Now What?

I have a fever. And no, the only prescription is not more cowbell. It’s the first time I’ve been sick in nearly two years, which is pretty amazing. I had a COVID test yesterday and got a negative result. This appears to be a stupid cold. As Monday is my usual day off, I tried to get outside in my garden for a while today but didn’t last long. It’s amazing how quickly a little fever, cough, and congestion can wear you out. Or maybe I’m just a big ol baby. I’ve spent most of the day working on my script for a live webinar on fall bulbs that’s supposed to take place on Bates Nursery’s Facebook page Wednesday. I really don’t want to reschedule this thing. 

In case you missed my Instagram and Facebook posts a couple weeks ago, we FINALLY closed on our Mexican oceanfront condo! Now we’re putting together a shopping list of essential items I (and our future guests) will need to make it a home-away-from-home. Tim will be making a trip down there within the next few weeks to get the place ready for Winter Sabbatical 2022 which is only 82 DAYS AWAY!! Unless I go down a few days earlier, which I now have the option to do. Not that I’m counting down the days or anything…

You may have also heard that I’ve turned the final chapter of my book in to my editor; she’s working on it right now. We have a tentative layout, and I’ve put all of my essays into one big manuscript. I’ll be reading it during the next several days to determine whether I like the flow or whether we need to rearrange the sequence of essays. I have so many emotions. Elation that I’ve made it this far, anxiety about starting the agent hunt, dread over the backlash I will receive from a couple of people in my life when they read my book, and lost, because what do I do now? A friend’s response to that last sentiment was, “Start writing book #2!” She also suggested I write the next big country hit so I can buy everyone at work their own beach condos. I told her I’d take it into consideration. 

Well y’all, my fever has spiked, and my brain is in a fog, so I’m going to sign off, take a shot of Nyquil, and call it a night.

September

I don’t have a clever title or any huge revelations to share today, but I thought I’d give a couple of updates. I have two projects vying for my attention right now, and my focus shifts from one to the other by the day, it seems. I have made a lot of progress on my writing. I have completed (meaning third/final drafts after being read by my editor) 25 essays with a total word count close to 74,000 and a page count at 126! I have at least three more essays in the second draft stage. Having a finished product ready to shop around to agents and publishers by the end of the year is possible. While this is a fantastic goal to have, I don’t want to get my hopes up; I’m hesitant to write it in ink on my calendar. But I can’t help feeling excited and optimistic. I’m about three weeks into a writing class that was offered by The Porch: Sense of Place in Personal Essay. I’m really enjoying it so far. I’m signed up to present an essay on the last week of class, and I’ve just begun working on it. Fortunately, this essay will fit right in with the others for my book. I’ve been getting nothing but rejection letters on all of the essays I’ve submitted for publication. But I have so many more essays I can send out than I did a few months ago, and several publications have reopened their reading periods for submissions. All I have to do is carve out the time to submit my work.

My other project is the cutting garden. I didn’t have quite the germination rate I’d hoped for, but I do have some hardy annual seedlings ready to be planted which is so exciting! This weekend, Tim and I spread some compost over the half of the new bed I’ll be using for hardy annuals. The other half will be planted with a second sowing of hardy annuals in March of next year. I’m still consumed with lists and charts of what will be planted when and where. Next year will be my first attempt at succession sowing. I’m expecting three different plantings in March, May, and July of 2022, with some things like sunflowers and gladiolas being planted every week to extend the harvest. I’m about to realize just how crazy I went on ordering this summer as hundreds of daffodils, tulips, ranunculus, anemones, irises, and peonies will arrive soon for fall planting. Oh my. 

I’ve been inspired by an interview I heard on a podcast recently. Deanna Kitchen started The Growing Kindness Project after giving away the overabundance of flowers from her garden one week to residents at a local retirement home and witnessing their joy over the simple gifts they received. Soon she was giving flowers away to people all over her community. I am in love with this idea. You can learn more about this project here. Since I plan to grow all the things next year, I will have WAY more flowers than I’ll be able to use. I would love to partner with groups like homeschool co-ops, churches, clubs, and charities that would be interested in collecting my free bouquets and distributing them throughout the community to anyone in need of a little joy in their lives. It’s a little early to advertise yet, but if this is something you think your organization would like to be a part of, please let me know. I’ve already started collecting containers for these gift bouquets. I know there are cheap vases and jars available at dollar and thrift stores. But I have to anticipate that I may not get all of these containers back to reuse, so I need to get creative and resourceful. If anyone is willing to collect jars, soup cans, and wide-mouth 12-oz. bottles (like the ones that hold Starbucks Frappuccinos or Snapples), I would really appreciate your donations. 

Fall is almost here, and I am so ready for it. Enjoy the not-so-brutal temps this week!

Mel's Cutting Garden

“There is nothing to writing. All you have to do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” 

-Ernest Hemingway

Friends, I’m feeling a little anemic. I’ve been writing about some really heavy stuff the last couple of weeks, like the arduous journey to Pierce’s autism diagnosis, and my multiple depression diagnoses. In order to make the reader feel what I felt, I have to dig up the emotions and details of those times in my life I’d rather forget. My current headspace is not great. 

Fortunately, I have a distraction. My 2022 cutting garden is already growing! Last week, I sowed the first seeds of hardy annuals I’ll be planting in the fall. A few of my little babies have begun to sprout. I began with piles of 4-pack flats from some of the puny annuals in the greenhouse that had to be tossed. I soaked them in a bleach solution to kill any lingering plant diseases then scrubbed them clean. I used a soilless potting mix we produce at the nursery: EarthMix Proganix I. After researching every single plant I’d be sowing, I figured out their optimal conditions for germination. Tim set the grow lights up with a timer that can be controlled with an app. Here’s what the rack looks like:

I’m growing several varieties of snapdragons, foxglove, pincushion flower, canterbury bells, statice, flowering kale, dianthus, stock, and Queen Anne’s lace. I’ll also be adding some delphinium, godetia, strawflower, calendula, yarrow, rudbeckia, and sweet peas. All but one of the kale seeds have germinated along with 1 canterbury bell, 4 pincushion flower, 15 statice, and three teeny tiny foxgloves. Most of the plants I’ve sown are hardy to zone 7 or lower, but I’m experimenting with the godetia, stock, and strawflower. Those are only hardy to zone 8. I’m saving seeds for a spring sowing in case these don’t make it. I hope to have some babies to plant in the new bed within a few weeks!

Flowering Kale

Statice

I need a magnifying glass for these teensy foxgloves

I’ve spent hours making plans, organizing the plants I want to grow by color, shape (daisy, spike, or lace), and function (focal flowers, fillers, or foliage). I am going full plant nerd. In the coming weeks, I’ll share some of those lists and plans. Just in case you’re as fascinated/nerdy as me. Short post tonight. I needed to walk away from the pit of despair for a few minutes and think about something else. Thank God Ted Lasso is back!! Season two is exactly what I need right now.

So Hyped

Work is slow, but I have been busy. One of my essays was picked up for publication! Most of you know this already. You’ve read it and given me the most wonderful feedback. Thank you so much for sharing with me the emotions this essay provoked. I can’t always tell if I’m adequately conveying my feelings through my writing. In case you missed it, you can read it here. My editor is very excited about the book’s progress. The word count of a typical memoir is between 60,000 and 75,000. I can’t give a definite number, because I have some revisions to finish on a few of the essays that were most recently edited. I’m currently hovering at around a 40,000-word third draft. I’m eager to complete this project, so my editor and I have agreed to step up the pace just a little. I’m sending her 2-3 essays a week. I don’t want to jinx myself by setting a publishing goal, but I can’t help getting excited when K.K. and I discuss the big picture; a book layout for the essays I’ve completed and ones still in the hopper. 

I’m also getting excited about next year’s cutting garden while logging some failures from this year. I did two sowings of sunflowers in late spring/early summer. I’ve had the worst time getting them to germinate, and of the ones that finally did, many of them have been attacked by critters (rabbits? snails? both?) I made one last ditch effort for fall sunflowers with a late sowing on the 14th. Many of those have germinated, so I’ve set up a grow tunnel over them and covered the hoops with bird netting. Fingers crossed. One of my most devastating losses happened in the perennial garden. My native purple coneflower has a disease called asters yellow that is spread by the aster leafhopper. Over 200 species of plants are susceptible to the disease. The blooms and foliage mutate into a twisted deformed mess. There is no treatment; the plant needs to be thrown away. Of course this is the year I’ve gone coneflower crazy, planting about 10 different varieties. Now I have to hope and pray that the disease hasn’t spread to the new coneflowers, zinnias, and dahlias. I keep my spirits up planning for next year. I heard this on one of my gardening podcasts last week, and it kinda blew my mind: "Failure is just research and development." What a way to be optimistic.

Through all of the nerdy plant podcasts and books I’ve listened to or read over the last six weeks, I’ve discovered a plant classification called hardy annuals. There are many annuals and a few perennials that love a cool spring, and that is usually when the plants are available in garden centers. But our spring is so short, these plants fry before they ever get the chance to bloom. It turns out, many of those plants are winter hardy in zone 7, earning them the hardy annual classification. I’d already discovered this with the snapdragons I planted last year. They wintered over and have bloomed all spring. Here in zone 7, we can start those annuals that aren’t available at garden centers from seed in the late summer or early fall, then plant them in the garden six weeks before winter. This allows the plants to grow a substantial root system all winter that will help them last all spring and very early into summer. I will be starting my first batch of seed in a few days (most likely snapdragons, since they’re slow to germinate) and I am so freakin excited!! I will be documenting the process and giving regular updates. 

Tim continues to humor but support me. I explained the ideal setup for seed starting, and he built me a growing rack complete with a grow light for every shelf! Forget the diamonds, I’ll take gardening gifts any day of the week. He’s also painted my new writing room AKA Fortress of Solitude, installed a new light fixture, and moved in some displaced bookshelves. I have lots of prints framed, but I haven’t decided how I want to display them yet, so my walls are still bare. Still, it does feel more like my space instead of a teenager’s old bedroom. 

I was asked recently if Tim is excited about the progress I’m making towards a published book. The McKay men are notoriously even-keeled. Tim’s temperament is probably the biggest reason I’ve mellowed with age. I understand this about Tim and have adapted. But there are times I’m hyped about something and want him to be on my level, and I get frustrated when he seems apathetic. I feel like I don’t have his support. Then he does things without being asked like paint my new writing room, till a new garden, or build a rack for my seed-starting adventure. He makes a space for me where I can be creative, allows me time to write by doing the grocery shopping instead of expecting me to do it on my day off, and gives me an hour after work to enjoy my garden while he cooks dinner. My husband may not pump his fist and send a proud email to all of his friends with a link to my latest essay, but he spurs me on in his own subdued manner. I’ll take it.

Summer Lovin'

Summer is officially here, and I’ve survived another spring season at Bates. Yesterday was our last Sunday to be open, so I’ll have two days off for 3 blissful months, until we open on Sundays again in the fall. I’m still plugging away, writing my little heart out. I have 9 essays that have made it through final edits. I’m very pleased with my progress. To date, I have submitted my essays to 38 different publications. I’ve received 11 rejections, and no acceptances. I’m disappointed, though I must say, each email declining my work has been affirming and encouraging. I will not be deterred. I will continue to send my work out and hope it lands on the right desk at the right time. 

I know a lot of my southern brothers and sisters bemoan our hellish summers. After spending the day in and out of a 100+ degree greenhouse, I do my fair share of complaining. But mercy do I love the summer. My brain gets quiet and I can dream about all of the creative endeavors I enjoy. Currently, I am obsessing over plans for a bigger and better cutting garden. In the spring, I suggested a Bates Nursery webinar on cutting gardens. We put a date on the calendar and I got to work researching all of the possibilities. This got me excited about cutting my own flowers and made me a bit greedy for more space to try growing things I never have before. Shortly after I did the webinar (which you can find here), one of my coworkers suggested the idea of a weekly social media post highlighting the arrangement of the week. I thought it was brilliant and volunteered to pull the arrangements together for Flower Power Friday. Here are my first three:

At the beginning of June, I stumbled onto a podcast on which the topic was cut flowers, the farmers that grow them, and the push to encourage florists and consumers to buy locally grown flowers in lieu of all the perfect blooms on commercially grown flowers. Of course I said, “Tell me more!” Nearly 3 weeks since I found that podcast, I’ve purchased 15 books (one hasn't even been released yet) on growing and arranging cut flowers and ordered hundreds of seeds and bulbs. That escalated quickly. I have fallen in love with dahlias this year. I started with a few small ones I purchased at Bates, then made the mistake of checking out some end-of-season sales online. Y’all, I have planted 42 different varieties now. I need an intervention.

My dear sweet husband has given me free rein of the back yard. All he asks for is a path to get the mower from the shed to the front yard. After 30 years together, he’s gotten used to my propensity to get some wild and over-the-top ideas. I think he’s decided to just go with it. I told Tim that my goal for next year is to grow so many flowers, I have arrangements in every room, and bouquets to give away. This weekend, I met a man who does just that.

His name is Richard, and he lives in Nashville. He’s been a Bates customer for decades. He was chatting up my coworker, and she called me over. Richard and his lovely wife of 60 years (!!!) tend a garden every summer filled with dahlias. And when I say filled, I mean FILLED. He grows about 800 dahlias and has 150 different varieties! I hung on his every word, drooling as he showed us picture after picture of his stunning collection. We asked if he grew the flowers to sell and he replied, “Absolutely not!” He gives them away. Y’ALL. My heart melted, and I thought I might cry. He’s living my dream! I can’t even imagine the profit he could make by taking these blooms to the farmer’s market or local florists, but he is fulfilled by spreading joy to his neighbors without expecting a thing in return. He left us a business card with his contact info and told us that we should come by sometime for a tour. “And bring a bucket!”

Many of you have told me how much you enjoy my floral arrangements. Get ready, because I’ll be posting pictures of them all summer long. And one day, I hope to be just like Richard, handing out bouquets to anyone who needs a little pick-me-up.

May Days

Now that the threat of frost has finally passed, I'm enjoying lots of spring flowers that I've been able to cut and bring indoors. I'm hoping for a bigger and better cutting garden this year. I've planted more lilies, dahlias, snapdragons, and gladiolas. A few of the perennials I planted last year have already tripled in size, offering up more blossoms for bouquets. 

Spring at the nursery has begun to ease up just a bit. We’ve hit the peak of busyness, and we’re beginning to coast downhill. While I look forward to feeling less frantic (and having Sundays off again), I know I’ll soon miss those spring days where there’s always something that needs to be done as opposed to the slow summer season, standing in one spot most of the day deadheading and trimming back plants. The inactivity gives me more time to live in my head, which is a scary place to be sometimes. But it could also be an opportunity to ruminate on things I’ve written or want to write and ways to better to tell my stories. 

I have some good news and bad news today. The bad news is that I won’t be staying in that lovely beach house in Mexico again next winter. The good news is that Tim and I are in the process of purchasing a beachfront condo in the same town, Chelém Mexico! We looked at our options for beach houses in the area. They were either too far back from the beach with too few windows or in need of major repairs. This is a new building with five units. Four condos are downstairs. The second floor is all one unit. This is the one we have purchased. The living/dining/kitchen area is open, and there are floor to ceiling windows from one end of the room to the other. We get to keep a lot of the furniture, but Tim and I can’t wait to spend some time there this summer making the place our own. We just signed the contract on Friday, so we haven’t officially closed yet. Tim flew down last month to check things out before we made an offer, so I have a few pictures (and one I stole from the listing) to share. I’ll have plenty more when we’re both able to go back in a couple of months. Our plan is to rent it out every year from March to December, then I’ll live there through January and February. So get your passports ready; I’ll share a listing once the property is available for rent.

In other news, I just got my second vaccine today, which means that 3 out of 4 McKays are fully vaccinated!! We all got the Pfizer vaccine. Tim had a low-grade fever and felt a little puny afterwards. Pierce didn’t seem to have any ill effects. I have my fingers crossed that I’ll feel fine tomorrow. 

I’m still writing and editing. The editing process is slow and tedious. If you were hoping to see a book from me this year, I think it’s safe to say that it will not be published in 2021. But the longer this takes, the better the book will be. K.K. is helping to make my pretty good stories into great stories. I’m excited about what we’ve accomplished. I have 5 essays I can consider as final drafts. My editor suggested I try getting some of them published, so I’m submitting my writing for publication again. It could be months before I hear whether or not my essays have been accepted, and I can only get those one or two yeses by pitching to a lot of people. This work isn’t fun, and it will be tough to add to the pile of rejection letters again. But my editor and I think that getting these essays published will help my cause in getting a complete manuscript published some day. 

That’s my Spring 2021 update. Get outside! Get vaccinated! 

Clarity

I feel the need to clear the air this morning. I may be writing this blog post with a few people in mind, but my message is for the entire reading world. It  seems like common sense, and yet, this need to be addressed.

One event, a single moment in time, will be perceived in as many different ways as there are people sharing the experience of that event or moment. If you don’t believe this, read some consumer reviews of movies, books, or products on Amazon. If another person’s experience differs from yours, does this mean one of you is lying? Most of the time the answer to that question is no. It is also possible for two conflicting statements to be true about a single experience. Though I write about one aspect of my story, it is not a complete picture. For example, I may write about the undiagnosed anxiety I had as a child, but this does not mean that I had an awful childhood. I can write about my struggles with faith and church, but this shouldn’t imply that I’ve rejected Jesus or Christianity. 

There was an episode in season two of This Is Us that really stuck with me. Kevin, the typical middle child, was in rehab, and his therapist had the whole family come in to one of his therapy sessions. His mother and siblings seemed blindsided by Kevin’s interpretation of the upbringing he received. Four people in that room grew up in the same house, and four people saw those same years together in four very different ways. Our family is no different. My sister and I did not see the events that happened in our home in exactly the same way. And the version of my story I have to tell does not resemble that of my parents.

Most of the stories I’ve written center around depression, marriage, faith, and parenting both of my children; one of whom is typical and one of whom is autistic. Since my battles with anxiety and depression began as a child, I’ve included a few stories about my childhood. I also write about my extensive family history of depression and suicide. I’ve worried about hurting people with my writing. An author friend of mine told me, “Just write your version of the truth. That’s all you can do.” I can only promise not to inflate or fabricate details. I will tell you about my emotions, my take-aways, my memories. These essays are my stories. 

There are family members that have forbidden me from writing about the important roles they played in my life. I do not believe this is a reasonable request. I did not live these stories in a bubble. It is impossible to tell my stories without mentioning other people that played a part in shaping those stories. No one owns the exclusive rights to a life experience shared by multiple people. No one family member owns the exclusive rights to a shared family history. I have consulted a lawyer on all the steps I need to take in order to protect myself from liability. It grieves me to have to do so. It doesn’t have to be this way, especially since I don’t seek to vilify anyone. If any family wants to write their stories and their perspective of our shared experiences, I will not stand in their way. Even if their stories paint me in a less-than-flattering light.

I say all of this because my words are already being twisted and misinterpreted. I am not an atheist. I was not physically or sexually abused as a child. I’m appalled and dumbfounded that anyone has come to these conclusions after reading my blog posts. My book is not a tell-all exposé. It barely even registers as controversial. I’m annoyed that I have just started the editing process, nowhere near to having a published book in my hands, and yet here we are, addressing the inevitable backlash. 

As I design my new space for writing/reading/crafting/solitude, I have found prints on Etsy of some of my favorite quotes. This one arrived a few days ago. It will hang over my desk. I leave you with this.

One Step Closer

Spring has arrived, which means I am transitioning into survival mode. I’m working six days a week, and my days are a blur of plant deliveries and customers’ questions. Any spare time at home in the evenings and on my one day off are dedicated to writing and editing. I know a few of you actually look forward to my weekly blog posts on Mondays, which I appreciate. For the next few months, these posts will be less frequent. 

Last Monday, I didn’t have time for a blog entry, so I wrote a rather lengthy Facebook post. If you missed it, I shared some news. I am working with an editor! It’s a small step towards having a book published, but I’m excited about this development. Your comments on that Facebook post made me teary. It’s so heartwarming to know how many of you are celebrating with me and believe in me. I sent the first essay to my editor last week, and I received her feedback on Saturday. This, too, made me pretty weepy. It’s one thing to hear praise of my writing from friends and family. But to make an editor say, “Wow. Well done.”, and see adjectives like “fascinating”, “compelling”, and “moving” attributed to something I wrote was thrilling. The essay wasn’t perfect; she had suggestions for how to tell the story better. But since I felt this nagging possibility I’d receive feedback indicating that my story was hot garbage, I was over the moon when I read this email. We have scheduled weekly Zoom calls on Mondays. Today I learned a lot about how to make a good story even better. I can’t wait to use this knowledge to improve my other essays.

I’ve spent many years listening to people who focus on my shortcomings and things I shouldn’t do instead of using that energy to recognize and nurture my talents. This has made it difficult for me to accept praise when I’ve done something right. No matter how many people tell me I’m a good writer, I will always have this deep-seated belief that I’m not good enough. I crave hearing “Well done” (even though I sometimes find the praise hard to believe), and I really hate this about myself. If this writing gets out into the world, I know I will have to develop a thicker skin. In my 40s, I’m learning the hard way that I can’t please everyone. While I hope my book makes its way to people who will find solidarity within my stories, I am aware of this reality: my essays are guaranteed to piss some people off, and bore other people to tears. Knowing this doesn’t make the bitter pill any easier to swallow. 

I am so very grateful for those of you who are in my corner, whether you’ve always been there or arrived just recently. Thank you for your words of encouragement. Some days, they’re the only thing that spurs me on.

Not Write Now

For the past 2 days, I’ve had the privilege of reading Praying With Our Feet by Lindsey Krinks. Lindsey and I both ended up in Nashville, though we both grew up in the same small church in South Carolina. In fact, my summer job for 2 years in high school was babysitting Lindsey and her brother Russell, which does not make me feel old at all. 

While much of our stories are so very different, there are a couple things we have in common. Both of us were Church of Christ elder’s daughters. Both of us have family histories of addiction, depression, and suicide. I feel a kinship with Lindsey as she describes the confinement of her faith because of the limitations placed on women in our church. I identify with her fear of falling victim to a family curse. 

I know it has been difficult for her to publicize this book, as she is such a selfless person. She is a modern-day Mother Theresa loving on, advocating for, and ministering to the homeless and marginalized here in Nashville. I will plug her book, but I also encourage you to support Open Table, a non-profit organization who’s goal is to end poverty, support the marginalized, and educate others on issues of homelessness. 

This afternoon, I participated in a workshop through The Porch (via Zoom) where Lindsey was able to talk a little bit about her experiences with the publication process. It couldn’t have come at a better time. I’ve been home from Mexico for 2 weeks, and I’m beginning to slide into a funk. I felt like my head was in such a good space, and I was accomplishing so much with my writing and editing. Now that I’m home, I am stalling out. I tried to sit and write today, and I just couldn’t find my groove. I am frustrated and discouraged. I know places aren’t magical, that my body doesn’t physically need to be in Mexico for my brain to be able to write. But my loss for words is making me panic. Will I have to wait until next January to get them back? Will I EVER finish and have something worth publishing? 

Just hearing Lindsey talk about how isolating and challenging the writing process can be, gave me a sense of solidarity. Knowing that someone else has navigated through the same emotions I’m feeling right now is a comfort. I think I need more of this. I need support and resources. I need a writing community. I need to know this funk isn’t permanent. 

Spring in the gardening industry is a vortex of chaos, but I MUST find ways to nurture this skill/desire/outlet of mine. Now that our downstairs renovation is mostly done, there’s a new bedroom for Reagan to use when she’s in town. This will allow me to turn her old bedroom into a writing space. It’s not Mexico, but I will cherish and work with the room I’ve been gifted. I hope some of my words will be able to find me in there.

International Women's Day

WARNING: Curse word ahead

Today is International Women’s Day. I’ve spent the last month making edits and additions to stories about my experiences as a woman growing up in a conservative church and home, so this topic is fresh in my mind. Yesterday, I discovered an inflammatory video of a Baptist preacher instructing women on what their husbands expect from them. Year after year, when these misogynistic messages are discovered anew, I am shocked and angry. Frankly, I’m SO tired of saying “It's (insert year here), and the church is STILL feeding us this bullshit.” Since the #metoo movement began a few years ago, more and more women are taking a stand and calling people out. The church is not immune from this trend.

Church, you are losing your women. In a society striving for equality, the more you push messages that marginalize women, you will continue to loose us. It took this horrible video, posted by a woman in that congregation, going viral for the church to pressure this pastor into taking a leave of absence to “receive counseling”. THIS is the aspect that angers us women the most. If millions of people hadn’t seen the video, how much longer would this church have let him continue to tell women that Godly wives don’t “let themselves go” by gaining weight and wearing sweatpants with flip flops? How many men in that church would keep giving their OK on these kinds of sermons from this pastor because they also believe that their women should strive to be “trophy wives”, or at least aim for the “participation trophy?” All the things I’ve put in quotation marks are words the man actually said, by the way. I refuse to share the video, but it shouldn’t be hard for you to find. 

Women in the church, me included, have been psychologically damaged by the purity movement, that shamed and devalued women if they had premarital sex. Women have felt like second-class citizens when our daughters are told they can only speak up at church if they’re in a basement with an all-female audience. Women have had to shoulder enormous guilt if they don’t strive to be mothers (or can’t be mothers) because “That’s what the Bible commands of all women!” Women have been pressured to live up to the Proverbs 31 woman, because it is God’s ideal woman. Women have been told their physical needs pale in comparison to those of their husbands, who need sex constantly because God made them that way. Women have endured years of physical abuse from the hands of their husbands when the church tells them to stick with it, because they don’t have scriptural grounds for divorce.

Women are SO TIRED. Church, you MUST do better. For those people that plan to come at me with scripture that backs up your belief of keeping women silent, trust me, as a Church of Christ elder’s daughter, I HAVE HEARD THEM ALL. I will not hear them today, so save your breath. 

Next time I post, I will hopefully have some much happier thoughts to share. I just needed to get this stuff out of my head. 

Melissa, out.

Winter Sabbatical 2021: Week 6

TRIGGER WARNING!

I’m aware of my Nashville friends currently under a blanket of ice, with temps below freezing until Thursday. Some of you may be hating me right now. If you need to take a pass on viewing my pictures or reading my update today, I totally understand. 

First off, I want to wish Reagan a very happy 20th birthday! Her plan to celebrate yesterday was cancelled due to the weather. I’d hoped she might get a few inches of snow for her birthday today, but it looks like more ice is on the way. My guys both had man-dates on Saturday; Tim at a friend’s house and Pierce with his buddy at a Best Buddies Valentine’s party. Pierce made me a couple of Valentines. It was hard being away from Tim on Valentine’s Day, but we managed to work around the separation. 

I went to the Gypsy Market on Thursday and saw lots of beautiful things. Since I was on foot, I was limited to what I could carry in my backpack. I purchased 2 pieces of Mexican pottery for the garden, a hand painted mask, and a Mayan wooden puzzle box. 

The temperatures were pretty mild when I arrived in January, but the days are steadily heating up. I’ve gone outside to get sunshine a couple times a day. I continue to write and edit. I have a tentative book title in mind, and I’ve written what could be an introductory chapter. We shall see. 

I’ll keep it brief today so I can get back to writing. Stay safe and warm, Nashville!

Winter Sabbatical 2021: Week 5

It’s been a pretty chill week. While I go the the Farmer’s Market and do other grocery shopping for the week on Mondays, my Tuesday-Friday schedule has been pretty consistent: Wake up, walk on the beach while listening to a book or podcast, update journal, work out, eat breakfast, write or edit, eat lunch, write or edit, walk on the beach while listening to book or podcast, write or edit, shower, Netflix or read, dinner, Netflix, bed. I’m spending about 4 hours a day writing new material or editing old stuff. Saturday and Sunday are spent reading on my back porch, listening to the ocean, boats, and people on the beach. Today, I was told about the “Gypsy’s Market” that takes place every 2nd Thursday of the month, in the same location as the weekly Farmer’s Market. It’s hard to think about another 5 mile walk this week, having just completed my Monday trip. But there will be handcrafted items like jewelry and art, and this could be a welcomed change of scenery in a couple days. If I go, you’ll be sure to hear about it. 

In case you missed my Facebook post last week, I love this house so much, I’ve already booked it for January and February 2022! This place has been SO much better for me than Miami was last year. When I get back, I’ll have to start playing the lottery so I can buy a Mexican beach house of my own some day. Or I could just save the money I’d spend on tickets and put them in my beach house fund. It may take me 20 years to get that piggy bank filled up. I only have a couple of pictures this week. After 5 weeks here, I continue to be amazed at the piles of empty and perfect conch shells littering the beaches. I’m not much of a shell collector, so I leave them for others. I continue to find a few pieces of sea glass every day. I don’t think I can carry 10 pounds of glass home with me, so before I go, I’ll have to weed out all of the less than perfect pieces. I’ve been watching more Netflix:

-The Crown (Season 4)

-The History of Swear Words 

-Community (Seasons 1 and 2)

-Evil Genius

-Don’t F*** With Cats 

-The Keepers

-The Staircase. 

Yes friends, I am the stereotypical middle age white woman who’s fallen down the murder porn rabbit hole. Since Tim detests true crime shows, I’m binging them while I can. Shouldn’t this creep me out since I’m living here alone? Maybe, but it doesn’t. I watch a couple episodes of Community to lighten up the mood before bed.  I’ve also finished a few more books:

-Willa’s Grove by Laura Munson

-Draft No 4 by John McPhee

-The Writing Life by Annie Dillard

-Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott

-On Writing by Stephen King

-Planting Native by Sharon Sorenson

Most of you know I make an effort to praise what I love and avoid trashing what I hate. I only enjoyed reading the last 3 books on that list, and the King and Lamott books were rereads. I forced myself through the John McPhee and Annie Dillard books about writing. I fail to see why these books are so highly regarded. McPhee had a few nuggets of wisdom, but I had to wade through lots of name dropping, reminders on every other page that he’s written for Time magazine and The New Yorker, and such long-winded setups of his stories I forgot what aspect of writing he was trying to illustrate. I mean, the man wrote an article for The New Yorker on oranges that was 40,000 words long…and was indignant that the editor had the audacity to remove 85% of the story to make it fit in that week’s issue. GET TO THE POINT, MAN. Dillard believes writing is a painful, arduous, and miserable process. I kept thinking, “Then why do you write? Why don’t you do something that makes you happy?” In Dillard’s opinion, not only is writing excruciating, there are very few brave souls who should accept the challenge, she being one of them; oh how she suffers for her art. I’m sorry, but how is this supposed to inspire me? What makes you believe you’re chosen for this profession and that the rest of us shouldn’t even bother? 

Lamott and King may not be elite literary scholars, but they’ve sold millions of books, so they’re obviously doing something right. They both acknowledge that most of us could write, and lots of us may even be good at it. Though most of us will never get a book deal, just the act of putting pen to paper can be fulfilling enough if we love to write and desire to learn how to make our words soar off of the page. I have no time for writers who make me feel like I’m a worthless piece of poop pursuing a fruitless endeavor. I’ll take my advice from people who know they don’t corner the market on being published writers and are eager to help us join their club. 

I am stepping down from my soapbox now and going for a walk on the beach.

Winter Sabbatical 2021: Week 4ish

This post is a few days late, because Tim was here this weekend. It’s longer than usual.

I’ve reached the halfway point. I still love it out here, but I did have to take a break from guacamole. Maybe I should cut back to making it just once a week. I’ve enjoyed the freezer meals from the Farmer’s Market to mix into my Mexican dinner repertoire. I’ve been to the Farmer’s Market 3 times now, and each time I have spent just a little bit more; I regret nothing. Last week, I had French Onion Mac and Cheese, and it was divine. Between my stocked pantry, frozen leftovers, and Farmer’s Market purchases, I should have enough dinners to carry me through to the end of my stay! 

Two Saturday mornings ago, I took my coffee down to the beach to search for sea glass. The lady I’d spoken to a few days prior was out collecting shells. I learned her name (Valerie) and that she’s from Canada. When she found out I was from America, we got into a discussion about politics. It’s enlightening to hear the viewpoint on American politics from an outsider, and how her country is directly affected. I told her about my kids, and I was surprised to hear that her job before retiring was teaching life skills to people with autism. She also cares for her nephew who, like Pierce, is an adult with autism. We compared Canadian and American resources for individuals with disabilities. I felt my world get just a bit smaller. Not only do I have an English-speaking neighbor, I also have a neighbor who understands EXACTLY the struggles that we endure because of autism.

Two Sundays ago, I spent another day without power. Apparently work was being done on our street, so a few houses were without power from about 6AM-3PM. I spent the day reading on the back porch. I’ve written the beginnings of a couple new essays, and I’ve done more editing to some old ones. 

Tim got in late Thursday night and spent the weekend with me. Since he rented a car, I was able to expand my boundaries a bit. We had dinner at a couple of upscale places in Merida, and everything was delicious. We pulled our masks down long enough to get a selfie outside of Porfirio’s. We found two places that reminded us of home. I got to shop at Costco!! I found pesto, goat cheese, and artichokes; I’ve yet to find any of those items in the Mexican supermarcados. I don’t think I can manage to eat it all before I leave, but I’ll have fun trying. We also found a Krispy Kreme! It was drive-thru only and we sat in line for about 25 minutes. WORTH IT. I overindulged this weekend, so I didn't mind the 4 mile walk to and from the market today. I will not be skipping any B.Fab workouts this week, for sure. 

Tim left this morning, but he’s already booked a ticket to come back at the end of February. We’ll be traveling home together. I know many people think it’s strange that we have this arrangement, separated for two months out of the year. In January, we spoke on the phone only twice. We did text each other a few times a day, though. There were times last month that we missed each other like crazy, but Tim hasn’t been resentful of my time away. We knew the pining would make our reunion that much sweeter. 

I think I noticed about 2 years ago that we had arrived at a new dynamic in our marriage. This April marks 30 years since our first date. We were children then, and we married before either of us had reached the legal drinking age. Like most marriages, ours has evolved and changed so many times over these 27 years. But through it all, I can’t think of a “rough patch” between the 2 of us that we’ve had to overcome; with the exception of my 3 clinical depression diagnoses, where I found it hard to love anyone. Many of our friends have reached the empty nest stage. We don’t have that luxury, but our conversations have changed just the same. With the lack of day to day parenting, a main topic of discussion has mostly disappeared. After telling each other about our day, we spend quite a lot of our evenings in silence. 

If you don’t know Tim, he is one of the most laid-back, go-with-the-flow people I’ve ever known. I’m the one that overanalyzes and stresses over change. This silence for me, in the beginning, was terrifying. Have we been together so long we’ve finally run out of things to talk about? I didn’t think we’d reach this place until we were old and retired. Should I be on Pinterest looking for lists of 20 questions or conversation starters? I got up the courage to broach the subject with Tim a while back, and asked him if it bothers him that we don’t talk as much anymore. I shouldn’t have been surprised that he was nonplussed. Instead of fearing the silence, he saw it as an indication that we’d become so comfortable with each other, we didn’t think it necessary to fill the void with conversation. Just being in each other’s presence was enough, even if we’re both reading or doing our own things.

When Taylor Swift released Folklore last year, one song gave me chills and made me well up with tears the first time I heard it. The song, Peace, is about how difficult it is to be in a relationship with her, because of the media circus that would always follow her: “Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?” I found a different meaning in the lyrics. Being with me means that depression will always haunt us. But the lyric that made my heart skip a beat was about one of the things she could bring to a relationship: “Give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other.” I can’t say I’m completely at ease with our lack of dialogue, but this lyric gave me a sense of comfort and that the place we’ve found ourselves is no cause for concern. For while we don’t have many words, our passion for one another is still strong. If I had to choose, without a doubt I’d take passion over the ability to keep a dinner conversation going.

Winter Sabbatical 2021: Week 3

It’s hard to fathom that I’ve been here 3 weeks already. Though my only goal for this trip is to avoid seasonal depression, I still feel guilt on those days I do nothing but read or make playlists on Apple Music. I turned on the TV for the first time last weekend to binge season 4 of The Crown, which shocked my AirBNB manager. She asked, “What have you been doing this whole time…reading?” It just so happens I’ve finished 9 books since I arrived:

The Family Upstairs by Lisa Jewell

Forgiving What You Can’t Forget by Lysa Terkeurst

A Promised Land by Barack Obama

This Tender Land by William Kent Krueger

Don't Overthink It by Anne Bogel

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by JK Rowling (which I’d already read once before)

Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie

A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry

Vegetable Gardening in the Southeast by Ira Wallace

I’m currently reading Willa’s Grove by Laura Munson, Ornamental Grasses of the Southeast by Peter Loewer, and an advance copy of The Folly of Hunting by my friend and coworker Adam Chapman.

Monday was an exciting day for me. When I walked on the beach that morning, I crossed paths with a woman I’ve seen in passing. In fact, she looked like one of the women that peeked in my window several days ago. Instead of the usual “Buenas Dias” I usually exchange with others, she greeted me with “Hello.” I was thrilled to have a conversation in English! She saw me searching for sea glass and told me that it was hard to find this year. Having never found sea glass on any of the public beaches I’ve been to in the states, I consider finding 4-5 pieces a day to be an abundance. We chatted briefly before continuing on our walks. 

Later that morning, I took a trip to the Farmer’s Market in Chuburna. I’d been stressing that morning, wondering if my Spanish was good enough to converse with the vendors. Getting there and back was a combination of shuttles, walking, and a motorbike taxi. As I arrived, the only people I saw outside were caucasian. Inside, none of the vendors were Mexican. Their signs were written in English, and everyone was speaking English. They must be part of the growing expat community in this area. There were soups, casseroles, baked goods, barbecued meats, and more. I blew every bit of cash I had on pierogis, cashew chicken, pulled pork, sourdough bread, brownies, and a small key lime pie. I’ve never been so excited to see American food! I will be making this part of my Monday routine for the duration of my stay. 

The vision of my memoir is becoming a little clearer. I never wanted to write a book about autism, because I don’t think the world really needs yet another book in this oversaturated market. What can I say that hasn’t already been said? But when I look at all I’ve written, the stories about Pierce and how his autism has shaped every aspect of my life seem to work best together. They’re certainly the least controversial stories about my life and thus the safest to publish. I’ve begun researching literary agents and publishing companies. It would be far easier to self-publish, and definitely the quickest way to get a finished product. It never hurts to explore all of my options, though.

Tim will be here in 7 days! I may not get a blog post up next Friday, but I’ll tell you about our visit shortly thereafter.

Winter Sabbatical 2021: Week 2

It’s sunny and beautiful as I write, which I appreciate even more than usual. Tuesday and Wednesday were gray, windy, and rainy. After staying cooped up inside for 2 days, I savored my walk on the beach Thursday. In 2 weeks time, I’ve acquired a fine collection of sea glass. My days are uneventful. Every morning, I open my kitchen windows and the sliding glass doors to the back patio. It’s a way to feel like I’m outside while I’m writing/editing. The temperatures are mild enough that I can stay cool from the cross-breeze alone. The sounds of the ocean and boats are a pleasant soundtrack. I see the maintenance man, an older gentleman, outside my window everyday, and Manuel always greets me with joy and enthusiasm. This street is a mixture of renovated beach homes and dilapidated structures waiting to be loved. I’ve had a couple of interesting encounters with some curious passers-by. As I was washing dishes one day, a car stopped and 2 women got out. One of them asked me something in Spanish, of course, and I had to explain that my Spanish isn’t great. Fortunately, one woman spoke some English, and she asked if the house was available to rent. I’d forgotten about the sign out front with a phone number for rental inquiries. I told her I was here until March. Another day, I was writing at the dining room table, when I heard voices (in English this time) coming from my front porch. I looked over just as 2 women and a young girl peeked into my windows. I think because I don’t have a car out front, they must’ve assumed no one was home. They were surprised to see me and embarrassed to be caught. We exchanged hellos before they scurried away. 

Last weekend, I picked up my first stack of warm and fresh corn tortillas. The aroma was sweet and comforting, and I wondered if anyone has thought to make a Corn Tortilla candle? I’ve made a couple of authentic dishes that I’m proud of. Last Sunday, I made huevos motuleños. I combined elements from 2 recipes I found on Pinterest (here and here) to get as close as possible to the version I had at the cafe. I was quite pleased with the results and will definitely make it again. On Monday, I made enchiladas verdes. I’d considered using a jarred sauce, but in the end I decided to try a homemade one using this recipe. There’s a definite learning curve to this oven. Now that I’ve figured out what I’m doing, my enchiladas will be much better next time. For my first go, the sauce was tangy and the corn tortillas were sweet. It’s obviously more work to make my own sauce, but I happen to have some free time. I’ve also made copious amounts of guacamole. I’m running out of ways to make meat, rice, and beans interesting. There’s a limited variety of spices here, most of them being suited to Mexican dishes. It’s difficult to make many other types of cuisine. I’ll have to get creative. 

I’ve done a little writing, keeping a daily journal of my time here. On Monday I began editing some of the material I’ve written for my one-of-these-days memoir. I’ve written loads of stories, but they can’t or shouldn’t all be published. I need to decide which stories work best together to make a cohesive book.  

There is a farmer’s market close by every Monday, so I plan to check that out next week. I’d love to see some of the Mayan ruins and cenotes (natural swimming pools in caves or sinkholes) in the area. This morning, I looked at some tours on the AirBNB app. There’s a few agencies listed in the welcome book for this house as well. I’ve contacted one to find out if they’re even doing tours right now; waiting to hear back. I’m a little intimidated by the thought of going alone, so I may wait until Tim’s visit in 2 weeks. I can’t wait to see him again. I have nothing more to report here, so adios until next week!

Winter Sabbatical 2021: Week 1

So, has anything interesting happened since I left? In my efforts to disconnect and find some peace, I had been staying away from social media and news sites. But since Reagan texted me on Wednesday, I’ve been doom-scrolling on Twitter and I hate myself for it. I won’t go into all of the emotions I’ve had over the last 48 hours. But when I woke up Thursday morning, I was greeted with an ocean so still, calm, and peaceful, I spent most of the day outside, trying to breathe it all in, willing it to consume my soul. It is becoming easier to step away from my phone.

I can’t believe I’ve been here a whole week already! I’ve had a couple of hiccups, but I love it out here. I can barely pull my eyes away from the ocean. Some mornings it’s just me with my coffee and the pelicans diving for their breakfasts. Other mornings, the locals are scavenging for conch and other shellfish. Every evening, I comb “my” little stretch of beach in search of sea glass, and I never walk away empty-handed.

I’ve only ventured out 3 times, so I haven’t experienced much of the local culture. On Saturday, I walked 1.5 miles to Cafe France, a lovely breakfast place Tim and I discovered during our reconnaissance mission last July. The same waitress greeted me; on the 3 visits I’ve made, I’ve never seen this young lady without a beaming smile. The huevos motuleños are fabulous. It took a real effort to stop myself from cleaning the plate, since I knew I had a 1.5 mile trek back to the house after breakfast. I have looked up a recipe or two for this dish, and I plan to attempt one of them this weekend. On Sunday, I walked another 1.5 miles to Costa Azul, also a restaurant Tim and I enjoyed last summer. Their camarones al coco (coconut shrimp) was just as delicious as it was in my memory. Also on Sunday, I took my first solo shuttle ride into Progresso for groceries (easy-peasy). At Bodega, I managed to fill a grocery cart, and I worried a little about how I was going to lug all of it home on a shuttle, as catching one back to Chelem from this location proved rather difficult for Tim and I last time. Fortunately, a line of taxis sat outside the exit, and I was escorted over to one right away. It cost a good bit more than the shuttle (though the US equivalent was only $4), but the hassle it saved me was well worth the extra money. My cab driver spoke a little English, which saved me from butchering the directions in Spanish. 

My one big hiccup was a 24-hour power outage. For several hours, I had one working outlet, thanks to a neighbor that allowed me to hook 4 connected extension cords to his house, so the food in my fridge didn’t spoil and I could keep my cellphone charged. As I am in a tiny rural Mexican town, the power company lacks the efficiency of NES, so it took a full day for them to get to me. I was fortunate to have mild temperatures, so I was able to maintain a good cross-breeze indoors with the windows open. Otherwise, I have had good WiFi. I’ve even been able to do a couple virtual workouts with my B.Fab crew! The house is secure. In fact, I set the alarm off when I opened the sliding glass door one morning before deactivating the system. Coffee was a formality that morning, as I was quite awake without the caffeine.

I struggled with whether or not to share my Mexico stories or pictures of the ocean while the majority of you are in coats and scarves. For most of my life, there were people who made me feel guilty for any good fortune I happened to inherit. This in turn made me apologize more than necessary, keep things to myself to prevent any jealousy, and feel terrible for flaunting. But my 40s have taught me that it is high time I stop worrying how I’m perceived. There are many people in my life who want to share in my joy, and it is for you I write this and post my pictures. Thank you, and I’ll check in with you next week!