Dear Readers, Chapter 24

 

Dear Readers,

One of the advantages of Self-publishing is that you can re-submit your manuscript with a revised version.

 I found that my Kindle version of Your Story Matters had some formatting issues and a few other glitches, so I submitted it again.

So, for those who have yet to buy it, now you can get a better product.

 Your Story Matters, Living Your Life in the Most Awesome Way Possible, is available on Kindle Unlimited for Free, courtesy of Amazon. This means you can easily access and enjoy the book without any additional cost. And a download from my readers will tell Amazon that people are interested in it.

 Your Story Matters is still being shared here on my site, chapter by chapter. It's like I'm reading it just for you, as per the request of a dedicated reader who wanted to experience the whole journey.

Writing this memoir, which morphed into a self-help book, was a year-long process, although I said I would try to write 50,000 words while the pink dogwood blossoms were on the tree. I did, but you know about first drafts: "They stink. Don't let anyone see them."

I gained so much understanding from writing this. I'm sad about my dad but happy about the child I was. It's been a long life, and I'm grateful for it and the people who populated it. It caused more pondering than I included, and it would be the same if you wrote yours. Thus, I'm encouraging others to do it—even if you aren't aiming for publication. 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 24

 

Type Faster

 

Someone asked Isaac Asimov what he would do if he knew he would die tomorrow. 

 

His answer?  "I'd type faster."

 

I've adopted his philosophy.

 

Today, I'm sad about a plant. 

 

It lived a block from our home, snuggled in, and touched an almost broken-down old fence with a dog behind it. The dog barked as Sweetpea and I approached. Sweetpea, about 20 sizes smaller than he, acted like she could take him on. 

 

The plant was a house plant someone must have tossed. I watched it last year. This spring was warm with plenty of rain, and that plant had grown almost a foot and a half in diameter. I was tempted to dig it up, but it was happy there and didn't belong to me. It was its own plant. This week, they built a new fence outside the old one, and the builder trampled that plant down to a spindly two leaves. I heard someone with a Weed-Wacker out there yesterday, and today, on Sweetpea's and my walk, the plant was gone.

 

I came home, washed dishes, cleaned the stove, and fixed breakfast. I only fixed cereal with half and half, and now I am at my desk—with that plant being a sad memory.

 

In Old Friend from Far Away, Natalie Goldberg asked, "What Will You Give up When You Die?" 

 

I will give up life on this planet, so it seems. One person with an NDE (Near Death Experience) said she missed the breeze on her skin.

 

I say, "Don't teach us to love our sensory pleasures, then take them away." 

 

When James Lipton, the MC of the TV show Inside the Actor's Studio, was asked one of the questions he asked of his guests, "If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates?"

 

His answer: "You were wrong, Jim; I exist. But you can come in anyway."

 

I used to think, What? Do you mean we have to start all over again as babies, grow up, do the spiritual work we've already done, go through puberty, be young adults, but not yet mature enough to handle life, yet thrust into a world of worry, earning a living, and feeding ourselves and our family?

 

But now, I believe our spiritual learnings are stored in the soul. We learn and continue to learn. We have a choice to stay on the other side, come back, or go on. Someone may need what we offer, and we will return for them.

 

I'm hoping I won't miss my people and pets for long, and they won't miss me for long, for I believe our souls go on, and I will see them again.

 

I plan to see green again, rolling hills, green forests, and the ocean. I imagine Boots running to me along with Duchess, Velvet, Sierra, and the dogs, all the animals that have called me their pet. And there may even be a breeze.

 

People relate near-death experiences. I have never had one, nor do I wish to. There was a time, however, when I was ready to go. I didn't have a dire illness. I had a lingering cold and a meniscus tear (of the cartilage) in one knee that was hurt so badly that I could hardly walk at all, let alone cross the street. I thought dying was not so bad; Sweetpea would be all right. My children will be fine. My husband will be okay. I was in some mushy trilight other-worldly land where I had no fear of dying.

 

I thought I was having a near-death experience without going near death. It passed, my knee healed, and I don't feel that way now. 

 

But I need to type faster.

Amazon link to Your Story Matters

Your Story Matters, Chapter 23, "Can I Hold Fred?"

 

Chapter 23

“Can I Hold Fred?”

I blog regularly and post on Tuesdays. 

Last week, I was burnt out, lost, and tired. I wrote a few sentences, declared it a No-Blog Blog, and took myself on an artist's holiday.

Sweetpea and I sat in the pickup truck where she could sit beside me instead of being separated by bucket seats. 

We parked by the Willamette River, close to the footbridge that spans the river. After walking across the bridge onto the park on the other side, we walked the path beside the river through the green lawn dotted with white flowers until we came to three snowy-white geese with fluffy yellow chicks. The geese were a surprise gift, as I had only seen ducks there before. 

The geese were my Fred, Julie Cameron's bunny. In The Artist's Way, she encourages creatives—which we all are, whether we claim to be or not—to take an artist's holiday. Creativity is a part of us. It can only be drummed out. An artist's holiday recharges our batteries and often inspires us to the next step.

You can go to a museum, a play, a movie, a fair, or someplace grand; all of these give us a recharge.

It can also be something simple.  Cameron often takes herself to the pet store to hold the giant bunny. 

"Can I hold Fred?" she asks the proprietor.

"I don't know; you'll have to ask Fred." (Or whatever Fred's name is)

Well, she held him, so he must have said yes.

When my girls were preschool age, and we had recently moved to San Diego, there was an aquatic store down the hill not far from where we lived. We would go there and look at the fish in the glass aquariums, and outside behind the shop, we would peruse the cement block ponds where they raised fish, large and small. 

My youngest daughter remained quite attached to aquatic animals into her adult life. Right out of college, she got a job at PetSmart, working with fish. Later, she had a mail-order saltwater animal shipping service. Then, she became the store director of a PetSmart store in California.

You never know the ramifications of a fun holiday.

 

P.S.

 

Jo’s Commentary:

Remember Mrs. Banks from the movie Mary Poppins? 

We used to march around the room to the tune of, “We’re simply soldiers in petticoats,” and shout, “Votes for women!”

“Our daughter's daughters will adore us, and they will sing in grateful chorus, “Well done, sister suffragettes.’” 

Well then, there is the line, “Although we adore men individually, we agrees that as a rule they’re rather stupid.”

See what Mrs. Banks could get away with? And you thought it was a children’s movie.

What about suffragette Mrs. Pankhurst, who “has been clapped in irons again.”

Those suffragettes upon whose shoulders we stand fought to give women the right to vote. 

And now, dear ones, we come to an election where one candidate is already spreading the rumor that the next election will be rigged unless he wins. Then, it will be accurate. 

And, if he loses, he’s inciting his supporters to mutiny.

What do you think of this?