Love and Marriage

On June 20, tomorrow as I write this, David and I will be married 28 years. Add to that the six years we were together before that, and you have two aging people who have spent most of our lives together. I always feel amazed when I add up the years. It doesn't feel like 34 years. But that's really just this crazy thing time does as you get older--it speeds up and warps your memory.

Honestly though, I feel honored and humbled to be married to a really great guy. I won't laud him overmuch here, as I have several other blog posts declaring his wonderfulness. I guess part of the reason I feel so abundantly blessed is that many people I know have been recently divorced. Every time I find out that someone is divorcing, I am extra thankful that it's not me. I'm not saying I'm any better than them, or that my marriage is somehow more right. I realize that some marriages just don't last, and I'm not judging. Just saying how thankful I am that it's not me. (David and I have a morbid joke that if we ever did get to the point where we thought we should get divorced, it would never happen because of our own inertia and procrastination.)

I really shouldn't be amazed that we are still married, though. Because we both look at marriage and love the same way. (And no, they are not the same thing.) For us, marriage isn't necessarily about being in love. Notice that phrase--"being in love." To me, that is the initial bloom of love, before it's been tested and tried and yanked around a whole bunch. It's easy to "be in love" because nothing has happened yet. You see only the best in each other and ignore the worst. This is often where many people decide to get married. That might be a reason for the divorce rate. Because "being in love" is not real, hard love. A lot of people break up when this initial bloom wears off, because they aren't "in love" anymore. If the relationship makes it past being in love, it has a chance to grow into real love.

Real love, as I see it, is not necessarily about feelings. It is about honoring and respecting every single last irritating thing about that other person, and still finding those loving feelings in the bottom of the bucket. It's about partnering together in all things. No longer seeing things as yours and mine. No longer keeping separate scores--how many times did he wash the dishes or change the diapers? It's about wanting the best for that other person so much that you are willing to support him or her in whatever way you need to. Sometimes that might mean making sacrifices of your own time, career goals, or personal desires. And one assumes that kind of support will be reciprocated. Real love understands that you might not always feel lovey in a given moment, but that the love is so deep, one moment is not a true accounting of the measure of love. And, cliche as it is to say, real love is completely unconditional.

I remember my oldest brother, Mike's, wedding to his wonderful wife Laura. (It was a hippy wedding in 1976--and by the way, they are still married.) The minister asked them if they would still love each other when they were old, fat, gray, and so on. That is unconditional. It means love doesn't depend on looks, money, success, talent, or any other outward situation. It is there no matter what. 

Being in a relationship with this kind of love is very freeing and empowering, You know that you will screw up, but the other person will still love you. You know that he or she will screw up and you will have to rise to the occasion and keep loving them.

Now, marriage is a whole other level to that love. Marriage requires not just unconditional love, but the willingness to forge through a whole host of problems and issues that have nothing to do with love. Marriage is about partnership. More than that, it is about understanding that sometimes you are going to feel not in love, but that you will still be married. That maybe sounds like I'm advocating staying in a loveless marriage, but I'm not. I'm just saying that sometimes, marriage is really, really hard. And sometimes that means you might--for a temporary moment--not feel so loving. Marriage is not always romantic, as most of you know. Sometimes it is incredibly romantic, however you might define that. But a lot of the time, it isn't. So if you are hoping to get married and live every day in wedded bliss--uh, talk to me in 30 years and let me know how that goes.

Of course, I guess the term "wedded bliss" could be interpreted many ways. I mean, most of my youthful dreams have not been realized in the way I expected. We are not rich, although we are comfortably well off. We don't live in a dream house, unless your dream consists of constant repairs and breakdowns. We don't drive nice cars, but at least we have cars. We don't have perfect lives in any way. But we are happy, content. We like our life together. So I guess that might qualify as wedded bliss. But that doesn't mean we spend every moment together looking lovingly into each other's eyes. We would probably break out into hysterical laughter if we tried that.

I think, to quote James Taylor, the "secret of life is enjoying the passage of time." And I have certainly enjoyed my 34 years with David. I hope to enjoy at least that many more. We like each other, which I think is probably more important than love, in the big picture. If I weren't married to David, I would be his friend anyway, because he is my very best friend. He is funny and fun to be with. He is smart and---oops I said I wouldn't laud him, didn't I? You get the picture. He's the kind of person I would choose for a friend because of all his many good qualities. One of them being that he likes me too! And he loves me.

With 28 years of marital experience under our belts, we are both looking forward to what life brings us in the coming decades. We have dreams of traveling the country in a VW camper. Drinking wine and seeing movies to our hearts' content. Hiking every trail in the foothills and beyond. Fixing that fence in the back yard. Getting to see how our kids' lives pan out. Maybe one day holding grandchildren. (No rush.) And spending many hours just hanging out together. Watching TV on the couch. Sitting by a warm fire. Reading aloud together.

Happy Anniversary to the Best Husband in the World. You make every day something. Sometimes a funny something. Sometimes frustrating. Sometimes exhausting. But I would never trade all our something for someone else's everything.

Sweet Rose

On this Memorial Day, I am remembering my mother in law. She died 19 years ago this month. It seems like hardly any time has passed, and that a lifetime has passed.

Mary Margaret Cook Jensen was her name. She died way before her time of breast cancer, too soon to see her grandchildren grow up, too soon to see her oldest son married, or to live out her golden years with her husband.

Margaret Jensen as a young woman

Margaret, as I knew her, made family her top priority. With four children, she must have been crazy busy. She volunteered a lot in her community, her church, and at school. She had a fantastic sense of humor, often smirking quietly at the things she found humorous. (Those of us who have married into the Jensen clan might know why.)

The things I remember most about her are her love of books and of music, which is her legacy to her children and grandchildren. All of Margaret's grandchildren are musical and voracious readers. She would love that.

She was fond of Masterpiece Theater, travel, movies, and classical music. She was also a really good cook, and we still make many of David's favorite recipes from his childhood.

I remember her when I look at the man she raised, whom I married. He reflects all the best parts of her. He has a vast sense of humor, an integrity not often seen in people these days, a loyalty to his family, honor, intelligence, thoughtfulness, a generous and caring spirit. He works hard, doesn't complain about his lot in life, and pushes on no matter what.

I remember her when I look at her grandchildren, who are kind, smart, funny, and musical. They all love to read, and I know she would be proud of them. Peter never met her, Emily was still an infant when Margaret died, and Melissa was very young. She might not remember her Granny much, but she carries those genes around with her.

Margaret's memory has been carried on in many different ways: a memorial children's reading room in the Hot Springs Library, yellow roses at family gatherings, visits to her grave when we are there. But mostly her memory is carried around in the people still living who were part of her life. I am pretty sure she would laugh, smile, and be inwardly so proud if she could see them all now.

The Story of My Depression

I was going to write some sappy piece about Mother's Day, but you know what? I want to write about depression. Now, hold on, don't get me wrong. I don't associate Mother's Day with depression. Motherhood does not equal depression. But I have been feeling this tug lately to share what depression has been like for me, mostly because I think a lot of people don't really understand it as a disease and don't really accept it as a disease. The only connection it has with being a mother, for me, is that I wish I had gotten help sooner, because I would have been a better mother in my children's early years. I think I did pretty well anyway, mostly because I gave every single ounce of myself to the job, and because I am a supremely strong human being who was able, miraculously, to do what I needed to do for my children despite my disease.

Let me start by saying that I have had depression for about as long as I can remember. It wasn't too severe until I became an adult. I guess everyone assumes teenagers are going to be full of angst anyway, so maybe it wasn't really apparent then. I don't know. Even so, I was able to function okay. I suffered severe migraines for many years, and sometimes I wonder if they weren't partly from hanging on so tightly and trying to be so strong.  Who knows? As a young adult, I knew I felt horrible, and I wanted to seek counseling, but it seemed like an expense we couldn't afford. So I just kept  hanging in there.

When my children were very young, I honestly believe breastfeeding kept me going. You may not realize this, but breastfeeding releases hormones, the same feel good hormones that are released during orgasm. Not to get too graphic here, but these hormones are relaxing and very helpful when you have depression. So it was probably a good thing I made the choice to breastfeed. Even so, the depression was there all the time. It manifested mostly as anger. And I was angry a lot. I threw things. I yelled and screamed. It was as if I knew I couldn't just collapse and fall into the dark abyss of my soul, so I got mad about it instead. At least I functioned, that was my thinking. A lot of people I love had to bear witness to this anger. My husband and children, my parents. I know I did things that hurt them all. I hope they all see that it was the disease and not me. Or that they at least forgive me.

I LOVED being a mom. Still love being a mom. But as we all know, it's incredibly difficult in the best of times. It's really hard when you suffer from a debilitating disease. I'm sure I messed up a lot with my children, but I also feel really fortunate that they are pretty okay. Not perfect, but better than I was at their ages. And I think my depression helped me understand things that helped me be a better mother. I think it helped me see what my children needed in a very deep way.

I am a really, really strong person. That also helped keep me going. I knew how strong I was, particularly after delivering the very large baby that is Peter. He was 10 lb., 10 oz at birth, and I felt incredibly empowered to have delivered him at home with no drugs. I think that kept me going for a while, too.

Eventually, though, I used up all my energy, all my stores of strength, all my resources by being so strong. And then I wasn't strong at all. I fell apart. I sensed myself drowning, madly trying to tread water but barely staying afloat.I got physically very sick, unable to really get well. I felt like I was at the bottom of the darkest hole, alone, unable to climb out. I couldn't, wouldn't, think about suicide, because I couldn't do that to my children. But I didn't know how much longer I could hang on.

That's when my husband saved me. He reached in, pulled me out of the hole, and sent me to counseling. My counselor helped me decide to try anti-depressants, and I turned to my doctor, who prescribed something. It seemed to help a little, but not too much. She upped the dosage, which made me really sick.

My counselor helped me find a psychiatrist who specializes in depression and anti-depressant meds. They helped me find the right meds and dose for me. It took a while, but I started to feel like a human being.

The only problem was that once I got the depression under control I discovered that I had pretty much depleted my physical body of all its strength in order to fight through each day. I had depleted my thyroid, my adrenals, my iron stores. I am still working on repairing those aspects of my health. But the depression is under control.

I cannot emphasize enough how important it was for me to find a medication that helped me without harming me, and I did.

Here's the thing. I don't think most people really understand depression. Especially since our culture seems to prescribe anti-depressants for all kinds of things. Some people don't need meds for a long while. Some just need them to "get over a hump." How I wish I was one of those people. I don't like taking drugs, which is probably why it took me so long to get to the point where I had no choice. In fact, with my psychiatrist's help, I have attempted to barely even lower my dose several times. It doesn't work. Even a tiny reduction sends me falling down the black hole again.

So I had to accept that this is my life. I have depression. I always will. It is not a personal failing. It is not because I'm weak that I have to take these meds. I KNOW I am stronger than most people. I made it through 20 years of depression without help. How I did that, I still have no real idea, but I know it was because I was strong.

I don't talk about my depression very often, because I feel a bit ostracized. I think our society views it as weak. It's also immensely personal. It's hard to bare that to other people. But I am doing so now because I want people to understand it better. To know how it feels to live in this skin.

I think what prompted this whole opening up was a friend's question about why I have to see the psychiatrist every four months. I told her that they want to make sure I'm still doing okay with this med at this dose. And that some people struggle for years to find the right med. And that some people have bad experiences with meds, like feeling they want to commit suicide. She's a nurse, and this was news to her. So if she didn't know, then probably most people don't know.

You see those ads on TV that say "depression hurts" and all those things. Yes it does. It does hurt physically. It also hurts deep down in your innermost being. I am not a sad person. Depression isn't about being sad. It's not an emotional thing. It a brain chemical thing. It's physical. I am a happy, generous, active person, but depression made me feel like a wreck, a failure, a monster. That wasn't me. The meds simply (actually it's quite complicated) override that brain chemistry and allow me to be the true me.

So I guess the whole point of my writing this is to tell everyone who feels those things that there is help for you. You are not weak to need help. Do we tell a person with diabetes that they are weak for needing insulin? Of course not. You can live a great life if you want to. Depression does not have to drown you. Find someone in your life who will reach in and pull you out and help you find the treatment you need. It's hard, I know. It's embarrassing to admit that you are no longer strong enough to manage. That you have used up yourself. Like being eaten alive from the inside. Hang on. Ask for help. It is out there. And if you don't get the right meds on the first try, don't give up. Go to an expert. Not a family doctor. (Nothing against family doctors, mind you.)

If anything, depression has made me stronger than I was before. It has made me a better mother, because it gives me insight to see things in my children that might not appear on the surface. It gives me a heart of compassion for all beings who suffer. It makes me full of gratitude for my husband who loved me enough to hang in there with me. It makes me see more truly what is important. So that's the sappy part.

And Happy Mother's Day.

More in the Continuing Pat Saga

More people read my blog than I realized, several of whom thought they were "Pat." Including the real Pat. (Remember, Pat is a gender neutral name, as I don't feel comfortable using this person's real name or gender.) In some ways this is good. I mean, probably many of us have acted like Pat in the past, ignoring our friends, making a mess of our lives, and being generally jerky. So if you were one of those people who saw a little of Pat in yourself, then that might be a good thing and you can work on your weak areas. (Heaven knows, I have plenty of areas to work on, so I would never presume to suggest that I am above all of this.) Or if you have a friend who has acted like Pat, perhaps you might email them a link to my blog so they might see themselves in a mirror, so to speak.

But the real world Pat about whom I wrote in my last blog post was, in typical Pat-self-centered fashion, very upset about that post. Pat did not want to end our friendship and promised to do better. I believe in second chances, so I have tried to give Pat the benefit of the doubt and have observed Pat's actions both toward me and other members of our group of friends. And here is what I have noticed:

Pat is a horrible listener. Pat will ask you about yourself and then turn to look at a photo on someone's cell phone. Pat likes to talk more than listen, but Pat is a horrible communicator. Pat cannot complete a full thought in any cogent way either speaking or writing, which makes it very hard to have much of a conversation. Now, I realized this is not entirely Pat's fault. I think Pat has some kind of neurological problem, maybe adult attention deficit disorder or some kind of asperger's syndrome. So I can accept that Pat is not perfect and I have definitely put up with this for years upon years, always making excuses. But what I have noticed is that Pat doesn't listen very well because. . .

Pat is completely, 100% self-centered. Even when things happen to other people, Pat makes it all about her/him. Recently, another member of our group had to make a very difficult decision--part of life, right? Well, Pat clearly felt that this mutual friend had based his/her decision on Pat's actions, and that everyone was going to hate Pat because of it. So Pat went into fix-it-make-it-better mode, talking with members of the group about how the other person just had to do what was right for her/him, and that Pat was shocked by the whole thing. (Note: If Pat had listened more and talked less, he/she might have been able to help our mutual friend avoid the decision, so Pat does have a role in the whole drama, but nobody blames it on Pat, per se. Several of us did try to talk to this friend about other options he/she could have taken, but none of us were able to stop this person from the final decision she/he made. And we know it was made with full forethought and not out of anger at Pat.)

Pat can't stand thinking that anybody in the world doesn't like her/him. So whenever we are together as a group, Pat constantly harps on his/her innocence and victimization in Pat's problems. Pat-think says Pat didn't do anything wrong. Pat-think says Pat is always careful, thoughtful, and dedicated. In reality, Pat is none of those things. Pat doesn't want all his/her friends to abandon Pat, and Pat says he/she will try to do better, but never really does.

Now, I know Pat's life in the past few years has had some major problems. What Pat fails to recognize (because he/she is so self-centered) is that this happens to lots of us, and that it is not the universe particularly picking on Pat. However, Pat contributes to Pat's own problems by not listening to others, by not caring about anybody but Pat, and by worrying constantly that nobody likes Pat. This is because, as I have mentioned before, Pat has absolutely no self-esteem.

As a result, I think Pat has begun surrounding herself/himself with people who constantly tell Pat how great Pat is, even when Pat is not being great. Which is kind of sad, because I think what Pat really needs is a good, old-fashioned come-to-Jesus kick in the pants. Pat can't take that, because Pat would assume the pants-kicker is being mean, or mad at Pat, and all Pat would be able to think about is how to fix that person not liking him/her. And because Pat is such a bad listener, Pat wouldn't really hear the advice anyway.

Pat also seems to like having drama in Pat's life. It has become clearer to me since I wrote my last post. Pat seems to create drama where there was none, either by the people Pat hangs out with (who are drama addicts) or the choices Pat makes. Pat doesn't seem to have any real impulse control, ability to delay gratification, or conscience. Makes Pat sound sort of like a sociopath, doesn't it? Could be. No matter how much our group supports Pat or encourages Pat or whatever, Pat will continue to make and bring drama to the scene, and I really don't like Pat's constant drama.

So, Pat, while I have continued to give you second, third, tenth chances, you continue to disappoint. I can see that you might have been making an effort at it, but your efforts are so lame, because you really don't understand what true friendship is. You think that by spending two minutes a week in a one-sided conversation that you are communicating. But you're not. You have absolutely no clue about the lives of those around you. So your efforts lack substance. You have not changed, and while I realize sometimes change takes a long time, I have not seen a real change of heart, which is the first step to lasting change. Instead of trying to make everyone like you and stop being mad at you, perhaps you should examine in what ways you have hurt these people and think about their point of view for a moment. If you can. Because you're really too self-centered that I have no confidence you'll be able to do this. Keep trying. Maybe someday you'll get there.

Friendship Betrayed

So, at my wise old age of 49, I have figured out a few things. One of them is that very few relationships last forever. My marriage has lasted close to 28 years, and we had six years before we were married. I hope it will last for the rest of my life, and I'm pretty sure it will, because my dear husband and I view it as more than just being "in love." We view it as a partnership, a friendship, and mutually happy way to live, a place we both get to be what we are meant to be, and the most important part of our lives. Also we view it as a two way street, in which we are both asked to sacrifice for the other at various times, and do so gladly, knowing it makes our partnership stronger.

But this isn't about marriage. However, friendships can be like marriages at times. Like marriage, friendship is a two-way street. What happens when only one of the friends is putting forth effort, support, caring, and consideration? That's really not friendship anymore.

If you're like me, you might have different groups of friends. I have writing friends, church friends, music friends, college friends, neighborhood friends, etc. I don't necessarily try to keep these groups separate, but sometimes they are just because they never intersect. Sometimes whole groups of friends fall away, either because you move away, you discontinue the activity or organization in which you saw those friends, or something else happens.

But what's on my mind today is the situation in which a friend becomes a non-friend simply by being a jerk. In one of my groups of friends, there is a person who has, through his/her own folly and self-centeredness, alienated everyone else in the group. (I'm going to call this friend "Pat" for the rest of the post, so I don't have to keep using his/her. I don't want to out this person on such a public forum, and Pat is a nice gender neutral name. Plus, remember that character on SNL?)

Pat is the kind of person with charisma and talent. People are drawn to Pat, and often will go to great lengths to support Pat and help Pat achieve goals. In our group of friends, most of us would have done almost anything to help Pat out. I mean anything. We were supremely loyal to Pat. We scheduled our lives so we could see Pat, go out with Pat, do whatever Pat asked.

In the last couple of years, Pat has had some particularly hard times. Nothing life threatening or so horrible it couldn't be overcome. We rallied around Pat. We comforted Pat. We held long sessions where Pat got to sob and fret and basically bare his/her soul. We believed that Pat had been basically innocent in the situation and all the bad things that came Pat's way. We have all worn ourselves out with loyalty and support for Pat.

But it has ceased to be a two way street, and I'm beginning to see that maybe it never really was. Pat does not care about our friendships. Pat seems to assume that whenever our group gathers together, it is so we can listen to Pat's endless accounts of how life has been cruel. Pat never asks how any of us are. Pat never offers to help one of us, but of course does not hesitate to ask for our help. Pat basically acts like a selfish two-year old.

And I am completely tired of it. I am tired of giving so much to a friendship that gives nothing back. I am tired of feeling like an urchin waiting for some crumb of acknowledgement to fall my way. Pat does not thank us for the things we do, for listening, for caring, for giving up our own time to help Pat. I am tired of this. If I want to sacrifice my life, my time, my energy for someone who does not respond in kind--well, I have children. (Just kidding, kids. I love you a ton.)

But really, am I supposed to continue being someone for Pat to turn to without ever having any of my needs met? No. I think most everyone else in our group of friends feels the same way.

What I feel worst about is this. I have realized in the last few months that Pat is not innocent in all the troubles that have come his/her way. Pat makes stupid decisions, because Pat has no backbone, no self-esteem, and a need for constant affirmation and approval. Pat appears to others to have it all together, but really, Pat is immature. Pat wants to portray to others that Pat has a perfect life, but Pat makes one stupid choice after another and doesn't see how the dots connect to create the trouble he/she has.

Some of us in this group would like to help Pat by providing advice, but we know that Pat won't listen. Pat doesn't like conflict, and would never take our advice. Instead, Pat would decide that we had turned our backs and were part of the problem rather than the solution.

So, sadly, I am going to have to acknowledge that Pat must be left to his/her own devices and make all the stupid decisions over and over until Pat figures out how to make better decisions. I feel like a parent letting my child grow up. And that is an icky feeling when this is a fellow adult who is supposed to be my friend, not my child. So Pat, even if you do read this, you are so clueless I am sure you won't recognize yourself in this post. (And if those of you reading this think this is about you, then it's probably not. That would mean you have some self awareness, which Pat does not.)

I am not sorry for the years I have tried to be Pat's friend. I say that because it hasn't been a real friendship has it? It has been a one-way street. I am not sorry, because the experience has brought me close to the rest of this group of friends, for which I am eternally grateful and blessed to have in my life. And I have learned some things about friendship that will help me be a better friend.

So Pat, while I am not saying good-bye, because I will see you regularly, I am saying I can't be your friend anymore, which is really not saying much, because you were never my friend. I hope you grow the capacity to be a real friend before you are too old or alienate too many people. If so, maybe we can revisit the issue. Until then, good luck.

EMILY

Today is my daughter Emily's 19th birthday. So, as I've been doing for family members this past year, I'm profiling her for this special day.

If you didn't know Emily's birth story before, here it is, briefly: Since Melissa had arrived a week before her due date, I was all set for the same from this second baby. Her due date was Jan. 10. I expected her any time from Christmas on. But no, Emily has never been one to get anything done early, so she arrived in her own good time, ten days after her due date. We had gone to the mall to walk around, hoping some activity might encourage labor, and boy, did it. I was afraid I might have to give birth is the bedding department at Penneys. But we made it home and the midwife arrived just in time to tell me I could push. Three or four pushes, and out she came. Sadly, my grandmother died that same day, and I truly think their spirits passed somewhere along the way.

Emily lulled us into thinking she was going to be an easy going baby, because she was for the first few weeks. Then she started speaking her mind. Man that baby could scream a blue streak. Her Granny announced she was certain Emily had a future as an opera singer with the set of lungs she seemed to possess.

As she grew into a toddler, Emily could vie for the champion of tantrum throwers. I am not kidding, that kid could scream.

Emily was fast friends with our next door neighbor, Kathryn, who is a year younger, for much of their early childhood. When it was time for school, though, they found new friends, but they've always maintained those memories.

I'll never forget when Emily learned to read. It was some silly fairy book series that she loved. But soon, it was everything under the sun. Emily read literally all the time. Fantasy was her favorite. She loved Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Guardians of Ga'houl, and the Dark Materials series. She also got into anime and graphic novels.

One of the turning points for Emily was skipping 8th grade. When she found herself in a new set of peers, she blossomed and was so much happier.

School has mostly been a breeze for this brilliant young lady. I don't think most people realize just how smart she is, because she doesn't talk about it much, nor does she talk about academic stuff much. In junior high when she had earth science, she fell in love with astronomy and ever since has seen her future in space.

Her quiet brilliance has manifested in many ways. Emily is a fabulous author of several novels, mostly dystopic fantasy. She plays a mean piano sonatina, and has written several very soulful and emotive piano pieces. Having Heidi Decoursey Clark as her piano teacher was one of the best things in her adolescent life, I think.

Emily's personality is characterized by her loyal friendships and caring demeanor. She has never tolerated unfairness in any form, whether it affected her or others. She loves animals. And when a neighbor spoke to me once about potentially cutting down a tree that was always one of her special places, she would not allow it.

Emily and I have been through a lot together, and she has always known that I am her advocate in all ways. I helped her navigate many a difficult time, and it has made me a more compassionate, considerate person as a result. Her presence in my life has given me great joy, many challenges, and always a deep love.

Watch out world, because the meek shall inherit the earth, but the Emily shall rule space. I fully expect her to be out there founding new colonies on the moon or on Mars someday.

She is a brilliant, beautiful, kind, caring, funny, thoughtful girl. And hearing her laugh just makes my day. (Thankfully, screams are a rarity now.)

Happy Birthday my little capriquarius.

Looking Back, Leaping Forward

A Look Back at 2011

2011 was a good year for me in many ways. Here are some of the highlights:

• SCBWI RA retreat. Even though it was a cruise to the Bahamas, it was fun. I’m not big on the whole cruise scene, but the people we were with made it all wonderful. I enjoyed getting to know my colleagues better, learning their individual personalities, and feeling more connected to this group. Sea kayaking also topped the list.
• Our own SCBWI conference in Boise. It was a fantastic conference with agent Jen Rofe, publisher Lori Benton, and author Carol Lynch Williams.
• Attending Writing and Illustrating for Young Readers in Utah. AKA, the Carol conference. I took Ann Cannon’s boot camp class, and it was fantastic. We had an intense week of reading, writing, and revising. I respect my fellow class members and all were amazing writers. I learned so much, and I’m still revising that manuscript.
• Camp Sawtooth. Senior high camp. Love these kids. Love the mountains. Love the food. (How many camps can you say that about?) This is a frenetic week of intense stuff, but always incredible. Teenagers are some of the most awesome people.
• SCBWI LA conference. The 40^th anniversary of SCBWI, an organization that has made many a children’s author/illustrator’s career. My favorite part: the round-table intensives. Again, learned a ton, and am still revising.
• SCBWI Utah/southern Idaho novel revision retreat with Emma Dryden. I had so much fun meeting Emma and hanging out with her for a day before the retreat. She is one amazing lady. And she knows SO much. Wow. The retreat participants were also amazing writers and human beings. And the Stonefly Lodge: stunning.
• Charleston, SC. I knew nothing about Charleston when I arrived. By the time I left, I had learned so much really interesting stuff. I never knew rice was one of the first crops grown on plantations. Fell in love with shrimp and grits. Love it. Will return.
• My recorder pal, Pam Piper-Ruth, and I dedicated our year to learning to play the alto recorder, which is in a different key and has different fingerings than the soprano/tenor recorders. We have almost learned all the notes, and we are able to play altos with the larger group. That is affirming.
• I decided to take bagpipe lessons. Hopefully, I will learn how to play well enough to get real bagpipes at some point.
• I served meals to the needy in our community. This is a very gratifying thing to do. Not because it makes me feel important or superior. Quite the opposite. I know that it could very well be me standing in that line. These folks are fellow human beings, and their dignity is important.
• Saw my old friend Jennifer Cochern for the first time in several years. Need to see more of her.

In short, this year involved a lot of travel to interesting places, lots of writing classes with very, very talented folks, and lots of learning for myself.

Probably the only thing that wasn’t great about this year for me was that my weight loss journey stalled in a big way. I’m still doing Weight Watchers, and I refuse to give up. But I didn’t lose any weight this year. (Well, I lost weight: the same five pounds over and over again.) Still, I am wearing clothes two sizes smaller than when I began this path, so I’m still hanging in there. I have Melissa to thank for being my cheerleader in this.

Looking Ahead to 2012

This has potential to be a big exciting year for me. I have hopes for some amazing things to happen.

• I applied for the SCBWI Nevada mentorship program. I am anxious to find out if I got in. If so, it will be another intense year of perfecting my craft and learning from the best. If not, I will still be intensively perfecting my craft in some other fashion. Maybe a return to WIFYR.
• I will turn 50 this year, and I’m planning a trip to my birthplace to celebrate. That would be Yosemite National Park. Yes, I was born IN the park. There was a hospital there at the time when my dad worked at the park. He was a National Park Service ranger, which is why we lived in so many interesting places. I am very excited to go, because I have absolutely no memory of the place, as I was two years old when we moved away.
• If things line up, I will be dean of Camp Sawtooth Senior High Camp this year, and that makes me very excited. I go to sleep at night thinking about how much fun we will have. I have Gregory Taylor to thank for talking me into this adventure three years ago.
• I am recommitting myself to myself. Specifically to getting back on the weight loss horse and continuing this journey. I want to be healthy, more fit, and disease free. And I will not give up. This is a landmark year for me, and I want to be as fit as possible when I hit Yosemite in September.
• I’m looking forward to seeing what other things pan out. My freelance business is going well, my writing is going well, and I would like to start submitting to some agents again.
• Maybe, just maybe (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) that oil money will start rolling in, and we’ll have enough money to fund all three kids’ college educations, fix up our rattletrap house, and give lots of it to very good causes. If you haven’t heard our oil money story, feel free to ask.

In short, I hope this year has as many rewarding writing experiences as last year, more weight loss that stays lost, and more opportunities to help others.