Lights of Peace, Hope, and Remembrance Tree

If you've read my coming-of-age novel, Stillwater, you know what an idyllic village it was back in the 1950s. My book is during one summer, but Stillwater was a fairy tale town in the winter as well. 

My brother, Bob, and I have wonderful memories of those winters. We rode our sleighs down the hill behind the school, skated on the old canal and sometimes the Hudson River froze and we could skate right behind our house. 

We both remember the time it snowed a lot right before Christmas. Bob and I were in a Christmas show and the practices were at night in the old school auditorium. The air was cold, the snowbanks were taller than we were and the snow crunched under our boots as we walked over to the school. By the time we got there, our cheeks were rosy and my fingers were so cold I had to blow on them before I played the piano so Bob could belt out "Christmas in Kilerney." 

Stillwater is still a fairy tale place in the winter—even more so than when I lived there. Four years ago, the town started an event at the Blockhouse Park where the townspeople could purchase memory trees and decorate them in honor of people they've loved and lost. 

Maureen Carney-Root is one of them She grew up in Stillwater and loves the new tradition. "It is not a fundraiser," she told me. "The town charges $50 to purchase a tree. That takes care of the tree and 5 or 6 weeks of electricity. They take care of ordering and picking up the tree. They put up the stakes, then mount them and add a placard with people's names to remember and who is dedicating them. They are put up just before Thanksgiving, and people have to the first Saturday of December to decorate them. That night, they light the trees, pipe in music, have fires, and serve hot chocolate and cookies." 

"Every year it gets bigger," Maureen explained. "As people see the trees, they want one for their family member. I always get one for my parents and my aunt, my father's sister. My father's family are Stillwater natives and have been here forever. My mother moved here in 1946 when my parents were married. My brothers and families often come to the lighting, but only my husband and I came this year. We stayed in the car till the illumination took place, took pictures, then got right back in the car. Some stayed longer, but not many because of covid. It was fairly well attended, but no one lingered. Usually, there are many more people and they walk around and look at the trees and enjoy the refreshments."

For Maureen, it's an emotional event. "I love remembering the people in the town that lived here before me. As I walk through the trees and read the placards with the people's names they are remembering, it brings back pleasant memories of them and their families. Because I've lived here all my life and taught in the school for 33 years, l know many of those earlier residents."

I'm putting Stillwater's Lights of Peace, Hope, and Remembrance Tree Event on my things-to-do list when COVID is over. Hopefully, I’ll get to meet Maureen and have my own memory tree!

Merry Christmas and all the best in 2021—stay safe, be well and be good. Santa's coming!

Grandparents

Today’s parents and children face a very different world than previous generations have encountered. Since March 14th, our entire country has locked down to “stay safe at home.” Parents lucky enough to still have a job are working virtually at home. Schools are closed, children are learning online, and are unable to be with their friends. Many families have fled the cities and moved in with the grandparents in the suburbs and rural areas. 

Those grandparents are playing a different and, in some cases, irreplaceable role in their grandchildren’s lives. They play games with them, help them with their school work, tell them stories about the “olden days,” and listen to their frustrations and fears. 

Other grandparents aren’t so lucky; their grandchildren live miles away. Facetime and zoom meetings aren’t the same as being together, but they’re the next best thing these days.  I have a friend who lives in California, and every night she reads her three-year-old grandson a Facebook bedtime story.  

Like my friend, grandparents have always stepped up to the plate and played an essential role in their grandchildren’s lives, sometimes even filling in for a deceased parent. Grace, the twelve-year-old protagonist in my coming of age novel, Stillwater, lost her father to suicide when she was eight years old. Her grandfather, Doc, moved the family in with him and became a surrogate father to her and Denny, her younger brother. 

In Grace’s own words, “Doc insisted we move into the upstairs apartment in his building after my father died because my mother was too upset to take care of us. Some days she didn’t get out of bed, and if she did, she didn’t speak.” 

Doc taught Grace not to judge but put herself in the other person’s shoes; he taught her that things aren’t always as they seem and not jump to conclusions.  He was loving and fair—a steady presence in her life—her mentor, her rock.  He provided a stability that allowed Grace to navigate problems with confidence. 

When I discuss Stillwater in various groups and book clubs, someone always says, “My favorite character was Doc. I wish I had a Doc.” I’m fortunate that I did. My father was bipolar and often not emotionally available to me, but Doc was always there through the ups and downs with his words of wisdom and understanding. And although he died years ago, he’s never left and I know he never will. 

Here’s to grandparents!

Guest Blogger: Kendra Nicholson

I'd like to introduce Kendra Nicholson, a new friend, author, and an authentic voice committed to helping others dealing with a family member's death by suicide. 

Kendra used to perform and teach comedy improv in Long Beach, CA until she lost her son to suicide in 2018. She began journaling as a way to process his death, and to keep his memory alive. Eventually, her writing turned into a fictional novel for sibling suicide survivors, but has proven to be beneficial to anyone who is grieving the loss of a loved one. You can purchase a copy of her book, The Climb, by clicking here.

This week, I’ve asked Kendra if she would write a guest blog post sharing her story in her own words, which you can read below.

I just turned 50, and I’m weirdly OK with it. However, it has definitely made me a bit more nostalgic. I find myself looking back at my childhood growing up on a farm in the Ozarks, and marveling at how much things have changed in my lifetime. I remember getting two channels on our television, and there was no remote control. I would be in my tiny bedroom of our trailer house that barely held my twin bed and a dresser, reading a book, and my dad would yell, “KENDY!” like the house was on fire. I would run into the living room, where he would be sitting in his recliner, beer in hand, cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth, and he would say, “Change the channel, sis.” 

Like many other things in our house, the machine on top of the television with the big knob that moved the antennae, was broken. In order to change the channel, we had to go outside, and turn the antennae by hand while Dad yelled, “MORE... MORE... NO, NO... BACK... BACK A LITTLE MORE... WHOA, WHOA, WHOA! STOP! STOP! THAT’S GOOD!”

I wouldn’t have dreamed of just sitting in my room and yelling “WHAT?!” when Dad called. He was predictably unpredictable, but there were a few things that I knew to be true. 

When Dad called for you, you didn’t yell back to ask what he wanted. You came running.

I knew that when he was “having trouble with his nerves”, it was best to stay out of his way. When I heard his car tires crunching in our gravel driveway, I would go to my room and listen. I could tell by the tone of his voice whether I needed to just stay in there until dinnertime, or if I could come out and sit in the living room with him and Mom.

I also knew that once a year or so, Dad would have to go into the hospital for weeks at a time. He was a Vietnam Veteran, and I knew he was in the Veteran’s Hospital, but I didn’t know why. He and Mom wouldn’t tell me or my brothers. We weren’t allowed to visit, and we didn’t talk about it. 

It was a secret.

It wasn’t until I was in high school that I found out that he was staying in the psychiatric ward to be treated for his Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from his time in Vietnam.

As an adult with two boys of my own, I always tried to be open about my dad’s mental health issues. Things were so very different than they were when I was growing up. People were becoming more open about it, and it was losing some of its stigma. Times were changing with regard to mental health.

No more secrets. 

In 2017, my youngest son graduated from high school, and moved out to attend college. We went to visit him and his big brother during Thanksgiving break, and he seemed to be doing OK. We found out after we were back home for a few days, that he was definitely not OK. He was in a severe depression, and had stopped going to his classes. 

We brought him home, and he began intensive therapy. The first couple of weeks were difficult, but then he suddenly seemed to be doing better. He was more active. He began going to the climbing gym like he used to, and he was getting stronger every day. He was socializing with his friends. He seemed like himself again. 

On January 25, 2018, he told me he was going to meet his friends, and he walked out the door.

I had no idea that he was keeping the biggest secret of his life.

 Instead of meeting his friends, he rode his bicycle over to a large warehouse, climbed the outside of the building, and jumped to his death.

We later found out that even his best friend had no idea that Trevor was depressed and in therapy. He was absolutely shocked to know that he had been struggling. 

So, yes. We have made huge strides when it comes to being open about mental health, and that is wonderful, but we’re not there yet. We still have work to do. Until people like my son can talk openly about their mental health without any shame, we need to keep at it. 

No more secrets.  

-Kendra Nicholson

Kendra and her son, Trevor

Wall Street Journal Stigma of Mental Illness

My book STILLWATER was set in the 1950s. It was a time when people were ashamed to admit that they were depressed, anxious, and fearful. The stigma of mental illness was no joke for the person suffering from it or for their families. People tried to hide their feelings from their family and friends; many were afraid to seek help. And if they hid it from the people, they were closest to, imagine how hard they tried to conceal it with their employers.

But things have changed a lot since then, right? 

I want to think so, after all, we have better treatments, medications, education, and people are more comfortable talking about their struggles with mental illness. 

2020 has been quite the year. People are dealing with the pandemic; they’re afraid of getting the virus, losing their jobs, and they’re worried about the short and long-term effects on their children. Factor in the protest/riots, the mayhem in the streets, the upcoming election and the polarization of the country--it’s a very stressful time. 

In today’s (September 14th) Wall Street Journal, a headline “Is It OK to Reveal Your Depression to Your Boss?” caught my eye. The article starts with the information that, according to the Census Bureau, during the pandemic the number of adults reporting symptoms of anxiety or depression went up 40.9% by mid-July. Last year the number for the same period was 11%. Quite a jump.

The workplace is different now, people are working from home on their computers instead of the office. It’s a completely different environment with different stressors and for a lot of people it’s overwhelming. Some bosses are sympathetic to their employee’s feelings, maybe even struggling themselves, but not all of them. It doesn’t necessarily mean they’re hard hearted, they could be so caught up in trying to keep their businesses afloat that they’re oblivious to the pain of their employees. 

What happens though if you’re in a bad spot? What if you’re grappling with depression or anxiety?  Should you level with your boss?

“In some ways, the current crisis gives people cover,” says Jill Hooley, a psychology professor at Harvard. However, she urges her clients to be careful. “There’s more stigma out there than we would like to think. Less is more.” She also recommends that if her clients need to take some time off that they tell their boss that they’re dealing with a medical issue rather than a mental health issue.

On a positive note, there are businesses that are happy to honor accommodation requests from their employees with mental health issues. And there is more help and support in most workplaces and schools than there was in the 1950s, but it’s not perfect. We’re still fighting the stigma around mental illness. 

If you or someone you know is considering suicide or struggling with mental health, please contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273 TALK (8255) or the National Alliance on Mental Illness at 1-800-950-6264.  

Don't Suffer in Silence -- Reach Out

Since I wrote STILLWATER, the unbelievable happened. The book launched in July during the pandemic, which dominates our lives to this day. COVID-19 determines where we shop, how we shop, what we “must” wear, how we visit our doctors, how kids attend school, how people work, where people work if they can work, what sports can play, where they play when they play and on and on. The virus affects us physically and emotionally.    

In STILLWATER in the 1950s, most people were ashamed to talk about their emotional problems. If they did reach out, there wasn’t much help available. 

Today, the virus is having significant effects on almost everyone. Many of us are experiencing depression, lack of energy, sleep problems, and feelings of helplessness and hopelessness. If we don’t have them ourselves, we know people who do.  

These symptoms occur in the old and the young. Young children “staying safe at home” lack the verbal skills to talk about their feelings, so they act out. They have meltdowns, they cry,  and they have nightmares. Parents are overwhelmed, trying to work from home. They can’t afford or identify suitable childcare situations, ao they struggle to work from home while supervising their children’s virtual schoolwork. Older adults in assisted living and nursing homes are isolated in their rooms away from each other and their families. 

And a lot of people lost their jobs. They’re struggling just to put food on the table for their families. Imagine the stress on these folks. 

And can you imagine what this surreal pandemic would have been like in the 1950s?

Today we have help if you’re experiencing emotional problems. It might be challenging, but reach out for support—talk to family and friends. Stay connected to others, exercise, eat right, and get enough sleep. Humor helps too—watching comedies on television instead of the news, getting interested in sports again--although I admit it was strange watching the Kentucky Derby on Labor Day weekend with no crowds in the stands. 

But if you can’t find silver linings, if everything is too much and you can’t feel any pleasure at all, it’s time to talk to a professional. Start with asking your primary physician for a psychiatric referral, make an appointment with a therapist, and join an online group dealing with similar issues. Don’t wait—reach out.

If you or someone you know is considering suicide or struggling with mental health issues, please contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255) or the National Alliance on Mental Illness at 1-800-950-6264.   And if you or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence, please contact the Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233.

Pandemic Friends

As the summer winds down and we head into the fall, we’re still facing challenges with the virus. Unfortunately, many people are struggling with anxiety, depression, and suicidal ideation. We’re living in a surreal world, and it isn’t as easy to reach out to friends for support—everyone is staying safe at home. 

In my coming-of-age novel, STILLWATER, friendship is an important theme, and I love the way that theme resonated with my readers. One reviewer said, “I really loved Grace, Maggie, and Louanne as characters. They were all different, but worked so well as a whole—the differences in their personalities and experiences were clear. Still, I could also understand and appreciate their friendships, individually and as a trio. I think the blurb for this book downplays how crucial and prominent friendship is in this story, and it’s really a defining feature, this trio of girls who have to deal with so much, but know they can do so as long as they have each other.”

Stillwater was an idyllic place that summer in the ‘50s. The girls were inseparable—they left home after breakfast and didn’t return until it was dinnertime. They swam in the river, played pickup games of baseball on the old school grounds, hiked up to Little Falls, and spent a lot of time on Maggie’s porch or in Grace’s treehouse. They had time to talk—to confide in each other—to laugh and to cry. Yes, they had freedom, but they struggled with significant issues, mental illness, death, divorce, and suicide. They had time to talk—to confide in each other—to laugh and to cry together. 

We can’t do those things during the pandemic. We see friends on zoom, we text, or email or skype, but right now, we’re staying safe at home until we get a vaccine. It’s not the same. Family members are together day after day, and life isn’t always like it was on “The Waltons” or “The Brady Bunch.” It’s a little more like “This Is Us,” where everyone is dealing with their problems.

There’s no easy fix, but we can try to keep our family healthy.  NAMI, the nation’s voice on mental illness, has some basic suggestions. 

Recognize that the pandemic is no one’s fault.

Have simple and structured routines.

Be aware of each family member’s needs, including your own, and create ways for their needs to be met.

As much as possible, stay involved with friends and your community.

Seek support from people and professionals who understand. 

Resources: 

The NAMI HelpLine can be reached Monday through Friday, 10 am–6 pm, ET. 1-800-950-NAMI (6264) or info@nami.org Because we’re in this together, you are not alone. During this challenging time, the NAMI HelpLine is here for you.

National Suicide Prevention Hotline -- 1-800-273-8255 

Goodbye Hello

When someone you love dies, you don’t say goodbye just once; it’s a process that goes on and on for years. I told my father goodbye at his funeral, but I didn’t realize that it was the beginning of many more.

I said goodbye to my father when I was sitting alone on our dock at Saratoga Lake, watching the sun go down over the water. He loved sunsets, but he wasn’t there with me.

I said goodbye to my father when I played “You are my Sunshine” on the piano. No matter what he was doing, he’d stop and come up behind me and sing.

I said goodbye to my father whenever I saw a Reader’s Digest—that was the magazine he read to unwind after a long day.

I said goodbye to my father when I went for a walk in the woods behind the house. He loved taking the dogs back there for a run before it got dark. 

I said goodbye to my father every time I took my children for ice cream. When we used to visit my parents at the lake, he would pile the kids in the car—no seat belts back then—and take them to Stewart’s for double dips. 

I said goodbye to my father whenever I went water skiing. He drove the boat, and even though we always had another person with us who watched me ski, he would turn around at least ten times to make sure I was all right.

I said goodbye to my father every year around the holidays. Christmas was his favorite time of the year. He’d light a big fire, bring in a tall evergreen tree, cut fresh pine boughs, put Christmas records on our victrola, and sing carols at the top of his lungs while we decorated the house.  

One day something beautiful happened—the goodbyes turned into hellos.

These days, I say hello to my father when I go back to visit my relatives in Saratoga. I drive around the lake past my old house and look out over the water. And guess what—he’s with me admiring the view.

I say hello to my father when I play his favorite songs on the piano. I can feel him standing behind me, singing along just like he did when I was a kid.

I say hello to my father when I’m in a store, and there’s a stack of Reader’s Digests prominently displayed on the magazine rack. I picture him picking one up and thumbing through it even though he knows he’s going to buy it.

I say hello to my father when my husband and I go for walks in places I know he would have liked. We don’t have a dog, but the ghosts of our old dogs are with us.

I say hello to my father when we have ice cream—especially pistachio, his favorite. 

I say hello to my father when I remember what it felt like to water ski. He’s the boat driver, and he turns around at least ten times to make sure I’m okay. 

I say hello to my father every Christmas when I hear my first Christmas carol, smell fresh pine, light the fire, and decorate the Christmas tree. It’s our favorite time of year.

I say hello in so many places because no matter how many times I said goodbye, my father never left. He was always there, loving me, and patiently waiting. 

I love you, Dad.

Through The Eyes of a Very Special Child...

“Every morning I get up and turn on my game or watch tv and get my breathing treatment,” my five-year-old great-grandson, Justin Sanchez, tells me in an upbeat matter-of-fact voice. “It pumps you, it feels weird, but it doesn’t hurt.” 

Justin’s an old hand at breathing treatments; they’ve been part of his routine since he was a baby. Gone are the days when he’d cry and cry because he had to have a treatment, and his mother, Samantha, would cry because she hated to see him cry.

And Justin’s used to his regular three-month checkups at the CF Clinic in Miller Children’s hospital to have his lung capacity checked. “Boring, but fun too,” is his dismissive comment about the hours that he and his mom have to spend waiting for several different doctors to examine him.

Justin takes enzymes before he eats to help his body absorb the fat in food; he has to take them six times a day. “I get to eat extra meals,” he says with a big smile. “And salt, I get to eat pretzels and oranges with salt.

Justin has cystic fibrosis. When he was only three weeks old, the doctors diagnosed him with cystic fibrosis, but cystic fibrosis never defined this kid--he’s our superhero, the Red Ranger, the number #1 ranger of all time, and he knows no limits. 

Justin’s quite the charmer—warm, loving, and kind. He has a smile that stretches from ear to ear, and he can coax his older brother, Javier, and sister, JoJo, into playing whatever he wants—and sometimes he even lets them win. 

Justin’s a fast runner, and when he’s on his scooter, he’s unbeatable. “I like to go to the skateboard park and the beach,” he said, shaking his head,“ but we can’t even do that now.” 

What’s it like for Justin to stay safe at home because of the pandemic? Is the Red Ranger discouraged or depressed?  

“It’s boring, but fun too,” he explains earnestly. “I get to play Nintendo, and sometimes we play Go Fish and Dominos and War. JoJo and I play school.” 

Our family is hoping and praying that life stays good for Justin, our eternal optimist. One promising drug trial with Trikafta looks like it will be of great benefit to Justin’s strain of cf. We’re praying that the age range in the new trial drops from twelve to six and that our Red Ranger can participate. Still, the battle is far from over, and the fight for a cure is an ongoing one.  Fingers crossed it comes soon.

My great-grandson, Justin Sanchez.

Silver Linings

Silver linings, signs of hope during the COVID lockdown, have been the simple moments in my life that have brought tears to my eyes, touched my heart, and made me count my blessings. I experienced one of those silver linings last Friday afternoon when my husband and I had a social distancing happy hour around the pool area with my daughter and son-in-law, Jennifer and Mark Giacalone. We sipped our drinks and talked about the unimaginable things we’ve accepted since the stay safe at home orders on March 13th.

Things like the bizarre way we grocery shop, wearing our masks and gloves, going up and down one-way aisles and preparing ourselves for the long lines of people spaced six feet apart in the checkout lines. But honestly, I enjoy the freedom of walking the aisles and checking things off my list, but what I like best are my impulse buys. No, I really don’t need coffee ice cream, or chocolate chips and flour, but there they are right in front of me and I smile as I put them in my cart. It’s my “new” shopping normal. Mark, a Boeing engineer, mentioned that he’s noticed a change in the people in his quiet Rancho Palos Verdes neighborhood. “Whenever I walk the dogs, everyone I see waves and calls out,” he said, smiling and explaining how good he felt about that. “Before the pandemic people didn’t do that, but now we know each other’s names--even the dogs know each other. There’s a new spirit in our neighborhood that wasn’t there before.”

Right now It takes so little to make us feel good—grocery shopping, walking the dog around the neighborhood, greeting neighbors, little things that before the pandemic we took for granted, now we appreciate these things and we reach out to share with others in all kinds of unique ways.

For quite a few years, Jennifer, a working mom, has done a lot of online shopping. She always appreciated the delivery people who bring the goods to her door, and around the holidays she let them know that by putting a basket out on her porch for them filled with prepacked snacks and a cooler of cold bottled water. When the virus hit and everything shut down, like everyone else Jennifer’s deliveries went way up. Every day now she sets out her cooler of cold drinks and a new basket of treats—it’s her way of saying thank you to the delivery people who put themselves at risk to help her family.

In my own neighborhood, one of my neighbors, Maxine Bussell, makes mouthwatering sourdough bread. The first couple of months of the pandemic, she made a loaf every Sunday for “us” neighbors, but that wasn’t enough for her. A few weeks ago, she began baking more bread for a group (@cybsouth on Instagram) that feeds the hungry. Remember when masks were in short supply? Maxine made masks and gave them to all of her neighbors.

Another neighbor, Dolores Cellier, gave me a tour of her garden and some much needed advice about the plants that were withering in mine. She said that since the pandemic she’s become a “gentleman” farmer and she’s elated to share her tips and expertise. Dolores also puts together gorgeous flower arrangements and when we least expect it, she surprises “us” neighbors with her colorful creations.

My son-in law is definitely on to something. There is a new spirit on the peninsula, people are reaching out to each other without expecting anything in return. They’re enjoying the “new” normal, counting their blessings and at the top of their lists are their family and friends. Do I have hope for the future? You bet!

My daughter, Jennifer, and her dog with their basket of treats for delivery drivers.

Depression During The Pandemic

My book STILLWATER is a coming-of-age novel. One of the book’s central themes is mental health and how it was looked in the 50s. At that time, people with mental illness were one of the most highly stigmatized and devalued groups in the country. They were considered dangerous or weak. Family members and friends ordered them to snap out of it; they were over or undermedicated, hospitalized, sent to state institutions, and subjected to shock therapy. People suffered in silence and didn’t get the love, support, and help that they needed. It was a tragedy, not only for the mentally ill but for their families and friends. 

My father was bipolar—back then, it was called manic depression. Today, according to the National Institute of Mental Health, the disease affects an estimated 5.7 million people in the United States. Many people with the disease self medicate; they become alcoholics or drug-addicted and end up taking their own lives. My father experienced all of those things, and when he was fifty-six, he committed suicide. I was thirty. 

Right now, we’re going through a pandemic—a global pandemic. People all over the world are suffering from anxiety, uncertainty, loss of income, not to mention the twenty-four-hour daily onslaught of bad news. Social isolation, worries, the profound loss of “life as we knew it” and COVID-19 fatigue are getting to all of us, but it’s especially hard on those that are depressed. 

Depression makes life seem dark and hopeless; it saps your energy, interferes with your concentration, and makes the days seem endless, but if you’re depressed, there are things you can do to improve your mood and feel more optimistic about the future. 

It sounds simplistic, but it’s essential to eat healthy meals, exercise, and get enough sleep. Fill up on fruits and vegetables, not potato chips and ice cream. Walk for thirty minutes a day; you’ll feel better, and walking around the neighborhood instead of staring at four walls can ease your stress and lessen your negative feelings. Go to bed at the same time every night—have a routine.

Listen to music instead of the news, and watch funny movies and videos instead. 

Start a gratitude journal, and every day write down three things in your life that make you grateful. They don’t have to be huge; it’s okay to be thankful for your morning cup of coffee, for the way the sunlight shines through the kitchen window and clean socks. 

Don’t abuse drugs and alcohol; it only makes things worse.

Reach out to others for help; it could be a loved one, a friend, or a therapist. Make it a regular thing—share your concerns and feelings, don’t isolate. 

If you’re feeling suicidal, tell someone you need help and support, don’t suffer in silence. Call 1-800-273-TALK .

Opportunity Knocks

It’s an exciting time of the year. Summer’s here and my coming of age novel, STILLWATER, is launching soon! Believe it or not, I  started the book in 2010, ten years ago. The book went through several revisions during that time; I workshopped it twice at UCLA and worked with Jennie Nash’s Author Accelerator program. I learned organizational skills in Dan Blank’s Mastermind Group, read my manuscript in weekly writer’s critique groups, and the book was always on my mind. 

I started STILLWATER off with a quote from John Kennedy, “Be aware of the danger—but recognize the opportunity,” to give some foreshadowing to the story and create a little anticipation.  

I had no idea that it would apply the book itself, but it does. STILLWATER is coming out in the middle of a global pandemic; the number of cases in California where I live goes up every day. There’s no way I can launch my book at the community room in the library as I had planned and I can’t have a party at a book store and read from my book while people sip wine and nibble on cheese, but I can ZOOM!

I can do ZOOM book discussions, meet with book clubs in ZOOM, and ZOOM with celebrities! It’s true. Colleen Cotter, the Executive Director of the Peninsula Friends of the Library in Palos Verdes, asked Tom Sullivan and me to be co-moderators on a ZOOM meeting with Marlo Thomas and Phil Donahue. (You remember That Girl and The Phil Donahue Show) How exciting is that? They’ll be discussing their new book, “What Makes a Marriage Last,” which is a great read right now because so many couples are staying safe at home and probably could use a few tips. 

If it weren’t for the dangerous pandemic, Marlo and Phil wouldn’t be marketing their book all over the country in ZOOM meetings, and I wouldn’t have the chance to meet them virtually. What an opportunity! 

The event is happening on Friday, July 24th, at 5 pm, and of course, you can come. Anyone, anywhere, in the entire country can ZOOM in, but space is limited. If you’re interested, email me for more details or check the PVLD website. Don’t miss out; it’s going to be a night to remember. 

Déjà vu ?

After several years, ten to be exact, Stillwater, my coming of age novel, will be launching soon. And the timing is smack dab in the middle of the COVID19 pandemic - the worst we’ve ever seen. But Stillwater isn't only the title of my book, it's the name of the upstate New York village where I grew up in the 1950s, and strange as it seems, back then the world was hit with a pandemic too—the polio epidemic. The similarities between both of the deadly viruses and their effects are shocking.

We know firsthand how COVID19 has upended the world. We’re quarantined—trying to flatten the curve by staying safe at home, social distancing, wearing masks and washing our hands, old words with new meanings. We listen to the news twenty-four hours a day, we don’t care about Bradley Cooper or Tom Brady, we care about Dr. Anthony Fauci, the director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, and Dr. Deborah Birx, the White House coronavirus response coordinator.  

Our president says we’re in a war against an invisible enemy, COVID19, and he’s right. The disease is daunting--formidable. COVID19 affects people of all ages, but the highly contagious disease is the most dangerous for seniors (that’s me) and people with pre-existing conditions. There is no prevention or cure. 

 The symptoms are myriad, pounding headaches, coughs, fever, chills, severe aches and pains, digestive issues, fatigue, weakness and respiratory problems. People who can’t breathe are taken to hospitals and put on ventilators; relatives aren’t allowed to be with them. The pictures of the hospitalized victims and the overwhelmed staff break my heart--they’re victims of the virus too. 

In the 1950s, the polio epidemic struck. The disease targeted children and, just like COVID19, there was no prevention or cure. The initial symptoms were mild, flu like, slight fever, congestion, aches and pains, but after a short time fevers spiked, patients became weak, fatigued and developed severe respiratory issues. Back then ventilators weren’t available, children were enclosed in iron lungs, unable to move—their little heads sticking out of the large round cylinders. No family members were allowed in to comfort them. Not every child recovered, some died, some ended up in wheel chairs--partially or completely paralyzed.  

Polio, like COVID19, was thought to be airborne, but because it attacked during the summer people were afraid it might be waterborne. Beaches and pools were closed. People didn’t dare drink from water fountains or, God forbid, go to the movies. Adults were leery about handling paper money and shaking hands, they avoided getting close to each other, they hoped and prayed for a cure.

On April 12th, 1955, they got one. Researchers Jonas Salk and Albert Sabine came up with successful vaccines.  President Eisenhower brought Salk to the White House and tearfully thanked him for saving the children of the world. Parents breathed a sigh of relief, schoolchildren like me lined up in their auditoriums for polio shots, and eventually the country went back to normal.  

My grandfather used to tell me to look at the past to predict the future. I believe that vaccines will be developed that eliminate COVID19, that our country will go back to normal, maybe a new normal, but we’ll go on. 

(In the meantime, I have to stop baking cookies and figure out a way to market my book while I’m quarantined. Any ideas?)

I Planned for Life as a Widow, But Got a Lot Wrong - An Article by Ellen Uzelac

Losing a spouse isn't easy--no matter what the circumstances. And too many times, the grieving process is pushed aside by financial obligations and buried under reams of paperwork. My dear friend, writer Ellen Uzelac, found this out when she lost her husband. She wrote about her experience to help others avoid what she went through. 

Read Ellen's article by clicking here. 

Suicide is not Painless

Suicide is not painless

                  Last August 11th, Robin Williams committed suicide. He left three adult children to cope with his death—heartbroken, without a choice.

                  On September 26, 1972, my father shot himself. It was my sister’s birthday. He sat on my old twin bed, in the bedroom my sister and I shared as children, and pulled the trigger on his twenty two rifle. Eleven days later he died, leaving three adult children grief-stricken.

                  There were other similarities—both men battled depression, anxiety and substance abuse. My father was diagnosed as a manic depressive when I was six years old. His disorder was never successfully managed, and every year he spent weeks in the hospital receiving shock treatments.

                  Both men loved to joke and laugh. When I told people about my father’s death, most of them said that they’d remember him with a big smile on his face. I remembered his smile too—but to me, the smile masked ongoing pain and sadness that he couldn’t shake no matter how many shock treatments he had, or how much alcohol he medicated himself with.

                  Suicide isn’t a normal death. The effects of a completed suicide are devastating on the family. As for me, I beat myself up about moving my family to California three years before he died. I thought that if I hadn’t moved away, maybe he’d still be alive. He loved my young children and maybe if they were around…

I wished my father had reached out to me the last time I talked to him on the phone. I wanted him back and I hated him for leaving me forever. I couldn’t stop the intrusive thoughts that flooded me night and day. Nothing gave me pleasure, and grim nightmares jerked me awake when I managed to fall asleep.

 After Robin Williams’ death, his son, Zak, told People magazine, “Often if I see something, or if I’m watching a film, I think, ‘Oh man, he would have appreciated this’ or ‘He would have gotten a laugh out of this.’” It was the same for me—the grief was always there. I’d see a sunrise and think that my father would have loved it, see men fishing on the lake and think how he would have loved to be there catching a bass.

You quickly find out that people don’t know what to say to the family after a suicide. My friends well meaning attempts to comfort me were awkward and brief. I didn’t blame them, but I felt ashamed, embarrassed, and alone. I didn’t even want to guess what they were thinking about my father—about my family—about me.

What helped were my sister and brother. We’d experienced the same horror and were locked in the same overwhelming despair. We talked, cried, laughed a little or just sat together. We were one in grief and I felt better being with them.  I hope Robin Williams’ children are as close as we were.

Suicide isn’t a normal death—it takes years to come to terms with it. Survivors suffer from PTSD symptoms as well as grief. Recurrent thoughts, distressing dreams, flashbacks, and anniversary reactions were part of my life for almost five years. I couldn’t concentrate, read or enjoy myself. And although I never had considered it before, I knew suicide was an option if things ever became too much.

Years later, I became a therapist. My education and training have allowed me to put my father’s suicide in perspective, and to help others going through what my brother, sister, and I did. My heart is with the children of Robin Williams on their difficult journey.  

For support groups and information: 

www.survivorsofsuicide.com  

www.suicidology.org 

www.survivingsuicide.com
 

No Boy Left Behind

What do you think of when you see a rainbow? When my grandchildren were young, they thought about leprechauns and the legendary pot of gold. Me? I think about Rainbow Services.

I've been with the San Pedro Agency for over twenty years--first as an intern collecting hours for my Marriage Family Therapist license, and later as a board member. We're part of a network of domestic violence agencies providing support, shelter, counseling and legal aid to victims dealing with domestic violence issues.

When I started at Rainbow, they were operating in a dilapidated four bedroom house that did it all--office, shelter and counseling center. Twenty years later the have two shelters and two office buildings. All four places are staffed with caring professionals who help the victims stabilize and recover from violent circumstances.

Our shelters are a safe place where victims can relax and share their experiences and fears with others. But, shelter life is often stressful for children who are traumatized and struggling to cope with the violence they've witnessed or experienced. They can have problems sleeping, regress, become irritable, aggressive, act tough and provoke fights.

For these reasons, most domestic violence shelters refuse to take in teenage boys--but Rainbow Services is different. Elizabeth Eastlund, our Clinical Director, told me, "At Rainbow, we come from a place of how can we help this family? And as far as serving teenage boys, we see them as part of the family and we want to serve everyone in the family who is at risk of continued abuse."

A few years ago, one of our Rainbow Volunteers, Judy Willis, worked with one of these boys, a fifteen year old, staying at the emergency shelter with his mother and two siblings.

Judy's a retired attorney who loves kids. She used to be "Barbie's lawyer when she worked at Mattel. One night a week, she helps the kids at the shelter with their homework, plays games with them, motivates them and helps them feel good about themselves.

This boy (let's call him Daniel) was a challenge. He'd witnessed violence first hand, had to leave his home, friends and change schools. He was old enough to worry about how his mother was going to support them--she's left a successful job to go into the shelter. School wasn't a priority for him, he had problems concentrating and his grades suffered.

Judy worked with Daniel one night a week and his grades began to improve. But not only did she volunteer at Rainbow, she was a volunteer at the College Center at his new high school. She kept an eye on him, helped him adjust and set goals for his future.

After two months, bolstered by Rainbow's help and support, Daniel's mother found another job. The family moved out of the shelter and into an apartment in the area.

Two years later, Daniel was a well liked, straight A student. His dream was to major in premed at a California university. Judy helped him identify appropriate colleges and she proudly told me, "He insisted in filling out every application himself. He received six scholarships and was admitted to a UC school. Daniel's thriving--almost finished with his second year and well on the way to a career in medical research."

Daniel is one of our success stories. His family, one of many who weathered storms and found the pot of gold at Rainbow Services.

Yes, You Need a Platform

Congratulations, you wrote a book! And, if you're like me, you realize that you don't have a platform. I should have been developing connections, establishing myself as an expert in the field, and figuring out how to connect with potential readers while I was writing The Peacocks of Palos Verdes.

The only exposure I'd ever had was a "My Turn" essay in the Daily Breeze about the peacock adventures I shared with my youngest grandson. At that time, I wasn't an expert on peafowl--no one knew my name. I wrote my peacock book because there wasn't even one book written about our local birds. I hadn't been telling the immediate world what I was writing because I thought someone might steal my idea and publish a peacock book before I did.

Of course, that didn't happen. Mine was the first peacock book in Palos Verdes, and I wanted to get it into the hands of peacock lovers' everywhere. I had no time to put together a platform, pardon the pun, I had to create one on the fly. It was easier than I thought and you can do it too.

The first step is identifying your audience. Face it, no matter how compelling your book is--it's not for everyone. I know that you want it to be, but trust me, it's not. You have to identify who your ideal readers are and zero in on them. You can't build a platform unless you know who you're talking to. A notable exception to this rule is when you write for children; then you pitch to the moms and grandmas. They're the ones who buy the books.

Here are some ways to build your platform:

Website and blog: Buy the URLs specific to you. I used maryjohazard.com and reserved peacocksofpalosverdes.com for future use. They're professional and easy to find. You should set your website up to establish your credentials and promote your work. It's the perfect place to post your speaking schedule, upcoming interviews, and school visits. Blogging is up to you, but if you decide to blog, make sure you do it regularly.

Social Media: Social media makes it easy for you to communicate with your audience about your book and upcoming activities. If you refrain from posting crazy things--like a mug shot of your weird brother-in-law from his last arrest--Face Book humanizes you. It's a great place to share pictures of your school visits, book signings, and interviews. I post lots of peacock pictures and my "Friends" do too.

Events: Set up book readings and signings for yourself and participate in author fairs. Contact local elementary schools and offer to speak at career day and Read Across America day. Do this once, and you'll be asked back every year. Volunteer to speak every chance you get. Your mantra should be, "Why yes, of course." Events are a great way to establish name recognition and meet your potential fans.

Media: Subscribe to the local newspaper and introduce yourself to the editor. Make it a point to comment favorably on columns and cartoons that you like. Email the editor your suggestions for future columns, and make yourself available for interviews. Recently, I queried our local paper about writing an educational column on peacocks. The editor liked the idea, and my first column is coming out soon.

Remember, you can't build your platform overnight and it's never finished. It requires consistent effort on your part keeping it up to date. Sound daunting? Perhaps, but it's definitely worth the time, because once you establish a successful platform, you'll attract your personal audience and extend your network. That's how I became known as "the peacock lady."