Thankful for….

It’s easy this time of year to get caught up in the mania of the season and forget to slow down and count our blessings. Recently I saw leftover Halloween candy corn sandwiched next to a display of candy canes, a visual reminder of how quickly the seasons seque. Personally, I am still trying to figure out what happened to summer, having spent most of it recovering from foot surgery.

Which brings me to what I’m thankful for this year and every year:

1. This year specifically I’m thankful I only gained five (okay some days seven) pounds while ‘booted’ and in recovery from foot surgery. Still not one-hundred percent but in the big scheme of things – a walk, not even a hobble, in the park.
2. My family: husband, children, mother, siblings, nieces, nephews,cousins, et al. We’re traveling this week, not specifically for Thanksgiving, but because my husband’s aunt is celebrating her 95^th birthday on Friday. Years ago we instituted a ‘no travel’ at the holidays rule. Suffice it to say it came about because of too many miles, a stay in a Red Cross shelter, and other assorted John Hughes-esque moments. But I’m forever grateful for family, near and far – maddening and marvelous.
3. Friends. This is what I said last year and wouldn’t edit a word: “Through all the years and all the places I’ve lived, I’ve truly been blessed, and continue to be blessed, with the best friends in the world. Seriously.”
4. Facebook. Without that social networking media site I would not be able to keep in touch with so many far-flung friends. And that would be a great shame and sorrow. From friends I’ve known since grade school and reconnected with to former students to newfound gems, thank you Mark Zuckerberg.
5. The fact I’ve never cooked a Thanksgiving dinner. I loathe cooking (although I do like to bake) and am forever thankful for a husband who cooks. As an aside, I loathe even more the disease – diabetes – that prodded said husband to take over the cooking a decade ago when he got the diagnosis. I am thankful of the people who work so hard to find a cure to eradicate this and other autoimmune diseases.
6. A job I truly love: being a full-time writer. The pay is erratic, the benefits non-quantifiable, and the wardrobe shabby. I love it and am thankful my childhood dream has come true.

Every Sunday in church, a time is set aside for sharing joys and concerns. The congregational response to joys is ‘Thank you, God,’ and to concerns is ‘Give us faith, Lord.’

I am truly thankful for my joys and blessings, and as the seasons blur I’m going to remember I truly have a wonderful life.

Happy Thanksgiving, all.

The Ghosts of Halloweens Past….

It comes up every year at this time: the accusations, the recriminations, the denials. My younger son and I will start reminiscing about Halloweens past, and my husband will invariably start pouting about the year we ditched him. Said son and I always turn the tables and blame dad for being left behind, but it’s time to come clean.

We ditched him.

On Halloween younger son and his twin pals would take turns trick-or-treating in our oh-so-hilly neighborhood or their flat but spread out one.

The incident in question happened a year the boys headed out armed with pillowcases in our neighborhood, aptly named North HILLS. Husband and I followed at a discreet distance, saving our lungs for the long hauls up and down the streets.

The ‘gold at the end of the rainbow’ was a huge Victorian manse tucked away at the very bottom of the biggest hill. It was the ultimate Halloween destination, lit up with strings of lights, illuminated bats, cats, and assorted monsters. The owners were also legendary for handing out GIANT Hershey bars, the kind you buy only if you’re making S’mores for Bigfoot and his crowd.

The boys made quick work of the streets surrounding our house then were ready to head down the hills to the mother lode. It should be noted, our sprawling university town had set hours for trick or treating…after that the little munchkins (and Buzz Light Years and princesses and Spider Men) had to be off the streets. The college students would be heading out a few hours later for their version of trick or treating, but that’s another scary tale.

At a house just before the big descent to the big candy bars, we got held up. Dad started talking motorcycles with the homeowner and talking and talking and… Three eager boys and antsy mom me stood at the end of the long driveway waiting and waiting and… bolted.

Dad was on his own… curfew was a comin’.

Over hill and dale (and fence) we tromped until we reached our destination. It was a long trudge back up the hills to reach home. The big candy bars were forgotten as the boys participated in the annual ritual of candy swapping and scattering.

Yep, we ditched him. And if we had to do it over again, we’d do the same thing. No time for idle chatter when the treat is giant candy bars and the trick is growing up.

Writing your own life

Seems like forever since I’ve written a blog post. It’s not for lack of things to say, says me whose mother nicknamed her ‘satchel mouth’ as a child. Just the business of life keeps me preoccupied. And since ‘fiction writer’ is my occupation, some days I’d rather make things up than ponder truths.

Disclaimer: In another life, I was a journalist and taught reporting for many years and didn’t make anything up.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we could write our own endings? Edit our shortcomings, failures, and yes successes?

Tweak yesterday, today, or tomorrow to get it just so….

The unpredictability of life is what makes it so…unpredictable. And worth living.

Sometimes the curve balls life lobs my way really tick me off, making me long for a do-over, a makeover, or just for whole seasons to be over.

Like this summer, which I spent ‘booted’ and cranky, recovering from ankle and foot surgery. I couldn’t wait for fall. Autumn arrived, at least calendar wise. As I sit avoiding work by pecking out this post, the slight breeze outside is wafting the 88-degree temps inside. I’m long out of the boot, but recovery continues, as does the crankiness.

On the positive side my gorgeous friend Franny (ten years my senior and beyond stunning inside and out), persuaded me (and it took a lot of persuading) to join her in water workouts at the Y. I love the instructor, the other women in the class, the workouts, and even the water.

So to continue in a cliché-ridden vein, every cloud does have a silver lining.

Got an e-mail from older son today, who’s studying in Seoul this semester. This is his third sojourn abroad, a journey that started when he was in high school – as I’ve chronicled before. Actually it probably started when fate and the financial woes of the Michigan public school systems led my administrator father to a job in Iowa more than 30 years ago. I transferred to Iowa State University and met my husband, he of the Viking blood, when we both worked at our college newspaper. His wanderlust runs strong in our firstborn.

We haven’t heard from Erik much because he’s so busy with classes and tutoring English. That and the time difference make finding a time to Skype difficult.

And, as he says in the last line of his note, with him no news is good news. This is a running joke in our family because often when he has news it has to do with wanting to go to:

1. Europe (twice)
2. Asia
3. The moon (okay that one hasn’t come up yet, but I’m still waiting)

He’s writing his own life, as is his younger brother, and having the time of his life doing it.

As a mom, that truth makes me very happy indeed.

Worrywart

My mother, blessedly, is not one to give advice often. Her favorite piece is, “Only worry about things you can do something about,” which is something neither of us really succeed at. Occasionally, she will also quote the pastor of the church we attended when I was in elementary school. His adage, "Act, don’t react,” is excellent advice and fodder for another blog post.

On this glorious pre-autumnal day I find myself fraught with worry, consumed by it, almost devoured by it.

In between doing laundry and working, of course.

But the worry seems to be winning.

Fast forward to this not so glorious pre-autumnal day about a week later. Today I’m still worried about a myriad of things, including whether I’ll ever get another (decent) blog post written again. I just finished my walk (cut short because I was worrying about A. getting rained on B. everything that has to be done today) and it occurred to me I used to be so busy before we moved to the prairie I didn’t have time to worry. Oh, there was plenty of time to be stressed, overworked, and anxious but not a lot of time to fret.

Then we made a drastic lifestyle change, leaving jobs at a large university in the Mid-Atlantic region for life at a much smaller university in the Middle West, much closer to family.

One thing I never worry about is that we made the wrong decision to move.

And that alone guarantees peace of mind even when I’m stewing and stressing about… stuff.

Back to school

On Sunday night I started writing a ‘back to school’ blog post – which I’ve yet to post let alone finish.

With my younger son entering his next-to-last year of high school and the older one heading to South Korea soon to study before his final semester of college, writing about ‘holding on and letting go’ seems apropos.

After all, Erik was only 16 – the age Andrew is now – when he sojourned to Germany on a foreign exchange student program.

It’s hard to believe it was only four years ago we dropped Erik off at an elegant Washington, DC hotel after touring the Lincoln Memorial, the then-new World War II memorial, and ‘the Wall.’

I probably fled that hotel as fast as earthquake evacuees did from various buildings yesterday, wanting to be back in the car before the flood of tears began.

Today my niece Kasey, Erik’s birthday twin, started kindergarten. On Erik’s first day of kindergarten, I put him on the bus without shedding a tear. Ditto Andrew, who this year drives to school. Sometimes I miss Crazy Louie, the bus driver who scrawled my phone number next to his seat so he could call me if he couldn’t get up our hill in snowy, icy West Virginia winters. When that happened I led the children at the bus stop down the street to be picked up.

Early Monday morning when we drop Erik at the airport for the first leg of his journey, I don’t think I’ll cry. When he graduates from college, I probably will. And when commencement rolls around for Andrew, no doubt I’ll bawl like a baby.

But I won’t be crying because we failed in our job as parents: to hold on as tight as we can then let them go.

Going Indie

Recently my mother/writing partner, Barbara Andrews, and I launched our first venture into ‘indie’ publishing. Faith, Fireworks and Fir written as Pam Andrews Hanson is an original inspirational romance available for Kindle at Amazon and for
Nook on Barnes and Noble.

My husband, who was instrumental in the process, strongly suggested I blog about the whole thing. “Write something clever, funny, and witty,” he said.

No pressure there!

Naturally all week I’ve felt more witless than witty. Cleverness also continues to elude, so here I sit on a Sunday night willing to settle for mediocre – but even that seems elusive.

I’m just going to plunge in and make do with what I’ve got.

Several factors influenced this leap into independent publishing. First, after 30-plus books with conventional publishers (with more on the way) for Mom and me (and 50 plus for Mom including those written under her own name), the time just seemed right to explore ‘long-tail publishing.’

It used to be if you wanted to write a book, record an album, or produce a movie, and you wanted it to go out to a national, or even global, audience, you had to work with a major publisher, recording company, or movie studio.

But today, with online technology, anyone can distribute his or her work to a vast audience independently. You can sell your book, album or movie using online stores like Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or iTunes. And since it is all done electronically, you don’t have to underwrite the costs of printing a book or burning a physical CD/DVD.

I have to confess I am slow to change when it comes to technology. Case in point: I just recently gave up my ‘chewing gum’ iPod, and I’m sure the Smithsonian will soon come to claim it. However, I’m also a voracious reader and being able to load half a dozen or more books onto an e-book reader when traveling is very appealing. I’ve come to believe electronic delivery systems of books don’t have to replace the traditional form but rather are complementary.

So why make the leap now? While my mom and I continue to write inspirational women’s fiction for Guideposts, we also love co-authoring inspirational romances. It is complicated to plan projects around multiple publishers. The interest in a measure of editorial and scheduling freedom meshed perfectly with the concept of indie publishing.

We view this foray into independent publishing as akin to launching a small business. Not only did we have to write a good book, we also needed to find someone to design the cover and figure out ways to promote it. I owe a great deal of thanks to many people, especially romance author Holly Jacobs who referred me to the fabulous Kim Van Meter, a Harlequin author who is a freelance designer. Holly was also instrumental in suggesting ways to use social media to promote the book, and she titled the book. She is an amazing cheerleader and friend.

And I owe a lot to my friends for not only liking me in person but ‘virtually’ on my official author Facebook page. Even people I don’t know have clicked like for which I’m also grateful.

This is not the first entrepreneurial venture my mom and I have tried. The summer after my junior year of high school, she and I went into the ‘junk’ business. My Aunt Marge (who gave my mom a paper bag of Harlequin romances which in turn spurred her novel writing career) owned a flea market in a small southwestern Michigan town not far from the city where we lived. She offered us a booth to set up and sell our wares. We haunted garage sales for antiques and collectibles and books to resell. I started collecting cookbooks that summer. After expenses, I earned enough to buy myself contact lenses. It was the best summer job I ever had, and my mom and I had a lot of fun.

Just like we are now.

Heat wave

I was reading an article this morning in our local newspaper that quoted a National Weather Service forecaster as calling the heat wave gripping the central part of the country “unrelenting.” Temperatures on the prairie soared to 98 today.

A good friend of mine lives in Oklahoma, which is particularly bearing the brunt of the heat. In the same article it reported in Oklahoma City another day of 100-degree heat was expected last Sunday, making it the 27^th day the city reached 100 or above. (I’m behind on my newspaper reading). And the triple-digit temps could last through September. My friend, Sandra Dark, is the co-author of a book coming out that month on weatherproofing your landscape.

Sometimes I wish there was a way to weatherproof my internal landscape, to better manage my inner mercury. Oh, I’ve mellowed considerably as I’ve aged. It’s been nearly 30 years since I lobbed a blob of Thanksgiving pie dough at the ceiling of the apartment my husband and I lived in our first year of marriage. I’m fairly certain something was preying on my mind in addition to my leaden crust.

Over the years, I’ve tried and failed to adapt my mother’s adage of “only worry about things you can do something about.” I’m a worrier, and worrying can make me cranky. Aside: I imagine my husband, mother, sons, and friends reading that last sentence and laughing hysterically. Perhaps cranky is too mild a word. Conversely, I have mellowed somewhat in my old age. I still worry excessively, but I think I do a better job of handling it.

Then a week comes along where an egg would fry on the sidewalk, two fairly new appliances fail, family challenges arise, work is ‘interesting,’ and the post-surgery boot feels welded to my foot. But I see an amazing physical therapist, work always works itself out, ditto on the family stuff, it wasn’t the AC that broke down, and the heat, well…

The weather is the one thing I never worry about because it is totally out of my control. When shivery 50 mph winds whip across this piece of prairie in late winter, I’m going to remind myself to be grateful it’s not nearly 100 degrees outside. And when life lobs lemons at me, I’m not going to make lemonade; I’m just going to lob them back.

Just not at the ceiling.