different. The class was asked to write about a picnic. Everyone else wrote about a picnic with friends and family. I wrote from the ants’ point of view. We were asked to write about a dark room. Everyone wrote about a “dark room.” I wrote a ghost story. My first published piece was a poem inspired by a toilet paper commercial. It was a great poem. Not crappy at all. I get my ideas from weird places and it’s fun. There’s a link attached to the picture if you’d like to read the poem

My First Published Piece

 

 

I love my Philippa Marlowmellow stories. Granted I only have one out at the moment, but I have a several story ideas ready to write. Philippa is a smart, sassy, strong chick. She runs a detective agency out of the dregs of Mallowtown. A place called the Pink. She likes being in the Pink. There’s never a dull moment.

Philippa was born out of a writing exercise. My writing group was to choose a picture and write 500 words. My 500 became 3000 and Philippa was born.

My friends from the writing group encouraged to publish this little piece. And I did. My friend Kayelle and I worked on the cover. Kayelle has created covers for her own books that are amazing. She did an amazing job on Philippa’s cover. I love this cover, but it doesn’t seem to tell the story. I’ve had some people tell me they thought it was a children’s story, but it’s not.

So I needed a new cover. Changing to a new cover is scary for me.  The cover has been ready for a while, but I haven’t done anything with it. I love the new graphics. It tells the story. You know it’s not a children’s story. It depicts the Noir aspect of the piece. So why haven’t I done anything? Fear. I was afraid that the new cover wouldn’t help sell the short story. Then the little voice in my head said I was an idiot. It’s not selling now, so nothing will change. Put the cover on the book. And I did.

Meet Philippa Marlowmellow

So here is the new cover. I like it. It’s cool. I love the dark Noir aspect of it. I love the innocence of the chick. Philippa may look innocent, but she knows the score.

It’s available on Amazon and Books2Read.

Stay tuned for more Philippa Adventures.

Continue reading

New Years Resolutions? Uh…No.

 

I don’t make New Year’s resolutions. After all, it’s not my new year. That happens on my birthday, but even then I don’t do it. My social media accounts are full of my friends’ New Year’s resolutions and I am more than happy to support them in their endeavors. There are so many people out there that are so good at this, but I’m certainly not one of them. As far as I’m concerned New Year’s resolutions just set me up to fail.

 

Yes, that seems a little on the cynical side, but think about it. I’m going to lose my weight this year. Yep, I’m going to go on that new diet, lose all my weight and be happy and healthy. I tend to be an emotional eater, so after one big stresser I’m out. Sure, I’m going to exercise, get in shape, be that woman who can do anything, then overdo it and that’s the end of that. Then I feel guilty, beat myself up and know that I’m a horrible person. I’m not doing that anymore. I’m changing things up because I am a woman who can do anything I put my mind to.

2018 was a hard year. There were family issues. My children are my most precious gift and they had some health issues that had to be taken care of. My daughter was being bullied and she was failing math. My mom had a stroke the Friday before Christmas of 2017. She has vascular dementia and is in hospice care. It’s been a year. I couldn’t control anything.

I wasn’t writing much. I was barely able to keep up my musical responsibilities with the praise team, much less put the effort into becoming a better bass player. The care of my family was the most important thing, and I was even bad at that. I put everything I had in keeping all the plates spinning and not losing one. But one did fall and break. Mine. I stopped taking care of myself and my diabetes spun out of control. So not good. Something has to change.

So today, the first day of the new year, it’s time to start over. Not with a resolution, but with a purpose. My kids health issues are better. My daughter passed math. She made 90 on her final. I was so proud of her. The bully issue has been addressed. I proud of her about that too.  My mom’s health is declining, but she is in a wonderful facility with care givers who love and care for her. I can go be her daughter and just enjoy the time. She doesn’t really know me anymore, but I go sing with her, color with her, and sometimes read to her. Some days are better that others. So that leaves my writing, my music and me.

Am I going to say, “Lisa, we’re going to lost 100 pounds this year,” or “I’m going to learn everything there is to know about the bass guitar so I can play anything and everything,” or “I’m going to write that million dollar best seller,” and the best one of all, “Am I going to get my diabetes under control tomorrow?” No.

What I am going to do is take it day by day. Every day will begin with a purpose. Every day I will write, even if it’s one sentence. Every day I will study my music, even if it’s just listening and marking my chart. Every day I will work to get my diabetes under control, even if I screw up a meal for the day, I will not fall back. I will move forward and begin again. I am not going to let life’s stressers throw me off the rails.

Is that a New Year’s resolution? No. This is not just something I want to accomplish in a year. This is my life. This is my every day. And I’m going to make every day count.

Happy New Year everyone.

My Introverted Bookstore

I was thinking. I know it’s dangerous, but a thought occurred to me today. As some of you know, I work part-time in an independent book store. I love my job. The owner is one of my good friends who supports me in my writing endeavors. On the third Tuesday of the month, we have an Indie-author open house where independent authors can come share their stories and sell their books. This past Tuesday was the one for March. The store was filled with wonderful and the atmosphere was fun and welcoming. We had a severe thunderstorm hit as the event was ending and one of the authors helped us get the store in order while he waited for the storm to pass. We have a great community of authors.
My participation in 2016
Wednesday, after the storm, the store was quiet. The Mahjong group came in and played. I love hearing the murmur of conversation while I work. They’re a nice group of people. Since I wasn’t that busy, my writer brain wandered.   
Can bookstores be introverts?
I wonder how many of avid book readers are introverts? I know I am.  I could sit on my couch, curled up in a cozy blanket, with a cat in my lap and read for hours. No music, no TV, just the soft swish of a turning page. 
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So, is my bookstore an introvert?
Well…yes, and no.
I think it likes the people coming in, browsing through the stacks. I think it likes customers sitting in the chairs leafing through the pages trying to find that perfect book. I think it likes the book clubs that meet and discuss the plot and characters of the latest novel. I think it likes the writers’ groups that meet to hone their craft. I think it likes the chaos of a book signing, and the indie author event where the appreciation for the craft of writing is shared.  
I also think it likes the quiet after the storm. I think it likes to take the time to breathe between big events and parties. I think it likes the serenity of books on the shelves. I think it loves soaking up that creative energy and passing it along to our readers and future writers.

That is my bookstore and I’m glad to be there.

My Heart Hurts for You…Please Stay

My heart hurts. That’s what I want to say. This past week, two stories crossed my path that broke my heart. In Texas City, Texas, an 18 year old girl killed herself in front of her family. They begged her not to do it. This young woman was a victim of cyberbullying. My heart broke. My husband told me of a young man in New Braunfels, Texas who parked his truck on the side of the highway and walked in front of a semi. He was 17 years old.  I checked to make sure it was true. It was. My soul cried.
Teen suicide prevention is something near and dear to my heart, but I don’t know how to help. 
According to the American Academy of Pediatrics, suicide is the second leading cause of death among 10-19 year old. Ten years old! There is so much life to live and they leave at 10 years old. I wish I could say I don’t understand, but I do.
I’ve been there, in the dark, wanting the pain to go away and not caring how it it was done. I’ve felt so alone that I knew if I left this world no one would care, or miss me. I have sat in my room planning the deed knowing that everyone, including my family would be better off without me; my weight and depression a drain on them.
But it’s not true. I have two wonderful sisters who showed me they loved me. They helped me get the assistance I needed. The deep and dark started in high school, and I have a wonderful best friend who did not abandon me like the others. We are still friends today, after mmmph years. She lives in Colorado now and although we don’t talk as much as we’d like, I do know if I need her she’ll hop on an airplane and be there for me.
If I had checked out like I planned, I would not have the wonderful life I have today. I have a husband who accepts me as I am. That weird, crazy, creative, me. I have two beautiful kids who are too smart for their own good. I work in a bookstore. I love books. I’m a writer. What better place to work? I play bass guitar in a band. Yes, it’s the praise band at church, but it’s a band. How cool is that?
Was it easy? No. Life is hard, but it is wonderful. I still have depression and anxiety. I have days where it’s so hard to get out of bed, but I do. I have family and friends who love me. I see a counselor. I’m on medication. It is good. I had a pastor tell me that’s why God has doctors – to help.
I have written a book titled, The Girl in the Golden Cage that deals with bullying, depression and teen suicide. It is young adult fiction. It’s in the editing stage, and some days it is hard for me to work on. It brings up a lot of memories for me that I would rather not remember, but are important. The reason I wrote this book is I want teenagers, young adults, or anyone to know it gets better. I want them to know that in the scheme of their life, this time is infinitesimal. I want them to talk to their parents. If for some reason they can’t, please talk to a trusted friend, teacher, anyone. You will miss something wonderful and beautiful.
My plan for this book is to donate ten percent of the royalties to help prevent teen suicide. I don’t know what charity yet. I’ve got some research to do. This is a hard time of the year for a lot of people. Please know there is help. Please know this time is short and you can get through it. Please know you will be missed. Please stay.

http://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/