Wandering with my eyes and heart open, searching for pieces to add to my own personal big picture.

Category: Creative Nonfiction Page 1 of 2

My own stories, unrelated to my reading.

Three Personal Favorite Awkward Disneyland Miscommunications

Everyone that knows me will tell you that I’ll jump on any opportunity to share my stories from the years I worked at Disneyland when I was in high school and college. This scene The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson made me smile and start to reminisce. Strange to think this story is from a park very much like mine, Elias Disney did work there, and 100 years before I was donning a costume and facing the crowds. Some things never change!

“The fair was so big, so beyond grasp, that the Columbian Guards found themselves hammered with questions. It was a disease, rhetorical smallpox, and every visitor exhibited it in some degree. The Guards answered the same questions over and over, and the questions came fast, often with an accusatory edge. Some questions were just odd.

‘In which building is the pope?’ one woman asked. She was overheard by writer Teresa Dean, who wrote a daily column from the fair.

‘The pope is not here, madame,’ the guard said.

‘Where is he?’

‘In Italy, Europe, madame.’

The woman frowned. ‘Which way is that?’

Convinced now that the woman was joking, the guard cheerfully quipped, ‘Three blocks under the lagoon.’

She said, ‘How do I get there?’”

The devil in the white city by Erik larson

And now I present to you, brought up from the deep well of my teenage memory banks, a few of my favorite interactions with guests during my time at Disneyland: Tomorrowland in the early 90s.

Scene One:

Disneyland Captain EO 1990

Imagine, if you will, a turnstile and podium, a young girl smilingly holding a pair of pale purple 3D glasses toward a park guest, filled with enthusiasm as they approach. He looks at her, looks past her, looks to both sides of her, and then asks:

“What time is the next show?”

This may have been nearly the thousandth time she has heard this question today. Her youth and experience have caused her to become impatient with this guest. Without missing a beat or a ghost of a frown, she looks up at the tv screen above her head, reads the countdown clock, and returns, “Twelve Minutes.”

The guest, more aware than most, laughs at himself. “Duh! I missed it!” Sheepishly takes the proffered glasses and enters with three young children in tow.

Scene Two:

Disneyland Tomorrowland 1990

I walk the slow-moving circular path that continually rolls beneath me. The cars, connecting with the turntable on their return, open their doors and the peaceful guests, disgorged, move toward the exit stairs and disappear below.

The same cars continue around the turntable to pick up more guests for the next trip around Tomorrowland’s attractions. The guests climbing the stairs, step onto the moving floor, walk towards the open doors and climb inside…usually.

Sometimes they wait. They wait at the step-off for the floor to stop for them. Some stand on one foot and carefully step forward with the other, and when they step down forget to lift the foot they were standing on and are slowly, very slowly, pulled into a split. Still others have no problem leaving the platform for the moving floor. They walk to the car waiting with the open doors and then wait for the car to stop so they can get in.

Throughout the day, I hear quippy things like, “I bet you get your exercise every day!” And my very favorite, “How fast does this ride go?” As if they haven’t watched it trundle by all over Tomorrowland, or for the past ten minutes as they waited in line to board. Occasionally, I can’t help but smile and respond, “I keep telling them to add seatbelts. We lose people every day” as I point to the empty cars returning from the track.

Scene Three:

Space Mountain. Winter 1991. I’m standing at the bottom of the ramp that takes the guests up to the concourse area to continue their wait until launch time. This is my favorite position, to be totally honest. It’s the most relaxed and I get the chance to talk to more people. We chat about their day, answer questions, and make jokes. Most questions are about the wait and what kind of a ride it is. Since I’m in an easily accessed space, surrounded by guests either entering the cue or walking toward another, I get other questions like, “Where is?” and “What time?” Those are understandable.

Sometimes guests ask if I like my job, and if I have fun while I work. The answer is yes, always. I loved that job. I’d waited impatiently until the day I turned 16, so I could get a driver’s license. The moment I was able, I drove my little ’79 Datsun 210 down Ball Road, turned left at Harbor Blvd., and right into the employee parking lot. I marched straight into the (then) Admin building, picked up an application and filled it out on the umbrella covered picnic tables out front, and returning it immediately.

I still remember my first interview. I remember the cast member dismissing the other two candidates, and, once we were alone, asking me where I wanted to work. I know…it sounds corny, and I took a lot of crap for it over the years about how much I loved that job and Disneyland. I cannot lie. It was all I ever wanted as a kid and, as far as I was concerned, the day I put the parking lot sticker on my car, I was home. Nothing else mattered. I had arrived!

I cannot remember a bad day at work in Disneyland, ever. If circumstances had not changed things, I would have continued working right there for the rest of my life, completely happy. Things happened, life changed, and it was still good, probably even better than I could ever have planned, but I still get nostalgic and wonder what that life would have been like. Time machine, please! Or at least the ability to explore other timelines! But I digress!

Where were we before I became transported?

Oh, yes! BOTR (bottom of the ramp) Space Mountain!

Yours truly in my Disneyland Space Mountain costume.

Bundled up in a coat, scarf, and two pairs of gloves in the plummeting temperatures, nearly 60 degrees, like only a California native can, the evening wears on. The crowds aren’t so crazy as they are in summer, but something about a Saturday evening draws more people out and the queue up the ramp to the concourse is a steady stream of happy guests.

A co-hostess has come to send me on to the next position in the rotation, indoor time! I was just about getting a chill! I’m chatting away for a moment before I go when a gentleman taps me on the shoulder to get my attention. I turn and smile as he asks, “When to the fireworks start?”

Without hesitation I reply, “Around Memorial Day weekend!”

His face drops into a frown as he throws back, “Oh, very funny smart ass.” And walks away.

Some of you reading this won’t understand for a couple of reasons. Depending on your age, or if you’ve never been to the park, you don’t remember a time when Disneyland did not run a nightly fireworks display over Sleeping Beauty’s Castle every night of the year. Here’s where I come in with the cliché, “When I was a kid…!” remark, but it’s true. I swear.

When I was kid the fireworks at Disneyland only ran during the summer months, between Memorial Day and Labor Day. It was a special event, reserved for that high point of any park’s year, the summer tourist months when the park was open late every night and was packed full of families on the biggest vacation of their lives.

When the guest asked “When?”, I assumed he meant what time of year, honestly! I felt terrible that I had misunderstood, to make things worse he walked away so quickly that I couldn’t explain. But therein lies the trouble with the English language, right? To be more precise he should have asked, “What time do the fireworks start?” But “when” would have worked just as well, if it had been the time of year when there are fireworks.

What’s funny to me is that I’ve spent thirty years holding on to that story. It was funny to me, the misunderstanding, but that poor man thought I was being rude and trying to make him look stupid. I felt bad. That’s a testament to how much I value people’s (even complete strangers) opinions of me and my behavior, but that’s blog post of another color.

I have a lot more stories about Disneyland, just ask my friends and family. They’ve heard them all, probably a multitude of times. I love telling my Disneyland stories. I’m not ashamed. I wait eagerly for when I have new people to tell, maybe I get to see my future grandchildren roll their eyes and make excuses to escape as I re-tell of the glory days. But for now, this blog and you, my dear readers, will have to be my outlet.

Thanks for reading, watch your step as you exit the open doors on your right, and enjoy the rest of your day at the Tragic, I mean, Magic Kingdom!

Feeling Nostalgic in a Good Way: Wait For It

I’ve been feeling nostalgic this morning and I had the most wonderful idea about what to write about! I’ve been excitedly working on it, but it isn’t finished and I have unfortunately run out of time.

Feeling nostalgic about where it all began today.

I’ll keep working on it and polishing it over the weekend in the hopes of getting it to you on Monday afternoon, or possibly Tuesday. I just don’t want to rush it. It’s too precious.

While reading “The Devil in the White City” this morning, I came across a few lines that triggered some of the most beautiful memories for me.

“The fair was so big, so beyond grasp, that the Columbian Guards found themselves hammered with questions. It was a disease, rhetorical smallpox, and every visitor exhibited it in some degree. The Guards answered the same questions over and over, and the questions came fast, often with an accusatory edge. Some questions were just odd.
‘In which building is the pope?’ one woman asked. She was overheard by writer Teresa Dean, who wrote a daily column from the fair.
‘The pope is not here, madame,’ the guard said.
‘Where is he?’
‘In Italy, Europe, madame.’
The woman frowned. ‘Which way is that?’
Convinced now that the woman was joking, the guard cheerfully quipped, ‘Three blocks under the lagoon.’
She said, ‘How do I get there?’”

The Devil in the white city by erik larson

I shut the book right there and started writing. My whole morning was lost to memories of my teenage years, a good amount of nostalgic tears, and a conversation with my son and a friend, in which I made them cry too, but I believe I’m on to a pretty nice post to share with you all next week.

I hope you’ll bear with me and wait. My reading and writing time is up for today and I must attend to my housekeeping and social duties.

See you soon, I promise!

The picture above and this post, Old Posts Make Me Smile, will give you a clue as to where I am in my mind today.

Join Me in my Adventure to Wallow in Some Self Pity!

I think treating self pity as just another emotion to jump in and swim around in a while is a practice of good self care. Come on! It’ll be fun. Really!

Self pity medicine. Otter Pops for grown ups: Cosmopolitan Vodka Martini
These usually cheer me up on a warm afternoon!

“I had every intention of writing this morning, I swear, but here I am again with nothing to say. That’s a lie. I do have things to say, plenty of them. I’m just not sure how or, more importantly, why I should say them.”

Me this morning

Yeah, I’m pretty far out in the deep end these days. I just can’t seem to get a grip on it. I’m going to stick with the swimming pool analogy for a moment.

Emotions are like swimming pools. I have several and some of them have very deep ends, so deep you can have a good, high diving board. My pools have nice steps to get out at the shallow end, and some have ladders to climb out at the deep end. Some. There’s the trouble.

Some of those deeper pools are hard to get out of. You have to want to and have the strength to get out on your own or have a friend available to lend a hand. At the moment, I have none of those things, so I’ve decided to float a bit instead of struggle to tread water. I’m conserving my energy until I find a solution.

Besides, I kinda like here right now.

Yes, I’m well aware that everyone’s world has changed. I know everyone struggles. I’m not alone in anything here. But this story isn’t about everyone. It’s about this girl, so come swim with me!

Things I’m considering:

  1. Daily routines…boring…what can I do?
  2. Writing. Should I quit? No. Writing things like this helps me think. It’s word therapy.
  3. Blogging. What to do here? Posting every day is a lot. Maybe I should adjust that. Or maybe give up blogging all together?

Something that I’m pondering on:

A friend of mine just told me (this morning, no kidding), “No one is going to come knocking on your door and ask you to be friends.” I told him that I’d rather just stay locked in my house and yard.

That’s me in a nutshell. “Help! I’m in a nutshell! How did I get in here?!”

I’m just not sure where to go from here, so for now, I float and rest.

Going back to the post Why DO I write here anyway? was a good idea. This feeling of self pity is a recurring cycle of self-doubt. I’ll be back again…and in great numbers!

Developing New Habits: Using Prompts as a Writing Session Warm Up

I love developing new habits, especially good ones that make me feel like I’m getting somewhere. I have found that I’m a naturally habitual person, so if I can make one little change in my routine stick for a few weeks, I have a very hard time letting it go. I have to be careful though, I can easily make myself crazy with habits. Ok, crazier!

This new habit is writing related! Yay!

I’ve been wanting to write more fiction, but I find it difficult to get started, and then more difficult to stick with a story longer than a day or two. My current writing practice is to use quotes from the books I read as writing prompts, write for thirty minutes, edit the thirty minutes I did the day previous, and then post them. It reflects my attention span, for sure.

A couple of times last year, I was able to get my brain to move in one direction for nearly a week and was very happy with the stories I was able to cobble together. I want more of that! Come on brain! Work with me!

I went looking for prompts and found Reedsy! I haven’t submitted any stories yet, since today was my first day of this new habit, but I’m totally going to. This might be just the sort of spontaneous publicity this girl needs!

As a teaser…I know you’re going to love this…this is what I came up with this morning.

On my side, long pillow tucked under my arm and a knee up, fetal position. Feather blanket and heavy quilt in disarray, one foot partially out from underneath. The perfect temperature.

The cat, perched up on my shoulder, purring away.

I lay there, still, awake but not moving. It’s dark, very dark.

What was I dreaming about? Something disturbing. That recurring one where I’m trying to explain something, and no one understands. No, they aren’t listening, and I get louder and more insistent until I’m screaming insults and epithets in a desperate attempt to get their attention. Blank stares, as if I’m not there at all and then suddenly, comprehension, and anguish in every face. They’re destroyed by my words, pushing away from me in pain. I wake from this dream often, several times a month, not with a start or tears, just quiet and helpless resignation, a deep and still sadness, wishing I could take my words back, wanting the ability to be quiet.

I lay there another minute. I’m warm. I’m safe. It was just a dream.

Then that feeling comes as I lay there waking up…I should get up. I have things to do. Places to be. I can’t be late. What time is it? I carefully crane my neck to see the red numerals of my clock at the foot of my bed. Without my glasses, my sleepy eyes can’t quite make out what it reads. The cat complains of my movement. I’m disturbing his sleeping place. I lay my head back down.

That’s all I have time for this morning. I have a breakfast date with a hot babe! But I’m looking forward to working on this and adding more. Will I actually submit something? I hope so!

I have written some stories in the past. I keep them collected on my Short Stories Page. If you like any of them, please share!

Can Becoming More Self Aware Help Us Find Our Ideal Climate?

This post, my dear friends, is not about books. It’s about my other favorite subject, people. I’ll share something with you, a secret. I’m a little insecure around people. Maybe I’m a little TOO self aware in the wrong direction? I worry too much about what people think of me to be comfortable being me. But I find them fascinating and I want to be close to others, to understand them better. Or, maybe, I just want to feel like I belong, but my insecurities tend to win more and more these days. I’m having a harder time going out there and I find myself studying them from afar.

Self aware avocados?
Photo by René Cadenas on Unsplash
Photo by René Cadenas on Unsplash

I have a couple of friends that feel the same way. They are far more formally educated than I am. When we get together for coffee or a desert walk, we talk a lot. We think, “If only we could harness this social energy. We may solve the world’s problems!”

Last week, we talked for over four hours after the subject of fruit trees was fully covered. You see, she planted two small avocado trees in her backyard. She knows I have a few established fruit trees and asked me to take a look at hers and see if I could tell why they weren’t doing well. I didn’t have to look at them. They won’t survive. They’re in the wrong environment.

It was hard to tell her that. She had worked so hard on keeping them alive. She’d brought them up from another friend’s house where they had grown from seeds to four foot tall saplings in large pots. She planted them in the yard, making sure they had plenty of room to grow, sun, and water. She’d even gotten some plant food for them. But they still won’t survive for very long.

I was uncomfortable because I couldn’t find a gentle way to tell her. I tried the “shit sandwich” plan, telling her what a good job she had done and all that. They were still alive but not for long and that she should transplant them somewhere else and they would do fine. She was determined to give it a try though, disappointed I didn’t believe she could do it.

Why am I so sure they won’t survive? Because we live in the high desert. The air is dry. The ground is sand and rock. The summers far too hot and the winters far too cold. There are things you could do to keep the tree alive. It may grow, but it won’t thrive or bear fruit. This is not it’s climate.

The next day, while I was out watering my own fruit trees (an apple and cherry tree, stone fruits do much better here if you protect them), I started thinking again about how plants are a lot like people. I must have talked about that before, right?

I have written about it! “Take Care of Yourself” and “Feeling a Tad Crazy?” Both posts need updating…ugg…more work to do.

Certain kinds of people naturally thrive in certain climates. Introverts and extroverts, academics and creatives, winter people and summer, beach bums and mountain lovers. We all have our ideal climate where we thrive best and produce the sweetest fruits. We can adapt, that’s true. But, ideally, shouldn’t we all be searching out the environment that best suits us?

I’ve spent all my life searching out the environments where I grow best. I’m still learning. And I’m evolving, as well. Environments that we perfect for me when I was twenty don’t have the same effect now that I’m almost fifty. And some days I need to have more quiet than others.

What if we stopped trying to grow tropical plants in the desert and cacti in the swamp? We could be using our energy more efficiently if we stopped forcing ourselves and others to grow in climates that don’t suit our needs?

A Walking Meditation with a Friend Invites Our Minds to Slow Down

The clouds of a storm being pushed through the pass and spreading out over the desert. Like the walking meditation, the wide open space slows the storm down.
A storm being pushed through the pass and spreading out over the desert.

When you think of a walking meditation, you probably think of being alone with your thoughts, quiet contemplation, and frequent stops to just take a deep breath. Mine are something quite different.

I’m a noticer. Go for a walk with me anywhere and you’ll see it. Even in my own neighborhood, I walk along excitedly pointing out plants, animals, clouds, and…ideas. When I have things on my mind, which is always, walking helps me sort it out.

I don’t like to walk alone.

It’s the talking that I need, getting out of the metal loop. I need that the other human that will listen and bounce things back at me.

Yesterday I walked with a friend. We took “the longer route” around the neighborhood. I had things to sort out, conflict that need to be looked at and resolved.

We headed north down the dirt road. I pointed out the place where it floods every time it rains a lot, the kind of mud that you can’t drive through because the tires slip every which way in it when you attempt to climb the driveway. And it reminded me of the track my sons raced at that had that terrible river silt mud that would slip out from under your feet or get so deep it would suck your shoes off.

We met the dogs at the end of the road and I predicted their behavior. The one leaping and barking like she’ll eat you. Rottweilers seem so vicious behind a fence, like Cerberus guarding the gates of hell, until you’re invited inside, and they commence to loving you. The older Australian Shepard runs the length of the fence, chases her tail, runs back, chases again, barking the whole time. The two will get into skirmishes about who is doing a better job and chasing off the intruders, while two goats stand watching and wondering what all the excitement is about.

Making another turn, we find the abandoned razor scooter that has been laying there for several years. I still wonder how it got there. It’s a dirt road full of sandy ruts, not the place some kid would be riding it, accidently leaving it behind.

Dogs bark behind every fence we pass, rural alarm dogs. They warn us that someone is approaching the house, but it’s usually coyotes they are barking at. After a while, every owner knows the different barks. The visitor at the door, delivery truck, large bird, invading dog, coyote, all their barks are distinct. They’ve been doing that job long before surveillance cameras.

We keep walking and talking.

When one part of my brain is busy keeping my feet going in one direction, noticing and identifying all the mundane things around me, another part of me begins to relax and open up. Then I start to talk, ask questions, and listen to answers. My emotions take a slower, more regulated pace so that I can identify them and sort them out, then I can begin to respond instead of react to the things I’m feeling.

It’s a long walking meditation where the good stuff starts to happen.

The same part of me that makes me jump from the car screaming “Real prairie dogs!” is the same part that makes me scream, “You’re not the boss of me!” and “This is the worst day ever!”

Most people don’t tell you to tone your joyous reactions down. Some do, trust me. I’ve heard them. “You’re making us look bad, Michelle. Can’t you settle down?” “Try not to be too enthusiastic. It’s hard to keep up.” They are few and far between, but I know they are still out there. I see them at the grocery store when my sons and I are getting loud about the cost of an item or that there are no Vege Tables (more like Vege Stacks, my son says).

Almost anyone will tell you tone down your anger, frustration, or sadness.

They don’t want to see that part of you. And why is that? Why do we label one emotion as good and the other as bad? Why can’t I say, “I’m sad today and the whole world sucks ass!” without someone saying, “Don’t act like that!”?

I feel like I’ve spent my whole life being told that some emotions are negative and should be avoided. The result of that has been me not knowing what to do with those emotions. Like a small child with no place for the big emotions to go, I end up having a tantrum, yelling, and looking for ways to hurt others the same way I’m hurting.

“I need attention! Help me with this feeling!” I feel myself yelling in my head. What I get in return is a time-out. I’m left alone to deal with those feelings, and nothing gets resolved. I only hurt in quiet or lash out in anger for being a human being.

I don’t blame the people around me for doing it. We don’t know any other way. This is the way we raise our children, and this is the adult behavior we get from it. You end up being good at being alone with your “bad” feelings, avoid them, or start using coping mechanisms to deal with it. None of them are healthy.

Raising my own children through Peaceful Parenting methods (and I can hear people that know me laughing at ME using the word “peaceful”) helped me notice where I lacked in relating to other people. Finding Radical Unschooling, helped me learn new ways of learning. Both approaches to raising children have changed how I develop my adult relationships.

Michelle, you’re doing it again. What does this have to do with going for a walk with a friend?

Everything! Walking with my family is the way we made time and space for the big emotions that lead to the deep conversations and connections. The longer and easier the walk the better. Now that my children are grown and on their own, I’m more focused on my adult relationships and that’s where the walking meditation comes in.

I’ve been doing it for years, but this past weekend is when I noticed the connection. We had a lot on our minds to talk about but never found the time. We’re always doing something or going somewhere. I instinctively asked for a long walk and while we were walking, it dawned on me what was happening and now I can use the process deliberately.

When I ask a friend to go hiking with me, I’m asking them to make time and space for connection. I’m saying, “Let’s talk. I know we all have things we need to get off our minds.” It’s better than a cup of coffee or a few beers. It’s focused “us” time with a bonus of exercise!

Hot Tip: If there’s some reason you can’t walk; weather, health, etc., try a driving tour. It works the same way.

Do You Need a “Productive” Day of Rest?

A productive day of rest, picture of a desert picnic.

Monday is usually my most productive day of the week, but this one is different.

It’s the Monday after a glorious outdoor Sunday morning, an afternoon of rousing and hilarious games of pool and several shots of tequila, a Taco Bell dinner (because dammit the taco fries are back), and half a movie on the couch before I fell asleep.

I had planned on a productive day around the house. I had every intention of being a “productive” blogger type person today, but I’m not being lazy.

I’m thinking.

Recently, I ditched all the socials, as you might know, starting with Facebook. I didn’t miss it. Then I stopped looking at Instagram for a month. Then disabled it. But this past week, I began to miss it. Why? Is it just habit? Or something else?

You know what I think? I think, the way things are around here, I need that small connection with mostly strangers. I need a place to say, “Hey, look at this!” Or “Damn I’m happy (or sad)!”

I enjoy seeing the pictures there, the deep thoughts, the jokes (dirty or otherwise). It’s seeing other people’s view point of view, like hanging out at party or working a job with interesting people I can “turn off” if I want to. The bottom line is…I need some people.

I don’t need a lot of people. I don’t need constant contact or a boatload of friends to invite over. Maybe all I really need a small outlet, some folks to show off for. It’s the extrovert side of me, the explorer side seeking a platform to be seen and heard.

I like having the ability to share the wonder I see in the world around me. Is that so bad? I’m searching for new connections with other fascinated souls. Will I find it there? Or is there somewhere else?

But now, here I am, several hours into the day, thinking, “Did I just waste that time? Could I have been more productive with that hour?” Possibly, but then, maybe not. Maybe this is what I needed today.

Why do the Cat and Dog Wake Me Up to do This?

Cat and dog sleeping on the couch.

Ahh…the cat and dog post! I know. It’s not about books, but is about life and I was reading a book when I took the picture. So…RELATED! Besides, who doesn’t love a cat and dog post?!

These two heathens wake me up every morning at 4:30 AM. The dog sleeps under my bed all night. The cat sleeps on my shoulder or at my feet. They hear my husband get up for work and within an hour they begin to insist that I get up as well.

The cat follows me to the bathroom, refuses to leave and then meows to get out as soon as I shut the door. The dog waits by my bedroom door.

I come into the kitchen led by the cat just out of foots reach in front of me. The dog is waiting by her food dish, impatiently whining and stepping in the bowl as if I might forget where her food goes. As I put some food in he bowl, the cat waits by his on top of the freezer. It may have food in it already, but you know cats. That’s yesterdays food that he demanded be put in the bowl. I sprinkle a few bits on top to “freshen” it and he digs in.

A grab my book, a drink of water, and then a big cup of coffee and plop myself on the couch. Within a few minutes, the beasts are beside me, snuggling down and then…fast asleep.

What the heck?! Why did I need to be up so you could eat and go back to sleep? What kind of a life do these animals have? Why are they so tired?

I do find a little joy in disturbing THEIR peace throughout the morning by getting up to get another cup of coffee or to use the bathroom. Then I need my other book. I dropped my pencil and move the blanket to find it. It’s the evil side of me coming out. You beastly things disturbed my sleep. Turnabout is fair play!

It turns out that I’ve written about my furry friends before. Click over to “Why I Get Up -Episode 5” to read more about this cat!


Pet lovers! I just found Chewy (late to the game, sorry) and because they’re so awesome, I want to share it with you. I used to get pet food on Amazon but we live rural and they don’t deliver to the house. I did some poking around the interwebs to explore other options and found that Chewy is generally cheaper AND they deliver to the house. Win! And, no, I’m not paid to advertise. I just like them!

An Empty Nest Can Inspire A New Beginning

Photo by Lê Tân on Unsplash

Oh, my sweet readers…I know you were looking forward to another post about “The Art of Happiness” this morning but I sat down to work on it and the next post but found my heart wandering elsewhere. I closed my laptop and decided to take a break for some breakfast, more coffee, and a couple delicious Winternacht cookies that my older son was so cruel to send to me in the mail.

As I sat there, listening to my younger son watch “Clone Wars,” my pen poured out ideas into my journal. I swear it does that, you guys. I’m serious. I sit and look at the page and out come words. Sometimes those cursive sentences are not fit for human eyes. They are uncensored and sometimes very ugly. That’s the process of journaling thoughts as they come up instead of burying them to fester or throwing them out into the world to poison others. I write them as they present themselves in the hopes that seeing them on paper takes some of their power away. It works…usually.

Today was different. These thoughts need to be shared. Maybe I can make them clearer and more useful to myself if I can type them. Maybe you can use them if I do.

There are big changes coming to my home. Those changes were delayed and altered by the reaction to Covid-19, but they are now here big as life. The whole house is feeling it, but unlike my family, my emotions run all along my surface, so I tend to react more than they do. You can usually see how I feel about things without me saying a word. Positive or negative, excited or depressed, love or hate, you know what I’m feeling, but you may not know what it’s about or why. There are many times that I’m not sure either. Let’s just say I’m fun to be around.

So, what are these changes? Every mom reading…hold on to your heart…my youngest is leaving for university in another state.

The empty nest has come.

No need to go into those details. There are movies, books, podcasts, songs, anything you can think of to tell that age old story. But what does it mean to me and you? How will it change our relationship? I know that’s what you’re wondering!

That’s what I’ve been asking myself the past year, and more in the past few weeks as plans became reality. You know what they say, the goal of a mother’s work is to work her way out of a job. My mom career is officially over. What’s next?

I’ve always written and for the past few years, I’ve been working toward writing more and in better ways. This blog was a hobby, then a part-time job, and now that I have no other demands on my attention, it will become my full-time job. I have big plans and I hope you’ll join me for the journey.

What now? I think I’ll change the pace and some of the content of this blog, just a little. I’m becoming burned out writing so much about the books I read. I love it, but there is more that I want to say, and I’d like to work some time into my life for writing more short stories.

I know, “Get to the point, Michelle!” Here’s the schedule I came up with.

  • Monday: Gratefulness Post
  • Tuesday – Friday: Book Quotes and New Read Posts
  • Saturday: Short Story of the Week
  • Sunday: Nothing. It’s my day off.

And, of course, there’s the monthly newsletter. That’s a separate special opt-in list! If you’re interested, go to My Autobibliography page to sign up. That’s another something I might put a spin on this month!

I plan to keep writing every morning of the week. I love creating habits and I have morning routine that rocks, when I don’t get derailed by an extra cup of coffee, “Clone Wars,” and brilliant conversation with my family.

I’ll be totally honest here. I’m terrified by the prospect of my last child leaving. What will it be like? Will I go crazy in the house alone all day? Will I drive my husband and friends crazy? Will my blog end up being a non-stop rant about the birds on the porch or the cat on back of the couch?

…deep breath…

Change is an inevitable part of life. We’ve trained for this. We’re ready.

…big smiles…

A Great Big Christmas Wish For YOU!

Merry Christmas on a lighted tinsel tree background.
Our new “Big Shiny Aluminum Christmas Tree” is here to greet you!

A Christmas Wish, my friends, at the end of the weirdest year of our collective lives.

I’m struggling this morning, attempting to put into meaningful words the feelings that are swirling around in my heart. It’s the job of poets and philosophers, ones far more talented than I am.

Who am I to even try? But everyone’s experience is simply another pixel. When we pull back to see the big picture, I don’t want there to be a piece missing, so I write, I read, I talk, I watch, I journal. I live another day, experience it fully and enjoy it. I attempt to make someone else smile, someone’s life a little easier, let someone know they are loved or at least seen.

Hopefully, my piece of the picture will be a bright one that catches your eye or highlights a dark spot.

Winter holidays are about moving through the darkest, coldest part of the year knowing that the spring is on its way back to us and then summer…the wheel keeps turning.

And, as good friend likes to remind me, then you die.

You know that weird week that comes between Christmas and New Year’s? I’m taking it off from blogging. I’ll be thinking and writing, considering what changes to make in the new year, and what I want to get done. I’m thinking of it as an extended (at home) meditation retreat. A kind of reboot. I’m getting older…shudders…and I feel like I’m running out of time.

My Christmas wish for you is that you love what you have in front of you, make cookies (even those Pillsbury cut and bake ones), wrap a silly gift, kiss a loved one, remember the past fondly, look forward to the future, and know that you are loved.

I know you love reading these posts every day, but don’t panic. I’ll be back. I promise.

Page 1 of 2

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén