So Much Joy

I've had a rough spring, for oh, so many reasons.

But it's all over. Sure I got a few more sets of papers to grade, and two more sets of final exams... but my classes are fine. Good students, people trying hard, a bunch of people who are really getting into literature. And that makes me happy, willing to grade whatever comes my way.

That's not why I'm better.

In reality, nothing has changed. Only my mindset. I'm doing what I love, and I'm making time every single day to do more of it. A friend of mine here, walking one morning with me, was listening to me telling her (during spring break), "I'm mostly done with my grading, and then I just have my writing and painting."

She corrected me, called me on the destructive word I had used: Just.

Thank God she's an artist. She understands too well how easy it is for artists to negate their abilities, to lessen what they do, to push it off into the corner because it isn't work.

But it is. It's my work. It's what I do. It's real, and tangible, a mixture of artistic ability, perception, insight, and meaning. It's hard to do. It takes practice, revision, lots and lots of work.

She made me say it: "I am a writer."

That statement has made all the difference. I'm writing now. I'm starting on one book, revising, and then I'm attacking the next one. I'm going to send one off--time after time--while I revise the next one, and the next. I have four novels, each one of them with some kernel of truth worth working on.

So I will work. And work. I can't promise to love every minute of it, but I love what I do.

I am a writer.

Happy

Not sunny skies
Not rain
Not snow
Heat
Cold
Not your personal preference
Greeting you

It's the smile
The willingness to feel
The world as it is
No matter what

Not success
Not praise
Not togetherness
Alone time
Peace

It's the balance
One feels
Being wherever one is
At that very moment

Not outside
Not the fault of others
Not determined by the day
The list
The goals

It's the mere joy
Of living
In a world brightened
Only
By the magic of one's mind.

Cruising

You remember when you could just drive around and enjoy the scenery?

That's how I feel right now--now that I have my syllabi done and all my classes prepped for the semester. I'm looking forward to all of it, too. It's going to be fun, even (except the grading).

I probably shouldn't feel this happy and upbeat. After all, I still have other tasks to do today, like taking down ten boxes worth of holiday decorations, and auditions for Oliver! are looming (why, oh why, do auditions always make me so nervous!)...

But I'm happy.

Who said happiness had anything to do with logic? I believe I'll spend the rest of the day NOT overthinking this... just going with the flow.

I will, however, be thinking about what snippet of a song I want to sing for auditions this evening. My son will be singing "Silent Night" (anything else made him too nervous), and my daughter will be singing, "Castle on a Cloud." I can't say I'm leaning in any direction, and it helps to know that the main female lead in Oliver! has a range too low for me. I just want to be part of the action.

Here's hoping your day is as full of singing as mine will be...

Wanting More?

I can't say whether it's just in the U.S., but it seems like people are compelled to buy more and more stuff in the relentless pursuit of happiness.

Shoppers are rushing back to the stores even as I write--returning gifts they don't want, then spending a ton more on gifts they DO want--as if the stuff will finally satisfy the hole they find in the pit of their stomach.

I don't believe that really works.

The hubby waxed philosophical about this yesterday, shaking his head and saying, "You know, I think I'm happy now. There's nothing out there that I don't have that would really make my life better. I'm content with everything just as it is."

He looked at me for that spousal agreement sort of thing. You know, the oh-honey-I-think-the-same-thing-in-exactly-the-same-way comment. But I realized that I wasn't content with everything just as it is.

Not because I wanted more stuff. Oh, no. I don't like stuff in general, and I'd be more content with less stuff. I'm not content, not because I want more stuff, but because I want to DO more. Looking back over my year, I wish I'd written more, painted more, sung more, played piano more, tried out more new recipes, exercised more, sewn more. And the list goes on.

It probably doesn't make any sense. I just feel driven to do all I possibly can with the life I have. I don't want to waste time on crap. I want to create something real.

So, that's my goal for today--and for every day: Make something.

I plan to sew today--do some mending, but also sew my daughter a bathrobe and my son a toy bin. They'll probably drag on through tomorrow at least, but then I'll have made something. It's a beautiful feeling, too, making something. Better than having stuff. Far better than buying stuff. Creating something may, perhaps, give me the best feeling in the world. It's worth all the work, all the time, all the effort.

Enough blogging. I'm off to MAKE.

Happy Christmas!

I know "Merry Christmas!" is the standard greeting in the U.S., but I've decided that, for this year at least, I prefer the British version. The term "merry" can imply that we're making merry, and that could mean we're just putting on a brave face, digging a bit too much into the egg nog or cinnamon schnapps, eating too many stale cookies, buying too much stuff, and falling into excess in an attempt to "look" happy.

Thanks for the photo, Microsoft Office!

"Happy" suggests a very different emotion. It's one of bliss, of warm fuzzies as one walks through a normal day. Of skipping a bit more, of going about one's normal life with a permanent enigmatic smile, a smile that brightens everyone's day without one even realizing it. Happy is a state of being that transcends the ordinary life, imbuing everything with a bit more sunshine.

So I'm raising my coffee this morning--and to every morning from now until next Christmas--to just being happy. To living with a little quiet joy every single day. To doing something truly beautiful with at least a few of the moments we are given. To fitting beauty and happiness into our daily lives, despite family obligations, work, and other have-tos. To feeling blessed with a bit more sunshine on our hair, despite the rain outside or the cold wind blowing.

Happy Christmas, everyone! And a lovely New Year, too!

To Make or Not to Make

It can't just be me. 

Surely other people find that DOING something productive can also be a load of fun, and sitting around doing nothing is a form of purgatory, at the very least, if not sheer hell. 

I've worked two straight FULL days on a single project, and I'm taking off in an hour to begin another full day, but I have loved pretty much every waking moment of it. Had I chosen to blow it all off and spend three full days in my pajamas catching up on all the recorded shows I have waiting for me, I would not have been half so happy. 

So, am I right? Or am I alone in this? I start my week of hardly any obligations tomorrow, but I have plans for it--and they don't involve pajamas and television watching. I have things to sew, things to paint, things to write and things to rewrite. 

Maybe it's just that I'm a "maker," as Orson Scott Card describes in his series starting with Seventh Son, a fascinating mytho-American set of novels. Maybe I was born to create, and when I'm not creating, not "making," I'm not happy. Even when I was a child, I was easily bored, but instead of asking the typical, "What can I DO?" to my mother, I always asked "What can I make?"

It was the right question for me. And I am salivating my creative prospects this week. 

What about you? Are you, too, a maker? Or are pajamas and boob tube watching your MO for any given Sunday?

Keys to Happiness

I've been a very busy girl.

I'm sure you've already guessed this (especially since I haven't posted since October 5!). You probably thought I'd dropped off the face of the planet, but, no, it's pretty much the opposite. I've been so busy that by the time I get home at the end of the day, I'm too tired to think or do anything productive.

While I can't say I love everything I'm doing each day, I have to admit I love almost all of it. Most of all, what I'm doing makes me very happy. I'm as happy as I've been in years, and I'm likely to stay that way for quite a while. Then again, even during my not-so-happy stages, I've still found I'm happier than most people.

I'm not going to give advice about how YOU can be happy. I honestly have no idea what makes you happy. Many people are unhappy for years and don't even know it. Others have made it a point to be unhappy. Some choose the angst-ridden poet, or the angry misanthrope, or the grumbling hermit. And that gives them kicks, so I'll let them go on with that. Some have a good reason to be unhappy, but they play it to the hilt, ignoring all the things that might help lift their mood a little. If that is the case with you, and you do all you can to resist happiness, go now and read someone else's blog.

When I am drifting towards unhappiness, it's usually because I've forgotten one of these habits:

[Note: Remember, I said this stuff worked for me. If it doesn't work for you, well, that's not my fault. Make your own damn list. That's what the comments are for, after all.]

1. Live in the moment. Who cares what you're planning for dinner tomorrow? That's tomorrow. So what if somebody said something snide to you yesterday? That's yesterday. Only live somewhere else if you're in a boring meeting--or if you're grading papers. Better yet, live in that moment, and actively work to make the bad task take less time, or make it more fun. Put on tango music when you're sweeping the house. Sing while you do the dishes. Plan your halloween costume out while you help your kids with their homework. I listen to Baroque music while I grade -- I find it goes much faster.

2. Do something selfish. That doesn't mean steal candy from the kids, or eat all the dinner yourself. It means take some time each day to do something you TRULY want to do. Yesterday I worked all day on editing, and while I do love editing, I don't love it as much as painting. So this afternoon I'm painting. I even have it on my list: 1-4 p.m.: PAINT. If you love reading, but don't have time for it, check out a CD book at the library, and listen to it on your commute. Make the kids go watch cartoons while you have your morning coffee. Take a nap. Take a day off.

3. Do something unselfish. When I especially need to feel better, I do something to help somebody else. And I don't expect a thank-you card for it. That's just stupid. Yes, it's polite to send thank-you cards, but most people don't, and if you're only doing it for the thank-you, your motives are selfish. Give a gift to somebody for no reason. Help serve meals to the homeless. Serve your family a lovely dinner, complete with candle light. Clean up the kids' rooms while they're at school. Volunteer at the library. But don't do anything that makes you resentful, or makes you think everybody in the world except you is lazy. You're not better than everybody else. Volunteering is a way for you to show that, to show that you love people and are willing to help them, not a way for you to feel superior.

4. Get your work DONE. This is absolutely necessary to my happiness. I can paint all I want, but if the laundry is stacked up and nobody has any clean underwear for Monday, I ain't gonna be happy. And doing a load of undies isn't going to solve that, either. If it seems like a pain, set it up in steps. Sort the laundry the night before, so it's ready for the morning. Then just attack it one load at a time. And be sure and mark off the task with a big, thick cross-out when you're done. I'm always amazed at how much better I feel when I can cross stuff off my list. Just remember to put fun stuff on your list, too. That's the best chance you'll have to make it a part of your day, too, along with the have-to's.

That's my list. Now I'm off to start laundry. Got anything to add?

Fun Stuff to do This Friday

Why does Friday seem to be the only day I have time to post?

And why am I up at 3:30 a.m. when I could sleep until 6:30 for once?

Yes, I've gotten myself a bit overwhelmed now, and it's taking its toll. Honestly, most of my stress comes from not having control over my environment. Sure, I can get most of my own work done--the important stuff, anyway--but I spent last night trying to attend to job as art gallery director WHILE also making sure my kids finish their homework, check up on my house when the burglar alarm went off (I think one of the door sensors isn't properly working), and juggle countless other things. Needless to say, I was not the best art gallery director last night. Very distracted.

I am convinced that distractions lead to stress--and too much of it. Multitasking is hard, and the last few weeks I've greeted Friday with a sigh, ready to take a break somewhere in my schedule, just so that I can breathe.

I figure by now that most of you are ready for a break, too. And that break is NOT made up of doing laundry all Saturday, re-grouting the shower (my weekend project), sweeping, taking out the trash, cleaning toilets, grocery shopping, or any of those lovely tasks. Don't kid yourselves. Those are not breaks.

So, what can one do when one needs a break? My first goal is NOT to run straight to food. That never makes me feel better, and it's far more likely to make me feel worse. But I have other things that work better.

First, we have the relaxing things that cost money, but they may just be worth it, especially if one's week has been really awful.

--Get a massage. Sure, an hour-long one will cost $60-$80, but try half an hour, and you'll get most of the same benefits.
--Go to a chiropractor. All that stress (or lots of sitting, bending over computers/papers/children) has likely thrown your back out of whack, and many forms of insurance pay for this.
--Go to a show. Live theatre's great, but movies work, too, as do concerts, orchestras, choirs, whatever. Go to a piano concert, and you might even work in a good nap.

What's this you say? You're broke? No problem! For every one thing that costs money, I have a ton of things that are free:

--Get a movie from the library. You won't believe the selection, even in a small-town library like mine. And it isn't just Schoolhouse Rock, either, although that stuff is very entertaining. If you can afford a buck more, go to Redbox.
--Go for a walk. You might want to time it when the sun isn't too hot (or skin damaging), but a walk by yourself can be a true boost. Just don't take your kids with you. Or at least don't take my kids with you.
--Play piano. Sure, it won't beat a piano concert, but it's still relaxing. If you don't have a piano--or any other instrument--just listen to music. Avoid the AC/DC for once, though. Relaxing is better.
--Read a book. Again, the library is your best bet. You can even download stuff on your Kindle, if you can figure out how.
--Make your house quiet. Give the kids something to do on their own for an hour, and shut off the TV, radio, phone, dishwasher. No wait, keep the dishwasher, and just lean your ear against it. Sounds just like you're back inside good ol' mom... comfy... warm... see, you're relaxing already.

If none of this strikes your fancy, don't stop trying. And don't put relaxing on the bottom of your list, or you won't ever get to it. And then you'll have no choice but to see a chiropractor. And he'll take one look at your spine and break out crying in pity. And he'll tell you it's too late--your bones are fused. Too much stress for too long. No breaks.

And you don't want that, do you?

So get out there and relax! And report back. I'm always looking for more ideas.

Feel It

The flow
Ripples through the air
Brushing up against your ankles
Licking at the skin of your fingertips

If you feel panic
It's from the world of nonsense
Plastered over the real rhythms of the universe
If tension yanks at your neck tendons
Don't trust the pull
Listen--feel--for the calm
Surrender to the peace
That comes with surrender

Pick through the stresses
And you'll find the path
Aligned with who you truly are
Waiting

Be you
Walk the path
Feel the flow
And we will meet
One day.

Still in the Game!

I feel March Madness in a totally cool way. And it isn't because my bracket is blowing away the hubby's, either (it usually does, mostly because I know absolutely nothing about basketball).

No, I'm in my own sort of bracket right now, called the Amazon.com Breakthrough Novel Contest. I submitted my best novel to it this year, and in February the pitch for it got me into the top 20%. And now? Well, the novel's made it into the top 250 out of around 5,000 novel entries in the YA division. Woo-hoo!

Where does that put me? The sweet sixteen? How in the world should I know. I became a writer because I wasn't any good at math. But if you divide 250 by 5,000, you get 0.05. What does that mean? The only reason I know is that I've been a teacher for the last twenty years. It means my novel's in the top FIVE PERCENT of the novel pool submitted this year (at least according to ABNA judges--whom I adore to distraction!).

I am so grateful for this. I've had so many opportunities over the last six months--from the invitation to write a story for the Death by Chocolate anthology to ghost writing opportunities through other freelance venues--and right now I feel more useful as a writer than I have probably ever felt in my entire life!

Can you tell I'm about to explode with happiness? I sure hope I've made that clear. Then again, maybe all this elation is annoying. At this point, I can't say I really care if it is. I've made it to the next round, and I wouldn't have without all of your help, all of my own hard work, and a bunch of luck along the way.

Oh, and I did have to submit the novel. Are you, perhaps, sitting on something you should be sending out into the wide world? Don't sit on it any longer. No telling how far you'll go.

Finishing

I can't believe I haven't posted in a week, but at least I know I have been working. My current novel revision is one fleshed out scene away from being complete. And it's fun, and exciting, and I'm relishing the thought of sending it off to beta readers for a good swift bashing.

I'm also grinning at the thought of working on my mermaid novel again, now that this task is almost complete. And I have a play I am desperate to turn into a full-length. And my veggie books are calling me longingly, like sirens.

The piano, too, feels neglected, as do my watercolors. Can I tend to it all? Probably not, but it's nice to be called to, nice to know I have a TON of things to do once this project is finished. So, as with last week, along with three hours of scheduled Zumba fitness today, I have a bunch of other possibilities. The chance to finish a revision is at the top of the list, too.

What feelings does finishing conjure up for you? For me, it's a deep sigh--and perhaps a drink--before beginning on another exciting project. It's a sense of a job well done, a task no longer on my list of things to do. A closure, rather like the last performance of a play's run, the final meeting of class before we all go home, the final entry of grades for the semester.

It's one of my favorite feelings in the world, though it comes with a sense of loss.

What about you? What have you finished lately? How did it make you feel? I'll read through your entries once my scene is complete. In the meantime, happy writing/painting/coloring/singing/playing/doing/FINISHING!!!

The Persistent Voice

I have three hours of Zumba today. I have to lug kids everywhere, shake, shake, shake all over the place to earn my income, dash to the store, do dishes, cook, tend to the house, get papers signed and faxed, and the list goes on.

Why am I still happy? Why do I have a cheesy grin on my face here, at the very start of the day, when no item has yet been crossed off? Because I also have a book waiting for me, the end of a novel I've been happily editing, a few good ideas to flesh it out, to make the climax nail-biting.

And I know, once I'm showered, once I've cleaned and fed everybody, that I'm sitting down here, at my beloved Mac, and working on it. That is the most beautiful thought I can imagine at this point.

More about that later. For now, it's off to make the kids' lunches!

Take a Chance--and WIN Death by Chocolate!

Ahhh, Valentine's Day, the one day a year we think about love. Or about not having it. Or about how we hate Valentine's Day.

I understand, I really do. Love is hard. It's work, and it often doesn't work out. I've been really lucky, though. Twenty-two years ago (sheesh, but I'm old), the hubby and I had just started dating (Jan. 19th was our first day, if you remember, the Eve of St. Agnes). Nearly a month later, we were going to a party together at a friend's house, and I spent a panicked week trying to figure out what to give him.

Flowers? I didn't know at that point that he liked flowers. Chocolates? What kind of chocolates did he prefer? I didn't know him well enough to know that, either. A stuffed animal? Surely not. (I was totally right about this one--stuffed animals are totally not his thing).

Image: Simon Howden / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

So I gave him the only gift I could think of: a poem. Yup, I less than a month after we'd started dating, I wrote him a love sonnet. And not just any old sonnet. A sonnet that said I wanted to grow old with him, spend the rest of my life with him. You know the kind--the stalking sonnet that would scare any sane guy away in a heartbeat (or a quick read-thru, anyway).

I wrote it on parchment, using my calligraphy pens, rolled it up and tied it with a red ribbon. And, yes, I gave it to him.

"Woah!" you might exclaim, "and he married you?" Yup. He thought the poem was fantastic, and he showed it to everybody at the party. And some people were actually jealous. Nobody ran away. Pretty weird, huh? And AWESOME, too!

Now, before you say, with that sarcasm in your voice, "Oh, sure, we're just supposed to take that chance--but what if we get hurt?" don't think for a moment that I don't know the risk I took. In fact, before there was the hubby, I wrote several sonnets--more tentative ones, mind you--to another guy at college. Yup, that's right. This was already my MO.

That interaction didn't go so well. In December, the guy wrote me a nice card saying he was flattered by the poems, and he wished me the best, but please don't write again. I was crushed, but I respected his request and didn't write another poem for him. I took the chance, and I failed at it.

But so what? Love doesn't always work out. But I still have those sonnets--all of them--the ones I wrote the first guy, the MANY sonnets I wrote to the hubby. And, even better, I have the hubby. And it all started with that little Valentine's Day love sonnet, which he still keeps framed right next to his bed after 22 years.

So, in honor of Valentine's Day, I'm giving away a copy of the anthology Death by Chocolate, which contains 6 stories of love and chocolate, along with a box of chocolates for your enjoyment. You need to live in the U.S., since I don't want to pay through the nose to send this little package out (sorry!).

To enter, all you have to do is chime in below, telling me your own thoughts on love and taking chances. I'll draw a name out of a hat and announce the winner by FRIDAY (so comment before then!). Also, today I'm posting in THREE other places as part of the Death by Chocolate blog tour, and each post is different, so check 'em all out:

Patricia's Particularity

Authors by Authors

Ink Spot and Roses

All three give you another opportunity to win the book (and some chocolates), so feel free to comment everywhere, including at my post on today's Death by Chocolate blog. Remember to comment for your chance to win! And happy Valentine's Day!

The Art of Waiting Patiently

A recent game I tapped into on Yahoo Games had a cute message as it loaded up:

"i am somewhat impatient, but i know that the game will be loaded soon"


It made me think so much of my own life--well, two aspects of it, anyway. You see, all my life I've been struggling with my weight. I could never fit into my older sister's hand-me-downs as a kid (and that was pointed out quite often, given our financial hardship), and even now, as a Zumba Fitness instructor and careful eater, I still have trouble losing a pound. My husband gives up desserts and loses ten pounds without really thinking much about it. He admits he would have given up years ago if he'd seen as little progress as I have in trying to lose weight.

Yet I've seen the same sort of success in my writing. (Translation: not bloody much). I've sent out tons of queries and received nearly as many rejection slips (nearly as many only because many agents and publishers don't send replies if they don't like something). Not a single request for more material. My plays have been only slightly more successful, only because I've been pretty lucky to find places where I can do a staged reading or get some great feedback.

So why do I do this? People have asked me why I don't just give up. Why continue to do Zumba if it doesn't make the pounds drop off the way it seems to for everybody else? Why keep writing if I don't sell any novels?

I see the rational basis for this. It is logical. But it errs because it's based on an assumption which simply isn't true: it assumes I do these two things only because of the outcome I'm hoping for.

I know many who do. I know all sorts of people who try Zumba--or vegetarianism, or some diet fad--only because of the outcome they hope for. I know writers who are only concerned with completing a novel so that it can be marketed.

They and I do not work towards the same ends. Or perhaps, for me, the ends simply aren't as important as the act of doing. Why do I do Zumba? Because I adore Zumba. It is more fun than I have doing any other physical activity. It fills me with joy, fosters in me a belief in my own beauty and sexuality, frees me like nothing else does. The act itself is fantastic, no matter its outcome.

The same goes for writing. I don't write to finish. The process is what matters. Writing is my therapy, my shy chance to speak, the who I am in a long list of whats. It's part of my chromosomal make-up, and the only frustrating parts of it include not making enough time for it and not being as good a writer as I would like. But writing is bliss. Sheer bliss.

I suppose the title is a lie, then. I don't have to be patiently waiting for the outcomes I would love to happen. I'm delirious in the moment, charged with energy and elated by the passion of these two activities. I'm not really waiting patiently for anything. It's already here.

Where do you find your joy? Do you hold onto this, or does the outcome matter more?

Fun Friday

My list of things to do is staggering today. Almost as staggering as it was yesterday.

But it's Friday, so once I've done the absolute have-tos, I'm going to have some fun. Every single Friday will be this way: Get the crap checked off the list--the laundry started, the dishes washed, the errands run--and spend the afternoon at the piano, watch a movie, snuggle up to a good book, or paint on my most recent fairy. I'll post pics of her by Tuesday. I'm taking a pic of her this morning, then another when she's finished, so that you can see the difference.

I've noticed over the past year that my blog tends to be either poetry or blogging about writing, and I've been neglecting the other arts in my world as much as I've been neglecting them in my real life. But not any more. Time is passing, and I'm missing out on the play in my life, the fun stuff, the activities that feed my passion to create beautiful things.

But no more. I make no resolution to blog every day. I don't have the time, and I'm far more interested in substance than quantity. However, I plan to blog on lots of different stuff now, including my art, music, sewing, etc. I have a tentative weekly schedule for this, but I'll let you guess what it is (today's should be obvious from the title above). Just know that on any given day you might find something new, and if you don't like it, just check back later.

So, since it's Fun Friday, what fun plans do you have? If you don't have any fun plans, shouldn't you?

The Choice

The night

Is softly falling

Behind trees

And under rocks.

Silence retreats

Disappointed

That her older, louder sister

Murmurs upstairs

Getting ready for morning.

Muscles ready

Not for a day of lethargy

But for the whirlwind of activity

Work and play

That hold the hands of sunshine

Green grass

And sound.

You have a choice:

Slink into the shadows

Crawl back into bed

And waste the day

Or tag along with the sun

Skipping through the world

A light

Signaling others

To act.

Coming Home

The shutters are all closed

Floors dusty

No, dirty

Only the cat has tended to home

All this time

(And he doesn't sweep)

But the smell

Fills me

With memory

The trip was long

And I am sore

Yet my feet

Find a spot on the rug

To stand

Where I always have

In my mind

The windows greet me

Smiling with sunlight

The walls

I painted by hand

Are smooth under my fingertips

Vacations are bliss

And I know of those I have left

That I already miss

Terribly

But nothing compares

To the serenity

Of sitting in

Wallowing in

My own space

My own walls

My own work

At long last

I am home.

Waking

My sun rises

Before the sun itself

I shimmer

Through the house

Sparkling

Filled with hope

And dreams

And laughter

Itching

To work wonders

On the new world

Of today

Morning

After a hard night's (lack of) rest

The kindest greeting

Full of hope and joy and expectation

Is sunrise.

Light a Candle, and Shine

I've been saying good-bye to a lot of things lately. Tomorrow my family and I take off for a new home and a new life a few thousand miles from where we've been living for the last four and a half years, and the good-byes have been multiplying as time has grown short.

But I have another good-bye to say, one I knew was coming, but one that hit me hard nonetheless. My beloved grandma Jeanne passed away yesterday. I don't know the details yet, but the details don't matter. Jeanne had been sick for a very long time, so I am happy that her suffering is over. I am also grieved, deeply grieved, and today I hope to be able to express why.

I have known Jeanne all my life. I called her Jeanne even as a kid, for the term "grandma" made her feel old. I was one of dozens of grandchildren in a very large extended family. It wasn't until I was fifteen, though, that I really "knew" Jeanne. I spent two weeks that summer with the Three Musketeers--Jeanne, Aunt Sue, and Aunt Leilali--and I believe that was the first time I felt unconditionally loved. Certainly, my older sister had always made it clear that she thought I was great, and even then we were close, but I was a shy child, and it was all too easy to be overlooked and ignored. I didn't really think I was much of anything. My little light burned inside me, but I couldn't really see it.

Jeanne--and my two aunts--saw my light from the moment I walked in the door. I wasn't just a teenager, or just a granddaughter or niece. I was a beautiful little candle, barely lit, but shining out just the same. Jeanne focused on that little light of mine and did all she could to encourage it. She bought me my first pair of glasses when she realized I was pretty much blind. She spent that week telling me how beautiful I looked with glasses. And I felt beautiful, perhaps more beautiful than I ever had before.

Another year she bought me fabric on Mother's Day, telling me, "Every girl should get a Mother's Day present. You'll be a mother some day." And she was right, for I did become a mother. She told me stories, encouraged me, listened to me, watched movies with me, and gave her smile to me over and over. She'd had a hard childhood--far harder than mine--but she smiled every day, and when she smiled the whole world lit up, warm and comforting and encouraging.

I visited Jeanne's house every summer for six years, and my flame grew and grew, glowing brighter with each year, with each word of encouragement. I held onto that flame through the rest of the year, as I hold onto it now, and I have learned to let it shine on my own. Now that she is gone, I know I can keep my flame alive, that I can be strong, that I will do well even if she is not here to encourage me.

But that is precisely why I grieve. Jeanne helped me so much, but I know there are so many out who need a Jeanne of their own--someone to make it clear they are loved and supported, someone to help their flame grow--and she cannot help them anymore.

And so the candle is passed. I have learned from a master, and it's time for me to take up the task in earnest. My two children need the same unconditional love from me, every single day. My students need it, too, as do my friends. The girl who bought my minivan yesterday needs it, so that she can complete her GED and support her three young children. My neighbors need it as they raise kids, work, and pursue their own goals. My new town will need it, so it's my job to keep my candle lit and use it to encourage the lights around me to glow as brightly as they can.

I can't promise to do it well. I've already made some huge mistakes. But it's my job, my task, and I am grateful that I had Jeanne to show me how it's done. Jeanne, the light of your candle will never die, for it lives in me now, as it does in every person you have touched.

I will love you forever.