​“Over the river and through the woods, to Grandmother’s house we go”. It seemed an apt song, as Thanksgiving meant riding in the car for an interminable hour and a half to my grandparents’ home on Cape Cod. We sang that song until my parents begged us to stop. Upon arrival, the grown ups thought it was so funny that crazy Aunt Mae, Grandpa’s sister, got a speeding ticket on the way down from Boston. My siblings and I, then ages 4, 7 and 9, would put on impromptu plays in the kitchen while the turkey was cooking. Our meal was traditional: dry stuffing, lumpy mashed potatoes, a bowl of squash and green beans steeped in cream of mushroom soup. Grandpa always carved the turkey, and we would walk around the block before dessert, waving to the neighbors. At this point, Thanksgiving meant  family.
 
Ten years later, and it was just another Thursday in Paris, but not for us. Thanksgiving meant that my immediate family invited others to our table, others who were also far from home. This started the tradition of long-distance calls to our family back in America. My mom had become steeped in the art of French cooking, so squash was replaced by pumpkin soufflé and in place of cream of mushroom soup, the green beans were sauteéd with toasted slivered almonds, shallots and garlic. Wine was now prominent on the table. My siblings and I would eat this gourmet food to our hearts content, and miraculously, our weight stayed the same. In place of Grandpa, Dad carved the turkey. We still walked around our block, though all the stores remained open and things were business as usual. Thanksgiving now meant family and friends.
 
Before I knew it, I was the one traveling home, which was now Hingham, Massachusetts. My siblings were already married, and sometimes they would be at our table, other years at their in-laws, so long-distance phone calls were part of the day. My parents had kept up both the tradition of inviting dear friends to the table, and the tradition of excellent French side dishes complementing the turkey. We made time to have pre-meal drinks with their beloved neighbors the Schutz. Nana and Grandpa had passed on by now, so we began toasting those “who are with us in spirit”. At this point, I learned to eat more slowly and purposefully, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to fit into my pants the next day if I ate to my heart’s content. We walked after dinner, bundling up as the wind whipped off the ocean. Thanksgiving now was an opportunity to reach out and catch up with those I seldom saw.
 
Then there was the first Thanksgiving after the pandemic. I was married to a gifted chef by now, had beautiful three children, and we had been in New Mexico for a year.  It was a big post-pandemic deal to invite our friends Marcia and Larry to the table, and frankly, I was grateful to have friends to invite. Moving during the pandemic had made it extremely hard to meet people. My husband now carved the turkey. My father had passed away six weeks prior, so we toasted to him and all those we could no longer be with. The long-distance phone calls were flying. I had plans to celebrate Thanksgiving with my mother and sister and her family that Saturday in Tucson. Two days later, though I sat with my sister and her family and it was a beautiful spread, I couldn’t eat, for Mom was not at the table. She was dying. I excused myself early from the meal, just to sit by her side as she lay unconscious in her hospice bed in the Memory Ward. Bereft, with her lying before me, I kept repeating two things: “I love you” and “thank you”. In the end, I finally understood that that’s all Thanksgiving really means.
 
Three years later, and we are excited to have ten at our table: the five of us, Jory’s mother, and four friends. I sent a myriad of texts to friends and family who are close in my heart. Jory will cook exquisite sides, the kinds Mom used to make. He will carve the turkey, where once my dad did. We will toast to those “who are with us in spirit”, the list of which grows longer every year. We will take the dogs for a walk after our meal, then return for dessert and a game. I want to soak up every minute, because I have all three of my kids still under the roof. This. Here. Now. We are creating the traditions our kids will remember. For all this too, will change. Someday, we will be the ones sitting at our kids’ tables, grateful for their hospitality.
 
In the end, the only Thanksgiving constants are the love and the gratitude. Everything else changes.
 
Best wishes for Thanksgiving, one full of love and gratitude.

Finally! After 16 months of struggle, anxiety, frugality…Jory has a job.
 
The irony? It’s the same job he had 16 months ago.
 
No really – the SAME job, with most of the same people, doing the same thing.
 
Turns out the XFL merged with the USFL and rebranded as the UFL.  (are you following that?)

Last year, they did the job without a marketing team, and it really didn’t go well at all. After much financial distress, Jory was fondly remembered. Then ensued three weeks of interviews (in which everyone, it seems, was consulted), and they brought him back to a hero’s welcome.
 
Just goes to show you: sometimes in life, layoffs are really not about you or your performance. In fact, they may have nothing to do with you. (But unfortunately, this is seen only in hindsight.)
 
We are breathing a HUGE sigh of relief.  
 
This list may be slightly embarrassing, but just to say, we know what it’s like to live hand to mouth. Turns out, owning a home is not cheap. Nor is having a car. Or a body for that matter.  

It’s slightly dizzying to be able to tackle the things that we need to. In honor of the 16 months he was out of work, here are 16 things we are so excited to do:
 
1) Start paying off the debt we’ve accumulated.
2) Get Lexi and me to our chiropractor.
3) Have plumbers out to fix the leak in the swamp cooler that caused a hole in our balcony.
4) Have electricians out to fix the electrical units that aren’t working.
5) Have a tech repair the freezer.
6) Deal with the mildew in the basement before it becomes mold (It’s mildew. We checked)
7) Fix the oil leak in Jory’s car
8) Visit my 87-year-old Godmother in Seattle and take her out to lunch.
9) Go out on a date.
10) Buy everyone new underwear.
11) Get my and the girls' hair cut and colored.
12) Hire a bimonthly cleaning person to do floors and bathrooms
13) Buy coffee (we were down to tea)
14) Take the kids out to eat!
15) Sign up the kids for summer camp now to get the discount.
16) Get a massage!
I didn’t even get to funding IRAs and 529s.  Oh, the thoughts one can think when you have money in your pocket. We may even go on vacation sometime somewhere.
 
To cap it off, 16 lessons from 16 months of unemployment:
1) Health is more important than anything
2) When the chips are down, you learn who your real friends are
3) Our girls saw us sacrifice to keep them in school. They appreciate their education.
4) Our girls also learned that if they want money, they need to make it. Lillie started babysitting and Lexi had a bake sale café every weekend this summer.
5) We take nothing with us when we die. Gifts don’t always need to be purchased. Start giving away meaningful stuff now to those you love. Enjoy their reaction.  
6) When someone offers you something, say yes.
7) I always have something to offer, even if it is just a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on.
8) Entertaining at home is bonding, fun, and more affordable than restaurants.
9) Laugh. Laugh often. Nothing lasts forever 
10) Give clothes the kids have outgrown to friends. Accept clothes friends’ kids have outgrown. My girls’ favorite pieces are from girlfriends in LA.  Charity begins at home.
11) I am braver than I believe, stronger than I seem and smarter than I think. We all are.
12) I can make money. I can reinvent myself; ageism be damned.  We all can.
13) We are all loved more than we know.
14) Surrender is a superpower. It is not passive; letting go requires more strength than holding on.
15) Leave our kids an inheritance if at all possible. My parents literally saved us and our home.
16) Life is hard, but I do not have to grow hard with it.

Scenes from this summer: Lillie at Civics camp in Arizona w. one of my mom's best friends.

Last week marked the point that all kids are back in school – including me.
 
I may be the age of my teacher, and may not have finished paying off my last school loans, but what is life if not a wild series of adventures?
 
I haven't blogged for two months now, because I’ve definitely been up to something. In addition to going back to school, I started my own company.
 
What (we both say)?! How on earth did I get here? (And with no alcohol involved, I might add).
 
I point to my word of the year, “surrender”.
 
Here I should also point out that if you’re going to have a concept guide your days, choose carefully. I’m not sure back in January that I understood what “surrender” actually meant. Its mystery, frankly, added to its allure. Yet in daily studying surrender, the concept has transformed my life in ways I couldn’t have fathomed. In a nutshell, I’ve opened myself up to what is in front of me. Rather than resist or repress (or wishfully think otherwise, something I have an advanced degree in), I'm learning to accept what is: the good, the bad, the ugly.
 
What I see in front of me: a big ugly mass of bills. And hideous debt. Growing scarier by the day.
What I do not see in front of me: A book contract. Or a job. Or an agent with the hopes of a job. Or a husband with a full-time job.

 I had been wishing that a book agent would agree to publish the Jewish book I wrote last year with my good friend (no agent did). Turns out Jewish books are not so popular with a war going on, and the Jewish family on which the book is based didn't want it published.

Time to pivot. How can I earn enough money to keep our girls in school? My friend Connie (name change) actually told me that audio porn makes decent money; how desperate was I? 

In response, I make two phone calls: one to Silvana, who owns Atelier Tutors, and the other to a friend of mine, Gen, who is an Independent Educational Consultant (IEC).
 
I had begun coaching college essays for Silvana at Atelier Tutoring back in 2010, when the kids I had been tutoring for three years became seniors. As a writer, I intuitively knew how to help them, and through experience, kept getting better at coaching. My students gained acceptance to top schools around the country. I didn’t think much of the difference I was making, as I rationalized that this was just an enjoyable way to make money while I established myself as a writer. Now, being challenged with audio porn, I remembered how much I enjoy tutoring and coaching.  Silvana thankfully needed help with a few students.
 
Mercifully, a few days later, my IEC friend Gen referred me to a colleague of hers named Tiffany Bond (name change), who was looking for college essay coaches to join her company. I interviewed first with Tiffany, next with Tiffany’s associate, and then was tested on how to fix essays. It was a match.
 
Or so I thought. I am stunned to get the email, “Thanks for your time BUT…”
 
Curiosity overtakes surprise. I know I’m good: what gives?
 
As graciously as possible, I asked Tiffany why she didn’t hire me. Artfully dodging my questions, Tiffany focused instead on how much she has enjoyed meeting me, making the whole thing more baffling. (Then, a few months later, clarity!! On her website, I saw the two women she hired: both half my age. A month later, only one still remained on the website).
 
This is where the surrender concept comes in handy. It is what it is. I gave my level best. Move on gracefully, Silver Girl. 
 
But little did I realize what it really was: The best rejection I’ve ever received.

Sweet Tyler Shea

​“I say the knife, Professor Plum, Billiard Room,” Tyler proudly announced. Ty played his first game of Clue last week, deciding that he could read well enough to play by himself.
 
The funny thing was, he had seen the card for Professor Plum (who was his sister) so knew the good Professor wasn’t the killer. He just decided he liked annoying his sister by preventing her from getting anywhere she wanted to go. He literally called her into every room he entered. Every time he called Lillie into a room, she would shriek and he would howl with laughter. Ty was not playing to win. He was playing for fun. What a concept, one that most of us need reminding of. To her great delight, the purple scholar rolled a six, escaped into a nearby room, and made a guess that won her the game. But in a way, Tyler was the winner. I would play Clue again with Ty any day.

Here's Ty playing Chess with Jack-Jack. He doesn't play to win. He plays to have fun.

 
​However, Tyler has yet to meet a donut or video screen he doesn’t love, and want more of. When we enforce any sort of boundaries, such as, “No, you’ve already had ice cream today,” we get met with, “Why do you hate me?” If we say, “No more time! You’ve been on Roblox for an hour already,” he replies, “I want to kill myself.”
 
Where is he learning this? We try to rationalize and reason and explain to no avail.  Man, parenting can be hard. I was venting this to my friend Barbara (herself adopted), and she suggested I attend a free monthly zoom webinar for adoptive parents. Desperate, we tuned in.
 
Thankfully, we were the only ones on the zoom, so we were given a whole hour with the adoption counselor.  We had been through mandatory counseling when we adopted Tyler, but it focused on how to parent, never mentioning how adoption plays into parenting.
 
Nothing we said surprised her. “He’s suffering from loss,” she said matter of factly. “And he’s probably not even conscious of it.”
 
“But what did he lose?” I asked. “Afterall, his birth mother wasn’t even quite sure what his birth father’s first name was. He’s the product of a drunken one-night stand. And through us, he gained a family that he never would have had.”
 
“Absolutely true,” she agreed. “But he doesn’t look like anyone else in your family. He doesn't know his heritage. And there’s always a sense of loss with any adoption.”

​She recommended a book about the seven core issues of adoption. “There’s always a sense of loss with adoption,” she emphasized, as she shared this screen.

The circle explains a lot. It was obvious that “Why do you hate me?” questions this feeling of rejection, kind of an “I’ll call you out on rejecting me (for not giving me what I want) so I don’t have to feel this alone.”
 
Likewise, he suffers tremendous body shame, refusing to swim without a shirt, refusing to change clothes if anyone is nearby.

His manipulation/control issues center largely around food. “Oh FOOD!” the counselor shook her head. “We polled adoptive parents as to what issue they most want us to cover, and the number one issue was…..
 
 HEALTHY EATING!”

Wait, I thought we were the only ones to battle daily with Tyler over when to eat, what to eat, how much to eat....

Don’t they say that most eating disorders are about gaining a sense of control (which is part of the above circle)? Other friends who were adopted spring to mind, as a few also have interesting diets.
 
As for intimacy, Ty’s the boy who loves everyone. When you ask him who his best friend is, he replies that he has so many, he can’t name them all.

The circle closes with grief and identity, issues we all engage with sooner or later.
 
I grew up without this shadow of loss, but perhaps that made me as a youth callous, careless and centered largely on myself. Loss found me, as it does all of us at some point. Loss has been a powerful teacher. It has broken me, opened me to others’ pain, and gifted me a sense of gratitude for all that I still do have. I have befriended my loss, and I hope to help Tyler to do the same.
 
The loss that comes with adoption is not for us to judge. Recognizing it only means that we can acknowledge and work with it for what it is. As the saying goes, it’s not bad, it’s not good, it just is what it is. With abortions becoming harder to obtain in our country, adoptions will inevitably increase. We can only hope that there are more people open to seeing the joy in expanding their families this way, and to have the willingness to explore this loss with their kids.
 
As for my little guy, this loss he cannot verbalize lives inside him next to a fierce loyalty and kindness. His teachers have written home how they love having him in class because he stands up to bullies. He loves to referee disagreements between his sisters (much to their annoyance) because he loves peace. When he grows up, he still wants to be a firefighter, the profession he claimed as soon as he could talk. He wants to rescue cats from trees and save other people. He remains unaware that he has already saved his family members in ways he cannot begin to fathom.
 
He turns 8 on Friday.  Happy Birthday dear Tyler.

Thanks to all who sent birthday greetings. I spent my birthday/Memorial Day weekend in a gorgeous handcrafted New Mexican rustic cabin with my family and friends Marcia and Larry. It was the best weekend I’ve spent so far in the almost four years we’ve been in NM. Thank you Marcia and Larry!!
 
As birthdays often prompt, I've made some time to think. Here 5.5 thoughts from my birthday…things I thought I knew but wish I had truly understood when I was 28.
 
1) CHANGE – I always intellectually knew that “nothing stays the same”, but from childhood, I've had the tendency to cling to what has been, to save, to preserve (some may say hoard?). I’m not advocating turning one’s back on the past, but just letting go of things that I don’t use anymore, clothes I don’t wear anymore, and, even, when it’s no longer a fit, letting go of people whose energy or choices brings me down, no matter how long they've been in my life. Human nature is to avoid change when possible, to keep things "just in case", to keep things to make others happy, all of which are a recipe for disaster in an ever-changing world. Instead, I must stay open to all the new things that intimidate or overwhelm me. One of the last lessons I learned from my parents is the emotional price one pays for avoiding change. Everything changes, from technology to our relationships, to our bodies. I am learning to greet each new day with acceptance and openness for whatever it brings, with no judgement attached (which isn’t always easy!)
 
2) SHARE – I always knew that it was important to share, but now, I find, it’s gone from “a good idea” to “that’s why we’re all here.” In the end, we can keep exactly ZERO of what we have. When I’ve finished books, I’ve begun sending them to friends, as it sparks great discussions. I’ve become strategic about sharing my time, my energy, my talents, our home, and some beautiful things that we’ve enjoyed and now want others to enjoy as well.
 
3) CONNECTION - As the realization that my parents’ generation is leaving us, I have a new conviction of the importance of cultivating both old and new friendships. I am carving out time to see friends who initially were my parents’ friends (see March’s blog). On the other end of the age spectrum, thankfully, I genuinely enjoy some of my kids’ friends, and their parents. In writing this, I realize that in all four of my different freelance jobs, I work with people whom I genuinely enjoy and respect, and actually consider to be friends. Friends always make a place more special, an event more special, life more special. Think of it this way: which is more fun, visiting Paris or visiting Paris when you have friends there to connect with?
 
4) YES – The word yes can take us places. This point is also “the importance of being open to the people and opportunities in front of us.” Every single one of my freelance jobs has come from word of mouth/referral, because I said yes to the people in my life.
 
5) LAUGHTER – My kids tell me I laugh a lot, and they like that. Yet, there are many reasons not to laugh. From our political mess, to this marking a year of unemployment for my husband, to trying to figure out where one of our kids will go to school next year (she left her independent school due to unremitting bullying), it seems I encounter despair and fear daily, in great doses. And yet, I’ve learned that this anguish is exactly why laughter is so important. We don’t laugh because our lives are ideal. We laugh to connect, to plug into and enjoy the present moment, because it’s really all we have.
 
0.5) THE POWER OF YET – Gone is the belief that I have to be good at something to do it (karaoke beware!). Gone is the belief that “it’s too late”. Join me in the power of yet, as in “I’m not good at decorating cakes…YET”. And even if "yet" doesn't arrive, it's the journey, always the journey...

Here's to another year ahead. Thank you for sharing this ride with me. 

Ty and the beloved Ms. Camera ; Lexi loves to make TS bracelets

There was great joy and excitement this morning in our home. Of course, I needed to figure out why (can this be duplicated? Cloned? Frozen like Ted Williams?) After some caffeine, I figured out that it’s the result of excellence.
 
Not our excellence – I wish! Rather, it's thanks to the excellence of two women: Lynzie Camera and, yes, Taylor Swift.
 
Ms. Camera is Tyler’s first grade teacher, and in his eyes, hung the moon (a position I used to hold, but lost, because apparently I don’t grant enough iPad time). This evening is the Spring Fling at school, and there will be two booths: a photo booth and a dunking booth. Ty learned that Ms “Cwamia” (he still cannot pronounce "Camera" despite 9 months of practice) will be at both. On the walk home yesterday, that is ALL he talked about.

He awoke an hour early this morning, needing to know what time Ms. Cwamia will be at these booths. He bugged me until I finally broke down and texted her (at 7:04 AM) as if it were some emergency, because in his eyes, it is. Even though he will be in her class all day, he cannot miss her tonight. She graciously texted back with her times – no small feat considering she has a middle-school aged son of her own and a job to get to!
 
Teachers still matter. Ms. Cwamia (we all call her that now in my house) is the reason Tyler wants to go to school in the morning. Tyler is the kid in her class with the IEP, whose hand never goes up first, unless someone is handing out food. But she sees Tyler as more than that, and he knows it. He feels he matters to her. He wants to thank her the only way a 7-year old boy can: by dunking her in cold water tonight.
 
Across the hall from Tyler, our 13-year-old daughter awoke two hours early (at 4:30 AM) to listen to The Tortured Poets’ Department, Taylor’s latest. I wasn’t even aware a teenager was capable of waking up this early on her own.
 
Lillie Grace and Lexi have had a count-down since the Grammys, when Swift announced the release of the album. The songs (I’ve been told by our in-house experts) are GOOD. At midnight (10 PM here), the expected 17 songs dropped (we would NOT let them stay up). Then two hours later, Swift released an additional 13 songs, shocking everyone. That is the mark of excellence.
 
Clearly, Swift doesn’t need the money. She just gave her fans double the value because she wants to. So why are there all these Swift haters again? That both of my daughters chose a role model who over-delivers, is a savvy businesswoman, and a hard-working creative known for her generosity brings me joy. If they can tap into a passion as she has, develop their craft daily, learn how to monetize it and be known as givers, I’ll buy every TS item around for them as long as they want me to.
 
It was a stellar morning. Everyone got out of the house on time (a victory not to be downplayed). But it was more than that. Thanks to these two women who go above and beyond what is asked, we all awoke inspired.

Lillie Grace, our oldest, set off today on Ex Ed: a three-day/two-night camping trip in the Sandia mountains with her classmates and instructors. I will miss her. This is slightly ironic.
 
The irony is that this is the first week since March 15th that we haven’t had someone on a never-ending “spring break”. (It’s what you get when you put three kids in three schools.)
 
Of course, with a three-week vacation from school in the wings, that meant that things finally warmed up for me on the job front. After months of waiting, I was hired to ghostwrite a quick polish, headhunt three positions for a phenomenal independent school, coach two juniors through their common app college essays, and start the quest for an agent for our book Dear Oliver: A Grandmother Shares Tales of Love, Loss and Hope. (This is the amazing Young Adult book about a French Jewish family that I’ve been engrossed with since August.)  I
 
But did I mention “Spring Break “?
 
It’s a never-ending aria, interrupting my work, with solos mostly from my 7-year-old. His voice fills the day with, “Mom, I’m bored!” and “I’m hungry!” and “Mom, mom, can I please have Ipad time?” and “Mom, Lexi’s being mean to me!” and “I’m hungry!” and “Do you not give me more Ipad time because you hate me?” and “You’re not listening. I don’t want to do my chores, Mom. I’m bored!” and “Is it time for lunch yet?”
I organize play dates for him every day, only to find that I’m either supervising them, or back in the car to pick him up before I know it. Is it any wonder I’m just getting to the March blog?
 
Over her break, Lexi provides the bridge to Tyler’s blues, “Oh, this is just great. I have nothing to do today.” No matter what I come back with, she gives the common Middle School refrain, “But I have no friends.” Or “I know what you’re going to suggest, and the answer is NO!”
 
It was my oldest who did me in, with a single verse. She looked at me sadly and said, “I haven’t been anywhere since last July, and I’m getting texts from my friends in Turkey, Hungry, Budapest (same friend), Scotland, Mexico and Oregon (different friends). I feel so stuck here.”
 
“Me too!” I realized, gazing at photos of friends exploring the Australian coast, skiing in Austria and visiting Paris.  The first thing on the chopping block with unemployment was travel. Ten months of unemployment and the atmosphere can get a little…anguished shall we say?
 
So instead of traveling these past few months in my spare time, I’ve been hunkering down and decluttering. Slowly sifting through the final boxes of my parents’ things, over two years after their deaths. It’s mostly photos, which, along with lots of nostalgia for trips made in a former life (and boy did we travel), I’ve felt a great sense of isolation. We are raising our family far away from extended members, with little physical interconnection.
 
I’ve been feeling this isolation for a while. Over the holidays, I reached out to one of my uncles, who still lives in his big house. I asked him if the kids and I could plan a visit this summer and connect. I wrote, “One of my biggest sorrows is raising my kids without them really knowing Mom and Dad. I would love to have them hear your stories of Nana and Grandpa, and of my mom growing up. I would love for them to get a sense of family.” In response, I got a definite sense that while we’re family, there is his family and there is my family.
 
In fairness to him, I grew up mostly seeing him (and his family) only at holidays, then funerals, weddings and memorials. How can I be missing a connection that never really existed? 
 
My 2024 theme of surrender is the gift that keeps giving. One of my closest friends Michele sent me Michael Singer’s book The Surrender Experiment. It is eye-opening (to say the least!), and has taught me much about acceptance. Do not wish things were other than they are. Accept. Otherwise, your energy is frustrated. Accept.
 
I keep up with my friend Jack because he is a role model to me. The week before the everlasting Spring Break began, I called Jack (Tyler calls him “Jack-Jack”). For Jack, life’s glass is not just half full, but since it’s half full, let’s make a toast and drain it. Jack is one of the most joyful people I know, despite being widowed, childless and a cancer survivor.  He had a few weeks before his trip to Mexico to get dental work done (last year’s chemotherapy did a number on his teeth). He wanted to see us, could we spare a few days? Well, actually...I mean, what are the odds?
 
That is why, the day after Tyler’s teacher conference, Lillie Grace, Tyler and I jumped in the car. (Lexi looked at me like I had five heads, “I will KILL Tyler and Lillie if I’m in a car with them for 7 hours, are you kidding?”)
 
The journey itself was a destination: through stunning scenery like the Apache-Sitgreaves National forest, the El Malpais National Monument, and the Acoma Pueblo.
 
At 84 years young, Jack lives in a 55+ community. Cue Lillie giving me pointed looks. (“But it’s a dump!” Jack laughs). We swam every day in one of the two large (and clean) 85 degree pools, then jumped in one of the saunas. One day, Jack drove us out in his pickup truck (Tyler bouncing around in the back) and we all hiked Box Canyon. We did scavenger hunts in the town of Florence’s two Western museums. We played Clue, Fantastic Mr. Fox, and Spoons. We laughed. Oh, did we laugh.
 
The craziest part? Unaware of my desire to have my kids hear stories about my parents, Jack spontaneously talked at great length about them. Jack and my parents had survived the isolation of COVID by becoming each other’s “pod”. Having to seclude in their adjacent apartments, they became so bored they told each other their life stories several times over during the months of co-sequestering in their Independent Living facility.
 
Four days later, on piling into the car for the beautiful ride home, Jack looked at me and said, “This whole thing really is synchronicity, isn’t it? From my becoming so close with your parents, to you now visiting.”
 
Synchronicity.
It is, I think, closely related to acceptance, ease and joy.  
All part of Surrender’s family.

​“Ugh, your blogs are just so depressing!!” a well-meaning friend confided to me in a phone conversation earlier this month. This took me aback.
 
“What do you mean?” I asked. “I intend them to be upbeat.”
 
“Oh, come on! You’ve been hanging on by a thread for almost a year now, living in limbo, canceling vacations and other plans while hoping Jory gets a job. You’re living off the money your parents left you and this is not how they intended you spend it, you know.”
 
In fairness, while I am all too well aware of the stress I live under, I am unaware that my blogs have been downers. This is probably because I have been spending hours every morning for the past few months consumed with writing a book about a man who snuck letters out of a Nazi internment camp to his wife and children in the winter of 1942. Therefore, my frame of reference has been: no Nazis, no starvation, no hypothermia, no separation – we’re good. A low bar, but one we are crushing here in Albuquerque.
 
Except then, the woman who found and translated these letters decided she wants them buried. She thinks to publish them would be to court danger. I am stunned by her reversal. These haunting letters reveal such hope, such optimism, such love in the face of brutal hatred. I have wept over them, and feel that to silence his voice will be to enable the haters. It’s like erasing Anne Frank because her diary isn’t convenient. But this woman is the man's granddaughter, and she is genuinely afraid of the obvious growing anti-Semitism around the world, especially in France, where she lives.
 
What I know to be true is that fear is never a good motivator, ever. I try to verbalize this, but am told that I am unaware of how bad things are. To argue that you are aware to someone who says you don’t understand is to dive into a pointless rabbit hole.
 
Thankfully, the man’s other granddaughter, who is American, is incredibly wise and patient. She listens to her anxious cousin, holding back judgement. It takes a lot of courage and strength just to listen. 
 
I take a breath and focus elsewhere. Easy to do, as there are so many other situations clamoring for my attention. I decide not to worry about the broken washing machine (which costs the same to fix as buying a new one), and spotlight my middle child, who continues to struggle socially. She texted her birthday invitation to some friends. They all said they love the invitation, but not one of them said they want to attend the actual party. Having received help from her school, I now go to the library, seeking books on how to help tweens and teens make friends.
 
I check out the first book I find, written for teens. I expect it to be full of social etiquette, stuff like: ask others questions. Smile! Give compliments. Instead, what I find blows my mind. (I love the book; my daughter feels it's weird.) The first chapter says the best way to make friends is to live mindfully: in the present moment, and without judgement. Living with one foot regretting past scenarios and another anxiously awaiting the future doesn’t allow us to see the people in front of us. Furthermore, the judge and jury that play in our heads certainly doesn’t allow us to listen to what the people in front of us are communicating, both verbally and non-verbally.
 
Is this why it’s so challenging for us to make new friends? 
 
Living mindlessly, on autopilot, has become both a default and a defense for us, even at a national level. To bring it to the family level: it’s my 7-year-old, so afraid of boredom that he craves constant food and screens to escape the present moment. It’s me walking the dogs, feeling great that my son will be at school on time with his backpack AND jacket, only to realize that I forgot poop bags (I go back and pick up the poop in penance). It’s my oldest getting out of the car at school and giving herself a concussion by hitting her head as she closed the car door. It’s my husband not noticing this happened. (Yes, she got a real concussion. She had to miss days of school, and still is needing lots and lots of rest. But I digress.)
 
To live mindlessly is to go to the movies for the popcorn and miss the show. Franciscan priest and author Richard Rohr puts it better: we must not confuse our life situation with our actual lives, our essence, our souls.
 
So, to answer my friend, yes, the situation my family has been in for the last year has truly been  discouraging, frustrating and scary. However, my actual life, from which my writing comes, has been one of discovery and connection.
 
Our actual lives thrive on gratitude, intention, and love, because these things feed our soul. This is the reason those letters from the Nazi internment camp resonate so deeply with me. This man was in the absolute worst of life’s situations, and yet, he didn’t let it define him.
 
In case you never get to read his letters, I will share that in the first one, he asked his wife to send him yellow shoe laces. This is because the Nazis confiscated shoelaces and belts, to keep French inmates from using them to kill themselves. But why yellow? The answer appears two lines down, when he asks her to send yellow shoe polish. He was wearing bright dapper yellow shoes in a Nazi internment camp, and he intended to keep them looking their best. This to me is a symbol of joie de vivre, of resistance, of hope.
 
So now matter what daunting circumstances life may be throwing our way, let us not confuse our current situations with our lives. (Take that, mountains of laundry and broken washing machine!) Let’s find our equivalent of yellow shoes, walk tall, and even dance when we are mindful enough to hear life’s rhythm.

Let's call January Lillie Grace month....the rest of us just showed up

 
​If you don’t become the ocean, you will get seasick every day. - Leonard Cohen
 
As the first month of 2024 comes to a close, I hope that we’re each finding our own ways to keep hope alive.  When I was younger, I used to make “resolutions” that lasted maybe until Valentine’s Day if I were lucky. Now, I carefully select a word that represents a concept I want to grow in, one that will hopefully enhance my life from this point on.
 
After much consideration, I chose “surrender”. Bono used it to title the autobiography of his fantastic life. Oprah swears by “surrender” as much as she does “intention” and “gratitude”. Contrary to pop culture, surrender is not a dirty word. It doesn’t mean giving up, or waving the white flag. It seems that successful people know the secret to surrender. They put forth 100% effort, until there remains nothing else to add, no one else to contact, no other angle to try, and then let go. It takes understanding that if it is meant to be, it will come back to you. If it does not come back, the Universe/God will give you something better. It’s a belief I’m willing to test.  
 
Because of course, the minute I chose this word, I knew I would be tested. Oh Lordy, yes. But tired of hanging on to things I want that never materialized, I was ready to surrender. 
 
So far, who knows? All I can see is what I've let go of. However, in believing something better will come, surrender takes away a lot of the suffering from what would otherwise continue to be an anguishing thorn in my side.
 
Oh, the examples? I was perfect for a remote job coaching college essays this summer. The person hiring agreed, and I was a finalist. Poof. Inexplicably went to someone else. (“Now you know how I feel,” my grumpy husband groused.) I asked for feedback, but all I got was, “we so enjoyed talking with you too.” So, I must be on to something better this summer…
 
And it won’t be going back to the summer camp at which I taught six classes a day last year. My students are always my North Star. Always. When my teen counselors had their lunch periods routinely taken away, were yelled at, and tasked with teaching classes (with no pay bump) after other teachers quit, I spoke up. My counselors asked me to. Result: mysteriously, not only was I not offered a position this summer, but most of my classes are not even offered. I applied anyway, but was told I was not needed. So, I must be on to something better this summer…
 
I’m throwing down the gauntlet: Does surrendering things you wanted open you up to better opportunities? Stay tuned as the experiment unfolds!
 
In the meantime, I continue to write this amazing book in the mornings and am a search consultant in the afternoons, filling three teaching positions for a phenomenal elementary school in LA. I love my days.
 
Finally in my “spare time”, I’ve been treading the bipolar path of having one family soaring to new heights, with the other in the depths of despair.
 
Jory started January as a finalist for three marketing jobs. Job #1 finally said he was overqualified. Job #2 (a company run by 5 women) eventually went to a woman. Job #3 at last enthused that he is their #1 contestant, and they’ve…decided not to fill the position at this time. Cut to: Jory in the ER with blood pressure at 220/110. His heartbeat often races. He’s on medication. Really, could he just get a friggin’ job? Some kind of break? It’s been 9 months…
 
Thankfully, Lillie Grace is living her best life. Today she is the lead prosecutor in the grade’s mock trial. She is proving that Billy the Kid deserved to die, despite the fact that both sides in the Lincoln County War were corrupt. This past weekend, she was an alto in the New Mexico State Choir. Kids from all over the state auditioned through their schools (over 100 kids auditioned at her school alone; 19 were selected). Man, did they sound phenomenal!!! To top it off, she is rocking some beautiful studs after she went to a tat parlor and got her ears pierced . In her spare time, she’s deciding between committing to francais or espagnole for the rest of her school career. Let’s just call January Lillie Grace's month.
 
Let's see who gets the February award...