And Many More

From this point in my life, I have many more years behind me than before me. Those years behind, though, are full of memories, lost dreams, dreams come true, joy, and sorrow: a vast array of ideas for stories, books, poetry that spread like a buffet in front of me. All I need do is choose and develop and write.

Riches in jewels or money, I’ve never had, but riches in love, friendship, and family abounded. My husband of nearly forty-one years heads the list. My friend, my lover, the father of my children, my biggest fan - all in one person, Robert stands by my side helping me, encouraging me. A romance written about us could be a regular best seller, but I can’t write such “hot” love scenes; the paper would burn, and the computer screen melt.

My children, three of them, grew into people of whom I am proud. One, my daughter, sings and writes music. Her band, Rhianon, performs for concerts and at Celtic fairs. Some day she will be able to give up her day job. Her story would be one of talent and the struggle for success.

My middle child, a son, flies the skies of the United States and all the world as a major in the Air Force. He always wanted excitement, wanted to discover what was over the next hill. Every author needs to write at least one adventure story, and Bob would be mine.

My baby, my six foot four inch tall baby, stands tall not only in size. Fighting against odds that he would ever live, he now holds a Ph.D. in government. His story would be the one about triumph over adversity, the struggle to live and succeed and be a productive member of a society which doesn’t understand.

Grandchildren added to the story themes. As a young mother then a young grandmother, I discovered that children and grandchildren enriched my life. The oldest girls led lives and encountered experiences that became the subject of poems and heartaches, remembrances and laughter. The next two, a boy and a girl, became pleasures that brightened my life - for awhile. Then when they were stolen by their father, never to be seen again, heard of or from, a pain and agony erupted and still simmers in my heart over six years later. A writer needs to suffer in order to express and understand the pain experienced by s her characters, but this agony is too great, lasts too long, and can’t be expressed in words.

Close by, we have three grandsons, the oldest now ten. They opened up a world of opportunities for me as a writer as they demanded stories. They influenced the creation of Louie the Duck and The Base Stealers Club. My childhood imagination awoke through them, my baby’s sons. Then through the marriage of our older son, we gained two more lovely granddaughters, a new source of canvas to paint portraits from words.

What other themes from my past years are found? Friendship that crosses all boundaries, travel to exotic places and to some not-so-exotic, learning to live with disease that cripples and maims, struggles to overcome the death of a child, parents, siblings and to survive disabilities – so many possible story plots stream behind me. Surely more hide beyond the horizon, waiting for me to find.

Each experience I endured or enjoyed strengthened me, made me the person I am today. How can I completely deny anything that made me stronger, made me a better person? I can’t. Later this year, when I mentally count the candles on my birthday cake, I will also count the blessings remembered from each year represented.

Happy birthday to me, and many more. May the years to come bring as many plots for different genre of writing as the years behind. Who knows, maybe I’ll live long enough to write them all.

Writer's Cramp winning entry for January 22, 2003