Send off from Jerusalem

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-GTLwPrRAt4&list=PLDUkUr1pByc3Tu3wcppWccpg2u2aMaiDu

Perfect Timing

I'm taking advantage of some of my time recovering from my broken ankle by working on my memoir. Today I finally decided I was ready to send the first part to my book coach for line editing and revision recommendations. I am enjoying this season of my life that's unexpectedly given me the time and focus to write more. I am looking forward to sharing more of my writing with everyone in the near future. <3

Ten Years

Ten Years

            They divorced and I packed my books, piano music, and journals to move away from the house with the chair by the kitchen window and my secret mountain. I gave my homeless friends the rest of my money and my large, well-organized bundle of bus transfer slips before hugging each of them good-bye.

            I walked across the street, turned around, and said, “Stay strong!” just before getting on the departing bus.

            When he remarried there were no more threats to have my arms or legs broken and I no longer worried I would be locked in my room at night. The New Wife guarded my boundaries and protected me in the same way my older brother had years earlier. The scabs and bruises on my arms healed and she took me shopping for short-sleeve shirts. I never asked anything of her but she always knew what I needed and it was always better than what I would have asked for myself. Whenever I had a dress-up event to attend, she always handed me her silver fox jacket and pearl necklace to borrow. I never felt I deserved to wear anything so expensive, but the look on her face as I wore it made me feel nothing less would have been right.

            The New Wife had been adopted as an infant and she told me the story of the gold Star of David she always wore around her neck. As an adult she searched for her biological parents and found out they had been a young teenage couple who were both Jewish. She gave me books about the Holocaust and we spent hours talking about the Righteous Among the Nations and what we would do if we were in a similar circumstance.

Everything I did and dreamed to do she told me was good and wonderful. Every day she hugged me and told me I was loved until one day I believed it. At seventeen, I now had a Mom.

When I was married at eighteen, my Mom bought my wedding dress, hosted my bridal shower, and helped me in the dressing room before the wedding. She graciously ran interference as the peacekeeper to keep me safe from others who wanted to bully themselves into this chapter of my life.

            Before my Mom adopted me, she raised five other children and lived in Nome, Alaska. I loved everything about my Mom and as a voracious reader, I spent the next twenty years reading every Alaskana book I could get my hands on.

             I moved to Norway and back again, raised three sons, became a homeschool activist, Boy Scout leader, Girls on the Run coach, and renovated a Victorian house. I started a non-profit rescue mission for domestic violence survivors and gave motivational speeches to create a surreptitious income to buy plane tickets to move women to shelters far away from their abusers. My Mom helped me secretly purchase $50 savings bonds every week for twelve years, before I was finally able to rescue myself and move to Alaska.

            Over the years, my non-profit work became more than simply buying plane tickets to relocate women and grew into rescuing women and children from situations around the world many people turn away from. On one of my trips I stopped off in Paris for a week. I walked the streets of Paris to honor my Huguenot ancestors who had escaped to Switzerland in the face of religious persecution. I took a train to Rouen to see where my childhood heroine, Joan of Arc had been burned at the stake. As I serenely sat beside an ancient fountain while enjoying a hot Nutella crepe I thought how wrong it was on so many levels my Mom never got to see Paris and I did.

            Almost thirty years after my Mom adopted me, I lived in Israel for three months. As I walked through Jerusalem every day, I frequently thought of my Mom’s love of her Jewish heritage. I kissed the Western Wall every Shabbat for my Mom before I slowly backed away.

Our lives intertwined in more ways than my Mom ever knew. Over the years I serendipitously adopted four daughters one by one. A deep part of me didn’t want anyone else to wait seventeen years like I had to know a mother’s love. Two of my daughters came into my life just shy of their seventeenth birthday, one was eleven and one was fourteen. My Mom’s adoption story continues to live on through my family legacy.
           In the ten years since my Mom’s passing, I've accomplished so much more than I could ever have imagined for myself. All is good and wonderful and I know my Mom is proud of me.

http://www.capitalcityweekly.com/stories/042915/ae_1246291993.shtml
http://juneauempire.com/art/2015-04-29/writers-weir-ten-years-memoir
http://49writers.blogspot.com/2015/05/alaska-shorts-ten-years.html

Thank You, Rie

In the late 80's I lived in Stavanger, Norway, but much to my disappointment, family circumstances sent us back to living in the Seattle area. When we moved back to the US, I purchased two photo books - one of Alaska and one that had an aerial view of Juneau on the cover that reminded me of Stavanger. For the next 15 years, Alaska became my dream.

 My Mom had lived in Alaska years earlier and I wanted to experience what she didn't like about Alaska. (haha) I started reading every Alaskana book I could get my hands on - and I started collecting Rie Munoz artwork, went to her show in Seattle, etc. and grew my artistic self. When I divorced and moved to Alaska, I left behind my Munoz art collection, knowing living the life was going to be so much better than looking at it - and it has been. Running into Rie in town always became one of those little reminders that I'm living out the adventure in life some people only get to dream about. 

I briefly told Rie how much her life had inspired me at her 90th birthday party. I was blessed to see her at her granddaughter's First Friday show and took her photo with her grandmothers. Others were taking their photo and I had my camera with me, so I pulled it out and took one, not realizing the settings were incorrect. I had the chance to share a smile with her as she walked out arm in arm with her son, Juan, not knowing it was a goodbye smile and she would pass away three days later. Thank you Rie for living life with such passion and blessing us all with your beautiful art work and the legacy of your family.

My Older Brother Was My Hero

My older brother came all the way across the country to live with us. He was four years older than I was and as much as Joan of Arc was my heroine, my older brother was my hero.

I Found the Perfect Wall

The message was tightly rolled up with a rubber band and only an inch long. I needed to quickly stuff it into a crack without being seen. I shot several photos to give me time to think. I took a deep breath and calmly walked to the backside of the wall, knowing I had to act fast. I knew it wouldn't take much to arouse the suspicions of the soldiers patrolling the area near the border.

It's the Right Time

I started writing this book in 2005. It is not completely finished, but it is finally the right time to publicly share excerpts of it. Writing a novel like this is a journey into self and experience, which is an adventure in itself. This journey would not have been possible without the first person to prophetically encourage me to go forth in this writing project.

I dedicate this first public excerpt to Harold. Short, distinct words for big dreams have carried me through almost 500 pages of writing and endless revisions for almost ten years. This excerpt had an 800 word limit, but, "the best is yet to come".

Thank you, Harold. Yes, I am still writing my book and here is the proof!

Thank you all, for letting me share this: 
 http://49writers.blogspot.com/2014/10/alaska-shorts-secrets-of-my-mountain-by.html