Sheepish because of her tardy response, yet eager to share...

Dear Leigh,

I'm sorry that it's been two posts since a response from me.  Between graduating, visiting home, and giving my friend Laura the time with me that she deserves, I haven't been too close to my computer too often.

I can relate to the feeling of sort of...not being allowed to enjoy happiness newly found.  For the first couple months with J, I thought the whole world was golden, turning just to make us happy.  It certainly seemed that way, and everyone around us seemed to be just as happy with our relationship as we were.  Once I started hearing complaints, however, our joy felt tainted...

It hurts to feel as though others don't see something that makes you happy as the wonderful thing that you know it is.   It's hard to be more discreet with a relationship that just seems to fit and makes you want to announce to everyone how happy you are, and it's definitely difficult to move forward when former relationships (or non-relationships, as in my case), insist on stepping on the back of your shoes.

I've decided that, in time, my friends will come to appreciate this contentment I've found with another after so many unfortunate others and realize that, if maybe they don't see me as much or see me as much by myself, it's worth it because of how happy I am.  This is kind of a selfish line of thinking, on my part, but I like to believe that, if something came along that gave one of my close friends great joy at the cost of spending some time with me, I'd be able to welcome that thing (whether it's a person or job or hobby) because of its value to my friend.

My point in all of that talking about me is to come back to you and say that once the kids are used to the idea of you and your doctor and once your employer sees that the relationship is not something casual or sinful but something that brings you joy, they'll calm down and you can openly enjoy the happiness you deserve.  As for the marine...that's a wrench that will undoubtedly be difficult to handle, but time is an amazing healer...

Looking forward to the beach, we can both take comfort in the fact that we have a great family that seems to be only happy if we've found something or someone that makes us happy.  My parents think J is great, and you said your parents and brother like your doctor.  I can't help but feel that they'll integrate well with the rest of the family, and that there you can relax and just enjoy sharing the doctor with everyone, away from rumors and suggested discretion.

Much love and compassion...

Sincerely,

Kate

Rain on my Parade

Dear Kate

I am extremely frustrated. I wrote recently about the joy in my life and how it can completely deter inspiration for writing. It feels now, in a sense, kind of a joke because here I sit, upset and frustrated, feeling almost hypocritical to my own thoughts posted just days ago.

I returned from a great respite trip to the mountains. The Smokie’s which surround Ashville have such an intoxicating, contagious tranquility, soothing my anxious spirit. I returned home to an amazing embrace from a wonderful man; home to tails wagging so ferociously that butt’s were hardly able to contain the unbound joy of a “herd” welcoming me home. Smiles radiated from all direction. I never felt so good coming home.

Then, a few days pass…barely. I feel I’ve been home much longer than the few actual days. Last night I was awake, feeling wretched, sleep not willing to join me on the couch, instead misery keeping company. It sucked.

Imagine the face of a child, pure in elation over the extravagant mud pie he lovingly made for his mother, only to have that joy obliterated because mom cannot see past the mud stains on clean trousers? This is certainly hypothetical, but really, that is how I feel suddenly. Like here I am, full of joy from my return, only to have the reality of life smite me like a judge criticizing a piece one has worked hard preparing and performing.

The kids continue their ugly gossip and rumor spreading. When they speak of other youth, their words are poison, their nonchalant attitude breaking my heart. And some still rumble about my new relationship…I ran into a kid while the doc and I were grocery shopping, and have now been told by the “boss” to be “discreet” with my relationship. Um. Since when was grocery shopping a sign that I am living a life of “sin”? That’s it I suppose, no more public outings. Then of course, there is the marine. It kills me the anger in his spirit. Yet I am certainly not strong enough to stay away from him. I hurt for his hurt.

I guess am that sensitive.
Why must there be so much pain, sadness, anger, hostility, vengeance and misery in the world? Then the news opens with reports of China and Burma. It kills me, it really does. Cuz, last night I sat on my couch at two in the morning with tears rolling down my face. I believe it hurts more when your spirit wants to shine out joy, but the world, both close at hand, and oceans away, insists on smudging out that glow with gloom.
It really kills me.

Broccoli

Dear Kate,

I have written before about one of my greatest role models, Anne Lamott, and her book "Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life." I highly recommend it to your reading list. I have my book marked and dogeared to a point beyond recognition.

Anyway, one chapter is titled, "Broccoli." Opening this chapter, Lamott quotes Mel Brooks: "Listen to your broccoli, and your broccoli will tell you how to eat it." Taken one way you may initially think I am telling you to listen to your pop and he will tell you how to write your story. No. I am saying listen to your story and it's characters will tell you how they wish to interact. This is YOUR story. Sure it is based upon your dad's life, but this is still your story.

Another friend once told me that all fiction is based heavily on fact. This part is obvious. You need the information from your dad to make your story believable...to make your story real. We all have read books before where the author failed in the research department, resulting in the story becoming unbelievable. (Why is it we want to believe something meant to be fiction??)

There is a point here...and it is found in the next chapter: "Radio Station: KFKD" that is, K-Fucked: "the single greatest obstacle to listening to your broccoli that exists for writers." Basically it is the voices inside and outside of your brain telling you everything that is wrong with your writing. In one corner, there is a small voice is praising your work. But the other three corners house loud, differing, opinionated voices telling you everything that sucks, what needs to change, what needs removal...three voices telling you what a terrible writer you truly are. And the problem: WE LISTEN TO THOSE VOICES!!!

There really is a point here somewhere. The point: These are your writings. You need to compose YOUR own symphony of words. Ask your dad for some details, but do not tell him the reasoning for your questioning. There is nothing wrong with wanting to sit and listen to stories. You can, should you decide, joke him and tell him you are writing a book based upon his childhood. I used this line for the Doc when we first met, "So, tell me about yourself for I need inspiration for this new book I am planning to write."

Then, write your novella. Upon completion, one of two things can then happen: A. show your dad POST PUBLICATION, or, B. as my dear friend Pablo would suggest, don't publish until the person your character is based upon has passed.

I would personally choose number one. If your dad objects to your story, tell him to go write his own book. Your current plans do not involve ghost writing his personal autobiography.

So, in seriousness, I think I really am going to write that book "Doc in Paperback."
Good luck, ma cousine.