October 31 – Perfect Writing Day

by Jamie Patterson

Even though it’s a little more than 20 years away, I joke sometimes that I can’t wait to be retired so I can become a full time writer. I even have a countdown at one job that only requires 10 years of service and a minimum age for full benefits. The day I turn 52, I’ll happily submit my retirement request. My life is full now and I don’t often enjoy the studious leisure it takes for me to really write. I’m not complaining, though, there was a time in my life where the only thing I had was writing.

I would wake up, walk down to the coffee shop for a cup of coffee, return home, and write until dinner, only breaking to let my dog outside. If I hadn’t been newly married and then newly divorced and facing the largest paradigm shift in my life so far, it would have been heaven. I couldn’t see that, then, though. As it was, waking up and writing kept my focus, kept me out of bed, kept me moving toward a better place where I could work and be myself again. This focus on writing produced my first book and I worry sometimes that without the ability to wake up, walk to the coffee shop, go home and write, that there might not be a second, or third, or fourth book.

Sometimes I think of how interesting it is that the worst moment of my life also presented me with exactly the day-in-the-life I’m hoping to achieve again (but without the heartache). And then I think—as I scramble to keep up with two jobs, being a full time graduate student, and a newly-published author—that maybe that life of “get up and write” is closer than an early heartbreak or an early retirement. Maybe it’s a matter of making a choice and making it happen…Perhaps after I finish the big project at work, or after I discover a better retirement plan, or after I graduate. Or…

I can’t wait to be retired.

Jamie Patterson is a writer, teacher, runner, and dog owner. She has a Master’s degree in Language and Literature, which provided the opportunity to study creative writing under author Michael Pritchett (The Melancholy Fate of Capt. Lewis) at the University of Missouri-Kansas City. A former spokesperson for the American Red Cross and the Girl Scouts, Jamie is a frequent flier based in Minneapolis, and an academic editor with Walden University. Visit with Jamie and learn more about her memoir of emotional abuse in marriage at www.lostedens.com.

October 14 – Reading to My Grandmother

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

by Nancy Hinshaw

When I was about 5 years old my father’s mother came to visit. The only time I remember her coming up to see us. She came up to Indiana from Bath County, Kentucky. I was thrilled that my uncle brought her. I took her on a tour of my house and introduced her to all my dolls. We had a tea party and only she was the special guest.

After the tea party I asked her if she would like to read some of my Golden books. She looked at me kind of odd then said she had never learned to read, never felt the need. I was a little puzzled. I thought everyone could read.

As I watched her rocking back and forth in the big rocking chair my other grandma sat in most of the time a bright idea crossed my mind. I climbed up on her lap and I read my Pokey the Little Puppy book to her. We laughed at the story and pictures together. After that she encouraged me to get more and read to her. That day we read all of my books and had a great time until it was bedtime.

The next morning my uncle took her back to Kentucky. Although it was the last time I saw her alive it was a memory that has been engraved in my mind. Many occasions have come and gone when I read I see that moment of our special time together.

Nancy Hinshaw is retired nurse, married to a retired state trooper, and the mother of 2 sons and 1 grandson. She lives in the mountains of North Carolina.

October 10 – A Letter From Sumatra: October 10, 1991

by Becky T. Lane

Dear Folks,

Our puppy Munchkin has arrived, and seems to have survived her solo trip halfway around the world no worse for wear, other than a wee bit of jet-lag right at first. It was quite the happy reunion for all concerned! The kids are both settling in, and getting excited about being in The Elephant Child at school. Next Wednesday is the big day. I still can’t get over the wonderful costumes I was able to have made for less than $15.00 each, including fabric! Is our chubby-cheeked elephant precious, or what?

As we had anticipated, the social life here on the company compound is quite lively. When there are no malls or media to entertain you, you make your own entertainment! This past Monday we went to a big Cajun-style shrimp boil to celebrate a friend’s fortieth birthday, and on Saturday there will be a morning plant tour to go on, an afternoon tea, and a dinner that evening! The dinner is being hosted by the Hash House Harriers — the group who lay paper trails for us to follow through the surrounding countryside. I’m shocked by how much we have all enjoyed going on “The Hash” each Sunday — even Austin, who has never been a big fan of walking anywhere! Of course, his favorite part is when we all meet up at the grog truck at the end, where they pass out sodas to all the kids and splash them with cold water from the coolers. Last week’s walk was especially fun because it ended up at the elephant-training grounds. They performed tricks for us, then we were given rides on them. They also had a tiny bear cub there, and the kids were able to hold it!

In December all the Canadians here will be hosting a “Trappers Day” celebration, complete with dogsled and snowshoe races, and logrolling in the swimming pool. John quit shaving as of October 1, so he can participate in their beard-growing contest. Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?

One of the families here brought their college-aged god-daughter over to stay for a while, and she just happens to be an expert swimming instructor. I signed Austin up to take private lessons from her twice a week, and he is just loving it to pieces. Both kids will be regular little dolphins by the time we leave here!

Guess that’s all for now. Take care, and write soon!

P.S. If you ever feel like giving us a call, the best time to catch us is 8-10 a.m. (your time) on a Sunday morning. If you keep getting busy signals, try dialing very s-l-o-w-l-y. The phone system here can’t keep up with you if you dial too quickly.

Becky Lane lives with her husband in the Texas Hill Country, where she tells about their quest for the good life on her blog Seasonality. Her second blog, Miss Becky Goes Abroad, tells of their adventures in Southeast Asia and the Middle East, as young newlyweds in the 70′s, and with their children in the 90′s.

October 3 – Support and Solace

by Khadijah

I was a teenager when I became a mother for the first time. I wasn’t married, and I had already begun the journey towards a college education and all that that would entail. In many families, such a thing would be cause for angry words, accusations, and a pulling apart of the fabric of the family. In my case, though, it ultimately resulted in my having a stronger relationship with both of my parents, as we faced the difficulties and challenges of unmarried parenthood together.

I don’t remember telling my mom, but I would guess I did so while driving somewhere or other in her little Dodge pickup. I do remember her telling me to go for a drive while she told my dad. When I returned after an hour or so he simply enveloped me in his big football player arms and told me he loved me and we would do this together.

The summer of my pregnancy passed quickly. Mom and I would go to the bigger towns that surrounded our little village of Gays Mills, Wisconsin, and shop on a regular basis. As a family we went to different tourist attractions around the state, like Villa Louis in Prairie du Chien, and the steam train in New Freedom. Dad would go for walks with me after every meal and sit up with me at night if I couldn’t sleep- something he continued to do after the baby was born- he would stretch out on the couch in his blue pajamas while I sat in the rocking chair nursing the baby.

When Mujaahid was born, on October 3, 1988, my parents were both present. While laboring I held onto Charlie, my stuffed monkey- Dad sat by me and held Charlie’s hand. When the contractions got too intense I sent him out to the waiting room. Mom said that he hadn’t attended the labor or birth of either of his own children, so I knew what it had cost him to sit in there, by my side. Mom stayed near the entire time, except for periodic trips out for a cigarette, telling jokes and lending quiet strength right up until the baby made his appearance.

And so it continued, even after I went off to college. My parents supported and assisted me in every way that they could, and I owe so much of what I am, and what my son is, to them. September 27 of this year saw the birth of my second grandchild, Yasmeen, to Mujaahid and his wife Hiyaat. I only hope and pray that I can be there for them, always, like my parents were for me.

Khadijah grew up in the Kickapoo Valley in Wisconsin and now lives in Yemin with her husband and eight children where she teaches Arabic and Islaamic studies to women and helps them recognize their importance and the need for their stories to be heard. Khadijah was the winner of the 2010 Story Circle Network Lifewriting Competition.

October 1 — A Daughters Birthday

by Linda Hoye

October 1, 1978 at 11:24am.

“Push! Come on, you can do it! Keep pushing! Look down here at the mirror; the baby is coming!” The delivery room nurse urges me to look toward the mirror positioned at the end of the bed.

“I can’t see! I don’t have my glasses on.” Why didn’t someone tell me that I’d need my glasses?

I give one more push with everything that is left in me and feel my baby slip from my body.

“It’s a girl!”

They lay her on my chest, and I look into the eyes of a beautiful, dark-haired, baby.  Laurinda is crying, red-faced, and obviously distressed at being so suddenly removed from the quiet and safety of the womb. The delivery room with its bright lights and hurried voices must be overwhelming to one accustomed to the silence of the pre-birth world. As her tiny fist grasps my finger my world shifts and my identity changes. I am now a mother.

Laurinda is, as my mom says, a “good baby”. She is happy, healthy, rarely fussy, a good eater, and an easy baby to care for. She’s perfect in my eyes. I delight in watching her grow and change and seeing her personality emerge. One day her imagination sparks an idea and she takes my face in her hands and looks me straight in the eye.

“You’re the big lion and I’m the little lion.” She tells me very seriously. I am not exactly sure what she is trying to tell me.

Fast forward sixteen years.

These terrible teenage years seem to last an eternity. She seeks to establish her own identity and, in doing so, wrestles against anything and everything that smacks of “family”. Our relationship is strained during these years when she strives to be the opposite of me in every way. Her brother teases her sometimes by telling her she is “just like Mom”. It is the insult of insults to her.

Fast forward fifteen more years.

Now my baby has a baby of her own and it blesses my heart to see her care for her own daughter. Laurinda is traditional, preferring books and building blocks to video games and electronic toys. She’s a teacher, gently introducing letters, numbers, colors, and new ideas in the course of everyday life. She’s committed to her daughter’s health and has a definite policy about what she can and can’t consume.

The relationship between Laurinda and I has changed, grown, and deepened over the years. It is one of the greatest blessings in my life that I can call my daughter my friend.  The other day I was thinking about the scene in the movie The Lion King where Rafiki holds up his cub Simba, and I was reminded of my young daughter’s curious comment about me being the big lion and her being the little lion. It seems appropriate that today I symbolically stand in the place of Rafiki and hold up Laurinda. I’m proud of her and she has brought more joy into my life than I could ever have imagined on that October morning thirty-three years ago.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

I am a full-time HR Business Analyst and a part-time writer currently on a memoir about my quest as an adoptee to find healing from deep and unrecognized grief. I nourish my muse with the taste of caramel frappuchinos, the scent of  Yankee Candles, the sound of quiet classical music, the vision of Mrs. Potato Head and Gumby and Pokey on the corner of my desk, and the feeling of my smallest Yorkie on my lap. I live in Washington state with my husband and our two doted-upon Yorkshire Terriers. When I’m not writing or working, I have the most fun spending time back in Canada with my husband, our children, and our two brilliant grandchildren. Learn more at: A Slice of Life Writing