There’s this post that makes the rounds about being 50 and finally knowing what and who you are. About the strength and wisdom that comes with age.
I don’t feel it. I’m smack dab in the middle of my 49th year, and there are times I feel as lost as I was at 25.
The apartment is…well, just is. Not special. Not home. An after-effect of change.
That’s a weird place to be, a psychological shift of seismic proportions I never expected.
Time is fleeting yet infinite. There are no practices, games, lessons, meetings with DD. There’s work and there’s the apartment. I should have so much time to find me. I would have killed for this time to go to the gym, write, learn to cook, read a book, whatever in those early days. Now the time is here, and I watch the news, sports and ABC dramas then take a magnesium and go to bed where I sleep or think about should haves, could haves, would haves. Weird.
That’s it. I’m feeling weird these days. A little lost, a little found. A wanderer, I guess, looking for me.
Weird. Or maybe not. Maybe it’s perfectly normal and weird is not looking.
Maybe it’s menopause. Maybe this entire post is one existential menopausal reflection. Or is it the opposite of existential?
It is what it is.
I am what I am.
49 is an odd place to be. At least now, in this moment.
Happy Mother’s Day to the woman who taught me visits with Grandma were the best vacations, Young and the Restless is timeless, kissing on a bridge was not “making love,” there’s an art to walking in high heels, knowing if you’re a winter or a summer matters, the birds and the bees talk using the dust on the dashboard could be traumatic and hilarious, dance parties make everything better when you’re a little kid, shorts can be too short, sunscreen matters, koolaid and popsicles make hot summer days amazing, the best stories are the ones you make yourself, Writer’s Digest is a thing, Silhouette Romances are the best, kissing the man you love on the couch in front of your kids is a good thing, Mary Kay makeovers are the best, roses roses smells delicious but it’s brutal on those with allergies, matching Mother’s Day dresses can be a blessing and a curse, there’s a way to hold your mouth just so to get that perfect curling iron curl, the feathered hair haircut is perfectly achieved by putting hair in a ponytail and snip, great legs are genetic (wah!), great nails are too (yay!!!), chocolate fixes everything (wah!), fresh tomatoes-onion-cucumber does too (yay!), power through when you mess up singing, practice so the mess ups aren’t constant, it’s worth it to wake up early to see a royal wedding, reading is fundamental, recipes matter, “don’t make me stop this car” strikes fear in the heart of all kids even when they’re not in a car, and a whole bunch of other stuff. ❤️ Love you Mom. MB
Today’s writing day was incredible. BUT I didn’t do what I promised myself. I didn’t take it easy, and now I’m blogging after icing down the arm. That is not okay.
But I get into the story and I just get lost in it. Until I look up and two hours have gone by and I haven’t stopped to even get a drink.
I’m going to have to start setting a time or something.
I’ve had a few questions about the book. I’m not sharing yet because I learned a long time ago that I can’t talk about the story or I lose the push to write it. I don’t know why, but that’s the way my writer brain works.
I know some people can talk out their stories and actually end up with a better book. Not me.
Of course some people can’t write to music with words, and I write better to music with words. I’m having so much fun listening to new music while I write. Loving all the strong women anthems in the country world. Thank goodness for spotify and the Nashville soundtracks.
It’s going to get cold again this week. I can’t begin to tell you how much I hate that!
I’m ready for spring.
Prayers and positive healing thoughts for my mom, please. She went to the doctor Friday and got diagnosed with pink eye. Today she went to the ER because it hurt so bad. The doctor took one look at her eye and said that’s not pink eye. He did some tests and found a scratch on her cornea. He ordered her to go to an ophthalmologist first thing tomorrow and gave her eye drops to use every hour for twelve hours then every two for twelve more hours. I’m not a fan of our ER docs because none of them in town are in network for BCBS. They refused to accept the terms of the insurance company about four years ago, and that’s never been resolved. BUT I sure am thankful for them when they’re needed. Those of us with BCBS can just pay $5 a month on our bills until they’re paid off.
P.S. WAY to go Jr. That was one heck of an end to the race. #NASCAR fan for life even though I only got to watch the last 30 laps since it was on during prime writing time because of the rain delay.
I’m over the happy. The terrorist caught today was a child. A perfectly normal child with what seemed to be a somewhat normal life with friends and people he dealt with daily. Everyone who knew him is shocked. Something evil turned inside him and he killed innocent people, brought a major city to a complete stand still, tried to destroy a symbol of America and brought back a lot of ugly feelings I thought were gone. He’ll pay for his actions with his life, I’m sure, but that won’t make things better. I hurt for the amazing young man he could have been, the difference he could have made in this world if he hadn’t become one of the monsters out there. Hate kills. Love wins. I know that, but right now, that love feels muted somehow. I hope his capture gives peace to the families who lost loved ones and those whose lives have been forever changed because of devastating injuries. I hope we can study what turned him, go through the data and see how he and his brother were able to plan and execute this attack with such precision. I hope everyone who helped them is caught and prosecuted. I hope we can at least learn something from this that will stop the next terrorist from striking again and stop the child with dreams and aspirations from willfully becoming a terrorist. I hope we can learn something from this or it’s all such a tragic, awful waste.
I thought I’d spend this week sharing stories about my new inspirational romance, Letting Go. I thought maybe I’d talk about forgiveness and how it’s not for the other person, it’s for you. I thought I’d talk about people who’d been involved in abusive relationships or who’d been abandoned or who had never learned about love, but all that changed this week when I had to take a deep breath and be Mom.
When your kid’s 5, you can give them a hug and make most things better. When they’re 10, that pretty much stays the same. Maybe you add a movie to it. When they’re teenagers you can tell them what you think they should do, and often, they follow your advice. Well, not often, but sometimes. Every once in a while.
When they’re 20+ it takes everything in you NOT to tell them what to do.
ON (oldest niece) actually gave me some great advice this week. She said “Auntie, you just shake your head and don’t say anything. Let her talk. Listen. That’s how you handle this.”
Funny. It took a 17 yr old to help me help DD.
I want to go Hallmark and say our troubles make us stronger and God won’t give you more than you can handle. Or all superior and say “look chickadoodle. I’ve walked this road, and let me tell you how to do it.” Or all manipulative and say “look, you do this and I’ll do this and…”
But none of those are the right answers. The right answer is what I’ve tried to do. Listen and love and let her know I trust you to learn from this. And even though it’s Hallmark, you can’t go over, under or around. You’ve got to go through it. And always: No matter what, God’s got you in His arms. When we’re too tired, He’s there. When we’re too hurt, He’s there. When we’re too confused. He’s there. When we’re too unsure, He’s there.
And I’m there too. With unlimited hugs and unconditional love. Just like when she was five and things were easy. ###
1000 degrees outside!
One of my favorite writing stories comes from a Charlaine Harris interview. A reporter asked her how she responded to critics who said she got the vampire mythology wrong. Harris leaned forward, looked at the reporter and gravely said that vampires aren’t real, so she could do what she wanted with them.
Last night while explaining my new young adult book Dead Girl Walking,I told Mom (#1 fan) that my guardian angel protagonist is a murder victim who has to figure out the identity of her murderer before the killer strikes again. She said that’s not how it really works with angels. I felt like I’d arrived. 🙂
Off to the revision cave on A Different Kind of Hero. Conflict is calling my name. As in I forgot about including it on the page. Don’t forget to leave reviews for books you read by indie authors. Word of mouth is our best promotion.
In the midst of a whirlwind week, I got to be Mom again.
The call came just as I was about to head to bed at 7:45 on Wednesday. Three days and I was wiped out.
“Mom, I’m sick.”
She didn’t ask me to go riding to the rescue, but there was something in her voice. So, off I went to check this “sick kid” out.
Not sure if it was food poisoning or just a bug, but she was sick, sick, sick. When I got to her place one look and I knew she couldn’t stay there alone, so she came home with me.
When I left the house, I could barely keep my eyes open. But once she was home with me, things changed. For the first time in a long time, my baby girl needed me. So I held her and rocked her and told her it would be okay. And it was.
Today she’s back to normal. I’m glad she’s not sick anymore, but it was kind of nice being that Mom again.
When DD moved to Huntsville to go to school, I spent weeks staring at the ceiling in my bedroom worrying about her.
What a difference three years makes.
Then, I looked at her and saw a kid. Today, I see a young woman.
She moved home after a year, and I was thrilled.
In February she moved out, and I was thrilled. 🙂
The first thing she did when moving home was get a job at the local Starbucks. She was promoted to shift manager this month.
She’s always marched to the beat of a different drum. You can see that in all the blog posts over the years. She’s an artist and an only child and, I’ll admit it, I spoiled her. We both paid the price for that, but it all worked out okay.
I’m so proud of the young woman I see today. She’s still finding her way, but I don’t spend hours staring at the ceiling worrying these days. It’s not that the worry isn’t there. It’s more I know she’s grown into a responsible person who makes solid choices.
I’m proud of her, and I can’t wait to see the future holds.