Welcome to Friday Fictioneers, the best weekly flash fiction around. Join our merriment, or just enjoy the other stories. Rochelle Wisoff-Fields makes it hard to resist. Check out the details here.

I am honored to have my photo featured this week. It is of a bathroom in Barbados, strangely enough. I found it striking, to say the least. However, why it took me to the continuation of this story, this morning… is the mystery of writing.  Click on these links to read parts one, two, and three, if you’re interested.

I always welcome constructive feedback or a thoughtful comment. My goal for 2014 is to really build my blog and FB page. It’s my birthday (1/9), so help me celebrate by stopping by Tales From the Motherland, or the TFTM Facebook page, and hit Like. I will smile all day. Thanks for reading!

Copyright- Dawn Quyle Landau

Copyright- Dawn Quyle Landau

(100 words, exactly)

“Joni Mitchell?” Henry nodded toward the young woman wiping the counter.

“Sorry? Joni, who?”

“The song you were singing– Both Sides Now by Joni Mitchell.”

“Maybe. Something catchy I heard. You know it?” She grabbed a ketchup.

“It’s a song about love, my wife Marjorie’s favorite–” His voice trailed off as she poured his coffee.

“Does she sing it too?” She asked absently.

“She’s gone now… Along with my fairy tales of love.”

She turned back around with napkins in her hand. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” Henry stared at the milky cloud in his coffee and stirred it silently.

Now, enjoy Joni Mitchell, singing one of my favorite songs:

© Please note, that aside from the writing on this page is copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland. If you care to share my work, please give proper credit. Plagiarism sucks.

Any ads at the bottom of this page are not endorsed by Tales From the Motherland. I am just not willing to pay extra to have them not appear.

Posted on January 8, 2014 by Dawn Quyle Landau | 112 Comments

The Grass is Always Greener on Someone Else’s Head… or is it?

Posted on January 5, 2014 by Dawn Quyle Landau

I’m reblogging this post, which was Fresh Pressed in August, 2011. I had been blogging 6 weeks and it was lacking a few things. I’ve updated the post, and want to share it again.

Dawn Quyle Landau's avatarTALES FROM THE MOTHERLAND

freshly-pressed-circle** Update:  This was post was originally published in August 2011. I had been blogging for six weeks, and it was Freshly Pressed. I had no idea what that meant at the time, I didn’t even realize it had been FP’ed for a full day! Boy have things changed! Now I covet that golden boy! When I first published this post, I had no idea how to add photos; I didn’t know how to add links; I was clueless. Clueless. There were so many comments asking for photos, but I didn’t know how.  So, I’ve updated the post.  In this reblog, I’ve added some photos, fixed a few typos and put in links.

In August 2011,  I think I had five followers (really), and had not even told many of my friends and family that I was blogging. Now, I’m quickly approaching 2,000 followers and I’m in my groove. I…

View original post 1,225 more words

Posted in Honest observations on many things | 1 Comment

It’s time for Friday Fictioneers, but Word Press has stopped sending me the posts I follow! Alas, I am late again. It’s the amazing flash fiction challenge, which I wait all week for! Check out Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, to join in, or to read the other wonderful stories in the collection. This photo is for Rochelle, but Happy New Year/ Bonne Année to all!

DSC_0081

I always welcome constructive criticism or feedback. Please leave a comment. I invite readers to visit my blog Tales From the Motherland, or check out the Tales From the Motherland Facebook page. I’m working on building up the Likes/Follows on both.

Photo: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Photo: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

(100 words exactly)

“Come down Auggie!”  Jessie stamped her foot and pat her leg.  “Auggie, peese come down and pway!”  She looked longingly at her companion, willful and determined.

The small terrier gazed over the wall at the park and the woods beyond.  His best friend  couldn’t possibly understand the thrill of running untethered, or the joy of so many trees to mark.  However, he couldn’t bear to see disappointment on her tiny face; the field would wait. His humans were amused by his ability to climb a tree; they had not figured out that he could climb over the fence as well.

All work here is property of Tales From the Motherland and Dawn Quyle Landau ©2014

The owner of this blog and TFTM do not endorse any ads that appear on this site. I’m just too cheap to block them.

Posted on January 3, 2014 by Dawn Quyle Landau | 53 Comments

The Waiting, It Turns Out, Is Indeed the Hardest Part

Posted on January 2, 2014 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Here it is folks! The Waiting is over… I am guest-blogger on The Waiting today! If you love witty, funny, moving writing… you need to be following Emily at The Waiting. She rocks it every time. Today, she let me sit in, and I am very honored and excited. So run over there and check out my post; be sure to hit Like and make Emily glad she invited me.

Dawn Quyle Landau's avatarThe Waiting

These toddler days are long. They stretch from one bedtime to the next and are abbreviated with snot-nosed tantrums that engulf the days despite their relative brevity. But it’s important for me to constantly remind myself that these days are fleeting, a drop in the ocean of raising a person. That’s part of the reason I’m so drawn to Dawn’s writing. She’s in a completely different stage in her life as a parent than I am, and I am thrilled to have her on the blog today – the very first post of the year – talking about that distinct vantage point. Dawn writes with candor and finesse, and if you don’t already follow her (which you should!), be sure to check out her blog Tales From the Motherland and click “follow.” 

-Emily

“I wasn’t born your mother.”

I said this in a recent post, An Open Letter to My…

View original post 2,053 more words

Posted in Honest observations on many things | 3 Comments

This is not a blog post. For subscribers, you are getting a false post that is here to send you elsewhere… for my real post. Today, I am enormously honored and super excited to be a guest blogger over at The Waiting. Emily, the genius behind The Waiting brings all kinds of fun on a regular basis, and you should definitely check her out. But today, she’s trusted me to entertain you. I am giddy with excitement! And, I’ve got to admit, I think it’s a damned good post! If you have young children, you will want to read this. Trust me. If you have teens, you should definitely read this post. Seriously, trust me. But, if you’re kids are nearly grown, this is an important post for you as well. Important? Yes, trust me on this one. I think the journey we share with our kids is the most important journey we make. But what if you’re seeing different sites on that journey? What if you see blue skies and they see storms? What if you see sibling rivalry and they see pain all around? You’ll want to read this post. So run, don’t walk over to The Waiting (click here) and see what I’m talking about. I’m excited to share this one!

Show some love while you’re there! Let Emily know that she wasn’t wrong to trust her blog to me, for a day.  And Yo! I am just 12 Followers away from 2,000… today’s the day; I just know it!  Thanks for your support; it has meant the world in 2013, and is getting 2014 off to an epic start!

DSC_0081

Posted on January 2, 2014 by Dawn Quyle Landau | 13 Comments

Last night, an “Urgent Request” came from Hospice House, that they were short staffed today, and beds were full– That someone was needed for the 8am-12pm shift today. I am still home recovering and had given up my shifts there for the next two weeks. Without thinking, I called and said, I’ll be there. As I looked at the calendar, I realized that I will be working on the 2nd anniversary of Mom’s death. The Social Worker asked kindly, “are you sure you want to do that?” I am. I can think of no more peaceful place to be, no better way to honor my mother, than to be there today for someone else who may need some support. Hospice gave me, my mother, my sister, and our family so much, two years ago. It is an honor and a personal blessing to return that today. So, I am re-sharing this post, in memory of my Mom– who lost her battle with Huntington’s Disease, two years ago today.

I wrote this post the morning my mother died, two years ago. I drove home, and couldn’t bring myself to go in my house… yet. I knew that when I stepped inside, the spell would be broken. The spell that was cast, sitting for more than 3 days beside my mother, as she died. I’d been called in two days before (after having been there for three full months, every day, and having spent the previous 24 hours beside her), and hadn’t left Hospice House. So that cold morning, two years ago, after having said goodbye to her, I wasn’t ready to go into my house and let her go.  So I sat in my car and wrote this post. It was still dark out, very silent, and cold, that morning. Sitting there, I felt so many things and needed to put them in words. This post was written without edits or filters… it’s what was happening in those moments and hours just after losing my mother.

This morning, I woke at 4:30. Call that what you will, after reading this. I believe she is with me. This morning, I sat in my dark living room, the lights of our tree shining. She loved the Christmas tree. Loved it. I listened to Peter Gabriel, and held her close. I still grieve. I grieve all the things that were stolen from us. I grieve the life she lost to HD. I grieve that my children don’t remember the wonderfully funny, dynamic woman she once was.  I grieve that she died so young, and missed so many things. I grieve that there are so many things I can never ask her, that I wish I had. I grieve what this disease will continue to take from me. I miss her. Still.

Peace.

At 4:00 A.M., exactly, the nurse came into my mother’s room, again. I had a barely slept, tossing and turning, listening to Mom. I was dozing when she came in. I was frustrated to be disturbed again. Mom had begun moaning and I was trying to let her struggle, let her rage and just be there. However, they suggested lorazapam to calm her and I said yes. Then, I asked the nurse to leave and not return. I went over to hold Mom’s hand and it had grown cold. Despite her difficult breathing and horrible previous 48 hrs, her hands and feet had stayed so very hot. Burning up. Suddenly they were cold. She was now breathing quickly, moaning and staring off.

I pulled my computer over and put on one of her favorite songs: My Heart Will Go On. She and my daughter watched Titanic many times together, and the song always held meaning. It came out just when my grandmother, Mom’s mother, died and we all felt it was so lovely. Of course, over time it was over played and made silly at times, but in Mom’s dark room, holding her hand, it was beautiful. I felt my daughter there too, in the memory. I played Can You Feel the Love Tonight. And I kept holding her hand. I told her I was there, that it was ok to leave me, over and over. I said some of the very things she’d hated before:  ”It will all be ok,” “We love you,” “K and I are here,” “Mea and Doby (her beloved pugs) are waiting for you, they’re going to lick your face over and over,” “Grandma and Bubbie are there, to hold you,” and, her breath began to slow; she stopped moaning.

I pulled up a picture of my sister’s dog, Lottie, who Mom loved and held the picture where she could conceivably see it. She was staring off, but I held it up none the less. I told her that I love her, that my sister and brother love her, that we all love her, and that I know she loves me. She smiled. Her mouth clearly turned up and she smiled, faintly. Her breathing grew slower and slower and I kept one hand on her heart and the other holding her hand, debating when to go wake my sister. As I got up, I sensed that I was feeling her last breath, and I walked to the other room to get my sister. When we got back to the bed, she was gone. She was so very still, her eyes still open.

My sister and I got into bed with her, as we have for weeks and weeks and we held her. We cried and held each other, but we held our mother hardest. We laid with her until we were done crying. Then, we sat on the bench beside her bed for a while… talking and thinking, sharing our thoughts, until we were ready to open the door and tell the staff.

Once we did, they called the funeral home and then brought in a bowl of lavender water. I put some special lavender oil in the water, that I’d been rubbing on her for weeks, that she liked. And then, two of the staff and I bathed her body. I washed her whole, small body down and removed the Angel necklace that I’d put on her 48 hrs ago. It was given to me by my aunts, out of love… something we each have and put on whenever one of us in the circle is in need. My aunts have all worn their angels for us this week, but I wanted my Mom to wear mine. I took it off her and back around my own neck.

When they came to take her, they covered her in the quilt that she got when she arrived. At the door, they stopped and we surrounded her small body. My sister and I held hands, my sister crying, I held her tightly, and reached a hand to touch our mother’s chest one last time.  As I stood with one hand on my mother, and my other hand holding my sister’s, they rang a bell three times, slowly. We each touched Mom; I kissed her one last time and they took her away. I immediately wrote her name and a heart on a slip of paper, placed it in the Chris Moench prayer wheel, near the entrance and gave it a good spin.

I gathered my things and left Hospice House. It felt so strange to finally walk out. There in the parking lot, a thick layer of ice covered my entire car and it sparkled like a million diamonds. It was incredibly beautiful. When I turned my car on, Norah Jones’Don’t Know Why was playing. The lyrics to that song were on the first page of my manuscript, in it’s original version. I believe in symbols, in signs, in mystery… the diamonds, the 4:00 wake up (the exact time they called two days earlier), the song, they mean something to me. I drove home, but I wanted to sit here in my car, just a little longer. I put on Peter Gabriel’s I Grieve, watching the beautiful Christmas lights on my house, and  ”Missing what’s gone… life carries on…. Love carries on.” Thank you Peter for singing to me again, on this morning when I am finally at Peace.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fQ3wpjdYMqk   “It was only one hour ago, it was all so different then. Nothing yet has really sunk in; looks like it always did… I grieve. It’s so hard to move on, still loving what’s gone, they say love carries on, and on, and on…”

Also read:

What Doesn’t Kill You, Just Beats the Shit Out of You: https://talesfromthemotherland.me/2011/12/30/what-doesnt-kill-you-just-beats-the-shit-out-of-you/

Posted on December 31, 2013 by Dawn Quyle Landau | 34 Comments
Wishing aint gonna do it, I'm stepping up! But I'll take any magic too...

Wishing aint gonna do it, I’m stepping up! But I’ll take any magic too…

In my Christmas Miracles post, I told you that I believe in all kinds of things: Magic, Christmas, Goodness… I do. However, I don’t I believe in New Year’s resolutions. I did when I was young, but after enough failed attempts, I realized that I just don’t need one more thing to hold myself up to, and be let down. Inspiration: believe in that. Conviction: believe in that. Aspirations, Commitment, Effort, Motivation… I believe in all of those. If you tied them all up into a neat package, then you could argue that I do believe in the annual ritual that is part of New Year’s. But I don’t. Really. I think that vowing to take something on, just because it’s a new year, and then beating your head against an expectation-laden brick wall is at the least self-destructive, and at the worst almost criminal. I feel like I have enough things that thwart me; there are already too many things I judge myself harshly for; there is plenty that I set myself up for, and then feel frustrated by; I haven’t seen the need to publicly create a goal and then struggle under prying eyes to reach that goal. So I stopped making New Year’s Resolutions a long time ago, and my only resolution each December 31st, has been not to make a resolution… and not puke.

Until now. I’m stepping outside my bubble, and I’m making this very public. I’m making some resolutions and I’m going to keep them. I’m giving myself this one year: 2014, to set these resolutions and bring it. If I fail, next year’s post will look very different.

The clock is ticking! image: www.percederberg.com

The clock is ticking!
image: http://www.percederberg.com

Resolution #1 is the Big Kahuna. I will publish my first novel by the end of 2014. Yes, you read that right. I will publish my first novel. While I am still waiting for 6 editors and agents to tell me if they want to publish my work, I will not sit on that. If I don’t have a publisher (my dream), then I will self-publish my novel, as so many have advised. When I attended the North West Writer’s Conferences last July (read about that star-studded event here), nearly ever single agent, publisher and speaker said what we writers have been reading: self-publishing is where it’s at. There are so many good reasons to self-publish. I haven’t done it because I’ve clung to a long-held dream of having my work published by an establish publishing house. But, the reality is that I am turning 51 next week. The collagen is drying up in my skin, and my brain cells are melting.  I want to look good for my Oprah close up. I am impatient. I have worked hard on this. I’ve edited this manuscript; I’ve had it edited professionally; I’ve sat through lots of feedback; I’ve dreamed; I’ve dreamed some more, and it’s time. So, this is the year. I plan to write to the folks who are still holding on to my work, and I’ll ask them respectfully to make up their minds… then I’ll make the next step. By January 1, 2015, I will either have a contract to publish with an established publisher, or I will have published my book. Count on it.

Resolution two:  Own my game, and bring it. About finding my game: it’s been a process, but I’m stepping it up, stepping up that “game” that everyone talks about. Last week I read a really interesting article about a blog post that went “viral” and how that changed everything for the writer of the post. He had a lot to say about putting yourself out there, tooting your own horn, building your platform: finding your game, and then bringing it. As I read it, I realized that I really haven’t done that. I can’t count on going viral, without taking off my clothes and doing something truly crazy. Fact is: I started something nearly ten years ago (TEN. YEARS. AGO), and I’ve gingerly stepped along ever since, not really stepping outside my comfort zone. Starting this blog was a big step. I wanted to be writing; I wanted to have my work read; I began envisioning the blog I would have, and then I started it. But, I did very little for a long time, and that has morphed over time into doing the bare boned basics.

Yes! This is me, tooting my own horn. Hear it, 'cause I'm serious, baby!

Yes! This is me, tooting my own horn. Hear it, ’cause I’m serious, baby!

In the beginning, I hardly told people about the blog, so promoting it on my Facebook page and on Twitter seems like a leap. But those are just baby steps. I write a post, and humbly ask folks to read it, by saying something like “check out my new post” on my private FB page and the Tales From the Motherland FB page. I send out a simple Tweet. This is not the way to build a platform that knocks the socks off of publishers. I need a big ass horn, and I need to learn to blow it. Loud and bold. It’s time to bring out my inner pimp. If my work is to sell, if I want a book to not just be a self-published blip, I have to push it myself. I have to push myself. On you. All of you. It’s not enough to say “hey I wrote a blog post, and I wrote a book; I hope maybe you’ll read it.” It’s time I say: Hey you, YOU, you like my work? You tell me it’s great in the comment section, right? So help a girl out, Share it!  Tell your friends to read my work. Subscribe to my blog. And no, I don’t actually know who is subscribing, so you can even remain all private about it. It’s not like you’ll start getting spam in the mail; but you will get each new post, right in your inbox… there for you to read or delete.  Of course I hope you’ll read it, and like it, but ultimately it’s the numbers that talk. I need those numbers. I need people to “follow” my blog. See, this is me getting bold. Those numbers mean something to publishers, who expect you to have an audience, before they even want to read your work. I’m currently about 40 subscribers short of 2,000. It’s a big number; I’m proud to reach it. But, I’m aiming much higher. I’d like to double that, at least, in 2014. I’m setting my sights on numbers, and I’m going after them. Pimp is on. So, I’m asking: If you like my work, Follow it, subscribe. Then, hit Like. And after you do that, share my work. Send the link to other friends; tell them to do the same things. Read, Subscribe, Like, Share. That’s right, I’m asking. Help me out. Here’s  my game; I’m bringing it; now play with me. I’m tooting my horn here, folks! Toot!

Yo, damn straight. I mean business! Image: incserv.com

Yo, damn straight. I mean business!
Image: incserv.com

In an effort to bring that game, I’m putting myself out there. I am looking to do guest posts. I am pushing to get my name and my writing further out there. This week I will be a guest blogger for Emily at The Waiting. If you don’t already read The Waiting, you should.  Her current post, on Search Engine Terms is clever, witty and full of laughs; check it out here.  Emily’s super talented; I’ve followed her for ages and I’m never disappointed.  She’s big; really big. Her numbers make mine look like little afterthoughts. She’s in the 6,000s… She’s edgy; I love her stuff. Emily writes about being a mother to a very entertaining toddler, as well as her own interesting take on so many other things. I’m honored to be invited to be a guest writer on her blog, and hope you’ll check out the post this week… and hit Like. It’s not enough to just show up; I want to show Emily that she didn’t make a mistake inviting me. I’ll share the link, once my post is up at The Waiting, and then I hope you’ll all flock over there and cheer me on. Toot!

Yeah, that's right: Tales From the Motherland and Hot Pink Underpants are wild and crazy girls... we zip line, and we're writers! Yo!

Yeah, that’s right: Tales From the Motherland and Hot Pink Underpants are wild and crazy girls… we zip line, and we’re writers! Yo!

Finally, Resolution #3:  This is a fun one; I plan to travel this year and meet more bloggers in person. Seriously, I plan to get out there and meet some of you face to face. Share a sandwich, or a cocktail, or a lost weekend even– let’s brainstorm. This past year, I had the honor of meeting Mike at Applecore, when he was in my area, and we hung out for a couple of hours. Read about it here. Mike’s had my back for a while. He’s supportive, a friend, and a good blogger.  If you’re interested in what it’s like to sell everything, move to amazing countries and live there for 6 months and then move on, check out his blog. Over the summer I drove to Olympia, WA and visited Meagan at Hot Pink Underwear. Meagan has cool friends; she has chickens, and an even cooler daughter. We hung out (read here); we went zip lining, we went to kool bars and wrote, and we wrote some more. It was an amazing couple of days, and whether she wears hot pink underwear and whether I’ve seen them, well, that will remain our secret. Her writing is always clever, often beautiful… girls got talent; check her out. Finally, just a few weeks ago I went to New York City to see the holiday displays I’ve wanted to see since I was a child, to visit a childhood friend, and to meet Lisa at Cyclingrandma. We have followed each other’s blogs for ages, and she included my work in her book Tangerine Tango: Women Writers Share Slices of Life (available on Amazon). It was fantastic to finally meet in person! We shared a lovely lunch at the famous Algonquin, trading details about our lives and comparing writing goals and plans, and then we explored the city together (read here).  Lisa writes about all kinds of things that matter to her, check her out.  As evidence that the infection that would land me in the hospital just a few days after returning from that trip was messing with my head, I forgot to contact Madame Weebles at Fear No Weebles, and she let me have it when I got home. She was a wonderful support when I was sick, and kept me smiling despite the needles and other scary stuff. I’m making it official here:  she is high on the list of bloggers I plan to meet in 2014. The fact that this would entail another trip to NYC is just thick buttery frosting on top. So bloggers, leave me a comment; tell me why should I come visit you? So far, these face to face meetings have been great, so if I’m gonna take this giant leap and start making resolutions, I might as wall make them fun. I want to do some road trips; I love to travel, and I love meeting other bloggers. Tell me where you live, and why I should visit. Woo me.  I just may show up in your city, and we can take this form cyber to flesh. Lucky you; lucky me.

Cyclingrandma and TFTM kicked some NYC ass together!

Cyclingrandma and TFTM kicked some NYC ass together!

AppleCore and TFTM get real, face to face.

AppleCore and TFTM get real, face to face.

So there you have it: me identifying my game, and promising to bring it. Me telling you that I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions, and then making ones that I intend to keep. Me putting it out there. Wow! Now I might vomit. Really. Once I hit publish on this blog post, I am in the hot seat. Time to actually bring it. I’m not getting younger; I’ve never been in a more solid place with my writing: I feel good; and it’s time to shit or get off the pot. There’s the pot; I am not getting off.  So please avert your eyes, while I proceed.

Do you believe in resolutions? Do you make them? Do you keep them? Would you like me to visit you? Tell me where, and why… be creative, I need to be wooed. Who knows, maybe you’ll be on book tour. Yeah, cause I’m publishing a book in 2014. For real. It’s a resolution.

Check out the links on this page; there’s some good stuff there. If you like what I have to say: Subscribe; Like; Share; Repeat. Toot, toot!

All work here is property of Tales From the Motherland and Dawn Quyle Landau ©2013

The owner of this blog and TFTM do not endorse any ads that appear on this site. We’re just too cheap to block them.

Posted on December 30, 2013 by Dawn Quyle Landau | 49 Comments

rtt-new1.jpg* To my fellow Friday Fictioneers, thank you so much for thoughtful comments and kind messages last week, when I was in the hospital. It was an overwhelming experience, and your thoughtfulness meant a great deal. Thanks!

Each week on Friday Fictioneers, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields leads a group of writers from all over the globe, in a flash-fiction challenge. A single photo prompt; a story that has a beginning, middle and end; a goal of 100 words– everyone is welcome to participate. Check it out the details, and the wonderful stories in this week’s collection, here.

I always appreciate feedback, positive or constructive. Please leave a comment, and tell me what you think.

Copyright Douglas M. MacIlroy

Copyright Douglas M. MacIlroy

(98 words)

Jan and Irena huddled in the dark, and cupped their mouths in the frozen air.

“Nie ruszaj,” he mouthed silently.  Don’t move. Forbidden to speak their native Polish in the camps, sometimes the women whispered late at night– the comfort of familiar words, the only beauty.

Jan found the hole in the fence, then slipped a note to Irena in the laundry detail.

“spotkajmy się o północy,  Jan”

So she met him at midnight, terrified but determined. As two blinding lights cut the darkness, she held her breath, and waited to run– back to their child, away from hell.

*In remembrance of those who were lost, and those who survived the Holocaust– May Their memories be for a blessing,

זכר צדיק לברכה
Posted on December 27, 2013 by Dawn Quyle Landau | 66 Comments

cropped-img_3885.jpgI believe in magic; I’ve said it before. I believe that magic presents itself to us in ways that we don’t always recognize or appreciate, but it’s magic just the same. I believe in goodness. I believe it outweighs bad, when all the numbers are added up and all the final words are in. Though it often appears the other way around, I believe that good prevails. I believe in Christmas. I believe in Christmas as more than the poofed-up, materialistic, shopper’s-drug-of-choice, commercialized, free-for-all, that so many people call it. I believe. And this year, it all came together in a perfect storm of Christmas perfection.

If you missed all the fun last week, lucky you. I was in the hospital; things were quite scary, and Christmas was looking pretty iffy… at best. Let’s face it, I am Christmas in my house. My husband and my kids are Jewish; they love Christmas, but it’s Mom that pulls it off each year. I live for the ritual dinners, the boxes and bows, the music, the tree, the lights, the swirl of family and friends… the whole shebang! I love Christmas. They love spinning in the vortex I create. And so, when I was still in the hospital days before Christmas:  a few key presents still not purchased; no dinner planned or groceries bought; gifts unwrapped; kids flying home; the tree not purchased, let alone lit and decorated… it was looking a bit bleak. Hell, it was looking hopeless.

And then the miracles began. They started with a low buzz: some well wishes and hopes for me to feel better:  comments on Facebook, emails to encourage me, offers to help. It started as a trickle and then it was a giant tsunami of support and care. The comments multiplied and buoyed me. For days, I was told not to speak… For anyone who knows me, not prone to pregnant pauses and long silences, this was in and of itself, a Christmas Miracle for some!  My boys grinned and smirked, that I could not talk. My friends, admonished me: “Shhh,” with wicked merriment in their eyes.  Cookies appeared on our doorstep; meals were dropped off; friends jumped in and offered to help my husband, my youngest son and our exchange student, as they figured out how to keep things working without me. My older son, Middle Man, arrived home and jumped right in. Accustomed to having me cook his favorite dinner upon coming home, instead he took the boys grocery shopping on December 23rd… the craziest day I can imagine… and the three boys bought Christmas dinner supplies, food for the house, and things we were running low on. They dealt with a butcher who couldn’t conceive of three young guys buying that much Prime Rib. “Were they sure they knew what cut they wanted?” They negotiated their way around Trader Joes and the larger supermarket, to find the specific things I prefer to have and use. They fed themselves and (mostly) cleaned up. They figured out what I would need when I was home, and made sure that was here too. They divided, and conquered.

A lit tree welcomed me home.

A lit tree welcomed me home.

My youngest, Little Man, and our exchange student, Germany, went to the Christmas Tree lot and picked out a tree. Most years we go to a tree farm we all love, hike out in the cold, and select and cut our own tree; and then have pizza nearby. This year, as I still lay in the hospital, the boys went out on their own to a local tree lot; chose a nice tree; got it loaded on the car, and brought it home, and then they put the lights on for me.  I am the only one who does the lights on our tree, but, this year, my 17-year-old son made my homecoming perfect, with a gorgeous tree all lit up!  We always get an 8-10′ tree, and so when my husband warned me: “It’s a bit of a Charlie Brown tree,” I prepared myself for the let down, and practiced gracious ways of saying thank you. Instead, that lovely little tree is one of the prettiest we’ve ever had! The fact that my boys went out and did that for me, means the world, and made my homecoming fantastic!  It’s a Christmas miracle, I told them, and meant it.

All decked out...

All decked out…

Each year, since my two oldest kids left for college, decorating the tree has become a balancing act, and honestly, I haven’t always found it that easy.  I love having the tree up and decorated for a while.  I don’t like rushing it, or having it be an afterthought. I love having the smell of pine in my house, the lights on each night, and the decorations that I’ve been collecting for more than 30 years, on display to enjoy.  After a lifetime of doing it together, a couple of weeks before Christmas, choices had to be made when our daughter, Principessa, left for college, five years ago. As much as I wanted the tree up and ready, I couldn’t decorate it without her there– just couldn’t do it.  So, we waited until she got home for winter break that first year.  It felt strange leaving the tree without ornaments for a while, but then that became our new tradition. We waited. Two years later Middle Man, left for college, and we waited for him as well. Then, Principessa moved to Israel, and we had our first Christmas without her.  My heart felt heavy that year, but it’s all part of the ever-changing fabric of raising kids. Our traditions shift and change, and while I remember the years past, I’ve learned to embrace new ways.

A gift from my Mom

A gift from my Mom

This year, the boys and I all came together on the 23rd, when I was finally strong enough. The boxes of ornaments were laid out, and our little tree waited… We have a lot of ornaments; far more than this little tree could hold. So, we chose the most precious, the ones we love the most. Germany is away from his family for the first time, and he shared stories of their family traditions. My boys took turns putting their favorite ornaments on the tree; we listened to Christmas music, and remembered past holidays. We placed my girl’s favorite ornaments on there for her; we carefully unwrapped all of our treasures, and I watched that little tree spring to life.  Just as I thought we were finished, I saw an old gift tag in the box, which I’ve saved for years. It was on a gift from my mother, so many years ago– before she was sick, when her handwriting was her own, when my babies were young… There it was, “To Dawn, my 1st baby, Love, Mom,”  and I cried. Who knows why I saved it all those years ago, but this year, that little angel felt like another Christmas Miracle… one week before the 2nd anniversary of Mom’s death.

photo photo img_3890.jpg IMG_3885

Christmas Eve morning began with a true miracle. I was sitting in my kitchen, watching the water of Puget Sound, and thinking about my girl. Principessa had told me that she’d be spending Christmas Eve in Bethlehem. As I sat there, I was imagining that with the time difference, she was either on her way there or in the city…. and the phone rang. When I picked up the line, there was an explosion of sound and my girl’s joyful voice. “Mom, I’m here in Bethlehem, at the Church of the Nativity, listen!”  I could hear the magic across the lines.  “A man from the Andes in full garb on the Arab bus; a choir from Korea, in their traditional costumes, singing carols; venders selling grilled corn and hot chestnuts and special spiced foods; people praying and rejoicing all around me!” I could hear it; I could feel it! She was crying, I was crying, as a Korean choir sang Oh Holy Night and then a round of traditional carols. It was like picking up the phone and hearing angels sing.  As I listened to the stunning beauty of the music, the sounds of the street, my girl so full of wonder and joy… for the first time in our lives, I truly felt that she understood what Christmas once meant to me. I will hold that sweetest of moments, shared with my daughter, for the rest of my life. I had chills all day… and my temperature was fine.

Bethlehem by night, photographed by my daughter, E.L.L.

Bethlehem by night, photographed by my daughter, E.L.L.

From the hospital room this week, as the doctors debated letting me go home, my head was spinning. Christmas Eve and Christmas night are a big deal in our home. I generally cook a prime rib each Christmas Eve, and a ham with potatoes au gratin on Christmas, with all of the trimmings. Others come to our house every year; we couldn’t recall having ever been to anyone else’s house for Christmas. I could feel panic set in, even as I waited for the discharge papers. What will we do for Christmas? How will I pull this off… I couldn’t help but think, will Christmas just be another dinner, with my boys and me? I never had to say the words out loud. Good friends didn’t skip a beat: “Come for Christmas Eve; we’ll do everything, just get yourself over here.”  So my first outing in 10 days was for Christmas Eve.  My first few days home, had been a bit bumpy: my first morning I fell and cut my head, just trying to get a drink of water; clearly things were not normal. After hospital “gowns” and pjs for so long, it actually felt strange to just put on clothes again, let alone step outside and socialize, but off we went for Christmas Eve.

Germany shares an Italian cake, on Christmas Eve

Germany shares an Italian cake, on Christmas Eve

Note to self:  Having been in the hospital for five days, and having eaten lots of Ritz crackers for days on end, it’s perhaps not wisest to jump right back in, with 5 dozen fresh oysters, a grapefruit cocktail and cheese appetizers. It seemed like a good idea, when it was all laid out before me. I wanted so badly to dive in and pretend everything was normal for a little while.  It tasted oh so good. Sublime, even. I almost felt like myself again… Until I was sick for an hour, as my stomach adjusted to the idea of Christmas miracles. A break with games, and lots of laughs, helped me get ready for round two. Our friends prepared an incredible meal of grilled shrimp, scallops, home-made traditional grits, and salad… and this time, I paced myself. We all joined together at the table to celebrate Christmas Eve, and did what we do best together: laughed, and eat, and soak in all that holiday cheer. It was just what the doctors should have ordered.

As the evening came to a close, I was tired and we got ready to go home… and then, my sweet friend, S, asked: “Are you going to come to church with us?”  Let’s be clear here, our family is Jewish; I haven’t been to church in more than 30 years; the thought had not occurred to me, before that moment. I had been busting his 18 year-old chops about going to Midnight services, because it was special to his mom, and he was busting my chops in return, when he asked. But in that moment, with Christmas miracles stacking up, I said “Yes.” I’m pretty sure the entire group did a major double take. There was probably a moment’s concern:  the ground might in fact tremble if my long-sinning self walked through those doors. It’s been that long. It was long night; it was hard to be there, as my physical exhaustion set in, but I felt so connected to my grandmother (who helped raise me, and who I adored), my grandfather, the Christmases of my childhood, the things I’ve let go along the way, in choosing to raise my children in the Jewish faith. The prayers were familiar, words I once knew so well. The carols were so beautiful in that big place, where sound echoed and settled on me. I was with a lovely young girl, who recently lost her own mother (far too young), and we shared a special moment acknowledging our Moms, and our loss, as well as the fortune of being together right there in that moment.

And then, everyone lit a candle, the lights were lowered and the entire congregation sang all four verses of Silent Night. All of my life, long after I was too big, I would sit on my grandmother’s lap, or beside her, when this song came on.  It’s the most special of carols for me. As the beautiful sound surrounded me, I was overcome with emotion… I felt myself let go of some grief; I felt myself held by those I’ve loved, lost and still miss, and I felt myself surrounded by so much love and support. When I came home, very late and very tired… I quietly decked our tree with candy canes (a tradition I started when the kids were little… evidence that Santa has come), took a moment to enjoy the quiet house and the beautiful tree, and then put on my oxygen and went to bed… feeling content, and blessed.

IMG_3909Christmas morning dawned bright and clear. We are a house full of big kids and adults now; we’ve become a civilized group. There’s no racing to the living room. No tearing of packages and the wonderful, crazy mayhem of our early days as parents of young children. We skyped with Germany’s family (as they enjoyed their Christmas dinner); we made our coffees and teas; we put on the Christmas music and put out the annual almond torte, and we opened our gifts.  We took our time, letting each person enjoy their gifts, and the quiet and fun of being together.

Luke loves Christmas morning!

Luke loves Christmas morning!

Christmas Evening was our gig. The kids helped me pull it all together and our friends from Christmas Eve, came to our house to share in another day of celebrating, along with my sister, brother-in-law and niece. My 14-year-old niece and I made individual Yorkshire Puddings to go with the Prime Rib; my brother-in-law knocked it out of the park with potatoes au gratin, and my sister added a killer salad.  My sister and I have a complex relationship… it’s been kicked around and battered by Huntington’s Disease and hard family history. But this Christmas, it was simple. I was so happy to have her there, and we just fell into an easy, good place. Christmas miracles galore! It all felt so easy and good… friends, family, easy laughs, kind gestures, good food, and real Christmas magic. It was just so easy and real. No crazy food wrangling, or efforts to make it all “perfect.”  I just enjoyed the evening, and enjoyed all the good melting down on me.

photo

Yorkshire pudding

Yorkshire pudding

At the end of the day… after two big days of festivities, and feeling exhaustion begin to overwhelm me, I found myself alone in the living room again. I sat with my thoughts, and let this crazy week settle over me. Two weeks ago, there is no way I could have predicted any of this. I would not have imagined being sick and in the hospital. I had expectations of Christmas, my kids, my family, friends and of myself that all shifted in a few short days.  I lay on the floor and looked up through the tree, the lights and ornaments sparkling and twinkling– something I’ve done every year, since I was a little girl– and I breathed in deeply, taking in all the good that I have had this Christmas. My Christmas tree shimmered and my heart was full… And Christmas miracles abounded.

Gazing up through the tree... taking in the magic.

Gazing up through the tree… taking in the magic.

Do you believe in magic? Tell me about your Christmas; leave a comment. Have you had a Christmas when things didn’t line up, when it all went better (or worse) than you anticipated?  Share your thoughts.

In the spirit of the season, and because I’m flagrantly peddling, hit the Like; then, Share this post, if you liked it.  Check out Tales From the Motherland, on Facebook and Like me again. I love to be liked, and if you believe in the big karma picture, it’s bound to come back and kiss you.

A big thank you to Carol Cameleon over at Virtually All Sorts, who nominated me for the Sisterhood of the World Blogs Award. I recently shared this award with some other great bloggers, so I’m passing on the usual round of links and questions about me. It’s all here on TFTM and I’m still taking it easy as I recover.  I am thankful to great readers and supports of my blog, like Carol (check out her book here), who take the time to read my work and share it. Thanks Carol!

Posted on December 26, 2013 by Dawn Quyle Landau | 45 Comments

The prompt for Today’s Daily Post is Forgive and Forget. Check out other posts, here. It struck me as so ironic when I saw it, because I instantly realized that I’ve just spent six days thinking about this.

This prompt comes at an interesting time. I have just arrived home, after five and 1/2 days in the hospital and nearly twelve days sick, so far. The first week, I didn’t take the situation nearly seriously enough, and no doubt that contributed in part to the much more significant health crisis that then evolved. I can only see that in hindsight, but it’s the truth. I’m used to pushing through; I tend to assume things will go ok, or that I can fix things. When I first thought something was wrong, I started some antibiotics and went to New York City, pushing myself to see everything possible, even as I could feel my body not fighting the infection, effectively.  I came home and dove into volunteer responsibilities, holiday preparation, salmon restoration and conservation, and all the stuff that just piles up this time of year. It was a good week; I got a lot done, and I while I didn’t feel quite right, I was in my usual “get it done” groove.

IMG_3842However, what started as a serious sinus infection, led to an extremely serious asthma attack, that has now lasted 9 days:  leading to two trips to the ER, and then admission to the hospital for full-time oxygen, and led to a partially collapsed lung. The infection is still not resolved (it is too risky to operate); my oxygen rates today are on a level that is generally the cut off for admission to the hospital, not release… but all agreed, that I do better when I have others around, and I can be managed at home for now, with home oxygen and lots of medication. Big difference: I take it seriously now. I’m not pushing any other agendas but healing.  This was a huge lesson in vulnerability and letting go. I had hours, and hours, and hours… and then some more hours, alone in a room, to think, to feel, to process things that have been swirling around me for a long time.

I’ve mentioned in other posts, it’s been a challenging three Decembers in a row. Enormous personal crisis 2010, Mother’s death 2011, and all of it catching up with me in 2012. This year has been the year of moving on and digging out. I was looking forward to December this year, aware that the really hard stuff has mostly passed. However, it has also been a time of huge upheaval with some important friendships, family relationship, marriage, and my own sense of self, and how I want to be– who I am, within all of those arenas. It became clear to me, early in 2013 that once all of the obvious bumps, bruises, and crises had begun to clear, there was a lot of lingering emotion and hurt to work through. It was clear to me that I needed to process a lot of things and figure out how to let go and move on. Ultimately, for me, that has involved forgiveness: forgiveness toward myself for the things I’ve handled poorly, and for hurts that I have felt from others.

I’ve spent months (years at this stage) trying to work through some of these relationships and how I’ve been impacted by them. I’ve struggled with how to be the wife and mother I want to be; the sister I want to be; the daughter; relative; the community person that others see; and, the friend within friendships, that often were as significant to me as family ties. As many of those relationships were challenged, during times of crisis and in my own journey, it has been very painful at times. Very important ties and bonds were cut, and I struggled over how to hold on or fix things, only finding myself hurt, confused and mired in a sense of betrayal, loss and a desperate need to hold on and fix things. When I could finally see that that wasn’t always possible, I was left feeling hopeless and lost for a while.

And then I had to step up and work on new directions. Letting go–> Acceptance–> Forgive. It’s been a process, a long one. As I’ve worked on these things, what I learned is that I could get there, I could forgive and even let go; but, forgetting is an entirely other thing. There has been far too much loss in my life, and ongoing loss (the specter of Huntington’s Disease always hanging over my life, and those I love), that I continue to feel these losses in such a visceral way, it’s stored in my body, in my entire wiring. I come to terms with a loss; I get that we’re not in the same place anymore and the ties are cut, a forgiveness and soften of sorts, but forgetting the loss is so damned hard!

No ties. Just nurturing.

No ties. Just nurturing.

Facing a crisis this week, that fact really rose to the surface. As I lay there, feeling so vulnerable, I realized what I have forgiven and what I’ve forgotten, and they are not the same. So many incredible people reached out to me: offering meals, love, encouraging words, support to me and my family at home, and offers to visit and jump in. And the offers did not carry the same weight, or the same value anymore. I asked help of those I know I can totally trust. I accepted visits from only a few people who I felt entirely nurtured and held by. Ironically, one of those people is an 18-year old boy, who I have forged such a meaningful relationship with, that the tiny fiber-optic Christmas tree he brought me, kept me anchored in a cocoon of love and acceptance, that was so simple and real, that it was a reminder each night, that I would be ok. The moving lights reminded me of the Aurora Borealis in the dark room, and the gurgling of the oxygen behind me, was a stream– bringing the only peace and total calm, each night. What a blessing it was, and such a simple, loving gesture on his part. (Of note, doses of morphine may have contributed to the magic, but not the emotion.)

I had a “Do Not Announce” order in place, which prevented anyone from calling or looking up my room, because the doctors demanded that I not speak much, and that I get total rest. I’m a social girl; that is really challenging for me. Normally, I’d be inviting others in, and asking for company. However, this was not a time to socialize, and least of all re-connect or figure out how I feel about someone. Being vulnerable physically, allowed me to really to look at whether I wanted to invite any emotional vulnerability into that room, our situation, my health crisis; and, I realized that I didn’t want that. I was very aware that some of the people and situations I have forgiven, I have not completely healed from, I have not forgotten, and for a change: I did not feel compelled to push through that and try to make others feel better. I am grateful for each kind word, and each gesture of love, each expression of concern. But I was well aware that some of the intimacy coming my way felt unsafe, and challenging to my overall healing. Relationships that have stumbled, limped or fallen apart were not where I wanted to be. I was scared. I had veins blowing and doctors telling me very serious things, and I did not have the energy to help others feel better, or included them in my world.    (Veins blowing; How do I feel? Sucky!; lungs blowing; food that blows; and too much equipment! It was not a party)

IMG_3836

IMG_3865

IMG_3845  IMG_3851 IMG_3870

Strangely, Facebook became a life line. When word got out to a few people who I was sick: when I cancelled a few things, or I was seen at the hospital, the calls and emails began. The crisis was very scary at first, but making calls was so far down on the list. Yet meals were appreciated, support was needed. I worried about who was with my boys, and what they were eating. I knew my youngest son was scared, seeing me so sick. I worried about my German exchange student– his first year away from his family and home, and there I was disappearing. I knew my oldest son was coming home, and as the days went on, I would not be there to greet him or do the things I want and like to do to welcome him. I knew that my daughter, far away in Israel, felt so helpless. The tree wasn’t bought; the lights weren’t up; some gifts weren’t ready; my head was spinning with expectations I had of myself, that I saw disappearing with each hour I lay there.

My boys bought a tree– a tiny tree, but the loveliest ever, and put the lights on.

My boys bought a tree– a tiny tree, but the loveliest ever, and put the lights on.

<– Letting go of what I thought I had to do, allowed others to do it for me.

I was in denial for a while.  I needed loving support to help me accept all the things that were rushing at me. It took me time to start accepting that I had to let go of a lot of those expectations and just focus on getting well. We realized that by posting selective updates (sharing what we were comfortable sharing) on Facebook, we could share what we wanted to, and others could express their concern and offers of support, without us feeling overwhelmed. I could turn off the screen, or plug-in, and feel less alone… or quiet and reflective when I needed to. I could cry for a while, and then laugh at the funny, sweet things sent my way. I struggled in some moments with it feeling voyeuristic and strange to announce our lives that way, but the pressure of not having to answer the phone, or texts, or all the other ways people tried to connect, was such a huge relief, and in the end a very good thing.

I got it. Every single person who reached out, wanted the best for me. I knew their intentions were loving. I felt waves of support and care, and I in all that time that I was lying there, I felt this issue of forgiveness moving over and settling on me. Yet, in the big picture of big, real stuff, it was so much clearer to me: that if we haven’t been taking care of each other in the usual days, if I haven’t been there for you, and you haven’t been there for me, if I don’t know how you are until it’s a Facebook announcement, no amount of past or lingering ties, makes me want to invite that loss back into a room where my single goal was to heal.

Left this with one of the many nurses who made it all bearable. The best!

Left this with one of the many nurses who made it all bearable. The best!

There were numerous people who called me or my family to ask how things were going, and how we experienced those various efforts was very different, depending on where we were in those relationships just prior to the crisis. It was strange to hear from some, who I haven’t seen or spoken to in months, while some of our closest friends knew just what to do, without a word. Both my husband and I struggled with how to feel about that. Whether to be gracious, and thankful for the gestures, and accept them as caring calls, or feel a mild sense of violation in the very strangeness of hearing voices that have become distant. The sting of a voice once so intimate and dear, that now feels a bit stiff and awkward…. “how have you been?”  The sting of who didn’t call– who we expected to hear from– who we wanted to hear from, but didn’t. The merest effort to think through those things, was a challenge for us at such a difficult time. I sat with those thoughts, with the clarity that pure oxygen provides, and isolation, and came to terms with some things.

These last few days is when I really got that I have forgiven and moved on. I have made enormous leaps in forgiving myself for not always being the mother, sister, friend, person that I want to be. I have forgiven others for not being what I needed, what I wanted, or expected… but I have not forgotten, and that makes all of the difference. Those memories live in my heart, and they don’t go away easily. When the chips are really down, there’s no extra energy for sorting those things out, for questioning motivations, expectations, or agendas. I needed to be where and with who I feel safe, plain and clear. Amazing how it took such a trauma to see it clearly. Forgive and Forget? They are not the same thing, and I get that now.

How do you deal with forgiveness? Is it easy for you? Do you move on, and forget? Or, carry it with you? Is there a difference?  Share your thoughts in the comment section.

Please note: any ads seen on this page are not approved by Dawn Quyle Landau or Tales From the Motherland. I just refuse to pay extra, to have them removed.

Posted on December 21, 2013 by Dawn Quyle Landau | 73 Comments