Category Archives: Thanksgiving

Santa Fe Sabbatical

Just returned recently from a group tour to Santa Fe–my first time in New Mexico. Got a long of “flavor” for my western novels and picked up ideas for future stories. Also learned a lot about the diverse and blended cultures that have thrived there for literally hundreds of years–not without turmoil, of course, but then that’s life.
Following the tour I spent four days in the rustic and wonderful apartment offered by the Santa Fe Quaker Meetinghouse. My original intent was to plan for the future of my writing career. What actually happened was an awakening to my life overall.

It began my first night there. The place has no TV (understandable) and I could not for the life of me figure out the radio part of the clock/radio. The street outside my window basically rolled up somewhere around eight and talk about SILENT retreat–I had it in spades. And even though I am a TV/movie/live theater junkie and one who needs activity of some kind, I decided I could do this–at least for one night. (My plan was to go out the following day and buy a small radio at a secondhand shop.) I settled in with a book–lost interest, and replaced that with an exploration of the small kitchen in the place (45 seconds tops), wandered out to the lovely garden behind the meeting house (but it was dark and I was afraid of raising some kind of alarm). By eight-thirty I was in bed where I lay awake thinking about L and whether or not he would like the place and wishing he were there with me and…

I slipped so easily into the mold I had created for myself–the one that says “Nobody cares/understands how lonely this journey is” and “Why didn’t “x” include me when they made plans to see that play?” and “I know my family loves me but would it kill them to pick up the phone now and again instead of me always being the one to reach out?” By that time I had worked myself up to full blown self-pity–tears and all. I wept and sobbed and cried out in the solitude and darkness. “I MISS YOU SO MUCH!”

As calm settled in–one can only rant and wallow for so long–I did what I always do. I asked myself what I planned to do about this misery that promised to keep pulling me under. And I thought of how many times L (not to mention my shrink) had reminded me that the only person whose actions and attitude I can change is ME. Then I found myself thinking about times L and I had traveled and the joy we had shared. And I could practically hear him reminding me that we had decades of a story worthy of putting up on the big screen, while so many others never know even a day of such devotion and laughter and love.

Sometime in there I fell asleep and when I woke the next morning, I felt noticeably different. I felt so blessed to have had the life L and I shared and I felt so blessed to still have the friends we shared all those years. I know they are there for me. I know they care. And so what if they don’t “care” in the exact way I want them to? What if they had all gone away once L died? What right did I–who have had so much–have to want more? Of course, I have no idea how long this epiphany will last. I know there will be rough times ahead, but–as Oprah would say, here’s what I know for sure: I have been blessed with a life filled with adventure and interesting caring people and work that I has given me financial and personal rewards and a love that still sustains me every hour of every day. How hard can it be to reach out to others instead of waiting for them to come to me? And the interesting thing is, once I got home and did make those calls and extend those (sometimes impromptu) invitations, people said “yes”–not only that they seemed genuinely delighted that I had called them.

I will no doubt fall into that old way of thinking more times than I want to imagine, but I know the path out of it now. Oh, and the following morning when I was looking for a piece of notepaper, I found the instructions for operating the radio. Over the remainder of my nights alone in the meeting house apartment, I wrote two short short stories, made sketches of things I had seen in Santa Fe, sang along to the music on the radio and boarded the plane for home refreshed and at peace. I was me again–and I knew L was smiling.

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Turkey Day

The other day I had coffee with a couple of friends. This is something we do about once a week or so. Sometimes when I go for these meetings I approach it as simply something on my schedule for the day. The truth is that I am jealous of my friends–that they still have life partners and they have children and grandchildren and they approach the coming holidays with plans for large family gatherings and a reason to fix a Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings.  The truth is I miss that and although I get invited to more than one turkey dinner each year it’s not the same…it can never again be the same.

Oh, there is much I can replicate–I can make the dinner with all the trimmings and I can usually find someone to share it with but without L teasing me about my need to make sure the TV is tuned to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade and my insistence that ‘that’ Santa is the real deal–without L to pass by the kitchen and praise the delicious smells coming from there– without L sitting beside me or across the table (even when someone else hosts the meal) giving me that smile and our special secret signal to say ‘I love you’ it is not and cannot be the same.

And the truth is that I am so very tired of realizing that, of knowing that I must find new ways and build new memories. And so my days come in three flavors: lousy, doing-the-best-I-can; and thankfully mostly ‘okay.’ And then when I walked out of that coffee meeting with my friends I felt something I so rarely feel: I felt good. I felt happy. I felt at peace with myself in this new world. Our meeting was nothing out of the ordinary–we discussed films and plays and books we’re reading. We solved most of the world’s problems. We laughed and shook our heads at the silly pettiness of much that goes on in politics.  But there was something there because later when I mentioned it to my friends they had felt it as well.

So here’s what I’m thinking: I’m thinking there was a 4th person at that coffee and it was L reminding me that (as he so often said in life) “It is what it is” and opening my heart to the incredible gift of friends who care, share and are there.