Balancing Act

Recently I heard a presentation on Ayerveda, a system of Hindu traditional medicine native to the Indian subcontinent, given by a local osteopath. I learned that this approach states that  health is the balanced and dynamic integration between our environment, body, mind, and spirit, while imbalance equals disease. There are three doshas: Vata, Pitta and Kapha. After the lecture, I wanted to learn which dosha type I was, so took the quiz on Deepak Chopra's website. http://www.chopra.com/our-services/ayurveda 

I've been out of balance recently, as I fret about not selling my house before the first snow comes to northeast Washington. While I've been sorting, tossing, cleaning and otherwise preparing for an eventual move, I've neglected my creative urges...I've four or five stories I want to get written, but I've been distracted with minor ailments...cuts, bruises, and now a horrid cold. Some days I want to stay under the covers and snooze.

My son pointed out that inanimate objects, such as cars and houses, seem to rebel if they feel unwanted or unloved. So mine have...the tractor mowers both moved from "in need of repair" to "hopelessly disabled." The weed whacker blew out entirely. There's an airlock in the plumbing system reminding me to call my handyman again. Only the weeds in my yard seem to be full of life, procreating with vigor.

Additionally, on June 5 I marked the fifth anniversary of my widowhood. One of my stepsons was here, helping me prepare for the sale of the house he helped my husband select 10 years ago, and we toasted his dad's memory. Even in his final days Ken used to wake up, look around the house and gardens and announce, "I love it here." He felt he'd come home when we moved here. Complying with his wishes, Ken's ashes were buried in the garden.

But I know it's time for me to move on, both literally and figuratively. I long to return to my California where I can be consoled by my beloved Pacific breezes. Though I've had some lookers at the house, I've been disappointed that nobody yet has made an offer. Perhaps it's the uncertainty of whether I'll be enduring another winter here that has me so uneasy. 

While India and its mysticism was on my mind, and I've been considering how to get my doshas back in balance, or at least rebuild my apparently distraught immune system, yesterday I received a message...from Mombai, India.

 While Ken lived out his final days, we learned that Chicken Soup for the Soul had bought two of my stories for its Tough Times, Tough People, "A is for Apple," and "The Legacy." Ken gave me a list of the people he wanted me to mail my contributor's copies, too...which I did, since the books arrived the day he died.

Here's my message from India, where Ayurveda has been enjoying a major resurgence, as it has throughout the world.

Hi Terri,

I am Harshada from Mumbai, India. I am writing to you because I have just read your story ' The Legacy' in Chicken Soup for the Soul - Tough Times, Tough People. Of all the other stories, your story has straight hit home for two reasons.

First reason is that one of my beloved family member too is suffering from renal failure. My mom has been diagnosed with stage - 5 chronic kidney disease and has been advised life long dialysis. Having lost my father three years back and being the only child of my parents, I am now responsible for taking care of my mother and being her strength through these trying times. Honestly speaking I dont always suceed in it. My own anxiousness about our futures take over me and I become a mess. But most of the times I try to be her strength. Therefore I completely relate to the fear and anxiety one feels about losing a loved one in such circumstances.

Second reason is one sentence that appears in the story..." I watch to see if his chest moves with his breath. When he snores, I'm relieved". My father passed away in his sleep and for months after his death I feared same would happen to my mother. Those fears eventually subsided. However, now her illness has again fueled the same fears causing me to frequently get up in the night to check if she is breathing. So the above mentioned line naturally brought tears to my eyes.

All through this book one thing I have come across again and again is that "If God gives us the pain and suffering, He also gives us the strength to endure the pain" and I am sure He wont give me more than I can handle. Both of us are growing emotionally and spiritually stronger in these tough times.
I would like to thank you for sharing your story with us. It feels good to know that I and mom are not the only ones going through this. There were many before us and there will be many after us. I will try my best to support Mom through her illness and give her as many happier moments as I can.

I hope, like you I too will be able to share my story some day and it will give somebody strength and endurance.

Looking forward to hearing from you....some more wise words or advice perhaps...
I wish good health to you and your family. Thanks Again. With Regards, Harshada

Here is my response:

Dear Harshada,

I'm so glad you were able to get Chicken Soup for the Soul: Tough Times, Tough People in India, and that my story reached you and gave you some comfort. It's letters like yours that remind me why so many of us submit our life's stories to inspirational anthologies such as this series. Thank you for reminding me that real people worldwide gain strength from knowing they are not alone in life's journey.

I've written many stories about our life together, but this was one of Ken's favorite stories. He knew in his final days that I had two stories selected for this particular book, and he dictated to me a list of his friends and family members that he wanted to receive my contributor's copies when they arrived. I had the manila envelopes all addressed...and the Chicken Soup books with this story and "A is For Apple" arrived the very afternoon of the day he passed.

A woman right here in my own remote rural area of Washington State phoned me the day after Christmas later in 2009 to tell me that her son gave her a copy of the book for Christmas, and she loved the "Apple" story because it reminded her of her grandmother's apple pies...the lady was nearing 90, and said she was so happy that somebody near our town was writing stories that helped people remember the good times in their earlier lives.

Now your letter has arrived and cheered me, Harshada. My late husband's son was here with me this past week to commemorate his father on the fifth anniversary of his passing, June 5, 2009. Yes, it does seem that Ken left a legacy. His beautiful portrait painted by a local artist friend still hangs in our bedroom. I have my house up for sale now, and yesterday a young couple was looking at the upstairs bedrooms, and the woman asked who the cheerful looking man was in Ken's portrait. Ken remained in good spirits, even knowing the end was near, because, he said, he'd lead a full and contented life.

Please do consider sharing your story with Chicken Soup for the Soul. The guidelines for writers are on the website here, and right now the publisher is seeking stories for a book ABOUT moms. This might be your chance to tell your story.

http://www.chickensoup.com/story-submissions/possible-book-topics

Warmest wishes from America,

Terri Elders

This timely reminder helps me figure out  my priorities...and the major one is regaining my health. If I don't meet all of my deadlines, no publications will fail. If I don't sell the house this summer, eventually somebody will fall in love with it, just as Ken did. If winter comes, then spring won't be far behind. These may be tough times, but I'm a tough person, and I'll get balanced soon.

A Ghost of a Chance

Now you tell me...if you live alone, aside from a blind dog and some cowardly cats, does it pay to read ghost stories in the wee small hours? I stayed up until 1:30 this morning to finish The Woman in Black, and no, I have not seen the movie with Daniel Radcliffe, as much as I'm just wild about Harry. (A brief aside inserted here for full disclosure...I did get the video from Netflix and intend to scare myself silly again by watching it tonight.)

Stories of the supernatural and paranormal have haunted me for decades. It all started with Poe's The Fall of the House of Usher in 8th grade English. Next came Thorne Smith. Mama and I plowed through his Topper novels and conjectured about what kind of ghosts we'd turn into should we meet an untimely demise.

By the time I hit college I'd graduated to Henry James and The Turn of the Screw. Other favorites over the years have included Rosemary's Baby and The Shining. I'd give a lot to recall the name and author of a strange book I located in the Seychelles National Library, since I'd love to read it again. It featured a young heroine who moved into a house somewhere in the south, where she heard strains of a music box playing the Stephen Foster ballad, "I dream of Jeanie." You just know this is going to be traced to the ghost of a Civil War soldier.

But for ghostly times and places, I doubt that anything can shout "fright night" in such spectral overtones as the isolated English moors and marshes in Victorian and Edwardian times. Hence the appeal to me of The Woman in Black. Plus, the protagonist is accompanied by brave and winsome dog, Spider. I sure hope she trotted into the movie. As I approached the conclusion, I found myself reaching down beside the bed to pat my faithful Natty atop his furry head.

After the video I intend to begin Anne Rivers Siddons' The House Next Door. From what I gather from Stephen King's introduction, this might have a twist...it might actually be a haunted house without a ghost. The house itself might be malevolent. It is set in the south, after all...and you know how Gothic that part of our country remains.

I probably don't have a ghost of a chance of getting to sleep early tonight! Especially not if I hear the tinkling tune of "I Dream of Jeanie" echoing up the stairs at 3 a.m. The only music boxes I have play suitable lullabies such as "Camelot," "Toyland," and "Somewhere Over the Rainbow."

Incidentally, the lyrics of "I Dream of Jeanie" have haunted me all my life. My middle name is "Jeanne" and if you've read my previous blog you'll know that I was named after a birth mother who remains ever elusive.

Skip the ad on this video and move right to the recitation of Foster's lyrics. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V57pcKGA6MU

Mystery Partially Solved

Mother's Day is now 100 years old...and, as always, on this day I reflect on Mama, who raised me, and on the mysterious woman who gave me birth. This time, though, I have some news which sheds some light on the mystery of who she was.

Several years ago I wrote a story, "Dreaming as the Summers Die," which eventually was published in Mike O'Mary's book, Saying Goodbye. An online magazine, The Fertile Source, also published it...and interviewed me on the subject of adoption.

Here's the interview:

The Fertile Source has just published Terri Elders’s short essay, “Dreaming as the Summers Die,” about her childhood longing to know about her birth mother, a longing that has sustained her throughout her adulthood as she considers the mystery of the woman who gave her birth.

Terri, your essay is a profoundly moving piece about your childhood curiosity, fear, wonder, and pain over your relationship with your “real” (that is, birth) mother vs. the mother who adopted you. 

What led you to write this piece?

I write true stories for anthologies and I saw a callout for stories about adoptions from Chicken Soup for the Soul, and submitted it. It was not selected for that volume on adoptions. I later sent it to Cup of Comfort for consideration. It was not selected, but another story was, “Magic and Miracles,” about the actual day my sister and I went to court for our adoption.

Did writing it dredge up old memories or did it feel healing to consider this issue through art?

I always find it healing to write about relationships and experiences. I've been writing since I was a child.

Towards the end of your essay you mention that your master's degree helped you understand adoptees' need to seek out their birth mothers, their need for answers. What is that need? What do you think birth mothers can do to help meet that need? What do you think adoptive parents can do to help meet that need?

When I was at UCLA getting my MSW, Los Angeles County Adoptions was my first year field placement. The emphasis was on the child needing a home, the adoptive family needing to parent and the birth mother unable or unwilling to provide for an infant or child. I did some research on adult children seeking connection, and talked with birth mothers seeking to connect with adult children. Because I actually knew my birth mother, having been adopted by relatives, my case was a little different. That she'd disappeared and nobody knew what happened to her, is what made it all such a mystery. Later my older sister disappeared for nearly 30 years, compounding the mystery for me. Later I learned that she had several more children and grandchildren...I felt devastated. I still write about our childhood experiences together, but have not had an adult relationship with her. We exchange cards and gifts on holidays, but I've seen her once in 50 years. When people drop out of your life unexpectedly, it complicates the grieving process. Sometimes I think it's easier to accept a death than it is to accept a disappearance. It's that not knowing that's so haunting. Adoptive parents can understand that some adult children wanting answers may be an innate need to solve a puzzle.

In your seventies now, do you feel like you have found peace with this issue that has haunted you over a lifetime—who was your mother and what part of her is part of you?

I've been trying to find peace with all the tangled relationships...writing about them always helps. My late husband died without forgiving his own mother, and a few others that he had felt crossed him in some way, and though he claimed he had no regrets about not forgiving, I suspect he did.

What are you currently working on?

I'm working on a piece about forgiveness. I'm thinking of calling it "Forgiving Charles Dickens." There's two meanings to that title. I just returned from the University of Cambridge International Summer School, where I studied Victorian history and literature. I have a lot of stories to write from that experience, and one is about Charles Dickens and his inability to ever forgive his mother for trying to return him to the blacking factory where he worked while his father was in debtors prison, and how I think that impacted his future relationships with woman, and how he portrayed women in his novels. 

Here's the link to the "Dreaming as the Summers Die"...which I conclude with my puzzlement about my birth mother's birthdate and the spelling of her name.

http://fertilesource.com/2010/09/dreaming-as-the-summers-die/

And here's my big news, just in time for Mother's Day. Yesterday on Ancestry.com, I located my birth mother's birth record...and she was born in Spokane, WA, on May 12, 1917...and her name actually was Jeanne, with a double-n, like my middle name. I still can't find records of her after the 1940 census...but who knows what I might discover next!

The House of Burgesses

Grandma Gertie (Solander) Burgess, Albert, Luella, c. 1917

Luella Alma (Burgess) and Paul French, 1960

Back in 1976, the bicentennial year, before Mama started to slip into her long goodbye, the dementia which eventually took her life a decade later, I'd been regaling her with the plans Bob, my husband, and I had made to visit Hawaii that summer. Initially, I'd hoped for a trip to the east coast. I longed to see the Tall Ships, and visit Philadelphia. Who wouldn't want to take a picture of the Liberty Bell to celebrate two hundred years of independence?

But Bob and I waited too long to make travel arrangements, back in those pre-Internet days when prospective travelers had to book an appointment via Princess telephone with a certified travel agent. By the time I got to my agent's office, all reasonably-priced motels and B&Bs were fully booked.

Glancing around her office at the travel posters, I fixed my gaze on Diamond Head.

"I've never been to Hawaii," I confided. "Let me check with Bob tonight and I'll phone tomorrow. Maybe this could be an alternative." Bob concurred and we booked a tour via AAA of Oahu, Kauai, Maui and Hawaii.

I'd been going through the itinerary stop by stop, my voice rising in excitement, until Mama held up a hand.

"Good Lord," she said, "Why in the world would you`want to go to that tourist trap? I bet it will be just like Tiajuana."

Greatgrandfather John Burgess, c. 1919

Mama's travels had been limited to occasional forays across the California border into Mexico and two airplane trips with my father, accompanying him on business trips to Chicago and to Miami. She'd complained bitterly about the weather in each of those cities, living all her life in temperate Los Angeles County.

"Don't you have any curiosity about the rest of the world, Mama?"

She started to shake her head, and then paused.

"Well, if I could find out where my father's family lived in England before they came to America, I'd want to go there and see if I had any cousins or other relatives."

Nobody really seemed to know. Grandpa Joe had died in the early '40s and Grandma Gertie didn't keep in touch with the remaining Pennsylvania relatives as often as she did her own Solander siblings and their families. Besides, in 1976 she was 86, and her memory was fading.

Last week I finally discovered where they'd come from...and it was through a wonderful genealogy website that traces the history of the Burgess family back to northwest England. I'd Googled Grandma Gertie's name, hoping to find the date of her death, and a link to a website called Burgess of Davensham came up. I wondered how Grandma got on that website so followed the link. Grandma had made a Most Wanted list! I read this plea:

Joseph Burgess and Gertrude Solander of Los Angeles

Joseph Burgess was born in Pennsylvania and moved to Watts, Los Angeles Co. California. Where he is found on the 1920 and 1930 census He is know to have had at least 2 children Albert (born 1909) and Luella (born 1914) Any information on this family would be greatly appreciated.

I surfed around the website a little, and read this:

This site is dedicated to the Burgess family originally from Davenham, Northwich, Cheshire, England. Our earliest recorded ancestor Peter Burgess married Mary Burrow in 1772. My line then moved to Bakewell, then to Matlock Bath and finally to Montreal, Quebec, Canada. Enjoy your visit and please alert me to any corrections.

You could have slapped me upside the head and called me Philip Marlowe...that's how powerful a detective I felt. I rummaged through the photos I'd stashed in my duffel bag and recently sorted when my sister died the end of February. I fired off an email with updates on Grandpa and Grandma, their progeny and my complicated relationship to both Albert, my birth father, and his sister Luella, my adoptive mother.

Though I've been to England over a dozen times, I'd never actually been to Northwich, but I'd been at the railway station at Chester in Cheshire, on a train trip from Manchester to Holyrood, Wales. I'd no idea of course, that this is where those ancestors had lived during Victorian times. I'd heard the family rumor that Greatgrandfather John had been a gardener for the queen...and my newly discovered distant cousin in Canada, who maintains the website, verified that rumors have abounded for decades that some members of the family might have been in service to the royal family.

I'm still browsing and uncovering information. But, Mama...here's my Mother's Day present to you...though you never got to these places, my next trip to England I'll visit Matlock Bath, where our branch still seems to have roots. 

I wish I could take you with me, Mama, but I know you'll be with me in spirit.

Pinky Swear...I'm Desperately Seeking Secrets!

Who doesn't love secrets? Remember whispering secrets to your bestie in kindergarten? Or overhearing somebody else spill the beans near the water cooler? Some secrets simply cry out to share. Please share your secrets with me. I promise to keep them faithfully...pinkie swear...at least until Not Your Mother's Book...On Sharing Secrets hits the presses! And, hey, they don't even have to be YOUR secrets. Surely there's something you're itching to share.Even if it's that you're addicted to Keeping Up With the Kardashians!

Previously I suggested some possible topics, but surely you can come up with some whoppers. Remember, the story has to be true!



I Love Your Hair...and Other Little White Lies
Once I Had a Secret Love
Peeking Under the Lid (Secret Recipes)
My Secret Garden
Skeletons in the Closet
Shotgun Weddings..or 9 lb. Preemies
Crimes and Misdemeanors
Your Cheatin' Heart...Or Mine
S-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g the Truth
My Secret Pal
Secret Santas
Whispers and Wishes
Water Cooler Rumors
I Crossed My Heart
My Life as a Rat Fink
Secret Treasures
The Secrets of My Success
It's a Sin to Tell a Lie
Once Upon a Midnight, Dearie
Closeminded But Openmouthed
Secret Agents
But, Officer!
Caught Red-Handed
Best Laid Plans (When Secrets Go Awry)
My Foolish Heart
Ask Me No Questions
Rites and Rituals

More information on the Not Your Mother's Book series and guidelines for stories can be found here:
http://www.publishingsyndicate.com/publishing_syndicate/submissions/nymb_submit_guidelines.html

Still Younger than Springtime

She's afraid to come out of hiding this year. That must be why there's few signs of her...oh, maybe an isolated buttercup here and there, and a glimpse of a robin. But Old Man Winter still rules here, and in most of the country. Last night I got a note from a friend in Ohio, lamenting that more snow was on its way, and she didn't think she'd have any flowers in her yard to welcome me when I visit in a few weeks. And this afternoon another friend near St. Louis noted that it's snowing at her place. A stepson in Colorado Springs posted photos of his tulips poking out of the snow this morning.

Poor timid creature...she's been hearing us curse her for weeks now...no wonder she's going to continue to hide. My Grandma Gertie told me you could catch more flies with honey than vinegar, and I suppose that might work with all winged creatures, including hummingbirds, butterflies and Ms. Spring, herself. Here's how I picture her, eyes downcast, waiting wistfully for us to welcome her, not admonish her. So I say we woo this shy maiden, sing her praises, coax her out of hiding. Let her know how much we love her. And, of course we do. But we need somebody with a strong, brave voice to convince her that it's safe. Somebody with tenderness and power. Somebody as young at  heart at Ms. Spring herself, who could plead on our behalf with style and grace and vigor? Oh, wait! I know who.

I saw this  man on Broadway in 1980 in Evita, and it's been true love ever since.  He could could sing spring into surfacing! It's Mandy Patinkin....with "Younger than Springtime." How can she resist?

Here he is with the London Sympathy...sounding like an angel himself. Just watch this video and you'll know exactly what I mean. Mandy, even now, for me shall always remain younger than springtime.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ii465lXLp8w

  Younger than Springtime

I touch your hands
And my heart grows strong,
Like a pair of birds
That burst with song.
My eyes look down
At your lovely face,
And I hold a world
In my embrace.

Younger than springtime, are you
Softer than starlight, are you,
Warmer than winds of June,    
Are the gentle lips you gave me.    

Gayer than laughter, are you,
Sweeter than music, are you,
Angel and lover, heaven and earth,
Are you to me.

And when your youth
And joy invade my arms,
And fill my heart as now they do,
Then younger than springtime, am I,
Gayer than laughter, am I,
Angel and lover, heaven and earth,
Am I with you!

And when your youth
And joy invade my arms,
And fill my heart as now they do,

Then younger than springtime, am I,
Gayer than laughter, am I,
Angel and lover, heaven and earth,
Am I with you.

--Rodgers and Hammerstein, South Pacific, 1949

Today's Dreams

Photography by Ron Schmidt, www.looseleashes.com

Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country.

Anais Nin

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/topics/topic_dreams.html#jHj0WDDTri6O6odQ.99

  "Yesterday is but today's memory, and tomorrow is today's dream"--Kahlil Gibran

Even though I've not submitted many stories recently, I still continue to dream of capturing my memories in print. I've found some unpublished stories that I'd like to see break through. While I've been revising and recasting them, I've discovered they all involve reaching deeper into my feelings.

Some days I delight in delving into the past, but not every day. Today I want to concentrate on moving forward. I'm ready to finish some projects that have been simmering quietly on my back burner. Time to stir and serve:

• Are girlhood friendships built to last forever or are some of us doomed to get dumped?
• Can I really let bygones be bygones, even when it appears I have no alternative choice?
• Did I really miss out on one of life's major milestones?
• We all may scream for ice cream, but is this always wise?

These will take up my writing time for a few tomorrows. In the meantime, here's a piece for today...the latest edition of Publishing Syndicate's free monthly newsletter with tips for writers...and I'm the guest editor, writing on how to convey emotion!

http://publishingsyndicate.com/newsletters/wow_news_backissues/wn_mar14.pdf

Yesterday is but today's memory, and tomorrow is today's dream.

Khalil Gibran

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/topics/topic_dreams.html#jHj0WDDTri6O6odQ.99