Today is my first grandchild's first birthday. I'm torn between joy, and utter devastation.

You see, my son sent me a couple of videos this week, of my grandson walking. Last I saw my grand baby, he was still trying to find his center, stay balanced without the aid of furniture, someone's hand, or his wheeled push-toy. Now he's toddling the length of my son and DIL's home. Cue laughter. And tears.

My grandson's gone from Surprise, we're pregnant! to a fully actualized little person complete with a life-size personality.

When he's happy, he grins. When he sees something he wants, or that captivates him, he extends his hand, palm up, and "whoos". He loves trees; and anything with wheels, especially if he can push it. Blueberries, raspberries, yogurt, bath time, and the family dog also get high marks. He's less enthusiastic about bedtime and diaper changes. And when he's mad, well, he's mad. There is no doubt in my mind, he is his father's son.

My eldest, too, loved anything with wheels. He still does. His smile lights up a room. And his temper is equal only to... mine. And his father's. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Ask my  mom, who got it from her father. It's a family thing.

That is what devastates me. And buoys me.

I hope to be around to welcome my grandson's firstborn and give thanks for the opportunity to hold the future. There are no guarantees, of course, which is why I intend to make the most of what time I do have with my grandson, and all those I love, for as long as that may be. And when friends, school, sports, and building a life eventually dominates my grandson's time I'll be content to watch from the sidelines, safe in the knowledge that he is weaving new and colorful threads into the ever changing, slightly frayed, and always precious tapestry that is our family.

Happy 1st Birthday, Little One. Grandma loves you.

In youth we learn; in age we understand. ~Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach

Little Man

I held my firstborn grandchild for the first time this week. It was surreal. Looking into his face, I saw my firstborn son, and I was once more an over-joyed--and terrified--new mother.

Tiny fingers. Tiny toes. Tiny, but strong nose and chin hinting at the strong-willed, and capable man he would become. Silky smooth skin so delicate. Bright, intense stare. Little puckered brow. So serious, little man.

That was what I called him, my firstborn: Little Man. And it is what I overhear my son and daughter-in-law calling their son. Little Man. And he is exactly that. A little Man.

I was always keenly aware of my role. Even when my son was six-weeks old and I found myself sobbing, convinced I could not do another eighteen years of "this", a part of me understood that I was his mother, his caregiver, his guide. Not his owner. And he was then, as he is now, his own man. A little person entrusted to me to teach right from wrong and good from bad. To feed, to shelter, to love, and protect. To educate and discipline. And it overwhelmed. That was what "this" was.

This was the trauma of not knowing. Not knowing if what I was doing was right. Not knowing if he was hungry, or wet, or had gas, was too hot, too cold, or was simply lonely. Was it safe to let him sleep on his back? Front? Disposable or washable? Spatula-shaped soother? Nipple-shaped? None at all? What if I make a mistake and screw him up for life?

My grandson, Daxon.
Photo copyright 2016, Deborah Anderson

The fear was real, and questions racing around in my head as varied and numerous as the opinions proffered by those with experience.

Lay him on his belly. Prop him on his side. Don't pick him up when he cries. Pick him up and pack him around every chance you get. Keep him in your room. Put him in his own room. Night light. No night light. Nurse him in bed. Never take him into your bed...

No wonder I was wreck. But somehow, I muddled through. And learned to listen to my heart.

Over twenty-eight years later, as I watch my son and daughter-in-law manage their two-week-old son  with the calm efficiency I felt I lacked as a new parent, I cannot be more proud.

Yes, they're tired. Yes, they're uncertain about some things. But they are confident in ways with my grandson that I was not with his father, and it buoys my heart.

They are good parents. They will be good parents. And my grandson will one day be a good man, just like his father. And grandfathers.

Deborah

If you would have your son to walk honourably through the world, you must not attempt to clear the stones from his path, but teach him to walk firmly over them -- not insist upon leading him by the hand, but let him learn to go alone. ~ ANNE BRONTË, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

Summer Tidings

Summer is my favorite season. The hotter the better. While my dear hubs grumbles and lumbers around like a polar bear meandering the Sahara in search of water and shade, I bask like a lizard in the glow of 90+ degrees. I would make a good Tropical transplant. Hubs, not so much.

This summer is one of the best so far of the last few years. 2011 was work/health-related drama and trauma; 2012 ushered in total life-style turmoil as we faced a big move for work. 2013 was a mixed bag of emotions as our house lingered on a flat real-estate market, a glitch in our move plans that enabled us to help with Daughter's wedding; and trust me, it's easier to plan/organize/and assist with a wedding when you live in the same town, than it is when you're 400 miles away (as I'm learning this year). 2014 proved insane as the house finally sold and we ended up homeless for two months. Summer 2015, however, is proving to be the summer that makes up for it all.

Youngest graduated in June. Sister hosted the fantastic family BBQ held to celebrate said youngest's accomplishment (who am I trying to fool? It was a party for Hubs and I to recognize OUR achievement in seeing four children through a combined 52 years of schooling. Go us!), and soon our family will come together again to celebrate mine and Hub's 20th wedding anniversary. And that's only a small part of the delight this summer brings.

Also on the agenda:

Bridal shower and Stag for soon-to-be-Daughter-in-Law and Son respectively
A 50th Birthday celebration for friends
Trip to Softball City to cheer on cousin's daughter who's playing in Western Canadian Fastpitch Championship
Helping Daughter move back to BC
Helping Mother move closer to me (after four years she finally SOLD!)
and
A San Diego trip with friends.

To say I'm excited, is to say Donald Trump likes to express his opinion. It's a stellar summer so far, and will only get better. Surprisingly, with all the big events to attend/plan/organize, I am writing. More than ever. And loving it. Busy is, as busy does. Speaking of busy...

Have to run. Son's lacrosse game starts in twenty minutes.

The white light streams down to be broken up by those human prisms into all the colors of the rainbow. Take your own color in the pattern and be just that. ~Charles R. Brown

Celebrate the Small Things Friday

Another great week and wonderful things to celebrate…

 

1)      I am half-way through the initial review pass of ALL THAT MATTERS, and I cried too many times to count; I even had to walk away from the edits because I was so emotional. This is definitely worth celebrating. It's also kind of surreal.

2)      I bought three new novels last week, and started reading the first, THE MARRYING SEASON by Candace Camp, a delightful—so far—read. Up next are Stuart Woods's STRATEGIC MOVES, and Dan Brown's INFERNO.

3)      I already received two RSVPs for daughter's bridal shower.

4)      I had another showing last week, as did my mother (we both have our homes listed for sale); no offers yet, though the feedback was positive.

5)      Sons' third-term report cards arrived—both boys have As and Bs.

6)      I learned how to "optimize" Search Engines by adding a plug-in to my new website and adding keywords to help make it easier to "find" on the web.

7)      Daughter and soon-to-be son-in-law popped in for surprise visit.

8)      Daughter starts her new job Monday!

9)      Eldest got to go shopping for a new fridge this week after his old fridge expired (always look for the silver-lining!).

10)  Had a good phone chat with an out-of-town friend (who will be an in-town friend once I get moved!)

11)  Enjoyed a coffee date with a current in-town friend.

12)  Everyone I know is safe and their homes intact. My prayers to the people of Oklahoma.

13)  Youngest child's visits to Chiropractor seem to have helped.

14)  Received information on an employment contract I'm considering.

15)  The last load of laundry is in the washer.

16)  Oh, and the sun shone today, after a two-day deluge.

I truly appreciate this Celebrate the Small Things Friday routine. It's an inspiring way to end a week—by reviewing and recounting the good things, no matter how small, instead of rueing the bad. If you're a blogger and interested in participating, check out VikLit's blog. If you're a reader, you can play along at home—all you need is a notepad and pen. J And if you're of a mind, please share in the comments what you're celebrating this week.

Take care and stay safe,

Deborah

Stop worrying about the potholes in the road and celebrate the journey! ~Barbara Hoffman

If it's Friday, it must be time to Celebrate The Small Things!

I joined Celebrate the Small Things Friday blog hop a while ago. The inspiration of Viklit over at Scribblings of an Aspiring Author. And great inspiration it is!

I have much to celebrate this week. On Monday, I finished the second-pass polish edits on my novel, Everything That Matters, and on Wednesday I sent it to a second Beta reader. And yesterday, I started building my website. I'm only so far as choosing a Word Press theme and creating two pages--the first page and the author bio page.

Building a website is not so easy as the "one click" advertisement. There's a lot that goes into a website...style, content, pictures. But I'm learning, and actually enjoying the process. Now If I can figure out how to link this blog to my website...or maybe I'll have to import the content to the website? I know not. Yet. But I will. Soon. And that's another thing to celebrate...persistence!

My mother will confirm, I have it (persistence) in spades, the ability to keep at a problem--like why can't I buy my own car?--until I succeed (thanks, Mom! (and dad, whose comment, "You can stop her buying a car but you can't stop her growing up (or some variation thereof--it's been a few years. Okay, thirty))), and though at times my bull-headed refusal to give up on some things has caused me, and maybe others, more than a little grief, it has also served me well.

I never give up on my kids. Ever. Even when they want me to.
I've never given up on writing, even when I wanted to.
I don't quit friends, though some have quit me.
I stick with healthy eating, and exercise, even when I'd rather not (which is almost daily).
I insist on working to keep my house clean, even when history (and long-haired cats and negligent teenagers) has proven it a pipe dream to achieve beyond the amount of time it takes me to let aforementioned critters loose in the house again.
And I continue to blog not knowing if anyone reads. (Hello? *waves*)

Other delightful things I'm celebrating this week:

Hubby's home.
Daughter landed an awesome job.
I wrestled Word and my printer into submission to create custom Bridal Shower Invitations (for said daughter who's getting married this year! *gulp*)
The sun is shining, and has shone all week, with temperatures more understandable in late July than early May--not that I'm complaining, because I'm definitely not.
#3 child and I helped my mom with her lawn and weed-whacking.
I bought chocolate. And red wine. And tonight I'll indulge in both with sister who's coming over to help stuff and address Shower invites for mailing.

What about you? What is one quality you possess that some might attach a negative connotation (stubborn vs. persistent) that has served you well? And, what are you celebrating this week?

Please share in the comments. I love to learn what bright spots are lighting people's lives.

Take care!

Deborah

The happiest excitement in life is to be convinced that one is fighting for all one is worth on behalf of some clearly seen and deeply felt good. ~ Ruth Benedict

Did it!

I finished the edits on Everything That Matters (working title). At least I believe so.

I still have to print off another hard copy and review, ensure I did not miss any nits found by my daughter, or miss--or double-up-on--chapter numbers, headings, etc., but as far as the heavy work goes (as in, rewriting the majority of the first two-thirds of the book) I'm done. And I owe it all to my daughter, and the A to Z Challenge.

My daughter--who is a tough critic, known for tossing novels with misspellings or implausible storylines--actually like this version. She's read other versions. She did not like those versions. But this one...this one she said dragged her in and held her, all the way to the end. That is a much bigger achievement than you might believe. My daughter is smart, well read, and not afraid of The Truth, which is why I asked her to read it. I knew she wouldn't blow daisies up my...

Daughter's "thumbs up", and tackling the challenge, gave me the confidence, impetus, and consistency I needed to work through distractions and insecurities to The End. I even forwent the Canucks game tonight--first game of the first round of playoffs--to finish the edits, not that I have anything to regret. The Canucks lost. And I won. *happy dance*

Of course, I have no idea what the future holds for my novel, or for me, and that's okay. All that matters is I keep moving forward, one hip-gyrating dance-step at a time!

How about you? What are you celebrating today, or this week? Who do you have in your corner, willing to toss darts, or confetti, as necessary? Please share. I have extra confetti, and the darts are safely stored away.




Deborah

Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much ~Helen Keller

Y is for Yippee! and You

Second to last day of the A to Z Challenge, and I am almost all lettered out. And totally chuffed.

I decided to sign up for A to Z to challenge myself—no, to prove to myself, that I was better. Healed. Well enough to pick up the stiff, dry and cracked reins of my authorial dreams, get back in the saddle, and regain my balance, rebuild the strength and suppleness of mind and creativity atrophied after a couple of painful years, literally and figuratively. And Yippee! I am.

This is my twenty-fifth post for the month of April. Tomorrow will be the last post of this challenge, but not the last post of this blog. More importantly, I have proven to myself that I am able, I am capable, and I can find the time/space necessary to write, even if it's only a 500-word blog post. Now it's time to take off the kid-gloves and get busy polishing my MS for the editors that requested it.

I hope said editors forgive me delaying submission; I needed to ensure I was physically capable of managing time and writing requirements should I receive a positive response to my manuscript. No sense applying for a job I am physically incapable of performing, and these opportunities are too precious to squander (haste, often makes waste). So, it is with a light heart that I look forward to May, and another Yippee! when I have a shiny MS to submit. There is only one other stop my MS needs to make before it goes to the editors…you.

Yes. You, aka Beta Reader. Someone who loves to read, in particular romance, and is willing to read and offer constructive criticism, i.e. "Your heroine started out strong in the first chapter, but by chapter three she devolved in a sobbing patsy, see pg () and her reaction to []." Or, "I just can't buy into the hero. He's too nice/nasty/geeky/vague/cliché/standoffish. For example…" Or, "Your heroine's father has multiple personalities; he went by George in the second chapter, Gary in the eighth, and Rufus in the final chapter. ;)", or, "You seriously need to work on homonyms, she prayed for peace, not piece!" (Okay, maybe not _that_ critical. Writers are tender-hearted folks; a simple highlighting of misspelled or grammatically incorrect words will do. J).

So, if you're interested in reading the finished manuscript and providing feedback on the story, characters, spelling/grammar, etc., and can do so in a timely manner (two-to-three-week turn-a-round would be great), please email me (forgive the long form address (but not the spammers that make it necessary)):

debaanderson at gmail dot com

Thank you.

Deborah

The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheaply, we esteem too lightly; 'tis dearness only that gives everything its value. ~Thomas Paine

 

U is for Unicorns

Wow. I can't believe I'm already at letter U in the A to Z Challenge. And I am so grateful to have made it thus far, especially given the last year (or two) (which I will not recap here, focused as I am on what I can make of the present, and future, rather than rehashing the past, but if you're unaware and are curious, you can learn more here). Now on to something delightful—and yes, easy and predictable given the letter—Unicorns! (Or pictures thereof).

(Has anyone really ever seen, let alone photographed an Unicorn? *wink*).

                                                    

 Deborah

It seems to me we can never give up longing and wishing while we are alive. There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we must hunger for them. ~George Eliot.

 

 

 

J is for James Lee Burke

Today's A to Z Challenge letter is J, and today's topic, James Lee Burke.

By far, one of my most revered authors is James Lee Burke. His talent is unmatched. His novels poetic. His characters memorable.

I don't recall how I stumbled upon his work, I am only glad I did. If you've not read his work, please do. I promise; you will not be disappointed.

Here's a brief excerpt from his biography found on his webpage:

Before becoming a full-time novelist, Burke earned a MA and a BA in English, and "worked as a landman for Sinclair Oil Company, pipeliner, land surveyor, newspaper reporter, college English professor, social worker on Skid Row in Los Angeles, clerk for the Louisiana Employment Service, and instructor in the U. S. Job Corps."

A remarkable writer, hard-working man, and a fabulous role-model.

D.

The most important single influence in the life of a person is another person…who is worthy of emulation. ~Paul D. Shafer

 

G is for Gratitude

A to Z Challenge day 7. Letter G.

I received a phone call today. The caller asked if everything was okay; I was behind two letters. And in that call, the essence of this post: Gratitude.

The A to Z Challenge allows for one day off--Sundays--so I am not a day behind, and today's letter is G, however, that call, the fact that _someone_ (okay, my mother) noticed I had not posted yesterday, filled me with the warm tingle of gratitude. If only one person reads my posts, I have reason to be grateful. I have an audience. Ask any busker: an audience of one, is better than none.

Sometimes gratitude is a hard emotion to summon. Last year when I languished on my sofa with severe rotator-cuff tendinitis, I struggled. I focused on what I couldn't do, rather than what I could, and it started to take its toll. So I forced myself to redirect.

Every day I celebrated small things, like being able to lift the kettle even if it took two hands, or wash my hair, even though I had to bend over to get my hands to my scalp. Eventually those little things snowballed into bigger things, and I could carry my purse, and finally drive myself to town. And then to the next town. And as I attained each new goal, I gave thanks. And each time I gave thanks, I felt better. As I felt better, I regained strength and enjoyed less pain.

I believe in the mind/body connection, and I believe persistent stress, and/or pervasive negative thinking poison a body, and in time, a soul. So, as I face new challenges this year, I am reminding myself to embrace gratitude, daily.

Today, I am grateful for many things, one of which, is you.

Thank you for reading. I really do appreciate it.

D.

I'm in a wonderful position; I'm unknown, I'm underrated, and there's nowhere to go but up. ~Pierre S. DuPont IV

E = Electronics!

Not only is today A to Z Challenge's day 5, or the blog theme Letter E, but it's Celebrate the Small Things Friday! And I could not be more grateful for today's E word:

ELECTRONICS!

Yes. Thomas Alva Edison's genius invention has morphed from the awe-inspiring light bulb, to the brilliantly conceived smart phone, and all electronic gadgets in between. A special few make my must-have list and today I celebrate them.

First up:

 

Yes. A light switch; conveniently linked to a circuitous system that not only sparks Edison's original and most-enduring invention, but loops through the house, out the circuit box, through the meter to the kVa lines and hums a few miles to the substation powered by of many hydro dams in the area. Truly amazing how one man's creative genius that most commonly draws power from running water, lights up a whole world.  In my personal world, the quick flick of a switch is literally the difference between me stumbling around in the dark, and gliding gracefully from bedroom to bathroom to office to begin my day. But of course, before I sit down to hammer out the next chapter in my epic saga, I need a jolt of energy (note clever use of other E words J).

Enter my second honoree:

 

Oh, yes. This mama cannot live without her triple-shot espresso mocha, and bless the person that gets between her and it, 'cause they're going to need all the prayers they can get. And while caffeine is firing me up inside, my third charm is keeping my outside warm:

 

I love my caped heaped pad. Writing is a sedentary occupation. Blood tends to settle rather than surge leading to shivers—and jitters if buzzed enough on caffeine. This simple device helps keep me warm, and thus my shoulders, neck, and arms relaxed, which helps prevent muscle cramps, headaches, and digit numbness, a not uncommon problem for people who work using my fourth enchantment:

 

Yes, the ever amazing and increasingly crucial computer. How on earth did Edison ever keep his ideas and facts straight without it?

And fifth but not least on my small blessings list, my Blackberry.

 

I came late to the smart phone craze, but that in no way diminishes its power over me. Twitter, Facebook, text—the photos used to develop this blog, and illustrate this post. How on earth did I ever manage without it?

What are your small blessings, or must-haves? Please share in the comments.

D.

 We would accomplish many more things if we did not think of them as impossible. ~C. Malesherbez

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

D = Debutantes and Daughters

Day 4 of the A to Z Challenge...

The heroine of my novel, Everything That Matters, eagerly anticipates her debut. Daughter of a British earl, it is her birthright, a rite of passage she not only welcomes, but believes is crucial to her success. Unfortunately—or fortunately depending on whether you believe, as I do, that today's tragedy is sometimes tomorrow's blessing—she is exiled to America before she presents at court to curtsey before the King and Queen, the launch site of all well-bred young gels bound for the marriage market.

Forty-six years after my fictional heroine's debut dreams are dashed, and one-hundred and seventy-eight years after the original ballhosted in 1780 by King George III to raise money for a new maternity hospital named after his wife Charlotte that started the annual custom, Britain quietly ceased the very real practice of presenting eligible young women at court. In 1958, the last set of young women draped in virginal white dipped and bobbed their way past Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip on their way to dubious futures. Elitist initiations had no place in a changing world where equality was the battle cry, and women began striking out on their own sans titles and taffeta. And so the Debutante Ball died a quiet death.

Or did it?

My daughter's high school graduation had all the earmarks of a Debutant Ball—expensive, glittering gowns and high-heels, up-styled hair, fresh-faced young men in tuxes and shiny shoes, bushels of flowers, gleaming cutlery and glassware, dinner parties, backyard luncheons…a mini-wedding as my husband called it. And all to celebrate her rite of passage.

Dancing with my debutante

 

On the arm of her escort she emerged from the strobe-lit dry-ice fog on the stage to descend carpeted stairs in an arena full of mothers, fathers, extended relatives, teachers…hundreds of people turned out to witness her and her peers' transformation from student to young adult; graceful, elegant, smiling; beautiful and polite, no longer children, but a young men and women about to catapult into the world and make of it what they would. The only difference, the era; my daughter lives in a time when she is expected to make her own way, fail or succeed on her own merit, while my heroine exists in a time when her success depends on her ability to attract, and snag a good husband. And neither expectation is fair.

Marriage is not the enemy. And a career does not an independent woman make. Independence is a state of mind, not a state of being, something I've strived to ensure my daughter knows.

An unmarried career woman with a six-figure income teetering on the verge of bankruptcy because she lives beyond her means is not more independent than the married woman who manages her husband's five-figure income so well she can afford to stay at home with their children. Somewhere between the demise of the debutante and now, society lost sight of that. Worse, the state of world economies means most women do not have a choice; they work not for the brass-ring of independence, but to keep themselves, and/or their children, housed, clothed and fed. Perhaps that is why romance novels, in particular historical romance novels, are so popular.

Financial worries and relationship issues melt away when you're waltzing with a handsome duke, sailing the seas with a sexy rogue pirate, or, like the distressed debutante in my novel, trying desperately to not fall in love with a rugged cowboy.

Young or old, debutante or divorced, love is both the problem, and the answer.

 

Deborah

This time, like all times, is a very good one if we but know what to do with it. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

 

 

 

 

Be Well

Four days 'til Christmas, and I am not ready. Seriously. And I have absolutely no excuse.

Christmas comes around the same time every year. December 25th. Without fail. And still, I am not ready.

I am not alone. There are others like me. Scrambling, fretting, tense and frustrated, teeth ground to nubbins because there is so much to do, and NO TIME TO DO IT. And yet it will get done. It always does.

Presents bought and wrapped, cookies baked, and turkeys stuffed. It will be done. Eggnog poured, driveways shoveled, floors swept, and seasonal dishes brought out of storage. It will be done. Furniture dusted, extra bedding washed, toilets scrubbed, and sofas denuded of cat hair. It will be done.

It will.

Five days from now, I will stagger from my bedroom to peer through puffy eyes at the wine stains, heap of trash and recycling, half-empty (or full if you prefer) drink glasses on every horizontal surface, and layer of dry pine needles and squashed food bits littering my floor, and I will smile. Because it was done. And I had fun.

That is what I wish you my friends. Fun.

Good food, good friends, good times with family, not only four days from now, but today, and every day.

Seasons Greetings. Happy Holidays. Merry Christmas. Hanukkah. Whatever this time of years means to you, may it be a time of joy and togetherness. Be well my friends.

Be well.

Deb

Sorted out, sort of.

Twitter issues seem to be resolved. Still wondering where my fave Blog list went. I'll work on restoring that tomorrow. Today is booked for a 65th birthday celebration that we're hosting, which means domestic chores and wine rule the day.

Speaking of wine, ensure you keep an eye on Tawna Fenske's blog - She signed a three book deal with Source Books last year, and her first novel is coming out in August this year. Wine features prominently in her third book, Let It Breathe.

And if you're in a celebratory mood, pop over to Linda Grimes blog and help her celebrate her recent two-book deal with Tor. Go Linda!

And now I must go - laundry and food prep awaits. Guests are not far behind.

Deborah