Tuesday

A new year. So what? It's just another day forward. Just another Tuesday.

But for many of us the specter of a new year is daunting. We worry about our health and the well-being of loved ones. We wring our hands over the Fiscal Cliff. We think about those who have left us - too soon, or in their right time to be with God. Instead of jolly, many of us become melancholy.

Our children will celebrate and ring in a new year with glee. Others both sane and insane (in my opinion) will trek down to New York City's Times Square and make the hours blur into one until the million dollar 'ball' drops. I had my years, too, when I celebrated throughout the night, dancing and drinking with friends. I doubt I'll make it to midnight this year.

Do I have any resolutions? Sure. I always do. Most of all, I resolve to just keep living and giving and moving and grooving. That trite sentence packs a wallop. Trust me.

I had reason to review my medical history recently because I update it in a Word document all the time. I have had so many surgeries and hospitalizations and take so many medications that I can't possibly fit the words into the small spaces on doctor's input forms. So I just hand them my packet and am done with it. Looking at it this time, since it dates back to 1984, I got a much-needed reality check. And I spent last night wondering if there's been enough time for my body to right itself; to rid itself of all the poisons and trauma it has experienced. Do I have time left to do the things I dream about?

Yes. I do. I must. I will. There is no other option for me. I won't allow it.

You, too, must will yourselves to carry on. If you're alive, you have choices. If it's a bad health day, let your body and mind rest. If not, get to it. This may sound harsh but I don't have time to suffer and I hope you don't either.

On Tuesday, I dismantle my Christmas tree. One goal but I may do more. And on Wednesday, I get back to hooking up colleagues who can make important justice work move forward and I will work on my book proposal. My husband's new health issues may have canceled our trip South but no matter; we adjust and carry on.

What will your Tuesday bring?

Suffering & Succotash

Suffering & Succotash

So much suffering: Deaths to mourn; cities, towns and villages wiped out by Hurricane Sandy; rocket attacks in Israel; Benghazi-Gate and hate still runs rampant.

The holidays are here! 

If Looney Tunes' Sylvester the Cat  was around, his catch-phrase - suffering succotash - would mean a lot more than a spoiled corn and bean dish for Thanksgiving. What it does mean, in his words, is frustration. Sylvester doesn't get his way and most of us don't get ours when we approach the most wondrous time of the year. We go. We do. We maintain tradition.

But I am frustrated yet I promise I will remain thankful. I've reached another 'new normal' in my physical health condition and I'm adjusting accordingly. I'm in mourning for a friend. I'm aghast at the news from all corners of the country and the world. Texas wants to secede and I still sit here getting ready to go out tonight to celebrate another friend's achievement.

Stealing another famous cartoon character's best line: "Oh bother," says Pooh, but he pads on with Piglet by his side searching for the honey pot. I will still search for the honeypot. Hopefully it will be sweet and succulent rather than suffering succotash. Will you share it with me?

“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. 
"Pooh?" he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's hand. "I just wanted to be sure of you.” 

― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

I just want to be sure of all of you today. Thank you for you. 

Today is the day...

So this is it. I've started a blog at the advice of my supreme mentor, Laura Shaine Cunningham, author of Sleeping Arrangements and A Place in the Country, two memoirs that helped inspire my own.

After writing for over 20 years for others (clients, corporations, not-for-profits, CEOs, etc.), I decided to start writing for myself about two years ago. The result is a manuscript that tore the heart out of my very soul while writing it. But it was also a healing process; the proverbial catharsis, if you will.

What I learned is that we are all survivors - of something. My story may be alarming - extreme family disturbance including parental neglect and mental illness, cancer, Lupus, tragedies that would have made others fold their cards quickly.

But I didn't. Why? I simply don't know. Exploring the why we survive the unsurvivable is the crux of this blog. I hope you will join me on my journey.