Rising

What I read

Each year for Christmas I give my son Peter a Stephen King novel, usually one hot off the press. (And yes, with over 85 published books to the King name, that’s not difficult.) Last year’s was a slim little volume–a mere 160 pages–titled Elevation, and because it’s more novella than novel, and because it wouldn’t last more than an afternoon, he saved it for eight months. And then passed it on to me.

Now before you exclaim as I always did “I don’t read Stephen King because I don’t like horror” you need to know that King isn’t a one-trick pony. He has some great reads–even for a scaredy cat like me–that tend to the more magical and metaphysical.

Elevation is just that.

Scott Carey has been losing weight. Precipitously. And for a slightly overweight man pushing middle age that’s not a good thing. Except here’s the deal. No matter how much weight he loses? It doesn’t show: his clothes fit the same, belly still hanging over his belt just a bit. Odder still is the fact that Scott can put on his heavy winter coat and load his pockets with rolls of coins and that extra weight doesn’t register on the scale. And the weight loss is steady. First one pound a day, then two … until he realizes if it keeps up at the same pace, he will weigh nothing in just a few months.

But as Scott ponders the implications of such an event, he is also still very much in the here and now. And the here and now has him trying to resolve a conflict with his new neighbor Deirdre McComb and her wife Missy Donaldson. Upset that their dogs did their business on his lawn, he politely asks Deirdre to address it. And her hostile response was one that Scott hadn’t anticipated. A little digging around town tells him the women’s relationship isn’t welcomed by the residents in Castle Rock and the couple is feeling the sting of exclusion. To make matters even worse, their restaurant Holy Frijole is likely to go belly up.

But as he loses weight, Scott also begins to feel a peculiar pep in his step and an energetic spring as he walks around town. Suddenly a 12k Turkey trot in November seems like a good idea. He’s also discovered a way, he thinks, to bring the town and Deirdre and Missy together.

As Scott runs the race in blinding rain, he realizes he’s “never been happier in his life. Only happiness was too mild. Here, as he explored the farthest limits of his stamina, was a new world. Everything leads to this, he thought. To this elevation. If it’s how dying feels, everyone should be glad to go.”

Elevation is a sweet (yes, I did just say that about a Stephen King novel) magical story.

What I lived

This past weekend I went to a woman’s retreat led by Susan Duesbery called Learning to Love Yourself. I felt a little out of my comfort zone and that led to cold feet (as in What the hell were you thinking signing up for such a thing?! Now you’ll spend the weekend sitting in a circle sharing and God knows what else … I can be melodramatic like that!), but I also welcomed the opportunity to reset my head space and repair my heart which has had its fair share of bruising over the past few years.

And, oh, it was lovely.

The retreat was held at The Inn at the Rustic Gate in Big Rapids which is a Bed & Breakfast with a mission: to provide retreats that foster spiritual growth, renewal, and creativity. (Friend Denice has written several posts on her blog Denice’s Day about her time at the Inn; here and here are two.) Set on nearly 150 acres of meadow, woods, and wetlands, the Inn is truly a sacred space.

And the food. Oh. my. word. While Chef Sharon was mindful of vegan and gluten-free diets (those yoga folks, don’t ya know!) her dishes were simply delicious, and we felt the love in every bite. (Seriously, who wouldn’t feel love in her vegan Fudgies and peach upside down cake, her Asian salmon with pineapple salsa, her vegetarian chili and Greek salad?)

So just imagine a weekend with a little yoga. Some seated meditation. A releasing ceremony. Smudging. A labyrinth walk. Meals in silence. Group walking meditation. And time enough to read, ramble the woods, take a nap, and otherwise unwind. But do all that in the company of supportive women who are themselves seekers, always looking to understand their experience and grow in love with a heart that is soft and open.

The weekend was sweet and magical and if that isn’t elevation, I don’t know what is.

On the road

What I lived and what I read

Last week I took my first journey out on my own in the little trailer I call Bag End. I needed to see if the story I’ve been writing was actually set in southern Ohio (it is!) and I also visited a few historical sites: Grant’s birthplace and childhood home, and abolitionist John Rankin’s home.

Stonelick State Park

When we met for coffee the week before the trip, Friend Denice was reading David McCullough’s The Pioneers about the settlement of the Northwest territory–and especially Ohio. Perfect! (I loved traveling to South Dakota and Wisconsin while reading Pioneer Girl.) I started the book the weekend before I left and almost finished it in Stonelick State Park where I camped. The blind courage of those early settlers who couldn’t even make their way through the woods without clearing trees and who depended on a stockade fence (!) to keep them safe from Indian attack is beyond my understanding. I also thought about those indigenous peoples who had no concept of humans “owning” land and how incredulous they must have been when these white squatters had the audacity to take over their ancestral home. (Sadly, we know how the story ended.)

John Rankin House overlooking Ripley and the Ohio River

The rock stars of my trip were the docents who showed me around Ulysses S. Grant’s birthplace in Point Pleasant, his childhood home in Georgetown, and the John Rankin House in Ripley. They were engaging storytellers and ambassadors for Ohio tourism, and they don’t get enough recognition. At each site the guides suggested other landmarks to take in, which is how I learned about the John Rankin House, my favorite stop of the trip. The abolitionist Rev. Rankin was one of the first conductors on the Underground Railroad. He built his house on the top of a bluff overlooking Ripley, so he could track the movements of the bounty hunters in the town below. Runaways were led to his home by a single light in his window–it is estimated he guided over two thousand to safety.

Ulysses S. Grant sites

I learned a lot about traveling alone with Bag End. I officially hate trucks, expressways, and wind. But taking rural routes? While I loved the pace and the space the country roads offered, they added nearly 100 miles each way and the fatigue was overwhelming by the time all was said and done. I’ll need to move slower and stop overnight more often than I did–over four hundred miles in a day proved to be too much. But that’s what this trip was for–to figure out how I can comfortably roam on my own.

By the time I was within an hour of Stonelick, I knew my story was indeed set in Ohio. The corn fields and roadsides were exactly where I saw my character Patty walking, and the Gas ‘n Go could have been any number of seen-better-days garages. My soundtrack as I explored was a local blue grass station and I can imagine Pops humming along with If Teardrops Were Pennies. Although I didn’t work on the piece while in Ohio, I did some pretty substantial organization of the story–so I know which direction I’m headed.

Which is the whole point of a journey, no?

You brave and glorious thing

What I read

It’s hard to believe I first read Anne Tyler thirty years ago. I was a different woman then.

Tyler’s characters are finely drawn and I feel as if I know them–maybe not in this world, but in some other reality, perhaps. Her families are made up of people as different from each other as those in my own. There are movers and shakers, dreamers, ne’er-do-wells, and milquetoasts. They argue. They compete.

And they love.

Although there can be no rival to Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant or Accidental Tourist, Tyler continues to peel back the layers of family life in her novel Clock Dance. But her main character–unlike young Pearl in Dinner or Muriel in Accidental–Willa Drake has aged right along with me.

And it’s a breath of fresh air to read a novel about a woman of a certain age who is not done yet.

Willa’s life hadn’t been always smooth–an unpredictable, often abusive mother; an overbearing husband; widowed too early. And (not too surprising) a second overbearing husband, albeit a slightly nicer one. But rather than evolve, Willa adapted. She appeased rather than asserted; she bent instead of standing firm. Willa realized she was “cheery and polite and genteel and superficial”. And what did it get her? Not a thing. Her relationship with her adult sons was distant. Her husband’s likes and dislikes superseded her own needs. Even her job as an ESL teacher in Tucson was only tangentially related to her passion for linguistics.

And then, in typical Tyler plot-twist fashion, Willa flies off to help her son’s ex-girlfriend Denise (a woman she’s never met) recover from a gunshot wound. While Denise is in the hospital, Willa becomes a surrogate grandmother to Denise’s ten-year-old daughter Cheryl–and eventually finds herself an essential cog in the wheel that is their Baltimore neighborhood. The characters are also typical in their Tyler-esque quirkiness. There is Ben, the faded doctor with a washed-up practice. And Sir Joe (Sergio) the biker-cum-HVAC technician who fosters his fifteen-year-old half-brother Erland. Richard and Barry the gay couple down the street who lend a hand whenever needed. And Hal, the sad sack across the street, jilted by his wife Elissa for Willa’s son Sean.

They need each other like Willa needs them.

It’s a long time coming, but Willa finally–finally–realizes she has a choice: “she might try something new that she hasn’t even imagined yet. There is no limit to the possibilities.”

She will no longer come at life slantwise, as Denise once accused her of doing. No more pussyfooting around for this “brave and glorious” woman.

What I lived

I can’t even.

Willa might as well be me between the covers of a book.

And it was exhilarating–and something of a relief–to read I am not alone in becoming a “brave and glorious thing” … at any age.


The title for this post comes from a poem I’ve come to love about aging titled “Beneath the sweater and the skin” (Jeannette Encinias)–you’ll find it a nice companion to the novel.

The livin’ is easy …

What I read

Our book club read this month was Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman. Since we had a few absent members, we met at Panera for discussion and a sweet treat–a little change up from usual. This book club was total serendipity. We first met and organized on a neighborhood social media platform and the mix of women is amazing. We are all pretty much on the same page when it comes to current events, we are a comfortable mix of married, divorced, remarried, and widowed, and our ages are within a decade of each other.

But I digress.

Eleanor Oliphant is a touching character: a survivor of childhood abuse, socially illiterate, and incredibly endearing. (I even wondered aloud if Eleanor might be on the spectrum.) But when this fragile woman with a horrific past meets love and friendship, she finds within herself a strength I think few of us possess. And courageous?! Eleanor comes to realize she must face her tormentor to put the trauma behind her.

Now if I sound cryptic here, I really don’t mean to be. But this is one novel where it might be best to let each reader discover Eleanor as he or she reads the novel, especially since Honeyman makes a style choice that is not revealed until the end of the novel.

It won’t, however, hurt to tell you about Eleanor’s first-ever friend, Raymond, the IT guy at the small graphic design company where she works. Raymond is frumpy–Eleanor dismisses his baggy pants, trainers, mussed hair, and whiskers. But he treats his elderly mom like a queen and is kind to a fault. Which brings us to Eleanor’s second-ever friend, Sammy. Eleanor meets Sammy (if you can call it that) when he collapses on the street outside her office building. She and Raymond come to his aid, staying with Sammy until the ambulance arrives. That ‘stay with him’ part was all Raymond’s doing, though. Eleanor thought Sammy was a drunk, homeless old man and would have stepped right over him in true Eleanor fashion if Raymond hadn’t convinced her they couldn’t leave him. From there, Eleanor, Raymond, and Sammy–and even Sammy’s family–are irrevocably connected.

And it’s in that connection that Eleanor begins to heal.

What I lived

Actually the title of this post is something of a misnomer. Although yesterday was the first day of summer and we are barreling into July at breakneck speed, it could hardly be described as “summer-like” in this Great Lake state. We have had day after day of cloudy skies and rain. Lake levels are at an all-time high and beaches are underwater. And can you say chilly? It’s been one of the coldest, wettest springs on record–and summer isn’t turning out to be much different.

So can you blame a girl for picking up a needle and starting to stitch a little? (Reading goes without saying!) I haven’t done any hand stitching since my children were young when I crafted my little heart out: cross-stitch, basket weaving, doll-making, and more. But by the time my daughter was three, I was working part time–and then it was divorce and back-to-college and all the craziness such life events bring.

I have missed it.

So a few weeks ago I took a hand loom weaving class from Jennifer Haywood of Craftsanity–and although the piece I started in class was an embarrassment (I’ve since unwoven it Penelope-style!) I ordered some yarn stash packages from an Etsy seller, and I’m now weaving my little heart out.

I’ve also stitched four of Ann Wood’s Very Nice Mice with the thought of gifting my granddaughters some cute little friends–with no end of teasing and puzzlement from my daughter and husband. (“So you retire … and start sewing little mice for … what, exactly?!”) But my ideas keep growing. What if I weave each mouse a little bedroll or gunny sack? And this boat is a no-brainer, since don’t the Tiny Mice (as I call them) need some sort of transport for their journey? (Because of course mice such as these are on a journey.) And what if each Tiny Mouse came with a story about who they are and from where they came?

Oh, my. I have surely missed this whole stitching game …

Country mouse

For weeks I’ve waited to post about my visit to Canyon Ranch in April because processing my visit was like trying to fit a square peg into the round hole of my experience. I had nothing with which to compare it. When I was gifted a spa package several years ago, the day consisted of beauty treatments at a local upscale salon: facial, body wrap, pedicure, makeup. So when my son and daughter-in-law gifted me a day at a Canyon Ranch Tucson, I was a bit wary–how would I ever fill nine hours with facials and mud wraps, for gosh sake?

Desert spaces

The night before my visit I was a little–okay, a lot–apprehensive. I’m a Midwesterner, born and raised, and we are a self-effacing lot. Don’t draw attention to yourself and that sort of thing. I wasn’t familiar with the ins and outs of what a day at the Ranch would entail and had all those first-day-of-school jitters. Where do I go? What do I wear? Who do I ask for …?

I worried I’d stick out like a country mouse among the rich and famous spa mice.

One of the many garden spots for reflection

But think of Canyon Ranch as an upscale sleepover camp for grownups, with an emphasis on health and wellness. (You could almost hear my sigh of relief!) The Ranch offers a wide range of services, from spa treatments to fitness classes to nutrition to bodywork. For the more spiritual, there’s crystal energy, tarot card reading, and handwriting analysis. For the sports enthusiast? Golf, archery, biking, and tennis. And, yes–there is also a whole range of skincare and salon services if a little bit of pampering is what you crave.

The nectar of the gods

Bless my daughter-in-law’s heart. She walked me through how my day would work at the spa: how the lockers were situated and how to choose a steam room … right down to where to get my robe and slippers and what to wear–or not wear!–in the whirlpool. And my son (who works at Canyon Ranch) left for work early to walk me around and get me familiar with the layout. His best advice? (Other than “Use the map and follow the signs!”) “Remember, it’s the job of everyone on staff to make you feel as comfortable as possible.”

And they did.

The two-mile loop

I started my day with a neuromuscular therapy treatment for chronic pain I manage, and then whirlpooled in my altogether. I walked the Ranch’s two-mile perimeter, looping around the 200 acre property located in the beautiful Sonoran Desert. I went on something called a Soul Journey where I was surrounded by sound and music as an incredible facilitator used guided imagery to create a sacred space for healing. My son met me for lunch at the Canyon Ranch’s Grill where the menu emphasizes a plant-based diet and whole grains. And then I ended the day soaking in a poolside whirlpool. (Turns out I’ve got a thing for whirlpools!)

My day was a delight, plain and simple. The grounds were gorgeous and offered up beautiful spaces to relax and restore. The staff was gracious and accommodating. The women I chit chatted with were interesting and their lives sounded not too different from my own.

And I never for a minute felt like a country mouse.