Life is like a package placed in our cupped hands, wrapped in festive paper, tied in matching ribbons we unravel first. Heartbeat increases from excitement of what we’ll find. We lift the lid, peek inside, but unlike paper, recyclable, the gift of life cannot be tossed back into the universe. No spare awaits on the sidelines. The contents require tenderness, but first lies a set of instructions unique to the recipient, as visible as a red rose in a garden of daisies. If those guidelines are followed with gratitude, bravery, and tenacity, the purpose of our gift, so delicately given, will come as naturally as the moon on a night, deeper than the deepest sea.
Thirty-three years to celebrate, we cruise up the coast passing lush green hills of January, gripping the wheel from wind’s thrust.
The plaza pulls us in with its charm, shops shimmer in their zeal for patrons, the sun blazes, temperature warm, windows entice with appealing apparel.
“You look like I need a drink of wine,” words on a hand towel with pizzazz. “With every glass of wine comes wisdom,” a neighboring towel claims to add.
Shelves stocked with crafts, so cheery, persuading to purchase without effort. This store carries us to Rose Apothecary. Where are David and Patrick?
Arches and patios show off twinkle lights for when the moon shines her splendor. We feast on pulled pork and slaw, Chardonnay and Pliny the Elder.
Laughter’s in the air, picnics on blankets, a man strums and sings like Paul Simon. A man with a backpack eyes the banquets, a dog licks his chops with a plan.
Great eats and drinks, and fun souvenirs, loose cash spent, plastic card dented, another toast for three more decades, moments to share, a life so splendid.
Look to the galaxy, My Love. The blue luminous star I desire to be yours. If the universe would share, I’d pull the shimmering beauty from the constellations and place it in the palm of your hands next to my beating heart. I wish we could sit upon a slow-moving cloud, dangling our legs into freedom. Our eyes would show the emotion in our hearts. Lips would touch, tenderly, then with hunger reeling through our veins like magnetic energy. We’d fall into pleasant intoxication, watching moonbeams pierce our private night sky.
I remember yesterday when I stepped outside, strolling down the undisturbed road with my dog on my left, his gait as graceful as a galloping horse in slow motion. Maybe the squirrels raised their sleepy heads because of the early hour. The sky appeared to be coal black, but when I turned the corner, watermelon pinks, corals, and lemon yellows took center stage. My camera did not deliver. Then I thought of my son who often says, “Enjoy the moment.” I slipped that device back in my pocket. Passing the orange poppies, I imagined their stems fluttered with excitement, eager for the sun’s ascent, and in the distance, silence sang its serene ballad. As the tempo of our pace sped up, a breeze joined us, and the leaves on the trees lining the lane swayed in rhythm as though dancing a waltz. Jowls flapped, he smiled with brown nose set in overdrive. The sun’s gentle touch added a glimmer to his copper coat. There was a moment when I paused, bending down to his level, fingers stroking shiny, silky fur, his eyes closed, contented from contact. When we moved again, his nails on the asphalt mimicked the clicking of castanets, and in that second, I realized these observations on this early morning are what life is all about… the seeing…touching…smelling…listening… the being.
Sometimes, we hold plans with such great importance that when they become derailed, our mindsets are not as toughas we assume, no, not as tough as spider silk – they spiral into grottos of gloom where we keep company with a suitcase of insecurity.
Indulging in comfort that doesn’t judge or bicker occurs effortlessly. The smell of sorrow is overwhelming.
But despite the absence of light, the sunrise slowly unfolds, brushstrokes of vivid oranges illuminate the sky like a painter brightens a new canvas, and the experience feels feather-light as though a burden is lifted.
Our fascination is stirred once again by a hummingbird’s ability to fly forward and backwards, sideways, and even upside down. We hear the sparrows singing their tales, and bees buzzing in jubilation.
Sensing the spiritual presence of hope, we exhale with relief, and we are optimistic for an extended stay.
The calendar showed October 4th, 2012. She and I sat in the sterile office surrounded by semi-gloss light blue walls, our hearts thumping, hands like ice. We waited for the man who wore a white coat to join us, hoping he would provide gentle answers to appease our questions.
The matter was serious, but when I first saw his face, I thought of Santa, stark white hair and fluffy beard, red, rosy cheeks good for pinching. The only thing missing was the apple red hat, and though he would bear dreadful news, his smile was welcoming, as if the three of us were meeting for a stroll in the park on a lovely spring afternoon.
It was amazing how a tiny scope could be guided through the mouth and throat then down the esophagus. CT scans, lab work, MRIs, and a needle too long to discuss occupied her hours for over 1,000 days. Still, we craved clarity. Our world was hazy like thick fog a driver would endure crossing the Golden Gate Bridge during summer in the wee hours of the morning. And we waited – a necessary evil that all people grapple with too often to count the times on their hands.
Then on that autumn day came words we would have liked to have hurled back to Santa. We had hoped for gentle. Instead… “All tests point to this auto immune disease, and there is no cause or cure,” he told us with a touch of remorse. The future would necessitate a transplant. It was not cancer, but this finding should not be shunned. She was twenty years old, like a sunflower of friendliness and optimism. He added, “Just live your life.”
I felt her physical pain rip through each atrium and ventricle – my most excruciating moments of being a parent. But her strength embraced and consoled me, her mother, of all things. Life pulled us through each season.
The calendar now presents the year 2021: She is a lovely, young woman – a wedding band adorns her left ring finger, and geography has changed along with a new insurance card. She meets with another man who wears a similar white coat. X-rays and jabs repeat. “All of your tests are normal,” he affirms. All is normal. Words we had hoped to hear from this new expert. “I don’t see a reason to keep you in the same box,” he confirms.
This is amazing news! But abdominal stabs and pruritus from the past were as tangible as a twisted knife to the gut. How can we negate that agony? What is the deeper meaning? Should we get the champagne flutes out, give them a quick wash? Has this nightmare finally ended? She chooses to live in the here and now. Life continues to draw us forward to witness each sunrise and sunset, although we are still waiting to exhale.
During the book promotion for More than Coffee, another wonderful friend, Barbara at Book Club Mom, invited me to participate in an interview. I was thrilled to have this opportunity. Thanks again, Barbara, and if any of you aren’t familiar with her blog, please pay her a visit. She shares great books to read, insightful book reviews, interviews like mine so we can learn more about other Indie Authors, and she’s also on YouTube. There is always something to take away when visiting her sitehttps://bvitelli2002.wordpress.com/.
Author Name: Lauren Scott
Genre: Poetry, Memoir
Books:New Day, New Dreams (2013), Finding a Balance (2015), and new release this year: More than Coffee: Memories in Verse and Prose
Bio:I live in California with my husband of 32 years, and we have two adult children. Through my experiences over three decades: raising a family, grieving through loss, finding joy in the smallest things, and the many backpacking and camping adventures, my writing takes a magical path of its own. I also love to read, and my bookcase is bursting at the seams!
What got you started as a writer?When I was a teenager, I wrote poetry about the boys I had crushes on. This lighthearted inspiration was only the beginning because I continued to put thoughts to paper throughout my life, but I grew more passionate within the last decade. Now I write each day; it’s a natural part of my routine, either creating poems, drafting a short memoir, or dabbling in fiction.
What difficult experience has helped you as a writer? My love for writing turned into a passion when my daughter was diagnosed with a rare disease that would necessitate a future transplant. It isn’t fair for children to suffer, and as her mother, this news took processing that prompted me to write. My hurting poured out through words into poems and stories, some personal, some shared.
Have you ever participated in theNational Novel Writing Month(NaNoWriMo)? If so, how many times and what was your experience?I haven’t participated in NaNoWriMo, but it sounds like a wonderful organization. Maybe someday.
What advice would you give a new indie author hoping to publish a book? Do your research, initiate dialogue with authors who have self-published. Persevere, because if publishing your book means that much to you, you’ll do the work to achieve your goal.
What has been the biggest challenge for you during Covid?What tugged at my heart was not being able to see my daughter and son-in-law who live in Tennessee. Regarding writing, inspiration flowed at lightning speed. The last year and a half have been a challenge, but I am grateful for the abundance of creativity.
What are you reading right now?Dead of Winter, Journey 5, by Teagan Riordain Geneviene. This book is part of a series of short novellas and Journey 9 is her latest release. It has been an exciting adventure diving into this fantasy tale.
Would you rather laugh or cry over a book? Laugh!
Have you ever climbed a tree to read a book?I can’t say that I have. I enjoy sitting in the comfort of my living room or on the patio in the company of nature.
Have you ever dropped a book in the tub, in a pool or in the ocean?From my childhood, I have memories of a favorite paperback slipping out of my hands into our aquamarine kidney-shaped pool.
Could you live in a tiny house?No, but my husband and I live in a modest 1200 square foot home, a cozy dwelling, where we raised our two children. Even though we are new empty nesters, our 75-lb lab, Copper, still happily trots around the house.
What are the small things that make you happy?Baking. Flowers in bloom. Chocolate. Music. Carrot cake. A walk around the neighborhood. Backpacking. Freshwater lakes. Ping pong. Watching rom-coms or compelling thrillers. Reading. Family and writing are the Big things in life.
I want to offer a Big Thank you to those who have already purchased my book, to those who are thinking about it, and to all who stop by for a visit. I appreciate all forms of support! ~Lauren 🍁🧡🍂
Baydreamer Writes ~ Lauren Scott, Author & Poet 