May 3 – Penteli Mountain

by Marilea Rabasa

My son and I loved to fly kites when he was growing up in Virginia. The right kind of wind could propel his paper bird high and far, with us right on its tail giving it enough slack to keep it soaring in the air currents.

He’s a grown man now, but I remember a day twenty-five years ago when we were living in Athens, Greece. We were driving home from his friend Chris’ house. Chris lived on Penteli Mountain, one of my favorite haunts outside of Athens. From the crest of this hill on a clear day in winter you could see the whole bowl of Athens, with the smog hovering overhead, and even beyond. This was where the Brits came to celebrate Boxer Day every December 26. They hiked up more for the whiskey than the view, but that’s another story.

As we turned the corner, we saw the tail of a kite peeking out from under a pile of rubbish. We knew it was a kite tail because it had flags zigzagging down the string. Also, everyone came to fly kites on Penteli Mountain in December when the weather changed. This kite had lost its wind and lay abandoned in the field, its owners having no more use for it.

And so, our curiosity taking over, we stopped the car, got out, and went to investigate. Right away our curiosity turned into compassion and we wanted to breathe new life into this broken and tattered old kite. I never thought that something inanimate could come to life. But at this time in my life there was a dying in me that I knew I had to defeat or it would defeat me. My son was part of this tragedy, and somehow we knew that the road to healing could start with repairing this kite and watching it fly again. A dust-covered old TV pinning it down to the ground was holding the kite hostage. Its colorful tail saved it from certain death.

So we took the kite home and repaired it with glue and tape. We waited for a good day with just enough wind to try and fly it. The day finally came, a clear sunny day with a nice breeze. Together we took the kite back to the mountain and flew it. We watched it continue to rise and float in the air until all the string was used up. We ran with it as it leaped in the wind. It was flying like it was brand new – a miracle!

We didn’t let that kite go. We brought it down and carefully put it in the car. We knew we would probably never fly it again, but we couldn’t let go of something that had taught us such an eloquent lesson: I was sure from that day on that there are second chances for those who have the heart to reach for them.

Marilea is a retired teacher. Toward the end of her career, she earned her Master of Arts in Teaching. “This was a critical step on my life journey because it concentrated on reflective practice. Now I have time to reflect back on my life and put my stories down on paper. I look forward to sharing them with you.”

July 29 – Thank You, Story Circle Network

by Linda Hoye

I had received a text message earlier in the day letting me know that a package had been delivered to my home. When I left my office at the end of the day excitement took hold. I couldn’t wait to get home, open up that package, and hold the contents in my hand.

Five years earlier my husband and I had moved from our home in Canada to a community just south of Seattle. For two and a half years I had commuted from Canada to the Seattle area for my job; two weeks at home, two weeks away from home. Living with one foot in each place was hard and ultimately we chose to move to the Pacific Northwest.

I felt lost for a while after the move. I missed friends and family, and my husband worked on weekends leaving me alone and lonely. With the extra time on my hands, I decided it was time to start writing again and I started a blog with the vague notion of writing about things I wanted my children to know about my life. Before too long I connected with other like-minded blogging women and on one of my journeys out-and-about in the blogosphere I came across a link to an organization called the Story Circle Network.

I decided to become a member. I joined an online writing circle where I began sharing my writing with others and I took some classes where I received feedback and learned new writing techniques. Over the years I got to know many of the members of Story Circle Network virtually and was thrilled to have the opportunity to attend my first Stories from the Heart conference—and to facilitate a panel discussion on blogging—in 2008.  Meeting women I had come to know online, and others I met for the first time at the conference, was like coming home. I felt like I had found my tribe.

Fast forward to a May afternoon in 2012 and I’m on my way home from work looking forward to opening a package containing the first proof copy of my memoir.

Story Circle Network opened up a world of opportunity for me. It helped me access the tenacity necessary to put my butt-in-chair long enough to finish writing the book. The friendships I’ve formed, the encouragement I’ve received, the things I’ve learned, have all contributed to me being able to see my book in print.

Today, I’m proud to serve as a Story Circle Network board member, an editor for Story Circle Book Reviews, coordinator for the group’s One Woman’s Day blog, and I facilitate a local Story Circle near where I live.

I’m also a published author and the acknowledgment section of my book credits Story Circle Network with being instrumental in helping me find my voice so I could write my story.

Linda Hoye is a writer, editor, adoptee, and somewhat-fanatical grandma. Her work has appeared in an assortment of publications in Canada and the US and in 2009 her piece, The Face in the Mirror, won second prize in the Susan Wittig Albert LifeWriting Competition. She recently published her memoir, Two Hearts: An Adoptee’s Journey Through Grief to Gratitude. Hoye currently lives in the state of Washington with her husband and their two Yorkshire terriers. She is looking forward to retirement and moving closer to her children and grandchildren

June 19 – Looking Back One Year Later

by Cathy Scibelli

It’s hard to believe that one year ago I had never heard of Story Circle Network. I was surfing the Internet on a whim, seeing if there were any women’s writing groups that sounded interesting. I came across the Story Circle Network website and as I looked over the site something told me that this was a distinctly different kind of group.

I decided to give it a try. The first thing that told me that my instinct was right was a phone call I received shortly after joining from Barbara Miller who had read my profile and wanted to reach out to me as a fellow breast cancer survivor. I was really touched by her kindness and that inspired me to contact other members to introduce myself. I soon found myself in Sr. Mary Sullivan’s writing circle and will always regret I didn’t have the privilege of knowing her longer before her passing.

As the months have gone by, my life has truly been enriched by my membership. My Facebook friends list has grown, with new friends spread across the country–and one as close as the next town. Having several of my essay submissions accepted for Story Circle publications gave me the impetus to finally start the blog I’d been thinking about writing. That has been a real blessing in my life, deepening old relationships, strengthening new ones and opening up new publishing opportunities.

I don’t know where the road will lead in the year ahead, but one thing I do know is that I want to keep journeying with the Story Circle Network as my companions!

Cathy Scibelli’s writing has been featured in a variety of publications including A Book of Miracles, New York Newsday, Fate magazine, Teddy Bear Review and best of all, Story Circle Journal!

February 11 – The Perfect Birthday Gift

by Cathy Scibelli

I decided that this year for my birthday I’m going to give myself something I’ve always wanted. Permission.

That’s not to say that I won’t appreciate all the thoughtful material gifts I receive from family and friends. But I think the gift I’ve picked out will be the most useful, especially when it comes to my writing.

How many times do you find that you’re all set to work on a great idea for a writing project but something nags at your mind and doesn’t let you concentrate? You think, “I can’t do this now and leave “xyz” undone. Whether it’s something you noticed that needs to be cleaned, mended, paid, or answered you just can’t seem to allow yourself to clear your head and focus on that writing project when this other thing keeps tugging at you like a small toddler and screaming “pay attention to me!”

I don’t know whether it’s the way we’re raised or something in our gender, but most women I know have trouble allowing themselves to focus on their own personal projects. In my experience, most men don’t seem to have this problem. They can step over a pile of dirty clothes on the floor, grab some leftovers out of the fridge, push aside a stack of bills on the table and sit in a contented coma watching a sporting event for several hours without the slightest pang.

So this year I’ve decided I’m going to give myself “permission” to do the same when it comes to my writing. I’m going to tell myself that the house won’t fall down, the family won’t be poisoned or permanently scarred, and the world won’t end if I don’t take care of every little thing that needs doing before I allow myself some time to work on my writing. And when I’ve accomplished my writing goal each day, you can borrow my “permission” to do the same.

Cathy Scibelli has published personal essays in several anthologies and magazines and recently started a blog. With her new gift of permission, she plans to finally work on the two books she’s had outlined for several years.

May 1 — Alma

by Suzanne Sherman

When I was 10, kittens were born in the wall hamper outside
 my bedroom. I counted them as they entered the world, documented the births in my
 new diary. I wrote that Debbie’s mom took us to May Company and I bought opaque tights. It thrilled me. That same day I wrote that my mother took too many pills and went to the hospital. A few days later I wrote that she was coming home, she was feeling better. The only entries for the rest of that year 
were a few sentences, but the new friendship—writing to myself—quickly
 grew.

Through junior high I wrote in three-ring binders so I could add
 pages as needed, and I needed a lot of pages now. I chronicled scenes of 
talking to crushes, or not talking to them, catching their eye in the 
hall, I wrote poetry about my aching heart, wondered what life was all
 about, longed for love, pined for a friend who moved away. In high 
school the writings went deeper as I tried to find “home,” chronicled my
 fervent resolve to change my ways so I could stay with my father and
 step-family. I took poetry classes in high school, majored in creative
 writing at college, wrote short stories, a novel, graduated into
 publishing, and missed writing more than I could have imagined.

At 26 I led my first writing workshop, at my dining room table. When I left two
 years later to move across the country, one longtime student wrote me a
 note: “Thank you for seeding a new tongue to flower.” I keep that note
 still on my bulletin board. At 36 I was hired at the local junior
 college to teach memoir writing for older adults. I have done it since 1996.

Some days there is nothing else I would rather do. Other days I 
think I should be with people in the middle of their life story, not
 those gearing up for its final chapters. On one of those mornings a few years ago, a small woman was walked into class by her attendant. She was stooped,
 folded in on herself. Students of that class were the most lucid 
ones at the assisted living facility where I taught for the summer, the ones who could write about their lives for the half hour I gave them every week.
 I’ll bet she doesn’t even know why she’s here, I thought. I greeted her 
and gave her my name, she gave me hers–pronounced very
 carefully–”Alma,” and then her attendant seated her at the far end of
 the table opposite me. When she was settled, she announced, “I’m hard of 
hearing.” I suggested she move up next to me, which took her some time,
 but she did it. I welcomed and introduced her, and she repeated her 
name: “Alma.”

I said, “Your name is unusual. Where is it from?”

“It’s
 Latin,” she told us. “It means the soul.”

Everything around me lit up 
then. Of course. Thank you, Alma. Thank you for reminding me how 
important it is that every tongue find its flowers.

Suzanne Sherman is a writer, writing consultant, editor, and writing teacher (including SCN online classes).  http://www.suzannesherman.com

April 20–Appreciating Freedom As We Witness Opression

by Marlene Samuels

Several months ago I participated in a thirty-day gratitude challenge initiated on FaceBook by a close friend – not exactly the most original of ideas. Numerous sites had posed similar gratitude challenges at the time. But it did get me thinking about gratitude on a regular daily basis–both the concept and the reality. Every single day, for an entire month, those of us who agreed to sign on took one challenge: “write about something for which you’re grateful today but that’s different from the gratitude you wrote about yesterday.”

Gratitude–so what exactly is that? Within the context of our complex, high stress, western life styles, too many Americans take for granted the most obvious – albeit intangible, gifts of our lives. Yes, it very well may be cliché to say, “I’m grateful for living in a free country,” or “I’m thankful for my health,” especially when, during our conscious hours, we’re bombarded with messages that prioritize material acquisitions.

During my gratitude challenge, writing about a different gratitude each day became progressively more challenging – a total surprise to me. Suddenly, one day mid-challenge, I really got it! I grasped how much we assume our freedom is a basic human right, an entitlement, simply just a part of being alive. Few Americans have grown up without it.

The first week, the posts were overwhelmingly trite and superficial. One participant was grateful that the car dealer had his new car on time, another for an Aruba vacation, a third for having won a bet with his wife. But as the gratitude challenge calendar clicked forward, war and unrest erupted across the Middle East. And during the remainder of our gratitude challenge, it seemed that all our posts evolved – thankfully! Gone were the materialistic pitches. Expressions of gratitude for living in a free country began to dominate the screen. Each post – while different from those posted the prior day as required by the rules – elaborated upon gratitude for freedom. Amazingly, it seemed there was no end to the ways in which we can be grateful for the freedoms we tend to take so much for granted.

I’m an independent sociologist and writer and teach research methodology to non-fiction writers. I’m completing a short story collection, have published essays, short stories and food articles. I’m co-host of www.expendableedibles.com and www.expendableedibles.com/blog. Contact me through my writer’s website, www.marlenesamuels.com.

February 6 – Blogging, Tagging & Drawing

by Betty Auchard

Twelve years ago as a new 68 year old widow, I started a to-do list: find out how to start the lawn mower, how to put gas in the car, and how to use the computer. I learned all that, and even won an award for writing it down in my first book, Dancing in my Nightgown.

Today after writing my second book, I’m still learning new things, such as how to act cool on a social network. Strange new terminology is sneaking into my vocabulary these days. Words like Facebook, blogging, bookmarking, and tags have replaced TV, pleasure reading, goofing off, and baking cookies. I have no time for these things because my days are filled with learning the language of cyberspace. I must say that surfing the net is the most convenient trip I’ve ever made—I don’t even have to get dressed or leave the house to reach my destination.

Although we hear that online marketing is the way to go when promoting a book these days, my heart just wasn’t in it at first. I was posting articles on my blog like a robot doing homework when it dawned on me that I had to find a way to blog cheerfully. The next thing I heard was a little voice saying “Illustrate your blog posts”. As a retired art teacher, I must say this felt invigorating to me.

The first drawing that came through was a Thanksgiving memory, and the image was so fun to render that I couldn’t wait to draw for my next post. Since then I’ve illustrated five of my blog posts. My new mission is to find the most popular tags and keywords and let them be prompts for new stories. I think I can do that. Can you?

At 75, Betty Auchard wrote the IPPY Award winning memoir, Dancing in my Nightgown: The Rhythms of Widowhood, endorsed by celebrity widows Jayne Meadows and Rosemarie Stack. Last November, she released her childhood memoir, The Home for the Friendless, endorsed by Josh Braff. Betty’s stories and essays have been published in the San Jose Mercury News, Today’s Senior, The Senior Voice, and Chocolate for a Woman’s Soul series. Blog with the author at www.bettyauchard.com and join her fans on Facebook.

January 7 – Stranded in Iceburgh

by Sharon Lippincott

Today began ordinarily enough. I slipped into my chocolate plush robe and headed for the coffee pot. I’m participating in Amber Starfire’s keyboard vs. paper journaling experiment, so I by-passed my lap desk and journal and headed into my cold cave to tap out a few thoughts.

The rest of the morning flew as I continued preparing materials for the Story Circle Writing for the Health of It class and my winter lifestory class at Carnegie Mellon scheduled to begin this afternoon. Just before noon I left for class. When the car started up, I felt a strange surge of relief, with a vague thought about the battery. Now why would I worry about that? I wondered.

Fifteen minutes later, traffic on the Parkway ground to halt. Obviously there was an accident inside the Squirrel Hill Tunnel and we would be sitting for at least ten minutes. Thank heavens I allowed plenty of extra time, I thought, turning off the car. Seventeen minutes later the light turned green on the tunnel entrance, and I reached for the key. The engine struggled twice, then went dead. My heart nearly stopped. The battery! I thought, recalling my premonition. Am I psychic?

I ran to the truck behind me, explaining my dilemma. In short order, he and another man pushed me onto the shoulder, then an emergency vehicle stopped and told me they’d alert the tunnel crew. Another man quickly showed up and pushed me across to a holding area in front of the tunnel. He gave me numbers to call a tow truck that arrived in minutes.

My dilemma was compounded by the fact that my Honey is on some tropical isle, leaving me stranded in Iceburgh to handle things on my own. After some thought, I called my ex-mechanic son in San Francisco–mostly because I could! I’ve had a cell phone for only a couple of years and never use it. He confirmed my decision.

The tow truck hauled me to our customary garage a mile from the house. The friendly fellow there promised to look at the car ASAP and gave me a ride up the hill.

Shortly after I walked in the door, the assistant class leader called. One of the fellows who has taken the class half a dozen times led a group discussion, and those who had brought stories read them. I was relieved, and they were glad to hear I was okay. All is well.

In spite what could seem like a terrible, horrible, awfully bad day, I feel richly blessed. Help arrived with near miraculous speed. I made strong decisions, and a tiny piece of plastic made everything easy. My “just in case” cell phone worked like a charm. I’m thrilled at the confirmation I’m not indispensable, that my students will carry on without me. The house is nice and warm again, and I just opened a fresh container of coffee. Life is good.

Sharon Lippincott survives icy winters in Pittsburgh where she teaches lifestory writing and Writing for the Health of It.

January 1 – Auld Lang Syne

by Stephanie Barko

The first of January is a day to relax and share with friends. Not a typical day in any sense, there are usually rich appetizers, spectator football, old friends and new acquaintances involved.

I, for one, never get any goal setting done or grandiose plans made for the year on January 1st, but I never feel guilty about it either. Perhaps my ease at feeling comfortably lazy on New Year’s Day lies in what has gone on the previous week.

December’s last week contains both a death and quick estate settlement. It is simultaneously a funeral for the current year and a mad dash to discard, recycle, repurpose, and donate everything that doesn’t fit in life anymore. The lighter you go out of one year, the more you can bring into the next, so for me, the last week becomes a game to uncover what I was too busy to deal with as the year roared by.

There’s the stuff under the master bed that the cats hide in, Jane Fonda’s old steps from her videos I have long since given away. Inside the study’s built-in roll-out file drawers are years of notes I will never use. An upstairs closet houses stacks of low priority mail hastily dumped before company arrived.

Going through what I’ve hidden from view suggests a chance to capture some opportunities I may have missed as well, like soon-to-expire class action claims and equipment rebates. While embracing these chances at wealth, my mind begins to wonder what else I gathered in during the year and failed to acknowledge.

How did my spirit meet its challenge to go for more joy? Did my family and community get larger and broader or smaller and deeper? Has the business infrastructure I put in place paid off in my career? What were the benefits of redesigning my food, fitness and health path? Have I been fearless enough to learn what I needed to know?

Before writing goals for 2011, I decide to first recognize what remains (or not) of 2010. What sense of fullness and satisfaction can I name that came with the past year? What must I jettison before leaping into the New Year? What or who is it that I will port over to 2011?

Have a talk with yourself and comment below with your answers.

Stephanie Barko is a 2010 Book Publicist of the Year Nominee. Her articles and reviews have been published in Western American Literature, Roundup Magazine, San Francisco Book Review, and the Texas Book Marketing Directory. Blog with Stephanie at http://stephaniebarko.com/and follow her on Facebook.

About One Woman’s Day

Today a woman somewhere is laughing, weeping, grieving, or celebrating. Someone is giving birth; someone is losing a loved one to death. Relationships are forming, others are ending. For some this will be an ordinary day filled with many of the same activities as yesterday. For others, something unexpected will suddenly make this day unforgettable, one that they may tell their children and grandchildren about in the future. In the same way that we are curious about how our grandmothers lived, future generations will be interested in learning about what an ordinary day was like in our lives.

We are looking for stories from Story Circle Network (SCN) members. Think of a day in your life that you would like to write about. It may be something that happened on a specific date or something that reflects a certain holiday or season. Then, submit your story or stories on our blog post submission page. (use your SCN member login information to access the submission page).

For information about how you can become a member of the Story Circle Network please check our our membership page.

We are accepting submissions now and will continue to accept throughout 2011.

Please join with us in being a part of One Woman’s Day, and remember to come back in January to read the stories of One Woman’s Day!