Gratitude

This past week was one of the worst I've had since my life fell apart the first week in June. Thursday night I cried so hard I shook; I sobbed so much I couldn't breathe; I screamed so loud I strained my vocal chords, beating the nearest pillow trying to purge the rage inside me against the man who defecated our beautiful marriage.

Afterward, I felt drained, so exhausted I barely had enough strength to lift a pen to journal that evening before bed. The next day, I felt better and tonight, some wonderful friends reminded me of how much I have to be grateful for. I'll need eternity to give praise for all I've been given but my top three are as follows:

• Life - it's only by God's grace that I am still on this earth
• Tragedy - it's in the darkest times that I look for the Light
• Family and friends - those who lift my head when I haven't strength to do it alone

I was also reminded today how the One I adore has gifted me with the ability to listen to classical music, feel the warmth of a blazing fire and find hidden treasures amidst the discarded (the classic pictured above was a find in a yard sale this morning from a man who, like myself, is a literature lover but, no longer has the room to house his prized possessions - now, I get to benefit from them).

Remember to be grateful for the blessings you have; you will find them bountiful when you seek them.

Happy Thanksgiving!
RJ

Stoking the Flames

I love fire - the way it pops and crackles, sizzles and whistles, with a blowing sound like wind through freshly cleaned laundry. The dancing flames mesmerize me even as they warm my cheeks, hands and knees.

Fires were always my favorite part of camping and bring back many fond memories of trips my husband and I used to take. Fire also reminds me of bonfires we went to and the wood burning fireplace at our honeymoon cabin in the Smoky Mountains. That smoky smell of burnt cedar which permeates clothes and hair is one I hate washing out.

I've always been a pyromaniac but have never been able to build a roaring fire of my own until tonight (above). I kept it going for three wonderful hours. It gave me time to think about the hundreds of pictures I'd gone through earlier in the day for the first time since I learned of my husband's infidelity. Surprisingly, I wasn't overcome with grief. Instead, only a thin veil of sadness lightly covered the overall joy I felt in looking back over 11 years of beautiful memories and I thought, even if he was able to let his go up in smoke, I will never cast mine upon the flames.

May your days ahead burn brightly,

RJ

Authors and Editors and Agents! Oh, My!

This past weekend, I attended the South Carolina Writer's Workshop conference in Myrtle Beach. What an experience!

Friday morning I learned about memoir writing from Jackie K. Cooper, author of five memoirs. That afternoon, I went to a social networking class taught by Janet Reid, an agent with FinePrint Literary Management in New York City. Janet has a hilarious sense of humor and entertained us all, especially on two occasions when she accidentally replaced the term 'social' in Social Networking with a word generally reserved for intimate relations between a man and a woman. Who knew a New York agent could turn so red?

It was interesting to encounter Janet's more laid back personality and then contrast it with the intense agents that taught two of the Saturday classes I attended. One in particular I found especially intimidating but I still attempted to try to form some type of bond with him that night when standing in line at dinner in hopes of getting all the contacts I could.

Before going to stand in line, I thought I overheard him complaining to the agent next to me about a woman at his table who had been pestering him all day. While we were waiting in line, I leaned over and confidentially asked him, "Do you have a stalker?"

"No," he replied, looking at me oddly. "Do you?"

I laughed and attempted to clarify why I had brought it up but by that time he had already taken a giant two foot step back. He avoided eye contact with me the rest of the way down the buffet and pretended not to hear me any time I tried to talk to him again. He shall remain nameless lest he stumble across this and still think I'm trying to be his stalker.

I have a great deal more I'd like to write but Janet said to keep blog posts to a max of 250 words. Since I'm already over that, the rest will have to wait. For any writers looking for tidbits, please ask away and I'll share as much as I can next time.

Until then!
RJ

Authenticity

As a little girl, I adored my dad. I used to wear my sparkly "Daddy's Girl" t-shirt everywhere. When my parents divorced though, I held my dad completely responsible. For years, I was horribly cruel to him though it was very seldom outright. I was shamelessly passive aggressive - taking cheap shots, keeping him at a distance, and putting everyone else above him.

Several years ago, we had an awful blowout, one that had been building for over a decade. I said some terrible things I wish I could take back, and not for the first time. I remember screaming at him at one point: "Why do you even bother with me?"

"Because I love you!" he yelled back.

Unlike many fathers, my dad has always been good about telling me that he loves me but it was only then when he was able to say it in the heat of our worst fight ever, at a time when I was being brutally mean to him, that I truly understood how very much he meant it and had always meant it.

Our relationship improved greatly after that as I started to see my dad in a new light. I was so afraid of losing that relationship again though that I started trying to do things to impress him, talk only about topics I knew he was interested in, and say only what I thought he wanted to hear.

Part of recovering from the shock of my husband's string of affairs has been learning to love myself enough to be who I really am despite how others might react. Tonight, when my dad asked me a philosophical question, I began responding by giving him the answer I thought would most impress him. I could feel genuineness draining from me the more I talked though so I finally stopped, backed up and told him what I really thought. Not only did I feel better after doing so but he then told me of his experiences recently starting telling people what he really thinks about certain topics. He said he has been pleasantly surprised to find that, while some people were turned off by his views, many more actually liked him better for his honesty.

One of the lessons I learned early in my recovery was that people cared more for and opened up more to me when I admitted my flaws rather than pretending to be perfect. It was one of the most freeing experiences of my life but somehow, ever so subtly, I've slowly begun to sink back into the belief that I am only loved when I am what I think others want me to be. What a blessing to have a dad who affirms that I'm loved best when I'm simply me.

Until next time,
RJ