Author: bonnielouwriter

A few weeks ago my boyfriend, Daniel, told me he had a surprise for me. As we drove to my house after work I wondered what the surprise could be. When I pulled into my driveway I noticed that the garden hose was neatly rolled up over the faucet and no longer in the driveway where I had carelessly left it. That is when I knew he had been there while I was at work. I thought at first that maybe he had taken care of getting some timers for my flowerbeds since my house doesn’t have an irrigation system which leaves me to hand water with hoses and sprinklers. I had been complaining to him about what a pain it was to turn on the sprinklers and have to run out from the bed to avoid getting wet. 

When we got out of our cars he asked me if I notice what he had done.  

“I noticed that my hose isn’t in the driveway anymore. Did you fix my sprinklers?” I asked, hopeful that I wouldn’t have to deal with that after all.  

“No, I didn’t do the sprinklers. Do you see it?” I focused on the other flowerbed’s faucet and noticed again that the hose had been neatly coiled up. 

“Do you see it?” he asked again, this time with more enthusiasm. It took me a minute, then I noticed the fresh new bark in one of the beds and said, 

“Oh! You replaced the bark!” How sweet is that?! I thought. “ Wow! Thank you!!” I beamed. Giving him an appreciative hug. 

“Yes, that’s not all.” he said.  Still in his embrace I looked to the side, when I saw it. One of my flower pots was not where it was supposed to be and there was a new flower in another pot. Panic set in as I scanned to figure out where things were. 

“Where is my pot?” I asked pulling away. I tried to contain my panic and irritation that was building as I continued to take in the scene. 

“Oh, I may have put things back the wrong way, I forgot what went where.” He said looking regretful.

Continuing to scan the front yard, I notice that he had cleaned up all of my flower pots, removing all of the winter debris, dead leaves and branches. The plants that hadn’t made it through the winter were gone, replaced with lovely new flowers. Such a sweet and loving gesture. I couldn’t remember when someone had been so generous and caring. I was filled with so many emotions all at once. I felt loved and cared for, but I also felt irritated and a little invaded that he had been in my space without asking. I also felt sad that I did’t get a chance to do those things myself. He had just taken away the one thing I had been looking forward to doing all winter.  It was also a little disorienting having things not where they were supposed to be. 

That’s not what I wanted him to do, I thought. He could sense my frustration and quickly said, 

“We can put things back and I can get stuff out of the trash if you want. I thought you would be happy to come home and find everything pretty and cheerful and be inspired. I know you have been too busy to get it.” 

How freaking thoughtful is that?! Omg what is wrong with me? He’s got to be the kindest man alive. Pull it together Bonnie. I reached out and gave him a hug realizing that he had done all of this for me and my response was anything but grateful. 

“Thank you so much! You are so sweet to do all of this. I was just looking forward to doing this myself. It’s my favorite thing to do. Honestly though, I’ve never had anyone do something like this for me. I’m sorry to have such a bad reaction to it.” 

“It’s okay.” he said continuing to hold me in a comforting embrace seemingly unphased by my reaction. 

I continue to notice everything he had done. He replaced the dead plants with purple daisies, placed a heart shaped rock in one of the pots, and hung beautiful wind chimes on the back deck along with a beautiful yellow freesia.  All of the little touches reminded me of  his house. The first time I went there he gave me a tour and I noticed little crystals tucked into little corners and crevices here and there along with meaningful pictures and artful displays everywhere I looked. I was struck by how magical it felt. It filled me with longing of a time when I too had magic in my house. What had happened to my own magic? I wondered. 

I remembered a time when morning walks though my garden with a cup of coffee in hand plucking out a weed here and trimming a bit there was just part of my daily routine. I grew herbs and collected and dried them. Every week in the summertime meant pesto made from the basil and garlic I grew, or fresh marinara from tomatoes picked from the garden that day. In the winter I  pulled out these summertime treasures I had preserved and enjoyed what I liked to call “summertime on a plate”. 

That first summer after Scott passed I couldn’t even go into my garden. My garden had always been my happy place. It was also the one place I could go, taking with me whatever I had going on in my life, to sort it all out and get my head together. It held my tears as well as my joys. It was also the place I could get appreciation from Scott, a place I could shine. Gardening was something I was good at. Without him there to appreciate and encourage me and just too many memories to face, I stayed away and left everything neglected. 

As time went on I slowly made my way back to my garden, but I realized that things needed to change. Everywhere I looked I was reminded of the loss. Scott was everywhere. The garden beds he built for me. The last one after his diagnosis where I had to help him drive the large stakes into the ground because he had become too weak to lift the sledge hammer himself. The rose bushes, iris and lilies he had planted. Wind chimes from that first year, the cat and the frog statues, all things we had collected over the years.  Over time I slowly removed some of these things in hopes of easing the grief. I planted new plants and effectively landscaped the whole backyard into a place that no longer resembled the yard that we had once shared. I created a space that reflected me. I even painted the shed with purple trim, which along with the flowers planted beside it made the backyard resemble a fairytale. It wasn’t enough. I was still having trouble moving on, and so were the kids. That’s when I decided it was time to physically move forward. I sold the house and we moved, leaving behind all that was. 

Since leaving my house and that life behind I have been missing something. Although I have had gardens each year, it has never been what it once was. Each year I start with enthusiasm and inspiration to create my garden space, only to be filled with an overwhelming feeling of emptiness from no longer having someone to share in that enthusiasm. I find myself simply going through the motions, never fully connecting to that magic I once knew. Each year I find little parts that I had left behind, but somehow the magic I had once felt has faded to a memory.

The past two years I have worked to return to this place of magic, searching in myself to find the reason I used to grow my garden and create beauty around me. I forced myself last year to plant a garden for myself instead of doing it in an attempt to impress anyone. I did it for my own pleasure and appreciation. No longer having the kids at home, I planted less vegetables, and focused instead on flowers. I filled pots with flowers on my deck and replaced a few things in the front. I never got around to the bark. It didn’t go as well as I expected. For some reason things did not grow as well as my gardens of the past.  I tried to find appreciation in the things that grew well and took notes on what needed to change next time. I also accepted that this was just another layer of grief, one that was hard to shake.

Winter seemed to go on forever this year, never giving me time to tidy up the garden of weeds or go through the pots and trim things. I started dating Daniel in February, a time when things couldn’t have looked worse in my yard. In previous relationships I would have made sure to make things perfect before even thinking of inviting him over  in an attempt to impress him and also to hide my imperfections. As fate would have it though, on the day of our second date there was a terrible accident which blocked the freeway in both directions. When our date should have been over, I realized he would have been stuck in traffic and unable to drive home. It was also pouring down rain and we had already been walking around town ducking in and out of stores to stay dry. To ease the situation I offered that he could come to my house and hang out until the traffic cleared even though I knew my house was a wreck and I hadn’t planned on having him over. I’ve been working hard this past year on becoming comfortable with myself just as I am. So, I invited him in trying to let go of the need for anything to be perfect. It felt uncomfortable to expose the behind the scenes of my otherwise put together life, and have him see my reality which felt like a mess. 

Coming home that day and seeing what Daniel had done by cleaning up the potted plants and putting down the much needed bark was kind and generous. It was just what I needed to jumpstart my motivation to do more, but instead of gratitude I felt resistance. In that moment I wasn’t enough. I felt that he wasn’t seeing the me I wanted him to see, the me that is magic like him. I wanted him to know that this wasn’t how I wanted things and felt like I had really let things go. Then I realized, he wasn’t judging me, he was loving me. Maybe he knew I needed a push back to a part of me that I had become detached from.

Over the next week my appreciation grew as I came home and did indeed enjoy seeing the beauty and magic he had created for me, especially because I still had not found a bit of time to do the work myself.  I would have still been looking at the same tired pots of half dead flowers and sparse bark in the flowerbeds.

The other feeling I felt that day was fear. It has been a very long time since I have had anyone take care of me and it brought back all of the feelings of having that care and stability pulled right from underneath me when I lost Scott. I haven’t been willing to allow anyone to take care of me since he passed. I’ve needed to be sure I was my own stability so that I would never feel that pain again. It’s both wonderful and very scary to let someone in. 

Feeling joy and sorrow without shying away from either might be the key to experiencing peace. I recall feeling guilty after Scott passed when I had happy moments in between the agony of grief. I felt bad that I was not in fact drowning in my sorrow at every moment. How could I feel happy or even laugh during such a time? I remember expressing this to a friend who assured me that it was okay and actually good to allow myself to laugh and feel joy towards the things in my life that were not full of grief. There were a lot of those moments. There were also times where I became swallowed up by the grief, unable to see a way out of the pain in my heart. I learned it was all okay. 

April 26th marked eleven years since Scott passed and yet I still remember, like it was yesterday, the feeling of having that security ripped out from under my feet. Lately I have been feeling guilty for still feeling grief after all of these years. It feels especially sharp now with this new feeling of love scooping me up in a protective embrace. There is no way for me to know what will happen next, so I remind myself that it’s okay to feel the safety of the new along side of fear of losing it. Daniel’s loving gesture that was meant to help inspire me reminds me of how Scott always found ways to lead me back to myself. It helps me see that joy and grief can live side by side as I am gently guided back to my own magic.

January 5, 2023

Dear Scott,

It has been quite some time since I last wrote. I started this letter back in August and here it is January 2023! So much has happened that I need to catch you up on that I don’t know where to begin. I have some big news to share, but first I should start with the kids.

Sam got married and moved out in the spring of 2021. Oh, Scott, you would be so proud of him. I know you are, we all felt your presence the day he got married. You would love Jessica as much as I do. She is as sweet as she is beautiful and her love for Sam is beautiful to behold. They remind me of us in our early days; Sam cooking for Jess and Jess baking Sam his favorite treats. They make such a great team working together on their YouTube channel. Recently they even bought a franchise. Jess is singer and song writer with the voice of an angel. She has been working hard getting her music out to the world. Recently she wrote a song for Sam about you that is getting released soon. It seems their creativity has no bounds. They have a beautiful home and two puppies to keep them company in Utah. It’s so far away, but I know how important it is that they forge their own lives and I am happy for them. It is wonderful to see them so happy doing what they love. This year I went out and spent Christmas with them in Utah. It was the first white Christmas since I was a little girl. Alex was able to come as well. Oh! I haven’t told you about Alex!

Remember when Alex was three years old and he would say to us “When are we going to Africa?” or “When do we get to go to the moon?” and we told him that grew up that he could go wherever he wants to go? I was worried for a while when he seemed to have lost this thirst for adventure. I think Sam moving out was the push he needed to break free and explore the world. He has your wander lust, preferring the solitude of nature to the conventional life. He is so happy now working at a ski resort in the Tetons. He’s able to work and live somewhere truly beautiful where in his free time he can snowboard in the winter and backpack, mountain bike and rock climb in the summertime. It has helped him to come to terms with losing you. I know you are with him when he is out there alone searching for the the answers.  He has grown in ways I could have only dreamed of a couple of years ago.

I have adjusted to living alone here in my now empty nest. It’s the first time in my life that I have lived completely on my own. Do you remember when I first moved here? I had planned to get my own place but by the time I found a job and started to look for apartments we decided it didn’t make any sense for us to have separate places. I’ve always wondered what would have happened if I would have followed through and gotten my own place and taken some time to learn to be on my own first. I certainly never expected to be alone at this point in my life. Don’t worry though, I’m not really alone, I got a puppy!

 I know it is hard to believe I would get a puppy again after Jasmine. Do you remember how wild she was? It took her 8 years to settle down and become reasonable, but once she did she turned out to be a very sweet dog and I do miss her. I wasn’t sure if I should get a puppy again and honestly I don’t know if I would have if he had not chosen me. I went with Sam and Jess so they could pick out a second puppy. While I waited for them to make a decision, I took a look at the other puppies. There he was just lounging while the other puppies were jumping about. He looked so sweet and calm.  I sat down with him and he immediately crawled into my jacket and fell asleep and I fell in love.  He is the best little companion I could imagine. I finally get why people call dogs a man’s best friend. He really is mine. I find myself spoiling him in ways that you wouldn’t approve, like giving him treats and people food.  I take him everywhere with me, even to work.  Everyone loves him. I thought it was appropriate to name him Clyde, my faithful companion for the adventures that lay ahead in my new life with an empty nest.  

With the kids out of the house, I think if it weren’t for Clyde I might not feel I had much reason to be home. I would probably just work all of the time or find things to fill my time to avoid the quiet of the house.  He has helped me to become more comfortable with being home alone with myself. This has helped me to get to know myself better and I am finding that as time passes the less I feel the need to look for ways to distract myself. I am actually happy just being home and enjoying my solitude. Don’t worry though, it isn’t too quiet, with Clyde and the kitties, there is always some chaos to tend to!

This past April was ten years, Scott. Ten years since the day we gathered around and witnessed your last breath. Alex was home this year on the anniversary of  that day. We went out and got tacos in acknowledgement. We remember how much you loved tacos. It was a simple tribute but it meant a lot to us. Later that day I called Sam on the phone and he and Jess were having tacos too. I thought it was sweet that he had thought of the same way to celebrate your memory. It occurred to me that he was ten years old when you passed and now he is twenty years old, so for him it has now been as long without you as he had with you. It is unreal to think of that. 

I have gone on and on and almost forgot the reason I wrote.  I have  some news to share! Do you remember back when Sam was only three months old and the FBI showed up at our door to deliver the news that my ex-husband was a serial killer? It is kind of hard to forget, huh? You handled it with your steady patience, like everything else in our life and that helped me hold myself together. Later, once the dust settled, you encouraged me to write my story. I will never forget how you held down the fort with the boys and allowed me to close myself in our bedroom so that I could get my story onto paper. I wrote about a hundred pages back then, but our lives were just so busy with work and raising the boys that I had to put it away for later. A couple of years ago I pulled it out of the closet, dusted it off and began working on it again. It has taken me a very long time (nearly twenty years!) but I did it. I finally finished the damn book! 

As you know, a lot of things happened in my life before we found that out which could have been a book in itself. I knew I couldn’t write the sensationalized “ex-wife of a serial killer” book about him. That would have been easier, but I knew it needed to be more than that. Little did I know then what else was to come. The story wasn’t done yet. So the book, UnDamaged: Sheltered by Grace is not only about my life married to a man who turned out to be a serial killer, but also about how his crimes shaped my life from the moment the FBI knocked on our door. I wrote about how that moment helped me to look back at my 8 1/2 year marriage to Marc Evonitz through a different lens. It also helped me understand how events in my childhood led me to marry a man like Marc in the first place. I also wrote about our life together and about losing you from ALS and raising our boys alone. My hope is that others will find some comfort and strength in my story of moving through life feeling like damaged goods to emerging as a version of myself that I am finally proud of.

This past fall I took the plunge and I sent my book out to a few agents. I am still waiting to hear back, but I know these things take time and it will be worth the wait. I am hoping this will be the year that I get to see my book in print.

Thank you for always believing in me. I love you for that. You knew me before I knew myself.  Your steady support never wavered, not even for a minute and you never expected me to be anything other than who I was. It has taken a lot of heartache to see that, but I do see it now. 

There are so many more things I want to share with you, but I should go for now. I hope this reaches you somehow through the cosmos and that you are smiling.  Until next time… 

Love Always, Bonnie

If you ever want to get comfortable with your own body, I recommend getting naked with a bunch of strangers. Now, I don’t mean that you need to strip down in the grocery store or go streaking down Main Street, but I if there is a clothing optional hot springs near by it would be a good idea to get out of your comfort zone and give it a go. Recently I was gifted a weekend getaway to Napa. Upon arrival I was informed that the spa in the hotel was closed and that the rooms no longer had tubs. Disappointed, I began searching for alternatives. I was delighted to find out that the hot springs I used to visit with Scott was reopened after burning down in 2015. I knew this would be the perfect solution to the relaxation I was seeking.  The next morning as I drove through the wine country looking forward to getting naked and soaking in the healing waters and the sunshine, I reflected on how far I have come with my body image and being naked. 

As a child I was extremely modest. One of my earliest memories was being sent outside to play in the rain on a hot day in Ohio without a shirt. At four years old I was absolutely mortified that I was outside half naked. My mom scooted me out the door, insisting that at four years old I had nothing to hide. As I got out to the yard I noticed my older brother and his friends approaching the house on their bikes. Covering my chest with my arms I shrank in embarrassment, looking for somewhere to hide. There couldn’t have been anything worse than for them to see me naked. This was long before I began to measure myself against the media’s idea of beauty and what my body should look like, which just further drove my modesty and self image into the ground. It wasn’t until nearly 30 years later that I had my first encounter with the hot springs and becoming more comfortable in my own skin.

In 2005 Scott and I wanted to get away for the weekend alone. We needed a break from the kids and the day to day stress. Searching the internet for the perfect location, we came across Harbin Hot Springs. The website talked about the hot, warm and cold spring fed pools along with hiking trails, spa treatments and delicious organic food to eat. This sounded familiar and I remembered that a client had told me about this place. She happily called it her “naked place” and her favorite spot to relax and rejuvenate.  While the idea of getting naked with a bunch of strangers did not interest me, it actually created a lot of anxiety, I was curious about the healing aspects of the spring waters. It sounded like the perfect spot for our getaway. To my relief, the website said that the pools were clothing optional, which meant not only that I didn’t have to get naked, but also that this was not a nudist resort as clothing was required outside of the pool areas. I told Scott that he could do whatever he wanted, but that I was wearing my swimsuit, thank you very much. 

We arrived at the hot springs just before nightfall, found our way to the campsite, pitched our tent, and settled in. By the time we headed down the wooded trail to find the pools it was 9:30pm. At the top of the hill the trail opened up to the pool area. We stood there a moment to take in the scene and locate the building where we could change. A sign pointed us straight ahead to the building on the other side of what seemed like a sea of naked bodies between us and that building.  Awkwardly, we made our way through the crowd and into the building where we found lockers, showers and both men and women undressing in the open. This was unlike anything I had imagined and it quickly became apparent to me that wearing my red swimsuit would make me stand out, which was the last thing I wanted. The only way I would be able to blend in would be to get naked.

As instructed by the signs, we showered before heading to the pools. While in the shower the plan formed in my mind. I wouldn’t wear my swim suit, but I didn’t have to walk around naked. I could just keep my towel on me until I got into the pool. No problem, I thought, as I stepped out of the shower, wrapping my towel tightly around my chest. I found Scott waiting outside the changing room, stark naked, towel folded neatly under his arm like nothing was amiss. “Ready?” he says. “Aren’t you cold?!” I insisted. He just laughed, shaking his head at me as he turned and headed to the pools. Crap, here we go. There was no turning back now.

Tightly grasping the towel to keep in in place, I followed my husband up the stairs to the meditation pool. He hung his towel on the railing and made his way into the pool, wading through the water past the naked bodies to find us a spot next to the edge. Trying to act casual, I released the grasp of the towel and hung it on the railing next to his as I awkwardly stepped into the pool completely naked with about ten other naked strangers. Once settled by the edge with Scott in the water, I felt more at ease and began to relax. That wasn’t so bad, I thought, and the water did feel amazing. 

I noticed a sign by the pool that read “Meditation Zone, Please keep area free of conversation and sexual activity.” That was a relief.  It is awkward enough to be naked with a bunch of stranger than to worry about someone striking up a conversation or worse finding myself in the middle of an orgy. This was a place of meditation.  Everyone around us was immersed  in their own private meditation zone. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and relaxed a little more.

As we soaked I couldn’t help but notice the people walking in and out of the pool area. It was impossible not to look, and I couldn’t help but to compare all of the different body shapes. Years of conditioning by the media began to fade away as I saw what real human bodies look like. There were many different shaped breasts, from small and perky to long and hanging. Bellies, butts and unmentionables of every shape and size with nothing resembling the images we are fed of what people are supposed to look like.  I’m not saying this as a judgement, but rather as an observation. The only naked bodies I had seen before this were mine, my husband, my children and photoshopped photos in magazines. It was uncomfortable at first, but after a while I found it profound and liberating to see real human beings, rather than perfect, touched up and filtered images we are bombarded with everyday.

By midway through the next day, I had abandoned the security of my towel and walked from pool to pool, no longer concerned with my nakedness. I immersed myself in the meditative energy of the healing waters and let go of a whole lot of stress. It was like being transported to a whole different world and I was so relaxed that at one point I thought I would just evaporate and drift into the cosmos.  

I noticed how people carried themselves as they arrived in their street clothes compared to how they carried themselves into the pools. Without shoes, bags, and clothing labels to give clues about their status, occupation or way of life, there was only the shared experience of being human. 

During the past last year with the pandemic, I have not taken the best care of my body and am not in the same shape I was in before it all started. I felt embarrassed that even with my recent attention to getting back to yoga and eating better, I still don’t feel quite like myself.  So the idea of getting naked in front of anyone filled me with anxiety, but I knew that my need for soaking in the waters outweighed my insecurities about my body and I would just have to get over it. 

Upon arrival I saw the signs that said that masks were required on the property at all times, even in the pools. For a moment I panicked when I realized that I had not packed a swim suit or a towel. I was worried that the new restrictions would mean clothing was no longer optional but mandatory and I would wind up being the only naked person there and somehow in trouble. Ha!  The lady behind the counter assured me that everything was still the same and I didn’t need my suit and there were towels for sale. I paid for my registration and a towel and headed to the pool giggling to myself about how far I have come since that first visit. 

I spent the afternoon alternating between the warm, hot and cold pools, lounging and reading on the deck in the sun. Other than everyone wearing masks and keeping the appropriate 6ft distancing, the vibe was the same as it had been on that first visit. Laying there on the deck I drifted in and out of sleep, delighting in the feeling of the warm sun and the gentle breeze on my skin. I reconnected with that feeling I had discovered there many years ago. It felt free, liberating and perfectly human to be naked, and it was exactly what I needed.

Recently the man that I have been seeing for about a year said to me that he didn’t understand why I was still with him. After all, saying that I am seeing him is more a figurative statement than an actual reality. The reality is that I have only seen him for a few hours over the past few months and that time has been mostly spent holding space for him to process his life situation, which has been spinning out with no sign of settling anytime soon.  His statement hit me hard. This isn’t the first time a man has said this to me and it is far from the first time that I have held space and waited while my needs have been left unmet.

When I was around six months old, my parents divorced. I have no recollection of them being together, or of him living with us. There is one family portrait that was taken when my brother was a baby. My mom is holding him on her lap as my dad stands behind them with his arm around her, looking like the happy couple. It was taken a couple of years before I was born and there was never a family picture taken after I was born of us all together. My family, as I knew it, consisted of my mom and brother which to me nothing was perfectly normal.  That all changed the day my friend asked me where my dad was.  At seven years old this question was puzzling to me. I didn’t understand why she wanted to know or more importantly why it mattered. Looking back I realize that in the 70’s in small town Ohio, none of my friends had divorced parents. More concerning than the question itself was that I didn’t have an answer. 

When I got home from school I asked my mom why dad didn’t live with us.  As it turned out, my dad was an alcoholic and he had chosen to leave her for another woman rather than stay and help with the raising of my brother and me. He never paid child support and she had been left to care for us on her own.  He wasn’t a bad person, my mom explained, just a victim of his alcoholism that he wasn’t strong enough to overcome the disease.  She assured me that this was no reflection of me and that he loved me in his own way, but that he just had a hard time showing it. Satisfied with this story, I went on about my life, unconcerned about the fact that he wasn’t there. Unfortunately, this was not the end of this conversation.

The summer I turned 13 my brother returned home after living with my dad for 3 years. One afternoon he sat me down in our living room and proceeded to make a case for our dad. He shared with me that dad asked about me all the time and wanted to to be a part of my life and get to know me. The problem was that he was afraid that I didn’t want him around and this prevented him from reaching out. My brother assured me that dad loved me very much and urged me to consider giving the man a chance. he asked me to find it in myself to forgive him and to have compassion for his struggle with alcoholism.  He thought I should reach out to him, to write him a letter since he was so afraid that I would reject him. In short, I needed to hold space for my dad. 

This conversation led to the day when my Dad made arrangements to come see me. The plan was for him to pick me up from my grandparent’s house at noon so that we could spend some quality time together, just the two of us. Though I hadn’t realized that I wanted this connection, the thought of my dad wanting to spend time with me, filled me with all kinds of hope and expectations of the relationship to be.  I had no concept of what that looked like, but I was willing to see what he had to say. Noon came and went and after hours of waiting, my Dad did not show up. 

Convinced that something must have gone wrong, my Mom and brother went out to search for him. Hours later, they came back to report that they found him, drunk and regretful at the local bar. Apparently, too ashamed to come see he said that he couldn’t face under these conditions. I was asked again to understand his behavior as being nothing to do with me but to do with his alcoholism and again I was assured that he loved me but that he just wasn’t strong enough to show up. 

There are countless books and articles written on the subject of the importance of the father/daughter bond and how it relates to her ability to have healthy relationships as an adult. I have always wondered what that means for someone whose father wasn’t present at all, but now I think that the real damage was created by being asked to accept his behavior. More importantly, even though they had good intentions, my mom and brother never asked me what I wanted or how I felt about having my dad in my life. The truth is that I didn’t want or need a relationship with my dad at the time, and honestly think I would have been better to be left alone. Instead, I learned to hold space for someone who should have been holding space for my development and also that my feelings and needs did not matter. Unfortunately, I was also learning that this was what love looked like. For me, Love was wrapped up in a box of unavailability and tied with a bow of excuses. All of which I accepted with a patient smile and endless understanding. 

About a year ago I met a man on Facebook. We immediately hit it off, finding a shared sense of humor and playfulness that kept us in stitches of laughter for hours at a time. This humor gave birth to a friendship that bloomed quickly into a love affair like no other. Not only was he funny, smart, and quite handsome, this man actually showed up for me in ways I had never been showed up for before. For the first time since Scott had passed, I felt safe. Not only safe to be vulnerable but also safe to completely be myself.  Finally an end to the excuses and unavailability, this man put me first and it felt wonderful. 

A few months into the relationship, as often happens, reality reared its ugly head. His life situation became overwhelming and our relationship had to take a back burner while he worked to get his life in order.  Over the past few months the relationship I once knew has slowly become a distant memory, and I find myself waiting for things to return to normal. So, when he said to me that he didn’t understand why I was still with him or how I was able to deal with the fact that he could not show up for me, I realized I was just doing what I was conditioned to do. The truth is, that I understand that his situation needs to take priority over our relationship. The problem is, that when he told me that I would probably be better off moving on with my life without him since he didn’t know if or when things would change, I didn’t move on. Instead, I dug in and held on for dear life to this man who had actually shown up for me. Holding onto hope that my patience and understanding would be enough. I thought that if I just gave him a chance things would turn around.

That is when it hit me. I recognized the familiar feeling of disappointment of the little girl waiting for her dad to finally show up. My dad died 10 years ago without ever showing up for me the way that I needed. Even though I understand and have compassion for the reasons he wasn’t there, it doesn’t mean that I don’t deserve to have someone show up for me in way that I need. It is ok for me to want that and until that happens I can do a better job of showing up for myself.

While I gave my attention to holding space and helping him work out his problems, I was setting my needs and feelings aside. I am learning that it is ok to take a break and be less available to him while I become more available to give myself the love and care I have been missing. As I place my energy into activities I enjoy, I am finding a renewed energy and hope.

I don’t know wether or not this relationship will return to what it once was or perhaps something better. However, I do know that my relationship with myself has been strengthened  by getting quiet and holding space for my own healing.  For that I am grateful.  

There is a old African proverb that says “The best way to eat an elephant in your path is to cut him up into little pieces.” While I have no intention of ever eating an elephant, I have been experimenting with this idea in relationship to accomplishing my New Years goals. The idea of breaking things down into smaller more manageable pieces makes it easier to accomplish something that might otherwise feel overwhelming. 

On New Years Eve, in an effort to stay awake till midnight, my son and I watched Joe Rogan’s podcast #1070 where he interviewed Jordan Peterson about his book, “12 Rules for Life”. This was the first I had heard of Jordan Peterson and was surprised when my 20 year old son disappeared into his room and came out moments later holding copy his book. He had already discovered Jordan Peterson a few years ago. The podcast was very good and I have since started reading the book. The part of the show that caught my attention was his reference to this idea of breaking things down into smaller pieces. Instead of suggesting how one might eat an elephant, Peterson told a story about how he had asked his students how much time they spent studying each week. Next, he had them break down what was involved in studying, like the travel to the study location, getting a coffee, getting distracted etc, to get a better idea of how much time was actually spent on  the studying. Then he suggested that they dedicate only 15 minutes each day to study. At first it sounds like it won’t work because it isn’t much time, but when you focus only on that one activity, without distractions, you can get a lot more done than when setting out to study for 2 hours and getting distracted along the way. Fifteen minutes is easier to stick to and in the span of the week you wind up getting a solid hour and forty-five minutes of work done. This was my first introduction to Jordan Peterson, but not to this concept. 

Years ago I followed “The Fly Lady”, Marla Cilley, who gives advice and support online to help declutter and reorganize your life. Along with setting routines to follow each day, she also had this method for decluttering your home in 15 minute segments of time. The idea is to take small chunks of time so that you gradually get things organized rather than face the overwhelming task of organizing your whole life all at once. Listening to the podcast reawakened in me this forgotten advice. Since it was the beginning of the year I decided it was a good time to take action and put this method to good use. Here is what happened this week. 

The first goal I set for the New Year was to get back to my yoga practice. Before the pandemic, my yoga practice consisted of four to five 90 minute hot yoga classes a week.  I have to admit that I have not had much success in sticking to videos and zoom classes since things have shutdown. I started out with a few one hour classes over zoom a week and a couple of outside classes, but at some point my practice just fell off entirely.  One of the problems was having a space where I could practice uninterrupted. Once I created a space where I could close the door as to not be disturbed, I made a commitment to practice 30 minutes a day. Each day this week, I rolled out my mat, set my timer for 30 minutes and did whatever yoga my body needed that day. 30 minutes, no more, no less. I resisted the urge to quit and also the urge to do more. My goal was to set the habit. Each day was different. Some days I had more energy and so I did more vinyasa, while other days I wound up doing more stretching and yin. I found it easy to  stick to, and have found myself looking forward to it.

In addition to the physical benefits of improved strength and flexibility, from the return to my practice, I have noticed a big change in my energy. The funk that I had been in for several months has lifted and I no longer feel like I am moving through molasses. I also find myself looking forward to my practice each day. The last two nights I decided to add 15 minutes before bed and noticed that my sleep is improving as well. 

Another goal I set for myself is to post one blog post every week for one year. To accomplish this goal, I set out with the intention of writing for an hour each day. It didn’t work out as well as the yoga. I started the week off well, but by the end of the week I didn’t write at all. Here I am, like a college student scrambling to write their term paper at the last minute.  I realized that the missing piece to accomplishing my goals for the year is accountability. It isn’t enough to set the intention and break it down into bite size pieces and following through. It is important to have accountability. Without accountability, it is easy to let things slide until you have lost sight of the goal entirely. After all, if nobody sees me eat the elephant then how do they know I did it? In keeping with the idea of accountability I am setting my intentions here on my blog. Today will be my second blog post of the year out of 52. I will call my intention “ 52 Weeks of Accountability”.  It officially starts today and I will post every Monday in 2021. I hope that you will follow along and support me in my goal. What are your goals this year?

If you like what you read, please  be sure to hit the like button and drop me a comment. You can also subscribe for free to be sure that you never miss a post. Until next week, Much Love and Light.

I rolled out of bed this morning, resisting the urge to hit the snooze button, when I remembered the commitment I had made to myself last year. I had committed to getting up early each morning so that I could write my morning pages and work on my book before I started my day. Somewhere I had read that hitting the snooze button was like breaking a commitment to yourself. Somewhere along the way I not only broke my commitment to myself, but I actually forgot that I had made one. I had hit the snooze button on my dream.

To be fair, 2020 brought more challenges than any of us had expected. At first I was able to continue on with my usual sunny disposition, finding positive things to focus on. To be honest, when the salons were closed the first time, I was happy for the break from my hectic schedule, finding contentment in staying at home. School continued online, so I spent much of my time studying, while taking breaks to work in my garden and sew masks for those who needed them. Hiking, road trips and romantic adventures provided a much needed distraction from the news about the pandemic, riots and election looming in the future.

My sunny disposition faded after my birthday when I was hit with a terrible case of poison oak that landed me in bed for nearly a month, drugged up on steroids and antihistamine to control the spread of the rash and the terrible itching. The weight gain from the steroids was made worse from what seemed like the whole state of California being on fire, sending us all inside to escape the unhealthy air quality caused by the smoke. The salon had again been ordered shut for the second time and so it seemed there was nothing to do but sleep and hope that I would wake up from this terrible nightmare that was unfolding before my eyes. 

In August I logged off Facebook to avoid reading about all of the mayhem in the world and threw myself full force into work to make up for the loss created by the second shutdown. School started and I was happy to have a distraction and something else to focus on. 

Happy to be able to work, we all went along with the mask mandate and found ways to work around the mask while cutting and coloring hair and helping people recover from months of isolation. This proved to have it’s challenges along with the energy of everyone being much different than before. It was also becoming evident that taking a Humanities class during a global pandemic had been a terrible choice as I was learning that humanity hasn’t learned much in the past 600 years. Never mind the repetition of plagues and fires and upheaval. This added to the heaviness of the year in a way I had could not have anticipated, making it even more difficult to keep my positive attitude. 

I managed to pull myself together for my son’s wedding in November, which was the big highlight of the year. Even though it wound up being postponed twice due to the fires and reduced to only 10 of us able to attend, they were able to pull off a beautiful ceremony with breathtaking views of Yosemite National Park. We created some wonderful memories that weekend that we will never forget. 

The next week when I showed my client the pictures from the wedding, she asked me if that was me in the picture. When I told her yes, she exclaimed “Wow! you’re really cute!”. It was then that I realized that she had never seen my face. I had started doing her hair after the first shutdown and we had only seen each other while wearing our masks. It is really strange to realize that I have clients that I wouldn’t be able to recognize on the street if I were able to see their faces.I also realized how long it had been since someone had complimented me. 

Wearing a masks has changed how we communicate. It has made me more aware of  the impressions that are formed before anything is ever said. Without facial expressions to assess someone’s mood, we are left to interpret body language and look into each other’s eyes which are much more telling of our inner world. Smiling with our eyes and doing the dance of the now familiar air hug when running into old friends, is the new normal. I miss hugs most of all. I dream of things returning to normal so I can again take in the features of my friend’s faces and hug them more tightly than usual, never again taking the affection for granted.  

Like most people, I am happy to have 2020 behind me, though I am happy to know that as I enter 2021 that we are all healthy and I have added a daughter and a puppy to my family. My boys are both reaching for the stars and are making me proud everyday.  It is hard to believe that both of my children are now grown men and one is married and getting ready to move away. 

2020  took me to my knees and effectively chewed me up and spit me out to finally land upright and center where I had started. This time with a new awareness. This morning my first thought was that I didn’t need to get up this early and then I remembered that commitment that I had made to myself a year ago. I turned off my alarm, resisted hitting the snooze and I rolled out of bed and set to write my morning pages. Incidentally, I have kept my commitment of writing these pages for over a year now. I realize that I haven’t lost track of my dream. I had just hit the ultimate snooze button on a year that is best remembered as a bad dream.  As I wake up in the year 2021 I pick up my pen and begin again to make my dream a reality. 

It has been nearly 6 weeks since we have been quarantined due to the Covid19 virus. After riding this rollercoaster of a pandemic through weeks of uncertainty, it is understandable but I still hate to admit it, I forgot. I was out on a hike this week taking in the sunshine and checking out the lovely display of poppies, lupin and wild iris all in bloom while butterflies fluttered all around, when it hit me. I recalled the memory of what must have been 30 or 40 butterflies surrounding Scott just days before he passed. We were sitting out back when they came. It was one of the most amazing things that I have ever seen. They came in all at once, fluttering and swirling all around us. We sat mesmerized by the magic of it all. Then, just as they had come, they were gone. I had never seen so many butterflies at once before, and I haven’t since. That year, the poppies bloomed in front of our house in the biggest display ever. All of this, as if the ancestors were calling him home. The next year, there was the iris that finally bloomed the for first time, years after we planted it, on the anniversary of his death. It isn’t lost on me that he passed away when all of his favorite flowers were in bloom. It was as if his soul orchestrated the timing perfectly just so that we would never forget. He knew me too well. This year, I saw their brilliant show just in time, it was 8 years ago yesterday.

It is understandable that I could forget, considering the circumstances. This situation has brought most of our day to day lives to a stand still. For me, it has meant that I am unable to work as a hairstylist, and my college classes have switched to an online platform, keeping me exclusively at home.

At first, I was actually pretty happy about being forced to be home. Frankly, I needed to stop. Life has become very busy for the boys and I over the past couple of years and with an empty nest looming in the not so distant future, I was thrilled to be home with the boys with nowhere to go. Alex’s birthday was spent quietly at home. We had a nice dinner together, I made a cake and we sang Happy Birthday. He made a wish and blew out his candles. We made the best of the situation focusing on the things we could still do. Making the best of things is something we have become good at over the years.

About a month before we received Scott’s diagnosis, I attended a meditation service where a local medium was giving readings to the audience. I stood and listened as she brought messages from loved ones from the other side. She scanned the room and her eyes stopped on me and she said that she had someone coming through for me. I waited patiently as she focused to get a description of who it was. She said she felt it was my grandmother and that her energy was very strong and loving towards me. I don’t recall all that she said, but she implied the feeling that things would be changing and that there would be a lot required of me moving forward. She said, that as I moved through these challenges to remember to come back to the things that bring me peace. She asked me if I gardened and I said yes. She shook her head knowingly, her eyes half closed with a peaceful smile, and said that she could see me in the garden gathering and bringing things in to cook. She saw me cooking, stirring a pot on the stove. She said there was singing, dancing, a sort of playfulness and laughter. Opening her eyes, she looked at me directly and said, “Your grandmother wants you to remember that these are the things that you can go to that will carry you through. She says, remember to always hold your head up and walk with grace.” I remember feeling both anxious about what she had said, but also like I was being wrapped up in a cocoon of support. I didn’t know what she was talking about or what she thought was going to happen, but I will never forget her words. “Turn to the things that bring you peace to carry you through.”

I have carried that message with me over the years and it has served me well. It doesn’t matter really what the problem is that I’m having. When I feel myself starting to spin out, I turn to the things that bring me peace. It is understandable with so much uncertainty and fear spreading around the world, creating anxiety, that everyone is freaking out and focusing on all the things they can’t do. It would be easy to spin out down that rabbit hole, but I know better. So, before I let it the anxiety take hold, I put on my grubby clothes and head out into the garden.

Earlier this year I wasn’t sure if I would have time to plant a garden with the schedule I was keeping. My day to day schedule has been packed with work, school, yoga classes, and what felt like endless driving, giving me less and less time to do the other things I really enjoy. My plan this year was to plant a couple of beds of herbs and maybe some cucumbers, and fill the other beds with flowers. While I didn’t want to give up my garden completely, I knew I wouldn’t have time to tend to it as much as I would like. In fact, I would be lucky if I could find time to plant anything at all. So, here I was with all of this time on my hands and nothing else to do but to weed and prepare these 10 garden beds. As I sat on the cold ground, breathing in the smell of the earth I began pulling the weeds. Soon, I felt a calmness come over me and I slipped into a quiet meditative rhythm. I felt like I had come home to myself after a long journey. I spent the next couple of weeks clearing and preparing the beds. In the evenings I plotted on graph paper everything I wanted to plant in each bed, and in the mornings I went outside and continued the work. In between, I found myself being pulled in by the news.

As a lot of you know, I am not one to watch the news. Unfortunately, this current situation got the best of me. Before I knew it, I found myself not only compulsively scrolling social media, but also subscribing to news sources which sent alerts to my phone day and night encouraging me to digest large amounts of news. Besides the staggering numbers of deaths being reporter all over the world and people scrambling to figure out how the virus is being spread and how to stop or at least slow the spread of the disease, the messages of fear have been pouring in from every angle. Before I knew it, I was consumed by fear and uncertainty. Anxiety began to creep in and I could feel myself start to panic. While I don’t want to bury my head in the sand and pretend that all of this is not going on, I know that the only way I am going to survive is to get grounded and find my center. So, I turned to what I know. Making the decision to turn off the phone and take a break from the endless reports, I took out a ball of yarn and started to knit a pair of socks. As I knit, I began to calm down. The rhythm of the stitches helped me to sort my thoughts. I began thinking about what I could do to help in this situation while I also help myself. While I did enjoy having the time to start my garden and take a break from my busy schedule, there were people out there still working. Some people are figuring out how to work from home while they are also homeschooling their children. Others are out there on the front lines, grocery stores and hospitals facing exposure on a daily basis without proper protection.

As I sat there in my warm house, in front of a lovely fire knitting a sock with my cat on my lap, I decided that I could use my time better. I have a sewing machine and while I don’t actually enjoy sewing, I could certainly attempt to make masks for the people who are out there risking their lives. I already had a small stash of fabric, from a quilting project some 20 years ago, to get me started and I could order a bit more for later. I decided this could be my contribution to the situation.

I found a tutorial on Youtube and gathered my supplies. The desk in my living room that just one week earlier I had considered selling from lack of use, quickly became the perfect sewing station. I took out my fabric and began cutting. Twelve hours later, I pried myself from the machine and made myself go to bed. The next morning I made my coffee and took over where I had left off. It was 3 hours later before I realized that my coffee sat cold on the desk next to my pin cushion, untouched. Completely immersed in this project, I had forgotten everything else around me. I honestly can’t recall the last time I had been so absorbed in a project. It felt good and again like I was coming back home to myself.

I posted my first mask results on Facebook and suddenly the calls started coming in. Before I knew it, people were dropping off fabric and supplies at my door. For some, the fabric they brought was in exchange for masks, others in appreciation for what I was doing with hope that their contribution could somehow be a part of the effort to help. We kept our social distance in the exchanges. No hugs were given, but the love was obvious. My heart was happy. Not only had I found a purpose and a focus during this crazy time, I had actually found peace and joy. Yes, Joy. During a time when social media is filled with conspiracy theories, political dramas, death and anxiety, I found joy and peace and a purpose.

I made over 60 masks before I had to just stop. School was back in session and I had other things that I needed to focus on. There was still a pile of masks ready to be sewn, but I needed to rest. Knowing that my energy tends to come in waves, the rush of activity, followed by extreme rest, followed again by another rush, I let the rest come.

After a couple of days of rest, I felt the anxiety beginning to return, so I decided to start running again after not running for over 5 years. Though most of my favorite spots are closed off to parking, there are still a few places I know I can go when I want to get out into nature. It was surprising how good it felt to be running again. I thought it would be more painful, but as my body warmed up I found myself in that familiar meditative rhythm of my steps and my mind began to clear. I realized then that I can’t go back to the way things have been. The schedule I had been keeping has not allowed me to do the things that bring me into this space. While I can’t just quit working for good, I can simplify my life and go about things in a way that are more in alignment with who I really am.

It is still uncertain what will happen in the weeks to come as we adjust to the new normal in the world around us. I know that for me this time at home has helped me to put a lot of things into perspective. I have come back to the things that matter the most, but most of all I have come home to myself. As I move forward into the unknown, I am comforted by the memories that the poppies and the butterflies bring. I hear the messages from Scott and my grandmother and I know what to do. I will go to the things that bring me peace and always remember to hold my head up and walk with grace.

As always, thank you for reading. With so much love and gratitude. Namaste

As  2020 begins I have been spending time hiking and reflecting, filled with nostalgia about the past decade. Thanks to a Facebook memory, I was reminded that I started 2010 by literally falling on my ass. The boys and I went on an ice skating adventure which resulted  in me being plowed down by this 10 year old boy who came up from behind me at a considerable speed, slamming into my backside and sending my legs into the air in front of me. As I plummeted to the earth he slid under me, positioning himself just so, that I landed with his leg squarely between my butt cheeks, dislocating my tailbone.  How he was able to get up after that and skate away is a question that haunts me to this day.  Soon after picking myself up from the crash, I made my way to the bleachers and decided that my skating was over for the day. Just then, Sam fell down and a kid ran over his hand cutting through his gloves and his finger with his skate. It was time to go home.

The next couple of  months were spent in pain sitting on a doughnut, which gave me ample time to consider the changes I needed to make in my life. I was 38 and 30 pounds overweight. It was time for me to get into better shape. So I decided to join Weight Watchers (again!) and I lost 30 pounds and began running again. 

These pictures were taken the summer of 2010 when we took a camping trip to Mendocino. We almost didn’t go that year because Scott was having some back issues that stemmed from being rear ended by a drunk driver in October 2009, but we managed to work together and made that happen and I am happy we did because it wound up being our last camping trip together as a family. The group picture was taken at my friend’s wedding in October that year. That was the last picture taken of us together as a family.

It was about that time when my neighbor invited me to my first hot yoga class. Though I had been practicing yoga since 1997, hot yoga proved to be a whole different beast. The day of my first class just happened to also be the day I ran 5 miles for the first time in my life. I wasn’t sure I would be able to handle going to yoga after running, but she assured me that I would be just fine, so I just went for it. It wasn’t at all what I was expecting and wound up being the hardest 90 minutes of my life. After it was over and I lay there on my mat in a big puddle of my own sweat, completely spent and unable to move,  I knew I was hooked. I felt amazing.  Scott joined me a couple of months later. The yoga community welcomed us with open arms and sweaty hugs. We had no idea just how important this community would become in anchoring us through the upcoming challenges.

In January of 2011 we received Scott’s diagnosis of ALS and that is when I began writing this blog to document our journey. The year following his diagnosis was the hardest year of my life. I lost my best friend, partner, lover and the father of my children one piece at a time. Every month there was a new adjustment as the disease progressed. On April 26, 2012 he passed away.

The years that followed were spent in a daze as the kids grew through puberty, adolescence and teenage years filled with the typical hurdles of  braces, long hair, acne, testing boundaries, first loves and heartache, all of the normal childhood milestones made more challenging when coupled with grieving for their dad.

To cope with our loss we found ourselves on many adventures. Our first Christmas was spent in Maui where we snorkeled, went zip lining and created memories we will never forget. We reconnected with family across the country. There were plane rides and road trips to beaches, forests, rivers and lakes that would catch our tears and lift our spirits. We visited New York, Chicago and Washington DC where we were able to be tourists and explore. We saw plays and ate amazing food.

The past two years with the boys both working, going to school and busy in their own lives, there has been less time for traveling. I realize more than ever just how important these times together were for us. I wouldn’t trade these memories for the world.

Left out of the pictures were the times along the way that I felt alone and lost and nights I cried myself to sleep. There were arguments, frustration and times when the kids wouldn’t talk to me. The pictures leave out stories like when boys would wake up screaming for their dad in the middle of the night and nothing I could do could take away the hurt. The time spent awake all night worrying about how we would make it through everything. All of the laughable, ridiculous, unforgettable and heartbreaking moments of me trying to find myself again, one piece at a time. I have learned how to reach out and ask for help, and also how to be quiet and alone with myself. I’m grateful for each of these experiences as they have helped me to heal and to grow and finally, to stand on solid ground.

As we enter 2020 I am filled with so many emotions. I look at these photos and can see and remember just how far we have come in the past 10 years. Although I feel sad that the boys have had to grow up without their dad here in person, I know he is watching over us and is as proud as I am of the amazing men they are becoming. They are loving, caring, fun, responsible, independent and just all around wonderful human beings. Sam finished high school a semester early this past December and is starting College in the Spring and Alex is finishing up his second year of College. I look forward to what is to come in this next decade as they soar into their adult lives. They both have bright futures ahead of them.

I am filled with so much gratitude for the Village that has supported us all through this journey over the past 10 years. I am forever grateful for every smile, phone call, text message, every like, every comment, meeting up for coffee, taco Tuesdays, my ride or die friends who dragged me out of the house, front porch conversations, the hugs that have held me, the shoulders that have caught my tears and allowed me to rest, the laughter when I needed it the most, the Christmas cards, letters, surprise birthday flowers and medicine dropped at my door when I couldn’t get out, car rides to the ER when I had pneumonia and a broken arm, patience in hearing my stories over and over (And OVER) again, the extra sets of eyes on the boys all over town so I could stalk them properly, those of you who stepped up and got involved to help the boys by picking them up, acting as mentors, and believing in them when they didn’t believe in themselves. Most of all, thank you for never giving up on us and continuing to love us through everything. There is no expression for the love and gratitude I will carry in my heart forever.

It is time for me to turn the page on this chapter of my life and begin a new conversation, therefore this is my last post to this blog. Please keep your eyes open for what is coming next. There is a book and also another blog on the horizon. I hope you all will continue to follow me.

Much Love and Happy New Year!