When I was a little girl I was afraid of the dark. Mother put a nightlight in my room to try to alleviate this, but I believe the nightlight made things worse. I had a four-poster bed and the posts cast snake shadows on the walls. Once, my foam rubber pillow slipped off the edge of the bed, rested against the nightlight, and started a smoldering fire. The smoke woke Mother and there was a lot of alarm about this incident for a while. Then Daddy found a different kind of nightlight, one that lasted, I know, for fifteen years. It was small, cylindrical, and casts snake shadows just like the first one had. But we had no more fires.
I have never been a great sleeper. I fall asleep fast but staying asleep has always been a problem. As a child, I remember waking in the middle of the night, most nights, terrified of the shadows, afraid to peer out the window by my bed, a window by the way, that was usually open. This was before we had air-conditioning, and in Corpus Christi, we needed cool air far more than we usually needed heat. After a while, I would get out of bed, creep to my open doorway. Mine was the first room off the hallway. I would glance towards the living room. There was a window there that reflected light from the streetlamp on our corner, and those reflections looked like demons to me. I would race to the end of the hallway where my parents' room and my brother's room opened opposite from one another. If my parents' door was closed, as it usually was, I would opt for my brother, my Bubbie, my protector, my adored one. He never even awoke, but in his sleep just hugged me to him and I felt safe there. His window was also beside his bed, and I remember staring out that window at the streetlamp on the corner, feeling the soft breeze coming through the screen, and falling gently off to sleep. This same feeling still comes to me when my SO hugs me close to him during the night.
After I was grown, I carried this fear of the dark with me into my marriages, secretly. I didn't want to admit openly to being so silly, so scaredy-cat. My second husband was a traveling salesman. We lived in Jackson, Mississippi, far far from my old home. When he was gone, I slept with the lights on. What was it about those lights that made me feel more secure? I talked to my mother about once a week, and finally ventured to tell her about how noises in the night could paralyze me, make my heart pound uncontrollably. I'll never forget her response. She said, "Go see what they are." Go see? Actually get up and go find the thing making the noise. What a foreign idea that was to me. She said she had even gone outside in search of the thing that was making her afraid. "How can you do that?" I asked her. "Aren't you scared you'll run into a burglar or a prowler, or someone who wants to hurt you?" She replied, "If I'm outside I figure I can outrun them. Inside, I'm trapped."
Once I was raising my own children, I began to practice my mother's method. Get up and go find the thing that was frightening me. It always turned out to be the refrigerator, or a limb blowing against a window, a click-bug in the bathroom, or simply the house settling. I don't know when it happened exactly, but somewhere along the line, I stopped being afraid.
Years ago, before I ever had anything published, I attended a writer's conference in Houston. One of the instructors said something that stuck with me as well. She said, "Every day, do something that causes you unease, or that you dread." She was speaking mostly about learning to deal with rejection, with the business end of writing. Call an editor. Seek an agent. Submit a story. Get outside your comfort zone.
I recently had a little piece published in Birds and Blooms Magazine. It was submitted so long ago, I had actually forgotten about it. Two years ago, right after I built my greenhouse at the Buffalo Wallow, in my enthusiasm, I wrote a little article about backyard greenhouses. A few weeks ago, an issue of that magazine arrived, had been forwarded from Texas. I didn't even open the package when I saw who it was from, could not understand why I was getting this magazine when I had ended my subscription to it long before we made the permanent move here to the mountains. I figured they were just trying to induce me to re-subscribe. I tossed the package into a stack of other magazines waiting to be perused, on the trunk in the corner of the living room.
A few days later, my aunt called. She had been in her doctor's office, in the waiting room. She picked up a magazine, was reading along when she saw my name in the byline. She said she laughed out loud she was so surprised, and told another patient in the waiting room, "I just found an article my niece wrote." As I listened to her, I went over to the trunk where I had pitched the Birds and Blooms packet. I tore it open, and there it was, a thank you note from the editor, and my article inside the magazine covers.
Well, well. And what do you know! I am a writer -- still. Just one who isn't writing much at the moment. It isn't always simple to wrestle with the desire to write and the desire to live life. And let's face it, there is fear involved with writing. It's so damned personal, and has so much ego wrapped up in it, and you have to fight the feeling that a rejection is about more than just the work. I think it's this fear that keeps me from biting off the BIG, time-consuming, full-length novel that nobody might want to publish, or if published, to actually sit and READ. And there's this niggling thought in the back of my brain telling me it's risky, that it might, just might, have contributed to the failure of my marriage, and God knows I don't want this new relationship to fail, too. Because when I'm writing, everything else in my life is tuned out. It's not easy for me to find balance. But I'm trying every day to face this fear. Because the payoff, my name in a byline, a little teensy-weensy check, gives me the ultimate feeling of purpose.
Onward....
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Hard Decisions & Pointless Worry
Well, we are back from Texas. It was a busy trip and I am glad -- so glad -- to be back home in the mountains. Highlights of the trip were: a good visit with my SO's granddaughter. A nice dinner with Daddy. An overnight trip to the Valley and dinner with my aunt and uncle who live there. We sold my SO's place on the Coast, but not before we had one night with old friends at Oysterfest. Spent a good afternoon with my grandson. Had my identity stolen and am still dealing with the consequences of that. And we caught up with our new widow-friend and played all afternoon with her sweet pets.
While we were down there we started trying to make some hard decisions about what we want to do about our living arrangements when we're there. Me, I would rather we didn't have to go down there so often, but that's unrealistic. Things just get crazy when we're there. I seem to do a lot more worrying down there than I do here. In fact, I had one major anger meltdown night when I got maybe three hours of sleep. I won't go into the whole reason for the meltdown but it has to do with a lot of self-pity and feelings of being cast out into the cold. As for my SO, he has conflicting feelings about his old family homeplace there. It holds a lot of memories for him, particularly of the son he lost last year, but it also causes him pain and anguish as well. We bicker a lot when we're there, which I hate like hell. But it's because of the issues both of us have to deal with that make it, on the whole, an unpleasant trip.
But back to living arrangements. Presently, we are bunking in the Salem, our 28 foot travel trailer. It is cramped and takes a constant effort to keep it clean and organized. We have too much STUFF there, and no place to put it all. There is an old mobile home on the place, and we sort of use it as auxiliary storage. We use the ancient dryer that still works as well, after multiple trips to the laundromat in town -- ugh. This mobile home has been my SO's go-to place off and on throughout his life, a sort of stop-gap place to live whenever his life has taken drastic turns. It is a 1973 model that has outlived it usefulness. There are gapping holes in the floor, pink insulation falling out from the bottom, bathroom fixtures that are in appalling conditions. It's dark and dusty, and simply worn out. He has thoughts of trying to fix up the place to make it livable, but I would be miserable in that place without practically rebuilding it from the ground up. I am for having it hauled off and reusing the space where it sits with a newer something -- either another mobile home or a park model trailer, something that isn't too costly but will provide pleasant enough shelter for us to use the few weeks a year that we come down. Right now, I feel homeless when we are there.
The day I had my grandson, he and I went to an RV dealer and looked around. I looked at a new park model trailer that was twice the size of the Salem. It had wood floors, an extra large slide-out, lounge chairs, a closet for a stack laundry, ceiling fans. It would still be a bit cramped, but seemed roomy after a week in the Salem. Also, they gave me a trade-in price for the Salem that brought the cost of the park model way down to reasonable levels.
When I came back with all this information, my SO hit the ceiling. He scolded me for even thinking about spending so much money when I am soon to be unemployed. It was not a fun discussion and we both came away from it feeling resentful. Also, contrite and uneasy with each other for a few days.
The following Friday, we made a trip into Victoria for a birthday gift for his brother, who was turning 50 the next day. I didn't realize my SO had other things in mind, too. He stopped at an RV place where he had previous dealings and we looked at a used 5th wheel. The price was about the same as the new park model, but I didn't think the 5th wheel was anywhere near as spacious. The people said that they would take the Salem on consignment, also not as good as the deal the Corpus Christi RV dealer had offered. On consignment, we might get more for the Salem, but it would not be instant and we would not get the break on the purchase price of the 5th wheel.
We drove on down a few blocks to a mobile home dealer. They had a very small cabin-style mobile home sitting out front. We asked to look at it. The price was in the same range as the 5th wheel and the park model, but this thing was tiny. A queen size bed would not have fit in the single bedroom. The saleslady then took us to their back lot where they had a lot of government issue FEMA mobile homes that have never been lived in and are in the process of being fitted out for sale to the general public.
Several months ago we watched a piece on television about the 3,000 FEMA mobile homes sitting in storage on a lot in Hope, Arkansas. These trailers had been purchased for Hurricane Katrina victims and then never delivered for one reason or another. The one we looked at was plain, adequate kitchen space, linoleum floors, a single, though large, bathroom, three smallish bedrooms, nice size laundry area, and roomy front room. It was 14 by 60 feet with central heat and air, and was only $4000 more than the tiny cabin model they had displayed out in front of their office. The price included delivery and set-up. Fourteen by sixty seemed like a mansion to me after living in the Salem for two weeks. We have enough furniture in storage and in the basement here to practically furnish the entire thing. Would have to buy some living room stuff, but that is basically IT. We agreed to think about this, wait and see what happens with the company I partly own in Corpus, and do the research needed to learn about how to dispose of the old, worn-out mobile home already on the land.
Oh, how life throws changes at us. And decisions that need to be made. We can only just hope we're making the rights ones and go about our business. I don't like to be having to make such big decisions at this time of my life, though. I had always imagined I would be settled someplace by now, with lots of security, writing the great American novel, no worries. I never dreamed I would have an elderly father taking up a lot of my thoughts, or contemplating the purchase of a mobile home for God's sake, or living in the mountains of northern New Mexico wondering how in the hell I'm going to afford all of this without a viable income. I guess I need to learn to roll a bit more. Flexibility has been my strong trait. But then endless worry gets you nowhere either. I have a big ugly fever blister on my mouth as a result of pointless worry.
On the upside, I've sold a few blouses this week. And the Kindle sales on The Passion of Dellie O'Barr are surprisingly good. So all is not doom and gloom. We have a party at the Lodge this Saturday to look forward to, and lunch today with some friends in LV. My SO's granddaughter is coming to stay with us in May, and we are bringing my grandson back with us after the next Texas trip in June. I guess my SO is right when he says that things have a way of working themselves out. I just need to settle down and see what happens next. And be happy, as the silly old song goes.
Onward .....
While we were down there we started trying to make some hard decisions about what we want to do about our living arrangements when we're there. Me, I would rather we didn't have to go down there so often, but that's unrealistic. Things just get crazy when we're there. I seem to do a lot more worrying down there than I do here. In fact, I had one major anger meltdown night when I got maybe three hours of sleep. I won't go into the whole reason for the meltdown but it has to do with a lot of self-pity and feelings of being cast out into the cold. As for my SO, he has conflicting feelings about his old family homeplace there. It holds a lot of memories for him, particularly of the son he lost last year, but it also causes him pain and anguish as well. We bicker a lot when we're there, which I hate like hell. But it's because of the issues both of us have to deal with that make it, on the whole, an unpleasant trip.
But back to living arrangements. Presently, we are bunking in the Salem, our 28 foot travel trailer. It is cramped and takes a constant effort to keep it clean and organized. We have too much STUFF there, and no place to put it all. There is an old mobile home on the place, and we sort of use it as auxiliary storage. We use the ancient dryer that still works as well, after multiple trips to the laundromat in town -- ugh. This mobile home has been my SO's go-to place off and on throughout his life, a sort of stop-gap place to live whenever his life has taken drastic turns. It is a 1973 model that has outlived it usefulness. There are gapping holes in the floor, pink insulation falling out from the bottom, bathroom fixtures that are in appalling conditions. It's dark and dusty, and simply worn out. He has thoughts of trying to fix up the place to make it livable, but I would be miserable in that place without practically rebuilding it from the ground up. I am for having it hauled off and reusing the space where it sits with a newer something -- either another mobile home or a park model trailer, something that isn't too costly but will provide pleasant enough shelter for us to use the few weeks a year that we come down. Right now, I feel homeless when we are there.
The day I had my grandson, he and I went to an RV dealer and looked around. I looked at a new park model trailer that was twice the size of the Salem. It had wood floors, an extra large slide-out, lounge chairs, a closet for a stack laundry, ceiling fans. It would still be a bit cramped, but seemed roomy after a week in the Salem. Also, they gave me a trade-in price for the Salem that brought the cost of the park model way down to reasonable levels.
When I came back with all this information, my SO hit the ceiling. He scolded me for even thinking about spending so much money when I am soon to be unemployed. It was not a fun discussion and we both came away from it feeling resentful. Also, contrite and uneasy with each other for a few days.
The following Friday, we made a trip into Victoria for a birthday gift for his brother, who was turning 50 the next day. I didn't realize my SO had other things in mind, too. He stopped at an RV place where he had previous dealings and we looked at a used 5th wheel. The price was about the same as the new park model, but I didn't think the 5th wheel was anywhere near as spacious. The people said that they would take the Salem on consignment, also not as good as the deal the Corpus Christi RV dealer had offered. On consignment, we might get more for the Salem, but it would not be instant and we would not get the break on the purchase price of the 5th wheel.
We drove on down a few blocks to a mobile home dealer. They had a very small cabin-style mobile home sitting out front. We asked to look at it. The price was in the same range as the 5th wheel and the park model, but this thing was tiny. A queen size bed would not have fit in the single bedroom. The saleslady then took us to their back lot where they had a lot of government issue FEMA mobile homes that have never been lived in and are in the process of being fitted out for sale to the general public.
Several months ago we watched a piece on television about the 3,000 FEMA mobile homes sitting in storage on a lot in Hope, Arkansas. These trailers had been purchased for Hurricane Katrina victims and then never delivered for one reason or another. The one we looked at was plain, adequate kitchen space, linoleum floors, a single, though large, bathroom, three smallish bedrooms, nice size laundry area, and roomy front room. It was 14 by 60 feet with central heat and air, and was only $4000 more than the tiny cabin model they had displayed out in front of their office. The price included delivery and set-up. Fourteen by sixty seemed like a mansion to me after living in the Salem for two weeks. We have enough furniture in storage and in the basement here to practically furnish the entire thing. Would have to buy some living room stuff, but that is basically IT. We agreed to think about this, wait and see what happens with the company I partly own in Corpus, and do the research needed to learn about how to dispose of the old, worn-out mobile home already on the land.
Oh, how life throws changes at us. And decisions that need to be made. We can only just hope we're making the rights ones and go about our business. I don't like to be having to make such big decisions at this time of my life, though. I had always imagined I would be settled someplace by now, with lots of security, writing the great American novel, no worries. I never dreamed I would have an elderly father taking up a lot of my thoughts, or contemplating the purchase of a mobile home for God's sake, or living in the mountains of northern New Mexico wondering how in the hell I'm going to afford all of this without a viable income. I guess I need to learn to roll a bit more. Flexibility has been my strong trait. But then endless worry gets you nowhere either. I have a big ugly fever blister on my mouth as a result of pointless worry.
On the upside, I've sold a few blouses this week. And the Kindle sales on The Passion of Dellie O'Barr are surprisingly good. So all is not doom and gloom. We have a party at the Lodge this Saturday to look forward to, and lunch today with some friends in LV. My SO's granddaughter is coming to stay with us in May, and we are bringing my grandson back with us after the next Texas trip in June. I guess my SO is right when he says that things have a way of working themselves out. I just need to settle down and see what happens next. And be happy, as the silly old song goes.
Onward .....
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