Honor, remembrance, and how time flies. . .

(me, left on the windowsill, my sister, right)
The day my dad returned from
Viet Nam (Mash Unit Chu Lai, '66 -'67)

Yesterday --

two weeks after Hurricane Sandy raged through here flooding, destroying, changing the landscape of New York/New Jersey/Connecticut forever

(not to mention knocking out our power for 11 cold and difficult days)

-- I spent a "normal" day in the city with my parents, my sister and her girlfriend (who is like a sister to me now).

It was an invigorating, special, throwback day to my childhood/teens/twenties.

Two plays (one really stellar one)and a delicious dinner, all the treat of my parents.



The occasion, my sister's 50th birthday.

The last time she was taller than I am . . .

I can read that over and over again, but still, it remains unfathomable.

My sister is fifty, and soon, I will follow.



. . . and, us, horsing around recently
in my father's gardens. . .

Beyond that, my older son is 17, and next year at this time, he will be long gone to college.

My dad with me at my birthday, last July.

My father, ever strong and youthful, turns 75 this March.

To see him, you would not believe it.

But there it is. 75.

It is Veteran's day, a day that always makes me want to honor, yes, all veterans, but especially my dad. But, for a writer, I am, once again, at a loss for truly meaningful words.

Nothing I write here will ever come close to explaining the strong but gentle, capable, loving, generous man he is.

Nothing.

There is no father who ever loved his daughters more, protected them better, was more loyal and true to his family.

We are so lucky that he returned from a year of hell in a MASH unit in Viet Nam to raise us.

He is anti-war.

He is a Veteran for Peace,

and yet it's hard to imagine him without that year that so much changed and shaped him.

Time flies.

Damn, how it flies.

I honor this man in his uniform,
in his hospital scrubs,
in his jumpsuits,
and leather pants,
in his (leather) speedo bathingsuit who taught me how to dive and swim.

This man who came to every single recital, every competition, every play, every honor and celebration that mattered in my life.

This man who stood over the dining room table admiring, as my sister and I made endless arts and crafts.

This man, who put other people's children through college when they could not.

This man who fixed badly crushed and broken bones with hands gentle enough to heal flowers, with the patience and skill that embodied Premum Non Nocere,

this man who has always known there is No Free Lunch, yet always offers one.

This man that can find my sister and me in a crowd,

in a dark room,

in a snowstorm,

in a hurricane,

in distress.

This man, who always kept us safe and warm,

and still does.

My dad is truly the closest person I've ever met to invincible.

And so he will always remain.


- gae

p.s. thank you to all the Veterans who have so bravely served our country. May there be no more wars. . . and only peace and love.

Friday Feedback: Our Inner Crazy Lady (or Dude) & a Pulse-Pounding Excerpt

Sarah and me with one huggable Paul Hankins who snuck in -
okay, maybe not snuck - last spring. :)

Hello, all my Teachers Write! (and other lurky?) lovelies!

It's FRIDAY FEEDBACK, and you know what that means?! (If you don't, go HERE).


Today, I'm lucky to have Sarah Darer Littman*

("Want To Go Private?") with me for two (well really, a dozen) reasons.

First, I love and adore her, and second (omg, omg!) she did ALL the hard blog post work for me today!


Especially, with our Teachers Write! Virtual Progress Pool Party Chat & Read Aloud all day tomorrow (are you signed up?!**), and my Frankie revisions due date looming just around the summery corner, I am so grateful for that.

Speaking of which, you won't likely see me back here in the comments until Saturday or even Sunday. . .

that looks about right. . . grrr.

(having a little birthday party for myself on Saturday . . . ;) but I'm sure Sarah will hold down the fort, though not until midday as she has a political column due! #busybusyJuly!

So, without further ado (though maybe with some minor chiming in by me -- hey, it's my blog, you know the drill), HEEEEERE's Sarah!

(er, that is a Johnny Carson intro, not a Shining One!):


Hello Teachers Write Campers! I hope you are enjoying your summer and writing, writing, writing!

I should probably say something profound and inspirational, but I'm a Jewish mother, so first I'm going to nag you and kvetch about my health a little. Campers, make sure you are writing in an ergonomic position. I have learned about this the hard way. Two years ago I had to have surgery for tennis elbow that was triggered by tennis but aggravated by laptop work in a non-ergonomic position. These days I'm dealing with a really delightful combo of tendonitis and the beginning of carpal tunnel. So take it from Mama Littman (as I'm known amongst my daughter's friends): Look after your health while you write. Otherwise you end up taking pills for inflammation that upset your stomach and then you can't drink ICED COFFEE, the Heaven sent nectar of the writer. This is not good. Take it from me.


My friend Irene posted this cartoon on my Facebook recently and asked me if it was true for me:

I told her I can go through all of those emotions several times in the course of a day. That's why I've become a firm believer in Anne Lamott's concept of a "shitty first draft", as elaborated in BIRD BY BIRD - one of the best books on writing. I try to write my first drafts as fast as possible, to try and trick my inner crazy lady. On the days when I feel like what I've written is total drek, I just repeat: "It's just a first draft. Revision is where the magic happens."

(me: hah! Inner Crazy Lady! I think I house a couple of those! In fact, anyone watching me on my private [stupid, ridiculous, inane] private facebook page this month would have seen these highs & lows of "I'm brilliant!"/"I suck!" played out in my status updates right before their very eyes!)


With that in mind, I give you the opening of a WIP that had a title but now doesn't. The previous title made my agent think of a bodice ripper. She had a point.

(me: it's not a boddice ripper, but it is a pulse pounder! Thanks for sharing, Sarah!)

The Humvee speeds down the road, creating a wake of dust. My mother is inside, grey eyes alert, watching for danger. The knuckles clutching her medic bag are white, but she's ready to jump out the minute the vehicle stops to do her job; to tend to the injured, to try to save lives. It's her mission. It's what she was trained to do. But I know what's hidden up ahead. I try calling out to warn her, to warn the driver to stop, slam on the brakes, to turn back, change course.

My lips move but nothing comes out. I'm shouting but nobody hears me. The Humvee keeps speeding towards the hidden IED. My blood is racing; my heart feels like it's going to break through my rib cage. I try screaming but it's as if someone has reached into my throat and torn out my vocal chords, leaving me helpless to save them. My mouth is still open, rounded in a pained, soundless scream when the weight of the Humvee triggers the IED in a fiery explosion. Metal, glass, and body parts go flying.They're dead, and it's all my fault.

I'm woken up by the sound of my own sobbing, the pillowcase soaked with tears. It's three twenty-three, according to the alarm clock.  Mid morning in Iraq. Mom could be out on a mission. What if it's not a dream? What if she's really going down the road in a Hummer toward danger, and I could have saved her, somehow?

Stop it, Madison!

I stare up into the darkness, taking deep breaths, willing my heart to slow its frantic cadence.

It’s just a dream. She’s safe.

The words are my mantra, the charm I use to dispel the hazy remnants of the same dream I've been having every few weeks since my mother deployed ten months ago.


- Sarah (& gae)

*p.s. for more about Sarah, find her on facebook and twitter @sarahdarerlitt!

** If you're not signed up, it may not be too late for you to pop in for a session. Follow me on Spreecast and go to the fb events page and I'll let you in!

Open Water (Birthday) Blues

It's my birthday. *stares at it*

At this age, I'm not sure what to do with birthdays anymore. I want to believe they're just an artificial marker and that I'm no older today than I was yesterday.

Then my hip or knee or back (or dear friends ;)) will remind me that I am. Older than I was before.

Age is such a weird thing. I often feel old, sometimes I feel so young, and sometimes I feel totally ageless. In the water, I always feel ageless.

What I do know is time passes too fast. . .

Way, way, way too fast.

At any rate, it's my birthday. Like it or not. So, I'm trying to give it the respect it deserves. So far, I took my kids to a midnight show of Captain America. We ate

Holden and me in 3D :)

candy and donned 3D glasses. It ended at 2:20 am. I was exhausted. But, we were a family doing a family thing which is really as good as it gets.    

In a few hours, I have a mediation (my "paid" work) then after that, I'm meeting up with some friends from my "Pod" and going for an open water swim. Those of you who know me, know how I feel about this: my family, the love of my friends, and the open water are all I need. They save me on a daily basis. And, the blue water, for me, is nothing short of bliss.

At any rate, if you want to give me a birthday present, I'd really love and appreciate it if you'd order a copy of my book, The Pull of Gravity, or take it out from your local library, or recommend it to a friend. If you've read it and liked it, please post a review on Amazon because it actually boosts sales and, in this book economy, we could all use a bit of that.

It's been a crazy year with many ups and a few downs, but all in all, 46 has been good to me. And, it wouldn't be the same without you.
xo,

Gae