The Ride on the Dark Side

Even though I usually can find silver linings for most of the misfortunes I've met with, some heretofore have remained in the shadows. Mostly for good reason. It's easy to write about embarrassing moments when I can be sure people will smile and nod, and agree that it could have happened to anyone. Then there's those moments that I've been uncertain I'd ever want to share.

A few years ago Cara Bruce and Shawna Kenney founded Pinchback Press. I'd submitted a story for their collection, Tarnished. I'd been pleased when it had been published, and when they announced an upcoming book, Busted, I figured I'd contribute again. This time I mustered up all my courage and wrote about an event that has haunted me.

A longer story, "Arrested Development" told of a secret I've kept for over fifty years. I'd congratulated myself for finally putting it into a creative nonfiction piece, and reassured myself when it was accepted that I'd done the right thing by finally coming clean.

Unfortunately, the book got cancelled, and my 2500 word confession retired to my orphanage, where my rejects languish indefinitely. I doubted I'd ever find a good home for this particular story. It didn't fit the usual anthology format...it's not particularly uplifting, it's not inspirational, it's not laugh-out-loud hilarious. It's a ride on the dark side.

A few months ago I saw a call out for a contest for an anthology to be titled Uncertain Promise, which would include fiction and nonfiction. Some cash prizes would be offered, and though I've only once before entered a literary contest that required an entry fee, somehow I believed that my particular story might be a contender. If not, it might fit the premise for the collection.

The publisher, Compass Flower Press, defined it this way:

Uncertain Promise: an unexpected outcome (joy, satisfaction, renewal, despair, emotional growth, etc.) from an otherwise routine or mundane circumstance. The uncertain promise might be an unspoken commitment from a friend or lover falls through due to misunderstanding or unforeseen happening, a career failure or future crashes--or ascends--depending on the outcome of a single event. These are some of the editor's ideas, but writers are welcome to use their imaginations and interpret the theme broadly. 

This morning I've learned that my story did not win one of the prizes...but it will be included in the book, which will be published in October. It turned out that the tentative title of my orphan also had been the title of a sit com, which I'd not been familiar with. So it needed a new title. I reread my story and decided on "Blame and Shame," which the publisher, Yoland Ciolli, agreed would be fine. Here's the prize winners, and I look forward to reading their stories:

• First Place: “Body Language” David G. Collins, Fulton, MO
• Second Place: “Our Ventana” Mary Pacifico Curtis, San Jose, CA
• Third Place (Tie): “Ballerina” Sally Whitney, Millersville, MD and
“The Broom” Marlene Lee, Columbia, MO

Uncertain Promise can be ordered at a $10 prepublication price through PayPal on the Compass Flower Press website: http://akayola.com/

So another orphan has found a home. Counting the books with my stories on top the entertainment center, and the ones that I've received acceptances for that will be published in upcoming months, this totals 99. I'm aiming for a hundred by New Year's Eve. Maybe another Chicken Soup for the Soul? Another Not Your Mother's Book? Another indie?

That will be a ride on a sunnier side of the street.

Keeping My Sunny Side Up

With son Steve, California, July, 2014

It's taking longer than I'd hoped...to sell my house in northeast Washington and get moved before the first snow falls. To bolster my sometimes sagging spirits last week I bought a bathing suit. I might not be jumping into that heated pool to participate in water aerobics any time soon, but I'll be prepared when it does happen. Plus I saved a bundle on an end-of-season sale.

Each day I remind myself that sinking into despair never helps. Things unfold in due time, as they need to do, and I can't always control outcomes. I've found a place I really like, and hope eventually to get there. It just might not be next month or the month after.

In the meantime, I'm counting my blessings. I've found a seniors complex I'm hoping to move to. I have a little more time to sort through boxes and books, and decide what to give away, what to list on eBay and what to take. And I plan to take as little as possible. One way to reboot my life is by ridding myself of encumbrances, which is how I've grown to view many of the objects around me.

Speaking of rebooting, my story, "A Happy Heart," will appear in September in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Reboot Your Life. I'm eager to receive my contributor's copies, because right now I'm in need of continuing inspiration about moving ahead with life's journey. In the meantime, I'm keeping my sunny side up. Remember this song? You might have heard it if you saw the film Paper Moon. It dates back to the big crash of 1929...and though it's not The Great Depression these days, the lyrics resonate with me. 

Here's Judy Garland singing "Keep Your Sunny Side Up."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=dv0hbLwvvpw

There's one thing to think of when you're blue,
There are others around much worse off than you!
If a load of troubles should arrive,
Laugh and say, "It's great to be alive!";

Life can be a pleasure or a pain,
Good or bad, successful or in vain;
Happiness is just a point of view,
If you have it here's the thing to do;

Keep your sunny side up, up,
Drown a frown with a smile.
If you think it's raining for you,
Just remember, others are blue.

Always look for the bright side,
Start the day on the right side;
You'll find life worthwhile,
Learn to wear a smile,
Keep your sunny side up!

I Wanna Go Home

HW Senior Apartments, Westminster, CA

I returned from Southern California yesterday, after prowling neighborhoods in Long Beach, Cypress, Fountain Valley, Huntington Beach and Westminster, looking for my heart's desire. I found it, centrally located in Westminster, right off Beach Blvd. Yes, BEACH, as in the Pacific Ocean. It's not Belmont Shore, but it's still close enough to the sea to get an ocean breeze. You can see more of this quiet and conveniently-located apartment complex for the 62+ and better independent living crowd here:

http://www.trulia.com/rental-community/9000012468/HW-Senior-Apartments-13920-Hoover-St-Westminster-CA-92683/

Michael Buble isn't the only one who wants to go home. In recent years every time I return to where I grew up and raised my son, I begin to get homesick. No different this time around. When I was younger I wanted to get far, far away...and I did. Now I want to go back to my roots.

Here's a story I wrote a few months ago about this longing.

Right Back Where I Started From 

“And I have loved thee, ocean!” –George Gordon, Lord Byron

When I turned five, I received a copy of  The Runaway Bunny. I determined that it conveyed the message that elsewhere is better than right here.

“I’ve got to run away today,” I announced.

Mama nodded. “I understand, honey bunny,” she said. So she wrapped a peanut butter sandwich in wax paper, tucked it in the pocket of my red boucle coat, and kissed me goodbye.

“Remember, you aren’t allowed to cross the street,” she cautioned.

So I trudged to the corner, about three houses away. I peeked over my shoulder. Yep…Mama stood there watching me, so I dare not attempt to cross.  I contemplated my options and decided to set up camp right on the corner and eat my lunch there.

As I nibbled I raised my face to the noontime sun. I’d have loved to have flopped down and snoozed for a bit, but knew I was only supposed to take a nap in my bed. I took a final bite, stuffed the wrapping in my pocket and trudged home.

That night at supper when I recounted how I’d run away from home. Daddy and my first- grader sister didn’t look impressed. “Looks like you ran right back,” they chimed.

They were right, of course, at least for the time being. So for several decades I pretty much stayed put. I married, I worked, I raised a son, and took care of a variety of houses that never quite felt like home. It all was just…California. I always imagined that home was out there somewhere beyond the horizon beckoning me. It was someplace else…across the street…around the corner…across the continent…on the other side of the globe.

So at age 50 I ran away a second time, this time joining the Peace Corps. At long last I’d have the opportunity to explore those faraway places I’d always dreamed of. Now I wouldn’t have to stop at any corners. And maybe I’d find my home.

“You’ll come back in two years, and won’t ever want to venture far again,” friends warned.

“I doubt it,” I’d replied. In memory of my late mother, I packed a peanut butter sandwich to take on my first flight to Miami for a Peace Corps staging.

Though I never got to the moon, that Runaway Bunny would have envied my worldly adventures. I joined, joined again and rejoined. As a Peace Corps Volunteer, I hacked open coconuts with a machete outside my house in Belize City. I clung to my counterpart as we raced on her motorcycle to get across streams before they flooded in the province of San Juan de la Maguana, Dominican Republic. I helped paint murals on the Youth Center fence with teens on a rare dry afternoon when the monsoon winds had died down in Mont Fleuri, Seychelles. Vacationing in Singapore, I sipped Slings at Raffles and stuck a toe in the South China Sea.

Later, I continued to travel as a health programming specialist for Peace Corps. I heard gray wolves howl on the steppes outside Ulan Bator on the spring equinox in Mongolia. I thrilled to the spontaneous singing of Samoan chiefs and missionaries at a training session in Apia. I explored the corners of the earth, Guyana, Uzbekistan, Thailand, St. Vincent, Bulgaria. I still was looking for home, though I’d been to over 50 countries.

When I remarried during the millennial year, my new husband, Ken, began to talk about his vision of a dream house. “It’s got to be somewhere with four seasons,” he insisted. “I love sweater weather.” So we settled in the far northeast corner of Washington State and for a few years we shared what began to feel like home. And then Ken died.

I’ve continued to live in this huge old house, plodding through the seasons. I’ve hired handymen, gardeners, snow plowers to tend to the property, acres that I can’t handle on my own. I’ve dragged my vacuum upstairs and down. I’ve mopped, scrubbed and dusted until my aging muscles ached.

And I’ve shivered. Friends who’ve lived here all their lives perk up in the winter, wandering outside to cheer on mittened children who barrel down hills on cookie sheet sleds. Me? I huddle by the fireplace, sip hot chocolate and wish it were iced tea. I’d rather be basking somewhere on a beach.

But it’s impossible, I decided, to attempt to move. I’m too old to be starting over somewhere else. Just thinking about what moving again would take in time and energy wore me out. Hopeless, I thought. I’m stuck here, and have to make the most of it.

Then I visited family in California last fall. I rambled across the beach to the edge of the Pacific. Suddenly, as the waves washed against my toes, I realized that this was home. Always had been. I’d grown up by the ocean. I’d gone fishing in it off a pier when I was a child. I’d sailed on it as a young adult. All my life I’ve loved the salty taste of my fingers after they’ve dipped in it, the delicious shock of the water’s icy bite when I first would dive in to body surf, the distinctive scent of seaweed and sea spray.

“I never realized how much I miss being close to the Pacific,” I told my son that night.

“Have you thought of moving back to California?” he asked.

“It would be overwhelming to even think about it,” I said, shaking my head at the impossibility.

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were the lady who at aged 50 set out on an odyssey that took her to the remote corners of the earth.”

I stared at him, ideas clicking away in my mind. Yes, and I braved my way to the corner of my block when I was only five. I took a deep breath. Have I ever been too young or too old to refuse a challenge?

I’m ready to run away again. Challenging? Sure. But I’ve made a list and I’m checking it twice. I’ve already called the real estate agent. I’ve written to senior apartment complexes in my old hometown for rental estimates. I cashed in some frequent flyer miles for a ticket for a stepson to come in late spring to help clean out my garage and shed. I’m asking friends if they know of an art dealer who might be interested in the paintings and sculptures.

Each day I sort through a drawer, a closet, or a bookcase to determine what to donate, what to trash, and what to pack. I wake up each morning humming, “California, Here I Come.”

I’m allowed to cross the street. I’m going home.

Readin', Writin', 'Rithmetic...It's Elementary

Though it's summer, I feel like I'm back in elementary school, since my days are filled with reading, writing and arithmetic. As I have for the past decade, I'm reading the selections of fellow members for two monthly book groups, as well as submissions for Not Your Mother's Book two upcoming anthologies, On Sharing Secrets and My First Time. Additionally, I'm reading descriptions of apartments for seniors in the Southern California Long Beach and Orange County areas, since I'm keeping a positive attitude that I'll sell my house here in Northeast Washington.

I'm continuing to write creative nonfiction for anthologies. Right now there's 90 books containing my stories on top the entertainment center. A few more are set to arrive any day, including Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Dog Did What?, Not Your Mother's Book...On Cats, Chicken Soup for the Soul: Reboot Your Life and Dear Nana, a collection of stories about grandmothers. I've also received word that my stories are being considered for Not Your Mother's Book...On Working for a Living and Chicken Soup for the Soul: Touched by an Angel. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for some other submissions, as well, including Not Your Mother's Book...On Sex and Chicken Soup for the Soul: Find Your Inner Strength and Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Power of Forgiveness. I've even sent a new story for Chicken Soup for the Soul's Christmas 2015 book, ever hopeful, even though I've never had a story selected for their Christmas book series.  Hoping to break 100 by year's end!

My article on the recent Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop appears in the summer issue of Uncle Jam, debuting at cartoonist and publisher Phil Yeh's booth at San Diego's Comic Con this weekend: http://issuu.com/wingedtiger/docs/unclejam104_issuu. This month Publishing Syndicate's free monthly Wow Principles online newsletter will feature my article on dialogue tags, a fun piece to research. (If you haven't signed up for this, do so now...there's over five years of archives worth browsing if you're a writer, or want to be.) https://www.publishingsyndicate.com/newsletters/wow_newsletter.html

Like other freelancers who are supplementing their fixed retirement incomes, I make a lists of income and outgo, and consider new sources of work-from-home, adding and subtracting and figuring where to splurge and where to cut back. My second term with the Washington State medical board (Medical Quality Assurance Commission) won't end until the close of August, so I'm still reading complaints about doctors and physician assistants. Additionally, I served as a federal grant reviewer for the Department of Education's Primary and Secondary School Counseling program at the beginning of summer, so spent a solid two weeks reviewing, analyzing, scoring and discussing grant applications. These two activities keep me professionally up-to-date on health and education trends, plus bring a little additional income to my retirement years. 

I'm looking for new paying markets for writers, and have updated resumes for grant reviewers for other federal agencies, figuring I'll have more leeway in my schedule once I won't have the every-six-weeks trips to Olympia or Seattle for the medical commission. I remain hopeful that I'll sell the house and find a small apartment with no yard to tend to. That should save many more hours for reading and writing, and lessen the budget arithmetic.

I'm still California dreamin' and will be exploring housing possibilities, and hanging out with friends and relatives, this next week...and that should be something to write about!

Don't Tug on Supermom's Cape!

The "Accidental" Stacey

Today's a big day for Stacey Gustafson, who was my accidental roommate at the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop this past April. This is the book cover release for her upcoming book, Are You Kidding Me? Do you think that's Stacey on this cover, looking harried while sporting all the attractive cleavage? Are you kidding me? Here's the real Stacey, in her Malificent glory.

The "Real" Stacey

How do I know Stacey Gustafson and why do I care what she has to say? A couple of years ago I selected one of her stories for Not Your Mother's Book...On Travel. So we corresponded over edits to that. And then Stacey stepped in as my Marriott roomie when Joyce Ann Newman Scott had to step aside because of a family emergency. And that's when I learned you don't mess around with Stacey. No, siree, folks. So you better buy her book, to be released this fall...or who knows what she might do to you. As the late Jim Croce would say, you don't mess around with her!

You see, Stacey takes no prisoners. To continue the martial metaphor, she shoots from the hip. Just see what she did to poor little innocent me, who graciously offered her the chance to stay at the prestigious Mariott in Dayton, when she thought she'd have to settle for the makeshift lodgings for orphans. You'll see how trickily snarky this mom can be. Please, please, read the comments following Stacey's piece. You'll see what I mean.

http://staceygustafson.com/hell-joyce-newman-scott/

Here's what Stacey has to say in her defense:

I am an author, humor columnist, and blogger who has experienced the horrors of being trapped inside a pair of SPANX. My blog, Are You Kidding Me? is based on my suburban family and everyday life. My short stories have appeared in Chicken Soup for the Soul and Not Your Mother’s Books. My work appears in Midlife Boulevard, Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop, Generation Fabulous, ZestNow, More Magazine, Pleasanton Patch, Lost in Suburbia, Better After 50 and on my daughter’s bulletin board. I live in California with my husband and two teenagers that provide an endless supply of inspiration. I write about parenting and daily frustrations like my dislike of laundry, the DMV, and being middle-aged. I hope to entertain you one story at a time. Now go get your funny on!

Please order Stacey's book, and let her entertain you! You'll be glad you did. Maybe. If you are lucky enough to have evaded her notice!

Here's what her publicist has to say:

Hop into your minivan and get ready to cruise through the crazies of Suburbia! Humorist Stacey Gustafson makes an entertaining tour guide in Are You Kidding Me?, a brash, voyeuristic peek inside the topsy-turvy world of suburban motherhood, midlife madness, and all points in between. If you’ve ever called SWAT on a neighbor, faked a heart attack in church, or pulled your hair out while questioning the sanity of your family, Stacey’s tongue-in-cheek brand of humor will resonate with you. Enjoy the ride and don’t forget to fasten your seat belt. 

As soon as purchase information is available, I'll post it...Blue Lobster Book Company and Amazon will be letting us know soon when and how we can buy this book. I can hardly wait. I'm so glad I met Stacey...after her manuscript was completed!

An Anyway Anniversary

July 1, 2000, Sparks, NV

Ken and I should be celebrating our 14th anniversary today. We'd likely go to Stephani's Oak Street Grill for an Early Bird Special...maybe the wild salmon, which we both favored. He'd mix a pair of his favorite brandy Manhattans and we'd toast. He'd survey our front yard gardens, smile approvingly, and announce, "I just love it here." He did. And then we'd settle down to a riotous evening of watching reruns of NCIS...or, if we were lucky, Gunsmoke.

Though Ken died just weeks short of our 9th anniversary, I still commemorate these days that should have been. And why not? You don't stop remembering your mom's birthday (tomorrow, July 2, as a matter of fact), just because she died decades ago. You don't stop remembering other important dates of events just because they're history. What is history? The whole series of past events connected with someone or something. And that someone, Ken, and something, our relationship, will always be connected to me.

In Requiem for a Nun William Faulkner wrote, "The past is never dead ... actually, it's not even past." So if I want to celebrate an anniversary today, I've got good reason. A marriage to me is never over, the way I see it, whether it's supposedly terminated by divorce or death. The relationship lives on, at least in memories. Those memories rush back on what I call Anyway Anniversaries.

So, Ken Wilson, Happy Anyway Anniversary! 

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.