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.