I felt I hit my peak at age 50. Truly the top of the mountain. Wonderful things were happening in my life; love, career, health, opportunity but I could see the downward slope of my life in my future as I aged. One could call it a crisis. But I like Brene Brown’s take on it. It’s an unraveling. Now in the autumn of my life, I know my days here on this planet grow shorter but because of that I am less inclined to waste them. I want to enjoy every day, take on new challenges, breathe in new experiences, be who I want to be, not who others want me to be. Life is precious. Live it. Live it fully. Right to the end. BH
“People may call what happens at midlife “a crisis”.
But it’s not.
It’s an unraveling . . .
a time when you feel a desperate pull to live the life you want to live not the one you’re supposed to live.
The unraveling is a time when you are challenged by the universe to let go of who you think you are supposed to be
I recently received Alison Wearing’s Memoir Writing, Ink newsletter and she had this to say about rejection as a writer —
“Every year, I try to remind people that Every Writer Faces Rejection. Every. Single. Freaking. One. It’s not an anomaly, it’s not a measure of talent (or character), it’s part of the process that writers everywhere endure. So, rather than taking rejection as evidence that you are not a writer, it’s also possible to take it as evidence that you are.”
~Alison Wearing, Memoir Writing, Ink
“Louisa May Alcott was told to “Stick to your teaching.” Ayn Rand’s ‘Atlas Shrugged’ was deemed “unsalable and unpublishable.” One publisher found Ernest Hemingway’s ‘The Sun Also Rises’ “to be both tedious and offensive.”
By Mental Floss UK |Dec 1, 2023″
The list goes on. Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows; George Orwell, Animal Farm; H. G. Wells, The War of the Worlds; Joseph Heller, Catch-22; Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five, all received rejection letters when they first submitted their works.
Add authors Ursala K. Le Guin, Jack Kerouac, Stephen King, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Louisa May Alcott, John le Carré, Gertrude Stein and D. H. Lawrence to the list and I think you may be getting the picture.
Rejection is simply a part of life as a writer. You can’t please everybody. A thick skin helps but, whatever you do, don’t give up. In this day and age, there is always self-publication. Many authors who decided to self-publish after rejection by traditional publishers have gone on to be successful. Wildly successful. These include Margaret Atwood, Lisa Genova, EL James, E. E. Cummings, and Mark Twain. There are also many media sites out there to highlight your work and begin creating your own readers. Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, and blog sites are all public platforms to showcase your work. Literary magazines and newsletters are always looking for new material.
Whatever you do as a writer, DON’T GIVE UP. Keep writing, keep creating, keep dreaming.
I had a dream last night and in my dream, I was part of a team of women who were working on some new creative project together. We were, however, running into obstacles and difficulties and things just weren’t gelling. In my dream, I ran into the room where these women were all seated and I exclaimed to them, “We can’t just keep doing the same thing over and over and getting the same results. We need to do something different!”
I am a firm believer in psychiatrist Carl Jung’s belief that dreams reflect the inner psyche, the unconscious mind. They are not just random thoughts or fantasies. By examining our dreams, we can explore the symbols and archetypes offered by the images to gain a deeper understanding of ourselves.
I awoke. The first thought in my mind was, I need to re-examine my life and think about it a little deeper. My dream, I believe, offered an important message to me. Now my next step is to let that little seed of advice guide me as to what needs to be changed in my life and decide how I am going to change it.
Do you believe that dreams are a reflection of our inner selves and can offer us new insights into our personal lives? I would love to hear about dreams that you feel have been significant and life-changing for you. BH
“The best gardens are a perfect balance of order and chaos. The tension created by the threatened balance is the pulse of the garden itself.” ~Helen Humphreys
Yesterday everything aligned so that I could eat my breakfast out on the back deck; the last word had been put in my book, there was nothing on the calendar, the rains had stopped, the sun was shining, and the temperature was perfect.
Sipping my morning coffee, I viewed my wild jungle of a garden that has continued to grow in spite of my busyness and neglect. Still there were pockets of beauty. I apologetically took a video as I walked through my overgrown garden and then shared it with friends. Not one of them saw a mess. Where I could only see weeds, they saw flowers. And many of the weeds had flowered themselves and were full of hungry bees and butterflies as they danced among the blossoms.
I began to see that there is a natural force in flowers and plants that will seek growth and new life wherever they are planted and in all conditions. Even with less care, and perhaps because of my dwindled care, they grew. And not only grew but thrived. Like a helicopter parent that constantly hovers over their children, planning, constructing, manipulating, we can be over zealous in our efforts to be good parents and gardeners. The flowers themselves know what they need and seek it. Do some weeding, clear the paths, provide the elements they need to grow; some water, sun, but don’t overdo it. Plants have a natural inherent knowledge within them and they will find a way. I pull out the “bullies,” those weeds that seek to dominate but leave some behind for even in them there is a natural grace and beauty.
Thank you garden, for continuing to grow, for continuing to teach me lessons.
The following is a true story about an extraordinary happening this past weekend. I hope you enjoy it.
Two Pennies by Barbara Heagy
This past weekend I was out and about, first stop being a tailgate yard sale at a local collegiate fund-raising event. It was lunchtime so I decided to take advantage of a food truck on site that sold gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches. When it came time to pay I decided to pay in cash, not something I do too often as I usually use my credit card, a carry-over from COVID days when we were all encouraged to use our cards rather than cash for health reasons.
“That’ll be $20.50,” the man told me. I handed him a $20 bill and then dug into my change purse for two quarters and handed them to him.
“Well, I haven’t seen one of these in a long time,” he said seeming rather amazed as he looked down at his palm. “A penny!”
I was surprised as I was sure I had given him just two 25 cent pieces and we haven’t seen pennies in Canada since 2013 when they were taken out of circulation. I had just returned from the States, so I assumed that an American penny had somehow gotten mixed up in my change purse which, in itself, was a bit strange as I had a separate wallet for my American money.
“Would you like it back?” he asked.
“Sure,” I replied.
As he handed it back to me, my mouth dropped open in surprise. In my hand was a very bright and shiny copper Canadian penny dated 2010. “Oh, my God, that’s the year Tom died.”
Still shaking my head in disbelief, I opened up my wallet to put the special penny away and again, much to my shock, there was another bright shiny penny. I took it out and checked the date on it. 2006! “That’s the year we were married,” I said aloud.
Where did these pennies come from? Is this a sign from above? A direct message from Tom? As I thought about him, I realized that not only was Father’s Day the next day and he was always called Poppa Tom by my girls, but it was also Tom’s birthday the same day, June 16.
Now, there are those who disbelieve and say, “You must have put those pennies there yourself as your own special reminder” but I know that I didn’t. Where would I have gotten what looked like newly minted pennies, especially since the last Canadian penny was minted over ten years ago? I thought too, Did someone in the family plant this wanting to surprise me? But, as my daughter Lara said, “I remember the year Tom died but I certainly didn’t remember the year you were married.” And I know with a certainty that my coin purse had been emptied completely by me just a few months before as I donated all my change to a busker. Besides, two pennies, one 18 years old, and the other 14 years would be tarnished with age, not shining and looking freshly minted.
Life is full of miracles. We just have to be open to them and recognize them when they happen. I think Tom was dropping in for a visit. Happy heavenly birthday, Tom!
This past weekend, my lawn was needing to be cut for the first time this spring. But before that happened, I noticed freshly grown dandelions were sprouting up in isolated places. Most of them hadn’t flowered yet and I learned from others that is the best time to pick them for eating. I have tried dandelion leaves before just by picking them and having a chew on the spot. I wasn’t that fond of their bitter flavour. But I thought I would give it a go again and take more care in their preparation.
I dug the plant up with its root and gathered a large bowlful. I trimmed off the root just at the leaf core before it branched off into the separate leaves. I learned from Chef Jacques Pepin that the core is one of the tastiest part of the plant, just as the bottom core of celery has a lot of taste and when chopped into small pieces adds a boost of flavour to a dish. I washed and re-washed the sinkful of dandelions four times, removing anything that looked like it didn’t belong, dried grass, blooms, dead leaves, dirt and small bugs.
It was two days later that I actually was able to attempt my own dandelion salad. I made one fresh and put my own vinaigrette dressing on it. Then I tried one boiled and drained and ate it much as I would eat steamed spinach with a good drop of butter and some salt.
It was tasty. Not as bitter as I had remembered. But it also was a tough chew at times. It seems to be very much like kale that needs to be massaged to soften it up or deveined, chopped up into smaller pieces, and steamed.
That was my dandelion experience. Before they leave us, maybe you feel inclined to try it too. It’s certainly a popular rite of spring dish for many. Just be careful that you gather them from a safe source. Dandelions are looked at as weeds in our modern day world and they are often sprayed with poisons. Choose a site that you KNOW for sure no herbicides have been used.
(You can read more about dandelions and other foods in my upcoming book “For the Love of Food: Family Edition)
Yesterday I spent several hours trying to work out my printer problems. I finally gave up and called the company HP Smart for technical support. The technician who I was hooked up with was called Samantha. Now, normally these calls can be hours long (which it was) and can be full of frustration and annoyance (which it wasn’t).
Because a variety of attempts to clear up my problem were needed, we both acknowledged that this was going to take a long time and some of the downloading processes were going to be very slow. We both settled in for the long haul.
For the next two or three hours, Samantha and I worked together to try and solve my problems. Meanwhile, we got to know each other as two human people with much in common. Even though we were separated by half a world (she was in India, I was in Canada), she seemed much younger than me (that’s an assumption), and we were two complete strangers, we connected.
She initiated the conversation and we quickly found out that we both had a love of writing, I a published author/a memoirist and she a daily journal writer and poet. We shared our losses in life of those close to us, including our beloved pets. We told stories about our loved ones. We shared our favourite poets and some of their work. We both love Mary Oliver. We laughed and cried and found common ground in our zest for life.
Slowly she helped me work out my printer problem and slowly we go to know each other as new friends. We both acknowledged that wouldn’t it be wonderful if we should meet some day face-to-face. When all was finally cleared and my printer was working again, it was time to say goodbye. “I’m having trouble saying goodbye,” she said. “Me, too,” I said. “Thank you for all you did for me and shared with me. You were wonderful.”
Will I ever talk with Samantha again? That would be unlikely for you know that when you call these companies, you are given a random agent, whoever is free at the time. But I am thankful for the time spent with Samantha. We had a very special connection.
Reach out to others. Despite distance and age and circumstances, we are all human. Thank you, Samantha. I enjoyed getting to know you. You made my day very special. In honour of you let me share your favourite Mary Oliver poem with others as you shared with me.
“When Death Comes.”
When death comes like the hungry bear in autumn; when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut; when death comes like the measle-pox;
when death comes like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything as a brotherhood and a sisterhood, and I look upon time as no more than an idea, and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth, tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something precious to the earth.
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real. I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
“We are all finally settled in with our folding chairs and blankets, ready to view this celestial wonder that I’ve been looking forward to with anticipation for months. As I put on my special solar eclipse glasses for the first time, I can see that it has already begun. Without my glasses, the sun is a dazzling orb that cannot be viewed with the naked eye. With the glasses on, the sun looks like a golden ball with a small black nibble taken out of it.
I sit and just enjoy the whole experience which is going to take about 2 ½ hours from beginning to end, checking the moon’s progress intermittently as it gobbles up the sun slowly over the next hour or so. Each time I look, a big and bigger bite is eaten out of the sun. Meanwhile, I chat with the friends and family around me (there are 22 of us, children and adults), enjoy the children’s giggles and antics as they run and play in the green grassy field surrounding us, munch on a few snacks and relish the clear blue sky and tall trees around me.
I marvel at how lucky we are to have clear skies above us, as for the whole day leading up to the eclipse, the sky was thick with clouds that threatened rain. Just before 2 p.m. they began to dissipate and big and bigger patches of blue began to surround us leaving the sun high and fully visible in the sky. I text my daughters, brother, sister and niece who are spread throughout Ontario in Cobourg, Bancroft, Vaughn, Toronto, and Oro Station north of Barrie. All of them are looking at thick cloud cover and even, at times, rain. None of them are getting a satisfactory eclipse experience. What a miracle we have been granted!
The countdown begins . . . twenty minutes to totality . . . ten minutes . . . four minutes . . . two minutes . . . and my excitement is building. The sun is disappearing from the sky looking like a shrinking golden crescent as the black ball of the moon creeps across its surface. Soon it begins to look like a round toenail in the sky. The shadows around us are darkening and lengthening. It’s as if a dimmer switch is being slowly turned down. Like an exhaled breath, the temperature drops and I can feel the chill in the air. The sky is slowly darkening, the street lights are turning on and a flock of seagulls flies over us looking for their nightly roost. The air around us is strange, not like anything I have ever experienced. This is not a typical dusk. The colour is odd, muted, heavy, dark. It’s actually an eerie feeling, other-worldly, and I feel a little uneasy.
As the sliver of light shrinks, I can see beads of light flickering on the edges of the crescent. Scientists say it is the diminishing sunlight bounding off the valleys of the moon. These beads are called Bailey’s Beads, named after the scientist Francis Bailey who first documented them in 1836.
We are seconds away from totality when the moon will be completely covering the sun’s light. Everyone around me is getting excited and whoops and hollers of delight are being called out. People’s arms are shooting into the air, children are jumping, the whole park becomes energized and active. Ooo’s and ahhhh’s surround me as the view through my glasses goes completely black. We are in totality. Twilight is upon us.
Enveloped in complete darkness, I lower my glasses and look at the cosmic wonder in front of me high in the sky. It’s now safe to look at it with the naked eye. I see a black ball surrounded by a thin glimmering halo of light, a golden corona. Oh!! What a sight. The sky is black enough to see the stars and planets glowing as if it is nighttime. I can’t hold back my reaction of awe and wonder and I feel like a small child standing in front of a new world. It’s as if a portal to the universe has opened up before me and it invites me in to marvel at its uniqueness. For 1 minute and 18 seconds I can look at it unaided, without special glasses. I sit in amazement, held, suspended in its magic, unable to stop watching that giant black ball in the sky.
The moon is on the move, however, and thin shots of light begin to appear as the sun moves out of totality and begins the return to its normal view. Just before I slip my eclipse glasses back on, a shot of light flashes out at about 2 o’clock on the surface of the black orb and the edge of the golden circle. The diamond ring effect! It flashes and then, once again, with a full explosion of light, it does it again. It’s a golden ring with a large twinkling diamond on it that suddenly catches a direct beam of light that sends beams of sparkling rays shooting out into space.
As I watch, the sun continues its return. The dusk begins to disappear, daylight builds, the world is becoming normal again. But I know, I will never be the same. I was granted a front row seat to a celestial wonder that won’t happen in my area again for over one hundred years. I am truly blessed.
“I followed your recipe and it didn’t taste like yours.”
This Easter weekend at our family gathering Gerri, Maegan’s mother-in-law, was telling my daughter Brittany that she had tried Brittany’s famous-in-our-family’s Kale Salad and it didn’t turn out as good as Brittany’s. Brittany laughed and said, “It always tastes better when someone else makes it.”
Why does that happen? You think you are following a recipe carefully and perfectly and yet the final product doesn’t taste as good as that prepared by the original cook.
There are a lot of factors. It has happened to me too as I try to duplicate Grandma’s Cucumber Salad or that delicious Spinach Avocado Dip I had in the restaurant the other day. The availability of fresh-off-the-farm ingredients, the age of your spices and pantry items, the cooking pans and utensils you use or the variable heat from oven to oven, it didn’t cook long enough, you stirred it too much or too little, can all be factors that change the taste of something from cook to cook.
All we can do is not give up and keep trying. Practice makes perfect. Use the best of ingredients, vary your techniques, taste as you go, and enjoy the process.
And perhaps what Brittany said is true. It’s always better to be the recipient of someone’s else meal made with loving hands.
“Holding hands is a reminder that we are never alone in this journey called life.” ~Unknown
From my book “10 — A Story of Love, Life, and Loss”:
“(The nurse) dropped the bedside rail, took my hand and put it in Tom’s hand. I was surprised because I had hesitated to touch him as earlier when he was conscious, he didn’t want to be touched . . .
Time kept passing and he was gasping, struggling to stay with us. My hand was beginning to go numb in his but I didn’t dare let go. He needed me . . . “.
” . . I said aloud, quietly and calmly, ‘Relax.’ I said it as much for myself as for him. ‘You will decide when you go and I will stay here with you, holding your hand. I’m not going anywhere. When you know it’s time to turn and face your new journey, my hand will be the last thing you feel as you leave. As you turn, you will go directly into God’s hand. You will not go alone.'”
Reach out to someone today. Give them a hand. And if you find yourself alone, I believe that we are never alone. Watch for the hand, even if it comes from another world.
