Time for memos, just stuff I’d really like to rant about, but I don’t have the time…

Dear Dr. Abby and Stacy,

You’re geniuses, both of you. I’m a new woman. Well, okay, maybe not a new woman, but at least a way more comfortable old one!

Flexibly yours,

Nan

***

Dear Damn Tiny Ants in My Kitchen,

Okay, so we’ve bombed you, smashed you, ant-trapped you, washed you down the drain, and wiped you up with wet paper towels and dropped you in the trash, and yet somehow, you keep reappearing. Go away. Go away immediately!

Ick,

Nan

***

Dear Muse,

Welcome back.

Big love,

Nan

***

Dear Coach Mike,

Thank you so much for taking me out on your new waverunner—an experience I will not soon forget. I’ve always wanted to try a ride on one of those, but I have to confess, I wasn’t ready for the bumpy speeding across the waves—OMG! I know you said we were only going about 20 mph, but it felt like 100! You’re a sweetheart to indulge an old granny! KCSSK

Still screaming on the inside,

Nan

***

Dear Weather,

Could you have been weirder this summer? I mean seriously? August feels like June and June felt like August in the Kalahari Desert. I’m hoping for a halfway normal fall and winter with perhaps some snow sometime after the first of the year. Could you work on that please?

No longer sweating,

Nan

***

Dear Son and DIL,

Have I mentioned recently how impressed I am with the way you two have taken to parenthood? Little Cam fits into your lives like the missing piece of a puzzle, and although I know that adjusting to an new little person in your home is a challenge, the two of you are handling it with grace and humor and lots of love. I’m so proud of you and so very glad that my darling grandson picked you to be his parents. He’s already demonstrating awesome wisdom.

Love, love, love to you both,

Mom/Ma

***

Dear Grandson,

Heavens, you are one precious baby boy. I could sit on Skype for hours and simply watch you wave your little arms and kick your legs and grin and grimace. Tell Mommy and Daddy how much Nanny and Pops love those Skype sessions, okay? Oh, and slow down growing—you’re going to be taller than me before Christmas and I really am looking forward to spending all my time cuddling you. Not that I’d let your size ever stop me from hugging and kissing on you—ask Daddy.

I love you, baby boy!

Nanny

***

Dear Readers,

Did you really think I was going to get through a whole blog without posting pictures of my kids and grandson? By now, you know me better than that…

Love and thanks always for stopping by,

Nan

My summer has literally disappeared and I’m damned if I know what happened to it. One minute it was April and we were opening up the lake cottage and the next, it’s almost September and the nights have already turned cool. My personal life has been an upheaval of joys and sorrows, while in the meantime, I’ve been working practically nonstop all summer long. Working is always a good thing, except that it interferes ferociously with my writing time. If I work for eight or ten hours, I’m loathe to sit down at the computer again after I stop for the day.

But yesterday, I worked on my romantic suspense and finished a whole new chapter. Now, I’m aching to continue writing—the widow’s tale is brewing and the time travel story sends me to my little recorder or my notebook as ideas keep cropping up. I love that feeling when the creative juices are flowing. It’s almost sensual. I can spend hours here, world-building and refining characters and bringing a story to life and then come away exhausted, but exhilarated. The current story sloshes around in my brain even when I’m not at the computer—while I’m driving, weeding, vacuuming, standing at the kitchen sink…and characters knock at the door of my mind begging to be let out. When that happens, it’s as if I’ve found my true calling, my life’s work. But then life and work  interfere again…

My critique partners are amazing and so prolific that I’m constantly in awe of their abilities to produce story after story. I get distracted by life and work, but they steam through almost anything and continue writing. I really would love to be like that when I grow up as a writer, but maybe it’s not my style to be so prolific. Maybe I’m not going to crank out books at a fantastic rate. Frequently, when I’m dispirited and wondering if I’m any kind of a writer at all, I have to remind myself that I’ve already had a book published and that people are asking me for more.

I’ve thought about letting the editing go for a while and just concentrating on writing, but I’m too much of a coward. The day job pays for the pleasures, like the lake cottage and boat gas, pedicures and trips to see my grandson. I want those things too, so does that mean that I’m not focused enough on the craft to be a truly successful writer?

When I’m writing, I’m happy, complete. When I’m not writing, I’m worrying about not writing, but I also love getting paid and putting my aching feet into a pedicure tub or cruising on the lake on a warm sunny afternoon. I’m thinking I may need to simply give myself the time in the mornings to write before I begin my paying gigs. Perhaps a more disciplined schedule would help.

Should I be suffering more? More willing to give up pleasures in order to write? Is it enough for me to write when I can? I don’t know, I’m asking…that’s the question for the Universe today. Am I truly a writer if I’m not obsessed with writing?

With permission, I’m going to tell you about what’s been going on in my world for the last few weeks and why I haven’t been as a good a blogger as usual. I’m having a tough time focusing on much of anything right now because my heart and mind are so absorbed by my sister/friend, Dee. She’s in trouble…medical trouble. After seven arduous weeks of testing that included two weeks at Mayo Clinic, she’s been diagnosed with liposarcoma of the retroperitoneum. Google it if you want more details, but suffice to say, she has a malignant tumor in the back of her abdominal cavity and it’s sort of taken over her insides to the point that surgery isn’t an option. In the next couple of weeks, she starts chemo, probably an aggressive treatment, and chemo most likely will be followed by radiation.

Dee has cancer.

What terrifying words. Dee has cancer. My Dee, whose vitality and energy has been my inspiration to get off my ass and move for damn near thirty years, is now exhausted from weeks of biopsies and laparoscopic explorations into her small body. She’s always been slender, but now she’s just plain thin and anticipating the loss of her hair, which is rightfully a point of vanity for her. Her hair is gorgeous, thick and a naturally lovely combination of white and grey. People stop her in the grocery to ask her who does her hair color and she just smiles and replies, “God.” Now she knows she’ll be losing it and has already said that she’ll shave her head and wear a wig.

With that one declaration, “I’ll shave my head and wear a wig,” I knew that she’d come home from Mayo ready to fight for her life. And by God, I intend to fight with her. I’ve never done this before—fought with a friend through cancer. Although I’ve known people with cancer, I’ve never been so close to the battle. But I can’t imagine letting her to do this without me.

So Dee, here’s my promise to you. I’ll be there for you. I’m ready to fight. Ready to make you tasty meals and food that will strengthen and nourish your body, ready to drive you to treatment and hold your hand as you sit through hours of a chemo drip. Ready to hold the puke bucket if you need it, although I’m praying you won’t because I know how much you hate to barf. I’ll be there to listen and be your confident as I have always been. I’ll be right there to laugh with you, pray with you, cry with you… I’ll be by your side whenever you need me.

I’m here, baby. I love you and I will fight with all my heart for you. We will win this wicked battle and in thirty years, we’ll be on the porch, drinking wine and laughing, getting just buzzed enough to shout “f*** you” at folks who drive by and dare to make fun of two old ladies in rocking chairs. We’re gonna be there, Mon Amie—exactly like we’ve always planned.

…and unable to think. I haven’t posted in about two weeks and that makes me very grumpy, but here’s the thing. My life is overwhelmed with work right now. Not a complaint, simply a fact. And my brain is so fried by the end of the day that I can’t come up with a decent blog topic to save my soul. I’m so grateful that the salvation of my soul doesn’t depend on my producing a scintillating blog because right now, I’d be in deep trouble.

So how about some pictures of our trip to see our new little grandson last month? I knew you’d be thrilled. First, Nanny, Pops, and Cam—I’m in an apron because I was just starting to help Son in the kitchen when the photo op came up. Then bath time,  with little Cameron, all cuddled up in beary cute towel.

Sweet family togetherness.

Dad and Son…zzzzzz…

There, wasn’t that fun? Aren’t you glad you hung out for a couple of minutes? I’m glad you did too!