Cruising

 

I love cruising. To me, it is the only true vacation—a real get-away, a chance to be separated from all the things that disturb the calm of daily life: phones, emails, text messages, doctor’s appointments, and the demands others make.

I love the rhythm of the ocean, the feel of the waves and swales as the ship glides across the ocean. The scent of salt air, the various moods of the sea calms me and helps me to find inner peace. When I am on the ocean, I feel like that is where I was always meant to be.

The ocean supports an abundance of life and it feels alive to me. I love the way the waves move around the ship, with different levels of energy: sometimes rough and full of vigor and at other times almost placid.

I know that when most people think about cruising they think about non-stop buffets and an overly indulgent life. Certainly, those elements are there. Food is readily available, and often is quite good (especially the baked goods!) and yes, the crew does try very hard to pamper guests. It would be quite easy to fall into a very hedonistic lifestyle on a ship.

But there is so much more—lectures, classes, entertainment and interesting ports of call. On the last cruise we took, I was able to attend several computer workshops and I came home with new knowledge.

Dinner on a cruise ship often is an opportunity to meet interesting people or an opportunity to renew an old friendship—including the one you have with your spouse.

And the entertainment on modern cruise ships is quite exciting—with everything from production shows with highly talented singers and dancers to magicians and comedians. What I especially love about cruise ships is the chance to see entertainers who may not make it to the “big time,” but are extraordinarily talented. I also love to sit in the piano bar and enjoy the music, something I am comfortable doing alone (but would never do by myself otherwise).

To me, cruising is as close as I will get to heaven on this earth.

11 Comments »

Submission Blues

 

Remember when you sent your first child off to school for the first time?  You probably took her shopping and bought new clothes—including socks and underwear. You may have purchased a brand new school outfit. When the big day arrived, you made sure your kid looked her best—hair neatly combed (with bows or barrettes for the girls) and shiny shoes with socks folded just so. You packed a nutritious lunch and made sure that your child had crayons, paper, glue and tissues in her backpack, just as the teacher requested. You kissed your kid and told her to have a fun day at school. You reassured her that you would be back to pick her up on time. And then with a tear in your eye, you watched as she climbed aboard the school bus, or walked though the school door for the first time. And you hoped that she would return home from her first day at school filled with excitement and eager to return.

Well, that was how I felt last week when I finally sent the revised copy of my novel to my publisher. I spent hours polishing it—and even wrote a new, more exciting first chapter. I went over the manuscript several times, hoping that any flaws would pop out at me and I would have one more chance to fix them.I formatted the manuscript according to my publisher preferences.

Then, like a Mom sending her most precious belonging off to the care of others, I sent my novel into the care of others. I hope that they will love it as much as I do and treat it with respect. I hope that they will be gentle with it. And when the manuscript comes back to me for rewrites, I hope the essence of the story will still be there.

So much like a mother on her child’s first day of school, I set aside my anxieties and entered into a new relationship with people that I don’t know all that well. And like a good parent-teacher relationship, I hope that eventually we will develop mutual trust and respect and work together as a team.

Yes, there was a tear in my eye as I sent the manuscript away to the people who will shape and mold it into the best story it can be.

 

 

 

 

 

10 Comments »

Labor Day

Labor Day weekend has come and gone. There were parades, speeches and cookouts all over the United States to celebrate this important day.

Every year on Labor Day, I think of my Dad, Thomas R. Joyce, Jr. He was a working man—he labored in the steel mills in Lackawanna, New York for well over 40 years. He started working when he was only 17. Like many young men in his era, he fudged his age in order to get hired; it was the Depression and the family needed money to survive. So he set aside his dream of a college education and went to work as a laborer in the steel mills.

Because of my father’s sacrifice, his younger brothers eventually earned their degrees—two were dentists and the other an engineer. By the time his chance came around, he had a young family to support. So my Dad continued to work in the steel mill.

Yet he never complained about the lack of opportunity, rather he was proud of his brothers and their accomplishment. He was intellectually curious until the day he died. He taught himself to play the piano, read Greek and math tomes “for fun” and corresponded with Isaac Asimov for a period of time. He loved science fiction and read voraciously. He was a professional photographer for a time. Later he pursued photography as a hobby  and developed photos in a dark room he set up in our home.

He was very proud of his Irish heritage and at times, even spoke in a sort of ersatz Irish brogue.

When the first Atari computers became affordable in the 1980’s, Dad taught himself how to write computer programs—one of which he sold to the local computer store! (It kept track of their inventory.)

He was what might be called a Renaissance man—curious, intellectual and involved in the world around him.

And he was a working man—the type of American who helped make this country what it is. He was a Union activist (and proud of it) who eventually became management at “the plant.”  One of my brothers went to work at the steel mill where he learned that Dad’s nickname was “The Hammer”—because he drove himself so hard. Needless to say, there were no slackers on his shift.

To me, my Dad embodies what Labor Day is about: The generations of working men and women who built this country: who made steel, cars, built homes and hospitals and schools and churches, healed the sick, and taught children to read and write—because it was the right thing to do. They didn’t necessarily become rich. But they contributed richly to the fabric of everyday life in our country.

And that is what Labor Day is really about.

 

17 Comments »

Love Stories

A funny thing happens when I tell people that my novel is going to be published sometime in the near future. The first reaction is usually to congratulate me. Then comes the inevitable question, “What’s it about?”

That’s when I hesitate. After all, I want my book to be a best seller (or at least a good seller)—and everyone I tell is a potential reader, I hope.

I gulp and then say, “It’s a love story, ala Nicholas Sparks with a little Maeve Binchy rolled in for good measure.”

The rest of the conversation depends on whether the person I am talking to is a man or a woman. Women often look interested, and then I go on to explain a little more about the story—it’s a coming of age story set in a very traditional Irish American community during the 1970’s.

Men, however, usually change the subject.

I’m not surprised at this. Most people equate love stories with romance novels—especially the ones with notoriously lurid covers showing women who are being ravished by a long-haired man.

Love stories, though, tell the stories that fuel everyday life. They relate how people find love and how they make the connections we all value. They tell stories of survival—how people heal from life’s great traumas: the loss of a spouse, abuse and rejection. They can be cathartic, helping people to weather many of life’s storms. They can also give us insights into the lives of others: what it is like to be a victim of abuse, or to lose the love of your life, or to pick up the pieces after a terrible trauma. Some love stories can be a window into an historical period. They can humanize the suffering of people who were persecuted in some way.

The characters in quality love stories have lessons to teach us all: resilience, hope, how to forgive, and how to know when to move on.

Nicholas Spark’s novel, Safe Haven, tells the story of a young woman who escapes a dangerously abusive relationship. It describes how she outwits her police detective husband and makes a new life for herself.

The Hotel at the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford tells the story of long lost lovers who finally are reunited after many years. They were forced to separate during WWII when Japanese –American citizens were rounded up and placed in relocation camps.

Both of these authors are men. They both assert that they love to write love stories because these are the stories that people relate to best. Both men write about women lovingly and sensitively.

I would rather call my novel a relationship story. Because I really believe that love stories are about relationships. And quite, honestly, I am proud of my novel. I like my characters, I think the situations they face are realistic. The dialogue rings true, too.

So, labels aside, I hope that when you read a love story you will appreciate how it relates to your life. And perhaps, you too, will begin to see a well written love story as a relationship story, where love, life, survival and courage are celebrated.

16 Comments »

Sounds in the Night

I lie in bed, waiting for the overwhelming fatigue of the day to finally settle in my bones and to quiet my racing thoughts. Tossing and turning, I grabbed the blankets and pulled them toward me. The house was unnervingly quiet.

I heard a soft noise like a kitten’s mewl. I shot up in bed, every sense alerted. I cocked my head and listened. I heard it again.

The noise, which now became an ethereal humming, filled my head. It shattered the preternatural silence of the house. I jumped from the bed and crammed my feet into my slippers.

The hum vibrated through my body. Sensing that its source was somewhere other than the bedroom, I allowed myself to be guided by the sound.

As if in a trance, I walked through the house, flicking lights on in each room, looking for the source. Nothing was out of place. The TV was off—no unearthly glow emanates from it. Every chair, every plant, every book was where I had left it earlier. But still the sound beckoned me.

Totally exhausted, I fell into a chair and the sound grew louder and steadier.

I closed my eyes.

A gentle breeze woke me and I heard the sound of waves pounding the beach. I breathed deeply.

I thought of the last few days when my husband faced the never-ending tests and relentless prodding by doctors and nurses. His patience seemed to be infinite, even when every move he made wracked his body with pain.

Memories of sitting across from the oncologist flooded back. I pulled an afghan around my shoulders as if to comfort me as I remembered the doctor’s words. In a clinical voice, he described a torturous treatment plan to defeat the out of control cells that had taken over my husband’s body.

The doctor’s words hung between us, taking on form and substance. We had talked that day, and had spoken only of recovery. We promised one another to not allow the thought of defeat to have any place in our lives.

The family room was cool and quiet. The ethereal sound had diminished and in its place was peace.

Dawn would soon color the sky like it had for so many millions days.

Later, I will go to the hospital and bring my husband to our home.

And for an uncertain number of days, we will be together.

12 Comments »

Puppy Love, Part II

In my previous post, I told about how we came to welcome our delightful dog Sparkle  into our home. There is so much more to this story.

I resisted having a dog for so long and I and so many good reasons why we couldn’t have one that our friends are amazed that I have taken Sparkle into my heart.

In addition to my allergies, I feared that a dog would tie us down. Dan and I are pretty spontaneous at times. For instance, we have been known to decide to go to the beach for an overnight with no previous planning. And I really didn’t like dogs—I thought they were a nuisance. I avoided them as much as possible. And then there was my fear of dogs, which was still in the background.

But seeing my husband’s transformed face when he cuddled a dog was a compelling reason to try to find a dog I could tolerate. People suggested a French poodle, claiming that they were “hypoallergenic.” But quite frankly, I really found poodles to be way too cloying. And I thought that they were probably high maintenance princesses. But, by mixing a poodle with another breed, you get a delightful and cute dog that I can tolerate. ( By the way, my allergist wished me “good luck” with the dog—3 years ago!)

We also were able to find a reliable, caring dog sitter where we live who charges a reasonable fee to keep Sparkle in her home overnight when we need to get away.

So, all of the obstacles to including a delightful furry “baby” into our home were overcome.

What I didn’t expect was that I would learn so much from having a dog in our home. I’d like to share those insights with you.

 

                                                                                              What I learned from my Dog, Sparkle

It is possible to love an animal.

A 14 pound, foot high dog can be in charge of two adults!

Petting a dog is soothing and helps to deal with stress.

Taking care of a dog is a job.

Kissing a dog does not lead to a fatal attack of “dog germs” (ala Lucy in “Peanuts”).

Playing with a dog is not only fun, it is comical and relaxing.

Dogs are a great comfort when you are sick, stressed or lonely.

Dogs love to eat—all the time.

You can learn “doggie-talk”–for example, I now know the difference between a bark that means, “I want to go out” and “I want a treat.”

Walking a dog is a great way to get to know people.

Dogs have the most pathetic way of begging for food—all the time. And it is very easy to give into them.

A dog can quickly learn that if she sits just right, you will give her a treat.

You have to be careful to not feed your dog too much restaurant food—not only will she get fat, but she will refuse to eat anything else.

Living with a dog brings new energy into your household.

You can spoil a dog—really!!

You can give your dog a cutesy name, and she won’t mind.

Stuffed dogs and cute dog books are no substitute for the real thing.

Dogs find a place deep in your heart and, at some point, you realize how grateful you are that she is there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

8 Comments »

Puppy Love

 

For many years, my husband campaigned to get a dog. I resisted, claiming that the dog would be too much trouble and that we worked too many hours. In addition, I am allergic to furry animals and developed asthma when we had a cat as a pet.

One of the unspoken reasons I had for resisting acquiring a dog was that I was nervous around them. From the time I was quite young, I was afraid of being bitten by dogs and was convinced that they somehow were unfriendly and would attack unprovoked. This view may have been the result my experiences with a dog we had when I was quite young. My parents acquired an Irish Setter–a big goofy puppy. Like all puppies, he was playful. I can still remember being knocked down by this dog, and having the big sash on the back of my dress torn off. ( For some reason , I refused to wear pants to play in and insisted on wearing only dresses!) Needless to say, this dog eventually went to “live on a farm.”In fact, I was so nervous about dogs, that I would walk blocks out of my way to avoid encountering them as a  kid.

I worked very hard to make sure that my daughter would not share my fear of canines. My husband’s family were doggie-types, so she had many opportunities to interact with dogs . I would put on a brave face and let my husband take the lead in interacting with these animals.

I resisted dog ownership successfully for many, many years.  My ace card was my allergies.  After all, was it fair to expect me to sacrifice my health for a pet?

Then my husband was diagnosed with cancer, and his recovery was difficult. The hospital he was treated at had a pet visitation program. Whenever we went to appointments on Tuesdays, the therapy dogs would be there. He would interact with the dogs happily while I watched form a safe distance.

He began to plead  for a dog to keep him company. I bought cute little mechanical dogs, stuffed dogs and books about dogs. Finally he told me that they were no substitute for the real thing¾and that he didn’t want any more pretend dogs. He even stopped visiting the therapy dogs because  it made him feel too depressed.

One day, after a particularly bad patch during his recovery, I talked him into visiting the therapy dogs. He cuddled a French poodle . I looked at him and saw a transformed person sitting there¾one who was delighted and alive.

I knew that we had to get a dog. I really felt that perhaps my husband’s total recovery was dependent on it.

Shortly after that, our friends adopted two adorable little Yorkie-poodle mix puppies. They were delightful. And it appeared that I wasn’t allergic to them.

So about a month later, we welcomed Sparkle into our home. She is a little charmer. To say the least, she has brought hours of love and fun into our lives. We delight in her antics and enjoy petting her and playing with her. She can be quite energetic and, needless to say, she holds sway over the household.

Her love is  unconditional and she rewards us with her “kisses.” I enjoy cuddling her in bed ( yes, she sleeps with us!) and find that petting Sparkle helps to relieve my anxiety.

Sparkle gets my husband out and walking everyday. He has met several other people who walk dogs and often has a gossipy tid-bit to share when he gets home.

Whenever one of us is sick, Sparkle is there, right by our side, keeping us company. She welcomes us home wagging her tail happily. She even cries when we are sad!

I never expected to fall head-over-heels in love with a dog. The day we picked her up, my husband held her gently in his arms as I drove home. He looked like he was in heaven. I, however, was filled with trepidation. Less than 24 hours later

Sparkle

, I was smitten.

I knew that our family was richer with  Sparkle.

So now I know what it is to experience puppy-love!

 

 

 

 

14 Comments »

Friends

“Weathered by pain. Sheltered by friends.”  (Quoted in Reader’s Digest )

These words sum up simply so much of what I have been thinking about lately. Friends are important to me and my husband. Family is equally important, of course. We count our family members as friends, too.

If we are your friends, time and distance won’t separate us. We will travel miles to be with friends. We work at friendships. Some of our friends date back 30 or more years. My husband is still close to a guy he played with as a ten-year–old. And this isn’t a friendship that was rediscovered—it has been an on-going friendship for all of those years.

On our recent cruise to Alaska, we traveled with my husband’s life-long friend, his wife and another couple. As much as we enjoyed visiting Alaska again, the most important thing we did on this cruise was to spend precious time with our friends. We had a wonderful opportunity to get to know the third couple who traveled with us. Until this cruise, they were friends of friends—now I think of them as our friends, too.  I came to appreciate them better—their intelligence, humor and general niceness.

Just a few days ago, we drove for an hour to have dinner with some friends who moved to another part of Florida. It’s something we do about once a month or so. The distance is inconsequential to us, if it means we have an opportunity to visit with these people.

We make sure that we make time for our friends whenever we go back to Buffalo, even though we have been in Florida for 13 years. And when our Buffalo friends come to Florida in the winter, we meet them at the beach.

Our friends sustained us through some very difficult times in our lives: my husband’s illness and my illness and the loss of our parents and other family members. When my husband was going to Tampa (an hour and a half one way drive) for his chemo and radiation, I could call on different friends to help me with the driving. No questions asked. They were there.

Our friends uplifted us when we faced three major hurricanes in a six week period a few years ago. Visiting with one another, playing cards and having a neighborhood cook-out with the contents of thawing freezers helped to us to weather the storm—literally.

Our friends accept us for what we are. They celebrate our joys and mourn our sorrows.  

And yes, they help us to weather the pain of life and shelter us from the worst of the storm.

I wish all of you friendship. And I thank you for being my friend.

17 Comments »

Whales!!!

 

 

We arrived home from a cruise to Alaska late Monday morning—exhausted after a red-eye flight and hustling through two large and disorganized airports.

We jumped at the chance to cruise through the Inside Passage in Alaska—mostly to spend time with our friends, and also because I have said many times that I would love to do this cruise again. A few years ago we made a two week land and sea tour to Alaska. It was memorable and spectacular. But there were excursions I missed that first time that I wanted to take: among them, a boat trip to see whales andother wildlife. One of the ironies of traveling to Alaska is that even though it teems with wildlife, there is a good chance that you will see very little. I guess that’s not too much of a mystery, after all. The tourist season is short and I am sure that you need to go into the hinterlands to spot wildlife.

You usually can see eagles and bears readily in Juneau and Ketchikan, but I dreamt of seeing the majesty of the orca in their habitat—gloriously breeching just for me.

Well, I didn’t see any whales to speak of—I think I saw a few bubbling off the side of the ship one day. That was it.

Our traveling companions saw whales repeatedly—not only on excursions but  even cavorting off the side of the ship. I was
on the same ship at the same time, yet, the whales eluded me.

I did see the most magnificent scenery imaginable—soaring fjords, glittering blue glaciers, jade green water, trees lacy against the sky and verdant mountains. We saw that even as the glaciers recede, life is renewed by lichens and the beginnings of new forests.

I’ve become philosophical about whales and me. Personally, I think they are hiding from me. God knows, I’ve tried hard enough to see them.

First, I sought them on a whalewatching adventure in Maine on a boat that was in such cold, rough waters that I was alternately frozen and sea-sick. Then I searched for them on our first Alaska cruise, after which I vowed to return just to go on a whale watching excursion.

I was so determined to see them on this second cruise, that I even took an excursion into the Misty Fjords. The brochure for that excursion suggested that whales would be among the fantastic sights to be seen. Instead, we saw some sea lions and an eagle and got up close to the sheer walls of the fjord where we saw an ancient Tlingit glyph.

I’m not sure why the whales are avoiding me. But now I have a mission—to find whales and marvel at them to my heart’s content. Even if I have to go to Sea World to do it—by God, I will hunt those babies down!!

Just call me Ahab….

 

15 Comments »

Where is There?

There is the place I think I want to go to—and then when I get there, I dream of being home. There is the place everyone I have loved all my life still is, while I am here. Yet, when I go there, I realize that you really can’t go home again. Or if you do, it is so different that you fall back into the ways of a child. But I go there anyway, and when I return, I long to go back.

 Sometimes there is a place I dread being like the doctor’s office, a party where I know no one other than the hostess, the dentist chair to have a root canal, the MRI machine and, in years past, the confessional.

The journey to there isn’t a straight line, in fact it is quite unpredictable, filled with turns and twists and blind hills. Sometimes it feels like driving blindfolded on a mountain road that’s under construction. And yet like so many people before me, I embark on the journey to there willingly, happily even. I look to those around me for inspiration, marveling at how brave they are, how resolute they are to keep going. And I wonder if I am as courageous as they.  Then I realize that all this time I had the fortitude to get up every day and keep going, despite the challenges of my life. Why is it that I admire courage in others, but don’t see it in myself?

It would be nice to be Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz and simply follow the yellow brick road—but that, alas, was a fantasy. And I live in an all too real world where love can disappoint, and children are not perfect and friends sometimes betray us, and we hurt even those we love best. And then we realize that the yellow brick road was a scam—after all Oz didn’t give anything to Dorothy that she didn’t already have.

And I know my journey here on earth is not complete, because I’m not there yet.

 

19 Comments »