Sense and Sense-Ability

Touch. Smell. Taste. Hear. See.

There's a corn plant to my left and as I touch one of the long, pointy leaves, my description is "plasticky."  Someone else might call it "soft."  We're allowed to have differences in opinions and those two are different enough that one would think the two observers couldn't possibly be touching the same thing.

Smell.  I remember smelling "sausage" outside somewhere and whoever I was with said they smelled "garbage."  Was there a garbage can nearby or did my olfactory senses pick up that I was hungry?

Our sense of taste likewise displays our differences in perceptions.  One of my favorite smells is that of laundry detergent, especially when I'm outside passing by a random house and the smell of the scented detergent is wafting around the perimeter of the home.  It conjures nostalgia of my mom and Gram hanging freshly washed laundry outside to dry.  A friend I was once walking with couldn't even perceive the smell that pleased my nasal sensors as soon as it hit me.  Couldn't even smell it!  How could they block out something so pleasant.

No two carnivorous appetites of my fellow humans are the same.  Occasionally, I'll dip fries into ketchup or eat something barbecued, but those are the extents of my taste for condiments.  I'm one of those picky eaters.  Don't even sneak that tablespoon of mustard into a recipe and if my BLT comes with mayonnaise, bring me a barf bag.  I know people who drool over a lobster tail or AYCE crab legs.  I like fried or breaded shrimp and grocery store fish sticks.  That's the sum total of seafood I enjoy.  No, I will not try your shrimp dip that is different from everyone else's.  It all tastes like gross seafood to me.  I'm a tea fiend who doesn't like the smell of coffee let alone the taste.  I will not like your specially flavored kind that "hardly tastes like coffee."  Yes it does.

Hearing is the sense I pay the least attention to and I know this because when I'm checking out at a store, I automatically say, "thank you."  The cashier may have thanked me first, but I say it without thinking and I thank them also.  Another automatic reply I give is, "you too."  That kind of habit proves me a fool when I pay for my groceries after chatting about my upcoming weekend plans with the clerk, and their parting words are something like, "Have fun at your party."  Yep.  It's automatic.  "You too."  I wonder if the clerk, who obviously heard me, felt like I wasn't really the pleasant person I pretended to be.  Clearly, I was not sincere with my amiability or I would have listened to what they said.

Regarding sight, why can't anyone else see the same image I see in the clouds?  Why can I only see an aura as a translucent blur when someone else can not only tell me what color my aura is at that moment, but how far away from my body it extends.  I appreciate that there is a difference between fuchsia, magenta and burgundy where all three might be insignificant purple to someone else.

Some fabulous things about perception have come before me, such as: “The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” ― W.B. Yeats; “What you see and what you hear depend a great deal on where you are standing.  It also depends on what sort of person you are.” 
― C.S. Lewis; “There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception.” ― Aldous Huxley

I could go on and on with other thought and sense-provoking examples, but the point has been made.  Our perceptions are OUR perceptions, and that's okay.

Choosing to Be Here

Those who are mentally, physically or intellectually challenged are often viewed as inferior to the norm.  I think that can't be farther from the truth, and that they are much farther on their Light path than most.

'We're here to learn lessons' is the premise of our human existences, in a nutshell.  Many a human are used to viewing through an ego-based lens of having or lacking material possessions, our place on the financial rung of the wealth ladder, thinking we're better or worse than another by comparison.  So anyone who chooses to be here with what we label a disability (autism, physical handicap, mental retardation to name a few) must be far ahead of us in the bigger picture of soul growth.

I said "chooses to be here" because I believe we do choose, or help to choose, the lesson or lessons we incarnate into humankind to learn, and those choices are made on some soul level before we are conceived in a womb.

It's worthwhile to share my view on karma at this point with the best example I've ever come across.  It's an account I heard from James Van Praagh and this is how I remember it:  Three high school sports stars were killed after their car crashed and burned.  Grieving parents were in one of JVP's galleries.  They were devastated, of course, along with their entire families, the school, even the town.  It's one of those stories that pulls at anyone's heart strings who hears about it and leaves everyone wondering why.  One or all of those boys came through at the gallery reading and explained that their ending was payback for a karmic debt they owed.  My recollection is that all three of those boys had served together as soldiers in a previous life.  One day or night they were scouting, protecting an area, and they came across two people in a car.  They taunted the two, bullied them, stalked them around the outside of the car.  They harassed them more by shooting at the car, and then a bullet hit the gas tank and the car caught fire.  The soldiers did nothing but watch and incurred a huge karmic debt.

On a soul level, while they were still what we consider "dead," the three soldiers chose to pay back that karmic debt together through reincarnation into the same time space.  Did they choose to excel at sports and to be driving at a certain time of a certain day so that a crash and explosion would end their lives?  I doubt that every detail of that was prepared in advance, but I believe that once the intention to resolve that karmic debt was set, God and the Universe allowed their perfect storm to come to fruition at precisely the time when it had to happen.

Where does that leave those left in mourning?  It must have been necessary for them to experience loss, regret, appreciation, and get their thoughts, words and deeds in alignment.  We all learn something about ourselves after a tragedy.  It's such a very big story.

Back to the soul growth of the disabled . . . Again believing that we choose our lifetime lessons, imagine the greatness of one who can leave their ego behind to live a human life of what the average Joe's see as disturbing, troublesome, even bothersome, a struggle and basically, a bad lot in life.  Meanwhile, what's really going on are circumstances calling us to practice unconditional love, a chance for love to grow and expand.  What higher calling can one have?  The person in the wheelchair with deformed limbs, unable to speak with words - they didn't pick the short straw before being born.  Although unaware in their human form, they are here with what I consider a high calling - to bring out the best in those who are with them in this lifetime.  They are here serving up the opportunity for our own expansion in compassion, patience, acceptance and tolerance.  And the one who laughs at, makes fun, or takes advantage of these beautiful people?  Human - 0, Karmic Debt - 1.

Be the Daffodil

This year, the daffodils in the garden were ready for action ahead of schedule.  We had that mild and rather warm winter and they just couldn't wait to re-emerge.  Then Old Man Winter let us know he was only on hiatus, not gone for the season, and he dumped 18 inches of snow on us.  My elbow still hurts from how heavy that was to shovel.  It warmed up pretty quickly and those daffodils were undeterred.  When the snow melted, the flowers that had already bloomed were still in their yellow glory and new flowers were playing peekaboo before opening into their own brilliance.

'There's a lesson here,' I thought:  Be the daffodil.

An acquaintance, who we'll call Charlie, is being the daffodil in the Intensive Care Unit as I write this.  Bullets seared through his gut like the snow had pummeled the daffodils, yet each day he gets better.  You might say he's showing off being an overachiever, reaching levels with the respiratory blow tube beyond where the doctors want him to reach.  In physical therapy, he does more reps than he's asked.  He IS the daffodil.

He's expected to have a longer than normal "growing season" that may extend into summer, but at the end of it, he'll be that bloom that stands out among all the rest, the one that is so magnificent and resplendent that it makes one wonder why can't they all be like that.

Dolphins and Diamonds

"Reiki (pronounced Ray-Kee) is a gentle, holistic, hands-on energy healing technique for stress management and deep relaxation" - Reiki by Rickie

This year I have a standing monthly appointment for a one-hour session.  No two Reiki treatments are ever the same.  I might feel tingling inside my body, or an extra third hand on my body.  The time might be spent in a blissful nap, or it might seem that the hour could not possibly have been more than 30 minutes.

Last night, the background music included sounds of dolphins calling.  My limbs jerked a few times, as if I had been slightly startled out of a sleep, as I settled into that space of peace.  In a short time, I became one with those dolphins.

I laid flat as I was on the table and floated under water.  The blingy rhinestones on my shirt were the same navy color as the shirt, and they sparkled under the water as if they were diamonds that the sun shined on.

My thought drifted to the fireman who died tragically, hit by an impaired driver as he was leaving a funeral and en route to assist at another fire, where a child died.  The tragedy fills my eyes with tears and I can only imagine the devastation for his wife, children, family and his fire brethren.  And I think that he was a diamond in life, living and giving selflessly.  His will surely be a funeral where the masses will come to pay their respects in lines that wrap around the building.  He sparkled like a diamond, like my underwater rhinestones, throughout his life and then his life as we know it ended, and his body lay in wait at the morgue, and he will be buried or kept atop a mantle, and his sparkle will remain.  His Soul, everlasting, maintains its shimmer and brilliance and it doesn't matter about his human body.  His Light will never go out.

A human-like dolphin-faced creature makes itself known as a Spirit Guide of mine.  I ask for its name and that was humorous to it - the human need for labels and names.  "I am Grolfin," he telepathically messages to me, enjoying the play on the word "fin."

He shows me that the sparkly blue rhinestones are like the Soul.  If I sunk to the bottom of the water, the sun's rays would still reach down and reflect light on the many jeweled Souls, and their reflections would illuminate up to the air.  Our Light, our Soul, never diminishes, Grolfin tells me.

After the calming Reiki session, I wait at the side of the road as a fireman's procession transports the expired body from the hospital to the funeral home where it will be prepared for its final resting place.  Ladders are crossed over intersections and non-military fire personnel salute him.  They still see his Light.

In perfect timing, I watched the sun set for ten minutes as I drove alongside the river.  Then the sky turned darker and darker, waiting to unleash millions of snowflakes upon us.  And I could feel the sun's Light was still there, waiting for reemergence in twelve hours.  The Light may have been unseen, but it was still there for someone.  As it set in the west, it was rising in the east and those who witnessed it, were seeing its glimmer like a diamond.

And the snowflakes began falling.
---------------
www.reikibyrickie.com
www.stardolphin.com
www.altaviewwellness.com
www.myinnerconnection.com

The Chosen One

I always knew I was adopted.  When I was old enough to understand (6 maybe?), my parents read me a book called "The Chosen One." I remember it was about the size of a Goldenbook with a teal color and a baby on the front.  They read it and then explained what it meant and asked if I understood.

So I grew up with it being no big deal and I never felt like I was missing anything.  The only people I'll ever call Mom and Dad are wonderful parents.  Then one day in the mail I got a letter that I thought was from one of my Mary Kay customers who had gotten married.  The return address label showed a different last name than I knew, and the same town.  The letter started out stating the intention that it was written for "the girl I gave birth to in 1966. . ."  Wow!

Now as I stated, I never felt like I was missing anything, and I would not have looked for my biological parents.  I watch those shows about people finding their adopted children and siblings and I think it's very cool and beautiful how much healing that provides.  I could never relate to the ones who have always felt like they were missing something though.  Most of the people on those shows are close to my age if not older and it's pretty dreadful that they've lived their entire lives with that hole in their heart.  All I knew was that I had been one of six children in a family and that was explanation enough!

So further on in the letter, I found out that not only was I the oldest of three in MY family, but I was also the youngest of six in this "new" family.  There was a tie to this new mother and people who lived in the neighborhood I grew up in.  The letter ended with the ball in my court to get in touch if I wanted to.  She was living in the next town over.

First I told two of my friends who have always been intrigued about my adoption and they were pretty excited.  I waited two days to let it sink in and to think about what this new mother's in-person reaction would be.  What I didn't want were tearful sobs and such because I didn't feel that way back. I thought that she must have been a nervous wreck writing and sending that letter, and it would surely give her relief and maybe closure to see that I turned out okay.  I determined that the right thing to do was to meet this new family and I said I would visit in a couple days.

I've never had the experience of looking like one of my parents, so when the door opened for me after I rang the bell, it was odd seeing the familiar facial features of my birth mother, like looking into a futuristic mirror of me at age 80.

I felt like a gift was in order, so I took along some flowers.  We remarked about how each other looked and she informed me that I had the birth father's hair, certainly not hers!  There were no blubbering tears, thank God, because like I said, that kind of feeling wasn't inside me, just more of a curiosity and appreciation.

She explained how I came to be after the other siblings' father passed and she had "a thing" with another man who split as soon as he heard she was pregnant.  I'll note here that since our first meeting, I've had a vague memory resurface about my dad talking to a uniformed man in the street, calling me over to their conversation, and asking me if I knew who the guy was.  I think I was about 10 years old.  I said I didn't, and he casually let me know that's all he wanted to ask so off I went back to playing.  I asked Dad who the guy was later and he said "nobody," which meant I shouldn't ask again.  I forgot all about it.

Knowing what I now know about how the sperm donor ditched my birth mother, what a dick he still was 10 years later!  To have the gall to approach the best dad in the world as if he now had some interest or some contribution to make shows nothing but dick-itude.  It must have pissed my dad off, but he never showed it.

The sperm donor died in 1996.  Apparently, he had an epiphany on his deathbed and attempted to contact the woman he callously dismissed 30 years earlier. She told me that she remembered coming home from a vacation and seeing the name of a local hospital on her Caller ID.  There was no message and she didn't know anyone who worked at the hospital, so she thought nothing of it.  Not until 3 days later when she saw his obituary in the newspaper.  He died at that hospital.

So about the siblings - the oldest is a brother who is a minister in Missouri.  Next is a sister who is a lunch lady in Kentucky, and then another who is a restaurant manager locally.  The next oldest is a sister who is sweet as pie.  She has some medical and developmental challenges and is the only sibling that's not a parent or grandparent.  She's not doing so well as I write this, but the family ties are strong there and I believe that has kept her going.

The last sister does administrative work in a nursing home, where the sister with the challenges goes to adult day care.  My birth mother and two of my half-sisters live in my same town now.  I've attempted to do a couple things with my local siblings like go to a concert or out for ice cream, but the truth is, we've all already got our own lives and none of those ideas ever came to fruition.  I don't see my own mom very much, and I see my new family even less.  That's not to say I feel shunned.  They have all welcomed me with open arms.  I think I've met all of their children and grandchildren.  They all make the trek to town at Christmas.

Most of us keep in touch on social media.  The minister sends an electronic church newsletter.  I cross paths with my half-nephew at a convenience store where we both stop sometimes on our way to work.  I appreciate them all and am glad to be another cube in their sugar bowl.

My Favorite East Shore/West Shore Book Stuff

2nd & Charles store in the Harrisburg Mall should not be missed if you like to buy used CDs, DVDs comics and books.  I easily spend an hour there.  They have T-shirts, incense, and cool stuff like pillows, puzzles and footstools.  You never know what you'll see next in there.  Plus there's an Auntie Anne's pretzel stand next to it, and the Great Escape Movie Theatre in the mall.

In New Cumberland on the West Shore (about 20 minutes away from 2nd & Charles), check out The Inner-Connection Spiritual Center at 3rd & Bridge Streets.  Metaphysical books, candles, gemstones, oils, pendulums, jewelry, drums.  I've know the practitioners for 6 years.  They offer tarot, rune readings, angel readings, regular old mediumistic readings and a variety of classes in all things metaphysical.  Strike up a conversation with anyone.  It feels good there.

In the event you need more books than you've already purchased at these places, hop on Front Street in Wormleysburg and cruise a couple miles down to Cupboard Maker Books in Enola.  Like cats?  Good because that's really who runs the store.  I find Frances Parkinson Keyes books in there, and history books on WWII or another era.  This is where the second "Strange Magic" book launch is taking place.  They frequently have book signings and events.  It has an old feel to it with wooden floors and tables.  Another cool and comfortable place.

http://2ndandcharles.com/locations/harrisburg-pa/
http://www.fandango.com/regalgreatescapeharrisburgmallstadium14_aaurd/theaterpage
https://www.myinnerconnection.com/
http://cupboardmaker.com/

My Biggest Loser challenge - Weigh-in #1

My employer is challenging the company to a Biggest Loser program that goes until May.  Down 3.2 lbs. from the initial weigh-in.  Good start considering that girls night in over the weekend with the booze and junk food, and that spaghetti dinner I had last night.

I think my coworkers may be looking to me as an example since I had success with that last thing.  I'm on one team and the guy who lost 65 lbs. is on the other.  Weigh-ins are Fridays, so I started a Friday morning routine:  I take a 1.2 mile walk around some warehouse buildings before work, getting that little extra in before the weigh-in.

There was a time when walking 2 miles got boring, no challenge.  Not so much any more.  There was a time when I could do 45 minutes on the Nordic Track.  Those were the days I long to get back to.  It's probably over-goaling to say I want to lose 80 lbs. because truthfully, I can't say with certainty that I'm willing to work that hard.  I can say I want to lose 50.

And then there's Jesus.  I'm not a practicing Catholic, but Lent begins next week so my penance will be giving up some breads; specifically, sandwich breads and buns, dinner rolls, breadsticks and biscuits.  It's win-win:  I practice self-discipline and I keep those calories off my ass.  Amen!

That first Spring-like day - Ahhhhh. . .

There really is a psychological condition called Winter Blues.  There has to be because earlier in the week everything, in general, was darker and gloomy.  But these past two days, with abundant sunshine and warm temperatures, I swear, I was cured the instant I stepped outside and took a breath.

The daffodils (or crocuses?) have blasted through the ground for the world to welcome them.  Half of my Valentine's flowers are still looking beautiful and have been transplanted into a new vase.  I'm ready to make vacation plans for the rest of the year.

I wish I had drapes that blow in the wind instead of vertical blinds.  Don't you love seeing your curtains blowing around when the window is open?  I love that same as I love the smell of laundry detergent when I'm walking past a home.  Childhood memories, I guess, but I can't remember them exactly.

There's a bird outside repeating the same "cuh caw" relentlessly.  He's happy about this day too :)

Another effing weigh-in

I began my umpteenth (and most expensive) weight-loss program on November 1st.  I lost 17 lbs. by Christmas!  And then it stopped and I've been volleying around the same .2, .4 and .5 pounds every week since.  Up one week, down the next, no change on another.

Let me disclaim right here that I did this one because a male coworker was having great success doing it.  He was a big boy when he started a while before me and he's down about 50 lbs. now.  Fucking figures, doesn't it?  Let a man eat a pound of bacon and he'll lose 5 lbs.  OK, envy aside, the program works if you hardly ever eat out, don't drink alcohol and rarely touch a starch.  So if your life is such that scheduled meals work every day for you, you too will probably lose a lot.

That scheduling thing worked for me until the end of last year.  Even through the holidays, I did OK.  Then my social life filled up with weekend parties and evening events, work increased, and that's all she wrote.  I haven't been down a fucking pound in a month.  'Have those events,' they say, 'just adjust your fruits and starches the next day.'  Without exercise, no amount of adjusting is effective.  'You will lose weight even without exercising,' they claim.  My ass!  Losing the 17 lbs. involved exercise.  Not a lot, I'll admit that.  Seemed like as long as I got 30 minutes every other day in, that's all it took to keep my metabolism going.  But truly and without excuses, I honest to God don't have 30 minutes every other day for ANYTHING except my job, let alone work out.

This is not a post to explain and complain my way out of being weight loss stalled, but I know you're out there, people in the same boat.  You get on that damn scale every day even though you know that's not a good thing to do.  I get on it every day at home and twice a week at my weigh-in.  How much does that suck?  'Oh look - no change. . .AGAIN.'

I give myself props for all I did in the past year leading up to this program, including that month with a personal trainer and the sugar detox.  I still use some of what I learned at both and you can read about it in "Going Natural," "Breaking Training," and "My Healthy Year:"  http://www.womannewspapers.com/brenda-tadych

Well, let me go cancel today's weigh-in because I'm not taking the hour and a half I need for every appointment with them until I'm down in pounds.  I'll exercise it off, sometime.  I had a goal when I started this of losing 10 more lbs. in what would be 14 more days.  Not likely to get the whole way there, but maybe I will.  If I can work off tomorrow's banquet and after-party.

One last note for the other working stiffs of the world:  I get it with that not-having-time thing.  I'm pushing 96 hours for my 2-week paycheck IF I don't work overtime today.  IF I don't ha Ha hA ha!!

Football - A way of life

I've always had a thing for football.  It started a very long time ago, I suppose from watching how my dad liked his Miami Dolphins in the Dan Marino days.

In an early grade, we had an assignment to write a poem about what life would be like if we were an object.  I wrote about being a football.

In the Nov/Dec 2012 issue of "Woman," I used football references:



Now one of the main characters in my work-in-progress novel, which begins in the late 1990's, is a big fan of the Minnesota Vikings, particularly Randall Cunningham.

I'm a Bills fan myself, but there aren't any teams or players that I "hate."  I just enjoy the game, and I think of my dad whenever the Bills play his Dolphins.

What I'm reading: Came a Cavalier (Keyes)

I adore Frances Parkinson Keyes and her stories told during war time.  This one is copyrighted 1947 and takes place during WWII.  Every character's emotion becomes my own.  I was brought up patriotic and so I especially appreciate the insight she provides into the thinking and feelings of each character.

I learned about Hitler, the concentration camps, Hiroshima and the Normandy Invasion.  I've seen "The Sound of Music" and read The Diary of Anne Frank.  There were members of my family who were POWs in the Battle of the Bulge.  One of them, an uncle, had all of his finger nails forcefully removed.  Another, my boyfriend's step-grandfather, would not talk about his time as a POW.  I wonder if the two knew each other?

Came A Cavalier threw me into the ugly midst of what I'd only heard termed "occupation."  I'd never before imagined how years of forced occupation must have been, but now I feel like I know.  Imagine your Von Trapp Villa-sized home being taken over by ruthless, careless enemies.  Your portraits, decor, furniture, all disregarded, trashed and desecrated without a second thought.  Imagine being forced to share your home with Nazi beasts for years, you and anyone in your employ given no option but to clear as much space for them as they demanded, and to provide food for them while your own family fed on meager rations, your gardens and farms destroyed by the same brutes now demanding to be cared for.  Will there even be anything to eat in a year?

What must it have been like to be under constant threat of punishment for anything the enemy deemed as punishable, knowing any such act could result in the execution of anyone else the Nazis felt should be used to be made an example of.  God bless them now and keep them in His care.


https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frances_Parkinson_Keyes
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g6j376yOlm4
http://www.centralpaww2roundtable.org/
http://www.courant.com/entertainment/arts-theater/hc-ivan-backer-book-freedom-train-0126-20160125-story.html

Strange Magic

I spent today celebrating the publishing of an excerpt from my work-in-progress novel.  "Lollipop Angel" stars my favorite character, Minska.  She's a little kooky, full of love but no pushover, and she's got some psychic abilities.  In this excerpt edited into a short story, she chats with a little girl named Bella, the other key character in the novel.  Minska gives her a lesson in angels.

Such pride and ambition and inspiration at the event launching "Strange Magic - An Anthology of Short Stories."  There were about 50 submissions, but only 18 were chosen, and 6 of those were from instructors of the class.  I was thrilled to be 1 of 12 out of the 50 students whose work was accepted.  Special thanks to Catherine Jordan for getting everything together.  Also thanks to all of the instructors of A Novel Idea (held at Landis House, Newport, PA) and my classmates for bringing their worlds into mine.

** All proceeds for the purchases of Strange Magic go to the Perry County Council for the Arts **

Resources:
http://catherinejordan.com/
http://www.donhelin.com/
http://www.mariavsnyder.com/
http://www.laurieedwardswriter.com/
http://www.lorimmyers.com/index.html
https://www.facebook.com/writercarriejacobs/
https://www.facebook.com/Teddy-Maurer-Writer-1026648097440408/
http://www.perrycountyarts.org/landis-house/
http://www.sunburypress.com/SunburyPressHome.php
and a plug for the local cafe:  http://www.espressoyourselfcafepa.com/

On the eve of the Inauguration

Here we are on the eve of the inauguration of the 45th President of the United States of America.  It is my ninth one, (my tenth President) although I don't remember the first and barely remember the second, historical accounts aside.

When I was a child, my parents - no one's parents - discussed who they were voting for.  It was private personal information that just wasn't shared.  So as not to start an argument?  To not be judged for being Democrat or Republican?

I appreciate that I'm old enough to understand what a mammoth, awesome job it is to be the leader of the free world.  I couldn't do it, but I vote for who I think can.  I don't just vote, I pray.  I've prayed that the best candidate win, that they be filled with guidance and intuition, that they love their country.  My job isn't over just because one has been chosen.  I now pray that our new president continues to be filled with guidance and intuition, and loves their country.

I have a great interest in history, with some high school teachers to thank for that.  Mr. Defillipo taught Geography.  Although I couldn't have verbalized it back then, I had an ever-growing want to understand more about my placement in the world.  I innately knew there was significance to living in Steelton, Pennsylvania, United States of America, North American Continent, Western Hemisphere above the 180th Parallel.  I think I had geography in 10th Grade, and I still remember Mr. Defillipo telling us, "Folks, (he always called us Folks), you're going to see a major world war in your lifetimes."  He knew what he was talking about.

I'm having these thoughts on this important night.  We're still a very young country, just a baby really, with so much potential.  I love Her.  I wish everyone loved Her and showed it in their thoughts, words and deeds.  Ain't no doubt, I love this Land.  God bless the USA!

Melissa Greene and Write From the Heart

I want to give props to those who have helped me develop my writing craft, and here is another.

When I lost that job in 2011 and took the detour into Writing Land, it felt so right I KNEW I had to keep going.  I could feel in my soul that writing was something I would do for the rest of my life.

The ad for Write From the Heart in the Lancaster County version of "Woman" intrigued me, and my most significant writing groundwork was set with the program and its fearless leader, Melissa Greene.  A Fiction class at WFTH is where my favorite character, Minska was created.  (She's making her book debut with an excerpt from my novel-in-progress this month.)  I recommend Melissa's workshops and classes whether you just want to do some free writing or something else like delve into memoir.

I've taken her "Intro Workshop - Writing Without Fear" a number of times and will likely take it again.  It doesn't get old and hasn't ever felt like a repeat, and it gets those creativity muscles pumping.  It's wonderful if you're in need of a writing recharge.

Check it out:  http://www.writefromtheheart.us/classes.html

How the writing started

In this new year with no resolutions but lots of memories and introspection, I reviewed the chronology of my writing career. Here's a little about me. . .in January of 2011, I became a casualty of a company merger and lost a job that I loved and had been at for 8 years. I got on Unemployment and eventually had to make a phone call to them. I was on hold for what seemed forever, but was really one and a half hours. As I listened over and over to the same damn messages and instructions, I got pissed that no one was helping me. I needed a job - the Unemployment Office could hire me since they obviously didn't have enough people working there! I started writing every hateful thought I had on an old-fashioned (and still my preferred writing tool) paper notepad. When I reread those 6 pages later, I realized how funny it was.

And that was the start. I knew others needed to read it to add levity to the gravity of their similar situations and I shopped it around to some local newspapers. Mr. Buffington of the Hummelstown Sun gave me my first dose of editing. "Cut it in half and don't say it if it isn't necessary." Wonderful words of advice. I chopped 1,000 words into 500 and it was printed as a letter to the editor in the Sun.

Meanwhile, Tonya Bibb (Neighborhood Chatter/Community Courier) replied to the query I sent with a thank you, and a, "You're a very good writer." That meant a lot coming from another writer and I still have the email.

From that blast off in the Sun, I began my column in the local bimonthly Press and Journal publication, Woman. Six years later, I still have sumthin 2 say:)