Category Archives: Identity

September 3, 2026 · 5:15 pm

Warm Summer Sun and Many Golden Days

Warm Summer Sun

Mark Twain

Warm summer sun,

Shine kindly here,

Warm summer wind,

Blow softly here.

Green sod above,

Lie light, lie light.

Good night, dear heart,

Good night, Good night.

August 2026. Because no one ever promised me a rose garden, I am not surprised that I do not have one. I am incredibly lucky, I know, to have a house. A roof over my head. A husband who loves me. It’s involved a lot of work and a lot of moving and some really tough choices, but we have a century old home and we own it outright. It’s what’s called a fixer-upper, but it’s in a charming neighborhood in a nice town in a beautiful part of the country.

This home doesn’t have a rose garden, but it does have a small yard with five trees: a pine, a crabapple, a maple, a walnut and an ash, and for those I am very grateful. This matters because life without an abundance of trees makes me sad.

I think I was born knowing this, that I needed trees, but I haven’t always been able to live in a forest. Sometimes, though, I have. I’ve lived among the branches, crowns, needles, and leaves of thousands of trees, as in the San Bernardino Mountains of Southern California where the trees literally grew through the deck of the house and rubbed against its sides during storms. I lived amid towering pine and oak forests, watching the squirrels argue with the Stellar Jays. Chattering, flying balls of fur and haughty blue-winged overseers fighting it out for the choicest acorns. In Southern Wisconsin, I lived in boggy woods nestled around the Fox River, heaping piles of autumn leaves burning in all the yards in November, ears tuned to the haunting calls of owls at night and eyes searching for the bright scarlet wings of the cardinals, ears hearing their sweet duets—cheer, cheer, cheer!

I’ve lived in other places that I loved, but found that the number of trees in proximity needed to be at a fairly high ratio compared to the number of dwellings for me to . . . what? Breathe properly? Yes, to breathe. Something close to that anyway.

Here in our new/old home in Michigan, in the glorious Upper Peninsula, we originally had three more trees than currently. Sadly, this was only for the first couple of weeks we owned the house. They were beautiful old pines, but we had to have them removed when we moved in and discovered that all the plumbing needed to be replaced inside the house, along with the sewer line that leads down to the street. This necessitated having those trees removed, half of the yard dug out, and then once everything was redone, a truckload of dirt brought back in and that half of the yard reseeded.

This also necessitated the emptying of our savings account (please don’t ask about why we had no other recourse…). Also, some extremely dear friends helped us with the final expense for all of that. There is no adequate or even semi-adequate way of expressing our gratitude for our friends. You know who you are and I hope you know how much you are loved. And—anyway! Anyway!

When we purchased our house, both the structure itself and the yard had been neglected for quite some time—years—decades even. The house will no doubt be given more of a starring role in an upcoming post, but for now, since I am finally writing again and I seem to want to write about trees and plants, I will briefly describe the yard.

The garden consists of a couple of small areas near the house where my husband and I managed to put in a few plants when we moved here this spring: two small Japanese willows, a lavender and a sumac. Money was very tight (think sewer), so we didn’t even try for an annual garden nor any vegetables. Frankly, it was a money issue and a “first the house has to livable” issue. Next spring, we’re hoping to plant more.

Deer are not lavender lovers, and since sumac grows wildly all over the Midwest as far as I know, I didn’t think it would attract them either. I wanted something that would be colorful in the autumn. I was pretty sure the delicate looking willows would look tasty to wildlife, but I chose them anyway. They were small and inexpensive.

Sure, we knew deer might be a problem, but we adopted the “wait and see” approach. Some neighbors had shrubs and flowers, not as many as could easily have been grown in such lush soil and usually ample rainfall, but still, there were baskets of flowers and ferns hanging on most of the porches and a few manicured beds. On closer inspection, we noticed various deer deterrent devices throughout the area.

We caged the willows and sumac after the first night when they were nearly totally consumed by a few of our local white-tailed deer. The required wire fencing and stakes cost more than the plants, and naturally, they are not as attractive now that they are nubs shrouded by fencing.

Photo by Andrew Patrick Photo on Pexels.com

The deer are worth it though. They are so beautiful. Life goes on, and we do our best.

Sometimes, when the days feel heavy and colorless, bleak and hot, I cannot summon the courage to write. That doesn’t mean I lose the longing for beauty and comfort during the long hot days of summer, it just means I have to dig down a little farther into the cooler depths where the roots still rest and strive, into a quieter place than the garden above. This has been that kind of a summer. A quiet time of long walks, house painting, reading, and waiting to hear from my publisher. A time of burrowing in, fortifying, growing roots. Hoping that the time spent walking in the woods, the time spent immersed in the compelling work of other writers, the time spent repairing this old house is time spent on growing a new kind of garden. The right garden for us to live in now, here in Michigan, at this time in our lives.

These are the wonderful books that have been filling my head and heart lately:

A Piece of the World by Christina Baker Kline. I loved this book! I am still thinking about it for a week after finishing it.

When the Cranes Fly South by Lisa Ridzen.

The Diamond Eye by Kate Quinn

Tom Lake by Ann Patchett

I See you’ve Called in Dead by John Kenney

The Missing Pages by Alyson Richman

The Mad Wife by Meagan Church

Just for fun: The Villa by Rachel Hawkins

Just started: The Briar Club by Kate Quinn

*Newly painted and curtained dining area. My photo.*

And now, Welcome, Welcome to September!

A Month of Change and New Possibilities!

*Some other things I’ve been reading. My photo.*

Wishing you all wonderful days

and

plenty of the things that matter most to you!

Lucy Maud Montgomery, ‘September’.

Lo! a ripe sheaf of many golden days
Gleaned by the year in autumn’s harvest ways,
With here and there, blood-tinted as an ember,
Some crimson poppy of a late delight
Atoning in its splendor for the flight
Of summer blooms and joys
This is September.

62 Comments

Filed under Authors, Books, Fiction, HIstorical Fiction, Home, Identity, Literary Fiction, Nature, Personal History, Publishing, Reading, Seasons, Uncategorized, Writing

Tagged as Book Review, Fiction, flowers, garden, gardening, Moving, Nature, plants, Writing

July 11, 2026 · 2:00 pm

Strength, Survival, Sharks, An Apology, and A Lot of Birthday Cake

I recently had one of those decade milestone birthdays. I am not an enormous fan of birthday celebrations in general, and less so when I am the one in the spotlight. I can’t remember ever being excited about my own birthday, at least not in the way I imagine other people get excited. I guess I really don’t know if other people are truly excited on their birthdays or if it is all performative theatre. Maybe some of each? I know I get embarrassed, especially when I open presents in front of people. I feel like I’m going to let them down in some undefinable way.

My first memory of my own birthday was when I was very young—perhaps three? Definitely no more than four. I was a shy little kid who liked to be alone and sleep a lot. Who knows why. As far as I know things hadn’t yet fallen apart in my world at that point, so I don’t think I was depressed per se. Though disaster was looming, no one knew that yet. Definitely not little Lori. So, I was just a little odd, I guess. Anyway, my older brother, Billy, was the sunny opposite—funny, excitable, energetic. Everything delighted him.

The thing I remember about that early birthday is being shaken out of the soft cocoon of sleep by Billy jumping up on my bed and hopping around whooping, “Sissy, sissy, wake up. It’s your birthday!” I am pretty sure he stepped on me during the process. I reacted the way a fifty-year-old spinster might, groaning and covering my head with my pillow and telling him to go away. It was a story often repeated in the family. Billy was more excited about Lori’s birthday than she was.

Over the years, birthdays never really got more exciting, except, perhaps, for the 18^th, because when I turned 18 it became legal for me to drink alcohol in the state of Wisconsin and I was, sadly, very interested in taverns in those days. I was a bit of a lost soul. By the time I turned 21, I was a mother, and so there was little reason or opportunity to celebrate my own birthday. I could instead focus on making birthdays memorable for my son, and then my daughter when she came along a few years later. I enjoyed making their cakes, choosing presents for them, planning little parties. I began taking my daughter to Disneyland every year on her birthday since we lived nearby at the time, and she continues to be a huge Disneyland fan to this day.

I think it was when I was in my late thirties that my friend Cheryl suggested we start a birthday tradition of meeting somewhere special to celebrate our milestone birthdays, the ones that ended in 0, and so it was that we went to Robert Redford’s Sundance Resort in Utah for our 40^th birthdays. We have been friends since we were little girls, and we are only a couple months apart. The once-a-decade birthday trip suited me. No big gatherings. No embarrassing surprises, just two old friends going for nature walks and eating nice food. Perfect!

This year I had three birthday celebrations! That’s a lot of cake! Not that a lot of cake is a bad thing. I had several days with my friend, Sandy, then several with my friend, Cheryl, and then a little visit with my sister-in-law, Kathy, and some of her family at her new home in Menominee, Michigan. It’s been wonderful. The only thing missing is my kids and grandkids who are far away. Spending time with them cannot come soon enough!

Birthdays can be a bit like New Year’s in a sense—a time to reflect on the past, celebrate, remember, and look forward—a time to plan ahead. My friends and family reminded me of the good things about reaching this milestone, of the experience and love, of pain, too, but also wisdom. Somehow, over the years I managed to raise two children, put myself through college and grad school, teach wonderful young people, and a few older ones, write several novels (and finally am in the process of getting the third one published), maintained rich and meaningful relationships (but also lost a few), and am experiencing now the joy of watching my beautiful grandchildren as they grow. A long life provides a kind of strength, a strength that recognizes the good, the bad, the hopelessness and the hopefulness—the totality of it all. And I have been all those things at one time or another.

I wish I could say I’ve put all my mistakes behind me, and that I have reached a state of peaceful benign bliss, but I definitely can’t! Just after priding myself on what I considered my valiant composure while under stress, and, in fact, bragging about it, my husband jumped into a swimming pool and got my hair wet. I lost my mind. I shot through the water like an angry shark, whipping and whacking water into his surprised face with an intensity never before seen outside of a hurricane. I was as surprised as he was! Where did that come from?

I guess I still have some growing up to do. I Am So Sorry, Sweetheart!

Sending Love and Blissful Blooms to You Today! And Birthday and UnBirthday Best Wishes Galore!

80 Comments

Filed under Aging, Identity, Personal History, Relationship, Uncategorized

Tagged as birthday, Birthdays, Family, life, Love, Milestones, Writing

June 17, 2026 · 6:02 pm

California Dreaming

*Lake Arrowhead, California, USA. Photo by Hayley O’Kelly*

“A writer finds peace in silence, speaking only to the page, yet the words survive only by stepping into the noise of the world to be seen, heard, and held by others.”
― Lawrence Nault

I have found a great deal of peace in the silent world of writing, “speaking only to the page.” First as an insecure and introverted girl, and later as an adult, writing has provided a safe place for me. A place of comfort and security, and a place to grow.

In my experience the act of writing places the writer in a sacred space both inside and outside of the constraints of normal consciousness. It’s also a place of discovery and healing. Writing has probably saved me from a thousand unknown terrible fates by keeping me grounded, probing, perceptive, and awake. At least it feels that way. Writing has awakened in me a million possibilities, become my friend, my coach, my inward eye. Writing has shaped my existence.

*An entry from my journal which was made from an old book owned by a lady named Mary Miller*

And so, it with great trepidation that I send my writing into the world. The tension between the safety of my personal writing bubble and the “noise of the world” is immense. Sending your manuscript out has been compared to sending your child to school for the first time (“Sending a book out into the world is a lot like sending your child to the first day of kindergarten. You hope the other kids play nice and that she makes friends”—Mitchell Zuckoff), and having a child has been compared to giving your heart away (“Making the decision to have a child – it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body” ―Elizabeth Stone). These are apt descriptions of my state of mind as I wait to hear from my publisher.

The contract has been signed, and the editor will soon be digging into my manuscript. This stage feels surreal after a lifetime of reading, writing, studying and dreaming. And years of querying agents and publishers. There’s not much to tell yet, but it looks as though there will be a book with my name on it coming out at some undetermined date in the future. I’m guessing it will be many months from now. I don’t even know if the title I’ve chosen will be used. I can say this, it is a World War II homefront historical fiction novel. It’s set in Lake Arrowhead, California, USA. The protagonist is named Mary Miller. And there are bears.

Write what is in your heart. With love.

71 Comments

Filed under Authors, Books, HIstorical Fiction, Identity, Publishing, Uncategorized, World War II, Writing

Tagged as California, Fiction, Lake Arrowhead, Writing

March 27, 2026 · 2:35 pm

Books Get Me Through The Great Alone

It’s been two weeks since I left Nevada and one week since I arrived at my new Michigan home. All of these days have been solo; I drove alone, I arrived alone to an empty house, I spend my days here alone. There’s a theme building . . . For now!

But husband and kitties will be joining me soon.

As an introvert, this hasn’t been particularly tough. I love people, but I also love solitude. I just got the internet yesterday, and that’s fun because now I can write and publish my writing more easily. No TV here yet. No furniture to speak of. I have one little lamp table that fit in my car, a folding camp chair, and a cot. That’s it. Everything else will come in the moving van next week. So, what do I do all day?

I clean and I read. Often, at the same time, by listening to audiobooks using the Libby library App. One of the books I’ve enjoyed so far during this extended period of solitude is aptly The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah. It’s a tough book about a tough time and a tough place, but I liked it. Alaska in the 1970s, mental illness, abuse . . . it’s got it all, but it isn’t only that, of course. It’s also a book filled with nostalgia, love, and the awesomeness of nature.

Other books I read either just prior to moving, during the drive, or since my arrival are: We All Live Here, Moyes; Sandwich, Newman; The Secret Book of Flora Lea, Henry; Remain, Spark and Shyamalan; The Missing Half, Flowers and Kiester; and currently, The Island of Sea Women, See. Each book has its merits.

I found both We All Live Here and Sandwich charming and humorous. Both are light, contemporary novels with women protagonists wrestling with life changing events and the love of family.

The Secret Book of Flora Lea took me to one of my favorite historical settings, World War II England, in the countryside and also to London in the 1960s. It’s a delightful book about sisters, families, love, and the importance of stories.

Remain and The Missing Half are mysteries, with Remain being the more entertaining of the two for me. The Missing Half helped pass the time, but Remain’s ghostly love story captivated me at times, including during several memorable scenes that made me shiver.

And now I’m listening to The Island of Sea Women. It’s taken me to a part of the world I know very little about, which I love, because I am learning so much. It’s set in Korea from the story’s beginning in the 1930s and will move through the war years and take me to the present day. It’s about women sea divers (an amazing group of female divers who earn the money for their families while their husbands care for the children), and it’s the story of two friends Mi-ja and Young-sook.

As you can see, I’ve not been alone, not really, for I’ve been traveling through time and place along with the characters created by the authors of these varied and appealing novels, carried away by their stories. It’s a kind of magic really, the way a reader lives both inside and outside of a book—simultaneously in the room, and also somewhere else far away.

I love this line about reading from Stephen Chbosky from his young adult novel, The Perks of Being a Wallflower:

“Sometimes, I read a book, and I think I am the people in the book.”

Exactly.

63 Comments

Filed under Authors, Books, Commentary, Fiction, HIstorical Fiction, Home, Identity, Literary Fiction, Nature, Personal History, Reading, Uncategorized, Winter, World War II

Tagged as Book Review, Books, Fiction, Introvert, Michigan, Moving, Nevada, Reading, Writing

November 30, 2025 · 3:58 pm

The Intersection of Hope and Longing

Today is the first day of Advent,

the beginning of a new year for my Episcopal and many other Christian churches.

The weeks leading up to Christmas have always been my most anticipated, though I’ve probably never come close to understanding the depth of the reasons my heart finds them so.

In the beginning, it was certainly the way Mom made everything magic for my brother and I, and it was the tree and the lights and the music, Santa and the reindeer—my dad’s sweet smile. As the years went by, I learned more and went through different periods of faithfulness and failure, but I was always striving, trying to understand the magic and make it real.

According to Father Luke Gregory, OFM, “As the world enters the sacred season of Advent, a period of preparation and reflection for many Christians, we find ourselves standing at the intersection of hope and longing. This time invites us to consider not just the anticipation of Christ’s coming but also the deep desire for reconciliation and peace within our fractured world” (www.vaticannews.va).

The intersection of hope and longing—yes!

Wishing all of you, whether you subscribe to the faith of Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, or you’re Atheist or Agnostic—wishing you an unlimited experience of hope for a meaningful, hopeful, peaceful future, whatever you call this time of year.

Thank you for being a part of everything. Your presence makes everything bright and beautiful!

Bless You!

41 Comments

Filed under Gratitude, Holiday, Identity, Seasons, Uncategorized, Winter

Tagged as Advent, Christmas, Faith, Hope, Longing, New Beginnings, Thank You

September 19, 2025 · 4:58 pm

This Writing Life

*A few days in Paris, Writing . . . Years ago* *Never forgotten*

Instructions for living a life.
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.”
―Mary Oliver

Moving a life forward is an investment in dreams, time, learning, relationship building, and so much more. Moving a writing life forward is all of that, and I would add it is also, at its best, a life transformed. As Anne Frank so eloquently put it: “I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.” Writing did not save Anne Frank’s life, but I believe her writing has saved the lives of countless others.

Writers may feel called to the creative life, but that one precious life often must take a back seat to another, more practical life, one that includes a sensible career (aka something with a steady paycheck), perhaps with snatches of scribbling in between the job, chores, and attending to family or societal needs and expectations. The writing life can be a kind of shadow life. It has been for me. Some writers seldom or never mention their craft while engaged in their more acceptable “real” life.

“I love writing. I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotions.”
—James Michener

It’s hard to explain to nonwriters why a few hours or a whole day spent attending a sporting event or a picnic can create in the writer a kind of panic—a feeling that the time needed to be alone, to read and to write, will never be enough, that time is seeping away, draining their spirit. Spending “free time” in non-creative areas can feel terribly wasted to the writer, while to others, the writer’s avoidance of joining in reeks of selfishness, or delusion. Or perhaps it’s just incomprehensible. Why, people wonder, is writing so important to you? There’s no money in it. And if there is, it’s only available to a few spectacularly talented gifted authors. If you had that gift, surely you’d have been published by now.

The writing life can be an ill-defined series of swells of poetic energy or flow, which is heady and soul lifting. There is nothing quite like those times. Catherine Drinker Bowen says, “For your born writer, nothing is so healing as the realization that he has come upon the right word.” And I have felt that many times. Writing has healed me.

But those transcendent hours or days are for writers seeking an agent or publisher likely to alternate with rejection after rejection after rejection. Writers do much of their writing alone, but if they seek representation and traditional publishing, they must eventually learn the oft times punishing lessons of business.

Soon I’ll be working with a developmental content editor on my completed World War II historical fiction manuscript. I’m excited to be taking this major step forward. It’s been a long journey, and honestly, I’ve loved the myriad lessons and experiences along the way, even the hard ones.

“If a story is in you, it has to come out.”
—William Faulkner

*American Writers Museum, Chicago, Illinois*

Thank you for visiting! Wishing you a wonderful day, doing exactly what you need and want to do.

With Love Always, Lori

43 Comments

Filed under Authors, Fiction, Gratitude, HIstorical Fiction, Identity, Literary Agents, Publishing, Reading, Research, Uncategorized, Work, World War II, Writing Advice

Tagged as Advice, Fiction, Writer Quotes, Writing, Writing Life

June 28, 2025 · 2:37 pm

Common Threads Lead to Joy

From Top to Bottom: Sierra Boggess and Emily Jewel Hoder in the revival production of “The Secret Garden” at Center Theatre Group / Ahmanson Theatre February 19 through March 26, 2023.
Photo credit: Matthew Murphy of MurphyMade

As a way to identify the activities that bring me joy and find ways to incorporate more of them—more often—into my daily life, I recently completed a writing exercise. It morphed into several disparate, yet ultimately connected and delightful experiences. I had so much fun with it, I just had to share!

Here is the prompt: “Write a letter to your childhood hero. You won’t actually send this letter. Tell them about what has brought you the most joy in each decade of your life. Don’t think too hard about the answers. Write the first things that come to mind. Reread the letter. Do you see common threads?” -Brittany Polat, PhD. Journal Like a Stoic, c2022.

Choosing who to write to was an intriguing part of the process. Who, I asked my little girl self, is your hero? The name that sprang spontaneously to mind was Frances Hodgson Burnett. Of everyone I could have chosen, for some reason I chose a lady author, a woman I’d never met and in fact could never have met because she died thirty-two years before I was born. She may have left the earthly realm, but she was very alive to me. She spoke to me through her books. The Secret Garden was my favorite, and I have continued to love it my whole life, cherishing it through rereads, watching all of the movie versions, and attending the play.

Before writing my letter to Frances, I did a bit of research on her life, and what a full life it was! Born in 1849 in England, impoverished at age four after her father’s death, Frances eventually traveled with her mother to live in a log cabin in Tennessee during the American Civil War. It was writing that finally lifted her out of poverty. She was a highly regarded author who published fifty-three novels and owned homes in both England and America (Gerzina, Gretchen H. “In the Garden: The Life of Frances Hodgson Burnett.” Shakespeare Theatre Company, c2024).

This research into Frances’s life inspired me as I wrote to her about the greatest joys in my own life. The common threads became very clear. Family, friends, nature, wildlife, pets, reading, writing, and learning showed up consistently throughout the decades. These are the things that spark the most joy for me.

With this in mind, I agreed to an unplanned day-long trail ride with my husband on a day I had planned to spend doing laundry and vacuuming the house. Seems like an easy choice, venturing out into nature with my guy rather than doing chores, but I honestly might not have agreed to drop everything and go if I hadn’t just completed my “joy inventory.”

Though housekeeping and organization didn’t make themselves known in my letter to Frances, they are important to me, nonetheless. I find it difficult to get to joy in any kind of untidy environment, whether in my own home or anywhere else. Still! I managed to say yes. As a bonus, I thought I could write about it afterwards, thereby including another of my favorite activities in the event.

Here is the result:

Off highway vehicle trails abound in the high elevation areas of the entire Toiyabe Mountain range and extend down into the valleys and basin below. We have an old side-by-side Rhino that can climb just about anything at very low speeds and peaks at 30 miles per hour on a flat road going downhill (a situation not often experienced here). Our chosen route for the day was to begin at our home in Austin, travel to Big Creek Campground, and then continue over the mountains into the adjacent valley to the east.

Along the way we experienced the expanse of the Reese River Valley over exposed rocky trails and into and over the mountains with multiple stream crossings, aspen groves, meadows, and significant elevation change. We passed by two campgrounds (Big Creek Campground and Kingston Campground) and Groves Lake, winding up in the charming Kingston community where we were welcomed by the wonderful ladies of a Monday Mahjong groups that meets at our friend Linda’s house. There we were treated to a delicious lunch and lively conversation before heading back over the mountain. Friendship, another joy inducing ingredient added! It was a lovely day.

*Linda and the Mahjong Ladies welcomed us in!*

From the initial moments spent reading the prompt in my journal it was indeed a joy to experience the results of contemplating a childhood hero, writing to her, thinking about my life in decades, and saying yes to an impromptu adventure.

It would be wonderful to read about your hero, and the joys of your decades. Who would you write to? What insights about joy might your letter reveal? If the spirit moves you, please do give this little project a go! You might find yourself delighted by the results, as I have done. Looking forward to hearing from you!

Happy Writing!

*Joy and Adventure live inside–*
*and out!*

Lori

36 Comments

Filed under Books, childhood, Family, Identity, Nature, Reading, Uncategorized, Writing, Writing Advice

Tagged as Beauty, Joy, Nature, Nevada, The Secret Garden, Trails, Writing

May 18, 2025 · 5:24 pm

I Am a Writer

Something I don’t write about much is my writing background. And of course there’s a reason for that. I have spent a significant amount of time, effort, and money over a period of many years on writing, and though I don’t consider any of that effort to be wasted, I do think sometimes, sometimes when the shadows fall a little too dark, a little too thick, that I should have done more with it, this writing thing, by now. That it should have gone somewhere. Perhaps I’m even a bit embarrassed to admit that with a BA in English and an MFA in creative writing, and years of study and teaching under my belt, I still haven’t published a novel.

Have I written a novel? Oh, yes. I wrote my first novel three decades ago. I was teaching English and became active in the National Writing Project, a fantastic program for teachers that encourages us to become writers, ourselves. I wrote a contemporary novel during that time but never attempted to have it published. It was my learning novel, the one that I would never throw away, but also, the one that wouldn’t be good enough to publish. Don’t ask me exactly how I came to this conclusion. I think I read an awful lot of books and articles about writing, and this was my take on first novels. They were like the first pancake, or the first kiss. You just had to do it and get it out of the way. The payoff would be better pancakes and better kisses later. Fluffier, more evenly browned, delicious. Or maybe my own writing just embarrassed me so much that I couldn’t even think of approaching anyone with it. So, I printed it out and boxed it away.

The itch to learn more and to focus more on writing took me to Goddard College next. I continued teaching and worked on my master’s from 2007-2009. During this exciting period, I wrote constantly, including many formal papers for my instructors and my thesis, which was a young adult historical fiction novel about a Catholic Polish teen and his Jewish neighbors during World War II. This one, I thought, I would try to get published. I just didn’t hurry it.

I attended Goddard West in Port Townsend, WA. I have never been to the original campus in Vermont, which has sadly, closed, but I still hope to visit there someday.

After the MFA, I focused on researching agents and publishers and writing queries. Admittedly, I didn’t try very hard. It was excruciating for me to put myself out there—my writing out there—which to me, amounted to putting my inexperience and inadequacy on full display, a neon sign of not-good-enough, flashy and annoying, just begging someone far more hard-working and talented than myself to squash it.

Time went by and I wrote with friends for fun, and to learn more. Shout out to you, Alicia, Lynn, Mike, Maria Elena, and of course all of my amazing students! I thought maybe I needed to put more time between me and my second novel. I started blogging. I was still teaching.

But then I found myself seriously ill with a rare form of cancer, and the world stopped spinning. I lost track of days, weeks. My brother was also ill and had come to live with us. My surgeries were successful. But I felt unwell. Months of chemo took a toll. And my brother. My beautiful brother, my only sibling, died.

I read that the average life span for appendiceal cancer was seven years, and yes, I also read that was not to be taken to mean that I would die in seven years—there were so many factors involved, and it was just an average. Many people died sooner. Others lived for twenty years or more. Blah, blah, blah, I thought. I have seven years.

With my husband’s blessing, I cashed in a small savings account and took a short trip to London and Paris (my one and only trip outside the U.S.), and it was wonderful, and I knew I wanted to write. My writing vision could not have been more clear. I came home and worked on a new novel.

East Finchley, Outside London.

A Beautiful Place to Write.

I taught for a couple more years. Other than my family, my teaching career was what I was most proud of and committed to. Still, I felt my energy shifting. I expected an early death. I imagined myself too weak to be the kind of teacher I had always aspired to be, which was the Robin Williams as John Keating kind of teacher from Dead Poet’s Society. That was who I should be, but instead, I felt—I believed, I was tired, in failing health, more Virginia Poe dying slowly of tuberculous while Edgar became ever more prolific than John Keating taking on the entire world of poetry and elevating young minds and spirits. I saw myself settling into an early writing retirement where my husband would continue to work, but I would just be . . . . the quiet writer in residence.

Robin William as the victorious Mr. Keating

The sadly beautiful Mrs. E. A. Poe

And so, I finished my third book. It is not published.

I found I missed gainful employment and have steadily worked part-time since my early retirement, teaching and library work mostly. I am fighting my hermit-like tendencies, and I’m enjoying getting more involved in actively reading and responding to my fellow writers online, as well as the few writers I know personally. This is a joy and a responsibility. I believe we must support each other, and I am so in awe of all of you! I just finished reading a fellow Goddard graduate’s Sci-Fi thriller, The Regolith Temple, yesterday, and was blown away! Roxana Arama, I will be writing a review for your excellent book very soon!

I am still waiting to hear back from an agent who requested my full manuscript many months ago. I’m considering next steps.

I’m not dead. I stopped going in for cancer scans several years ago. I can’t afford them, and anyway, I’m quite spectacularly healthy. Weirdly! So maybe the seven years thing was really just about itches and actually had nothing to do with my diagnosis. Whatever the reason, I’m grateful, and I’m still in love with this beautiful planet. And pancakes and kisses.

I’m walking every day and working on another novel.

Trying to say it a little more often.

The simple sentence I’ve never felt worthy of.

I am a writer.

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Filed under Cancer, Cancer Journey, HIstorical Fiction, Identity, Literary Agents, London, Memories, Personal History, poetry, Relationship, Research, Teacher, Uncategorized, Voice, Writing, Writing Advice

Tagged as Advice, Fiction, Goddard College, health and writing, National Writing Project, Publishing, Teaching, Writer Support, Writing

March 31, 2025 · 4:58 pm

The Mornings are the Worst

This is not my kitty. It’s a sweet expression though, and I love kitties.

I woke up this morning acutely aware of several things. None of them were good, considering the state of current affairs, but, for me, the first breath of consciousness each day brings the unwelcome reminder that I no longer have any teeth (on the top of my jaw anyway. This may or may not be called the “crown” of my gums . . . I have asked Mr. Googly, but I’m still not sure). Also, I only have 13 teeth left on the bottom, which, hey, I’m grateful for so that’s why I state it only as an aside and not as part of my general complaint. Anyway, this is what waking up means to me.

I am aware that this is not an appealing topic.

Well, some people love me. But sometimes I get sad anyway.

I am an American woman with ill-fitting dentures that I take out at night. Most nights. Some nights I just leave them in.

But you aren’t supposed to leave them in. Why? Something about giving your gums a rest and not letting bacteria build up. According to The American College of Prosthodontists (ACP), the association that represents the specialty of prosthodontics: “Yes, you can wear your dentures at night, but it is preferred that they be removed. You should remove your dentures at night, and this will give your gums and bone a chance to relax from the pressure of the denture during the day. If you need to wear your dentures for social reasons or to prevent your jaws from over closing, you should find time during the day to properly clean your mouth and your prostheses. You should never wear your dentures 24 hours a day without performing proper oral hygiene. Dentures should be cleaned at night and stored in water during the night.”

So, that’s a no, yes? My guy in Fallon said to take them out . . . (he never mentioned unless I needed to keep them in for “social reasons” or to avoid over-closing jaws) . . . more on that later.

So, I usually take them out. Then—I wake up in the morning feeling like my face is a sad stretch of the Pacific Coast Highway after a torrential downpour. Part of me is washed away.

That’s me on the left. All smiles. Brand new teeth.

By now, some readers might be thinking (in addition to oh dear lord please stop), what about implants?

When I inquired about the cost of implants, I was given the “ballpark” figure of $40,000. “It’s like buying a car,” my Fallon guy said. Indeed. And I would be the first person to say that I’d much rather have a complete set of permanent teeth than a new car. Absolutely! But that’s false equivalency; it isn’t a choice between teeth and a car. Not at all. There’s no money for either of those things. I was lucky to be able to scrape the money together for the dentures, which came to something closer to $4,000 (including the cost of the extraction of my “unsavable” natural teeth). I drive a car that I bought used 10 years ago for much less than $40,000 and have managed to pay off. So I’m not in the market for a new car, and implants were never going to happen.

This breaks my heart, and it also angers me. Why is dental care so difficult to attain? Is it because of a general American lack of concern for healthcare for its citizens overall? Is it because I am lazy and do not deserve teeth? I mean, I have a job. I’ve always had jobs, but some of them (at peak important dental crisis periods), didn’t include dental insurance. If I had been born into a wealthy family, or perhaps if I had been born in a different country, would I still have my teeth? I don’t know. Certainly, lifelong, consistent dental care could have saved me some of my dental losses. I remember having a tooth pulled when I was in my twenties that could have been saved if I’d had the money for a root canal and a crown.

I’d like to hear about the experiences of people from other places. Is this something that happens to many of my peers, but I just don’t know about it because it is humiliating, and no one dares speak of it? And what about people who lose their teeth to accidents or illness? What recourse do they have?

I know there are people suffering much more in places that are much worse. I know that many people of my parents’ generation wore dentures for much of their adult lives, and I don’t remember hearing much grumbling about it, perhaps another reason that their designation as The Greatest Generation is so apt. My parents survived The Great Depression, they fought in World War II (Dad was a Marine in the Pacific) or supplied the troops (Mom worked in an airplane factory), they ballroom danced like athletes, swinging with The Big Bands, and they never complained. Perhaps part of the saying about keeping a stiff upper lip comes from their ability to hide their discomfort about dentures? I don’t know, but I admire them for it.

Does that mean I should just embrace my toothlessness? I mean, my parents weren’t crying about it. And if I should embrace my loss, how, exactly, do I do that?

I miss my teeth. I miss my smile. Like Elf, I love to smile. Smiling is my favorite.

Also, I can’t eat numerous foods that I love. This includes crispy raw vegetables and taco shells and chewy candy—the obvious things—but also many others like pizza or sandwiches or good crusty bread. Believe me, dentures do not allow it.

Again, I could be wrong. According to The American College of Prosthodontists, “Most patients need to learn how to use dentures properly and as a result, it takes a little time to get used to them. After a while, you should be able to eat fairly normally, but it may take more time to get comfortable with harder foods or sticky foods. Using a small amount of denture adhesive (no more than three or four pea-sized dabs on each denture) may help stabilize the dentures and help hold them in place while you learn how to get comfortable with them and may make the learning process easier.”

“Fairly” is one of the key words in that paragraph. Fairly normally seems to include scrambled eggs, overcooked vegetables, soup, cooked cereals such as cream of wheat, mashed potatoes (a high point), and pudding. Oh! and thank goodness, ice cream is still an option.

Perhaps I struggle with eating because my dentures are particularly ill-fitting compared to others. This I don’t know. What I do know is that they fall out, they move around, and they whistle occasionally (something I could never accomplish before, that, no, I am not grateful for).

I also know that the denture adhesives help a bit, but the downside of using them includes the overflow stickiness that can make it impossible to move parts of my lips at times. True, I use more than the American College of Prosthodontists’ advised “three or four pea-sized dabs.” That’s because three or four pea-sized dabs do absolutely nothing!

Also, said stickiness, which isn’t sticky enough to stop the dentures from moving around during everyday activities like talking and eating, is somehow too sticky to allow its removal at the end of the day. The only way to get most of the adhesive off I’ve found is to scrape my gums and the roof of my mouth vigorously with one dry paper towel after another until I am sore and gagging and my husband has left the room.

I would be remiss if I didn’t also mention that many dental adhesives contain zinc, and though a certain amount of zinc is recommended, and is usually sourced from a regular diet, digesting extra zinc via the adhesive breaking down and being swallowed can mean that the denture wearer using adhesives with zinc may experience health issues. Excess “oral zinc can cause copper deficiency, and zinc contained in dental adhesives may thus cause hypocupraemia.” [Prasad R, Hawthorne B, Durai D, McDowell I. Zinc in denture adhesive: a rare cause of copper deficiency in a patient on home parenteral nutrition. BMJ Case Rep. 2015 Oct 9;2015:bcr2015211390. doi: 10.1136/bcr-2015-211390. PMID: 26452740; PMCID: PMC4600814]

The good news here is that I’ve just done a search and discovered there are many varieties of dental adhesive currently on the market that are zinc free. This was a welcome surprise! Examples include: Secure Waterproof Denture Adhesive – Zinc Free, Extra Strong 12 Hour Hold Super Poligrip, and Effergrip Zinc Free Denture and Partials Adhesive Cream Extra Strong Denture Adhesive Cream, Zinc Free.

This bit of happy news, you might hope, will conclude my treatise on the sorrows and lessons of dentures, but I would be remiss if I did not mention . . ..

Intimacy in the bedroom at night on the rare occasion my spouse and I are both awake past eight o’clock. I think this must be one of the unmentionable “social reasons” cited by the American College of Prosthodontists. Alas, my post-natural-teeth desirability rating has fallen. I was never a supermodel, but I was the woman who never went without mascara or lipstick, who shaved her legs every day, and did everything possible within my budget to remain healthy and attractive.

Perhaps I’m being punished for my “vanity.”

I lost my teeth because I tried too hard?

I don’t think so. Mostly because it was never vanity to begin with. It was insecurity. Or, it was being a woman and knowing how women were judged. It may have been many things, but whatever sad mid-century thing it was, it was certainly never vanity.

But, hey. I’ve been up for hours now. I’ve put myself back together. Therefore, the only things I have left to worry about for the rest of today are: The state of current affairs. My missed visit to my family. Medical bills. Owing the IRS. More stray kittens needing to go to the veterinarian. The car that suddenly broke down.

Never mind.

I’m going to make a nice dinner and have a glass of wine. Some nice, homemade, soft and easy-to-chew food. Maybe soup? And a chilled Chardonnay. Definitely, a chilled Chardonnay.

After all, what do I have to worry about? What do any of us?

The mornings are the worst.

My cat, Jack. He’s not a morning guy either.

24 Comments

Filed under Advice, Aging, Dental Care, Dentures, Health, Identity, Loss, Patient Advice and Support, The Greatest Generation, Uncategorized, World War II

Tagged as dentist, Health, health and writing, life, teeth, Writing

January 25, 2025 · 4:25 pm

And Then Came 2025

At “The North Pole”

Sky Park at Santa’s Village

Skyforest, CA

I headed home from my holiday travels at the end of December, heart-filled with the love of family. I was tired, but happy in the distinct way grandmothers know well. I had just been given a multitude of irreplaceable moments with my best beloveds . . . Tiny hands holding mine, some still so small, and some growing too fast. Also bigger hands and hearty hugs. Teens and twenty-somethings updating me on their lives. Strong, beautiful, and grown. Smiles. Laughter. Storybooks shared. Snowman crafts. Game playing. Sleepy cuddles. All of it so cherished.

After tearful goodbyes, I checked in for my flight and went in search of a new journal at the airport gift shop, thinking I could begin it on January 1^st. Last year, returning from my Christmas trip, I had purchased one there, and it had been a terrific addition to my writing life. Alas, this time nothing spoke to me, probably because I already had it in mind that I wanted a guided journal like the one I used in 2024 (The Breathe Journal 52 Week Guided Planner) and they didn’t have anything similar.

Once home, my usual routines resumed, but with more than the usual spark of wonder and worry that a new year brings. This was not going to be just any new year. Apprehensive, sad, and often angry, too, I knew that I was going to have to work hard to maintain my usual optimism and good will. Honestly, my optimism was at one of the lowest levels I have ever known. Somehow, I was still hanging on to my feeling of good will in all my daily encounters. My genuine love of the people I see during the course of a regular week’s activities lifts me up. But when I was at home reading the news, I was feeling helpless and exceptionally low.

Mr. P and I stuck to our walking schedule, which we know is a nonnegotiable necessity, and I was happy to return to my library job and to church on Sundays. These things always help. Still, I knew I needed to get more writing in, and was stuck—am stuck—as far as my historical fiction manuscript goes, so I searched online for a new journal. I found and ordered Journal Like a Stoic: A 90-Day Stoicism Program to Live with Greater Acceptance, Less Judgment, and Deeper Intentionality by Brittany Polat, PhD.

By the time the journal arrived, we were more than halfway through January, and I was physically unwell. I am only into my third day of using it, but I would say it is helping me in the way that almost any honest attempt at writing truthfully from my heart and mind can do. It focuses my mind with reading, questions me with depth, and sets a task before me. I like it.

From the book: “Stoicism is a philosophy of life in the fullest sense. As a framework for daily living, it can guide us in every decision we make, from our career choices to what’s for dinner tonight. What’s more, it helps ground us when we’re living through what feels like unprecedented times.”

The kitty is also interested in stoicism.

The three disciplines of stoicism are logic, ethics, and physics. The four virtues of stoicism are wisdom, justice, courage, and temperance. All these things I can get behind, believe that I mostly already embrace them. I say mostly, because I am ignorant when it comes to physics, and historically slack when it comes to temperance. Still! I am in. I will faithfully read and respond to the prompts in the book. I will write honestly.

I plan to continue with the other things in my life that sustain me: my love of friends, family, community, church, library, nature, reading, art, music, cooking, and pets (to name a few). And I will write the occasional blog post! I love connecting with all of you!

Cheers