On Your Mark, Get Set...

In November 2006, I decided to take a major writing challenge. November is National Novel Writing Month, and at that point I thought writing a novel in 30 days would be a snap. After all, I wasn’t sleeping more than a few hours a night, and my brain was basically revved up all the time anyway. So I began on November 1^st, having planned absolutely nothing in the way of plot, setting or characters. This was to be a total stream-of-consciousness activity (as was my whole life back then. Who needs thoughtful reflection? Just slows you down!)

And so, Stoppage was conceived. For the next eight days I wrote, and wrote, and wrote. I wasn’t constrained by spelling or grammar—that could all be fixed later. My first chapter was really dark and creepy, featuring a morose pair of misfits. Stephen King I ain’t, so I quickly realized I couldn’t keep going in that vein for a whole book. Therefore, my second chapter was very upbeat. And so it went. Every other chapter was a total downer, followed by a chapter-long ray of sunshine. It was almost as if the author was manic depressive! Or something! Eventually, the characters began invading each other’s chapters, just as my moods were overlapping to an alarming degree. 

The novel in question

A bipolar poem of mine, published in an anthology

On Day 8 I wrapped up my odd little tale. I could barely stand to re-read what I’d written each day. It was a kind of mental health self-portrait, and I never did like to have my picture taken. I showed Stoppage to just a few people. Steve and the kids were very charitable, and actually found things to praise about the book. In the end, though, I let it all go, literally shelving a very disturbing week and a half of my life.

Ten years later, I’m finally ready to challenge myself again: 30 essays/blog posts in the next 30 days. Why? It just feels right to push past the limits I have set for myself (after a flurry early on, my blogging pace has slowed to two entries a month.) My mental state is stable, so I don’t fear what I will try to produce this month. I have enlisted the support of family and friends, including my writers group. I’ve told enough people about this project that I would feel really stupid not to follow through.

I made sure there is an extra pound or three of coffee in the pantry, and I’m trying to get ahead on some church stuff so I can carve out an uninterrupted hour or two each day. Will I make it to November 30^th without quitting? Will the resulting essays be halfway decent? Only time will tell!

I invite you to join me on my literary adventure. Read, comment if you are so inclined. In turn, I stand ready to support you with YOUR next big plan. As long as there is life, there are endless possibilities for us all. Come on, let’s take the plunge together!

Joy in the Morning

Awhile back, I wrote a blog post about this time of year--and how tough it is for me and my family. On September 29th Mom will be dead 10 years; on October 1st my sister Maureen will be gone an unbelievable 35 years. It's hard to identify with folks who love these early autumn days. For a long time now, these days have been filled with sadness and bittersweet memories (and, sadder, with the awareness of all the memories that have faded). Longing to see my much-loved ones again, to hear their voices. Marking the world events that have transpired since their passing (even, in Mo's case, the fashion trends that have come and gone:-) Everything has changed, in some cases utterly, since they walked the earth.  

Mom, Mo and Me

But on Friday, September 23rd, the week that has been marked by melancholy became a time of the greatest happiness. Peter Britten Seyfried, my second grandson, was born. And tiny Peter reminded me, reminded us, that beautiful and amazing new life still happens, even in the waning of the year. From now on, I will still recall the losses of course, but I will also remember the gains--the addition of an amazing daughter-in-law and now two precious grandchildren to our gang. Peter's birth is a triumph of hope over despair, a vote of confidence that this crazy mixed up world can become a little less crazy.

Our lives on this planet will end at some point, sooner or later. That much we know. But for now, we can choose to live with optimism, and do what we can to improve the bad situations. We can choose to embrace our existence, working to ease others' pain, to correct injustice, to leave our world a better place because we have been here. The popular Christian query WWJD? (what would Jesus do?) should be much more than an empty catchphrase. Because, deep down, we know what Jesus would do, don't we? Jesus would heal the sick and lonely. Jesus would offer refuge to the homeless. Jesus would forgive, unconditionally. Jesus, in every single instance, would show love and compassion. So maybe the question becomes: WSWD? (what should WE do?) And do we have the courage to do it? 

Peter, Elise, Joanie and Mo

I hold my little miracle in my arms on this early autumn day, a miracle that has done so much to redeem a time that has been sad for so long. I am inspired to help make this a wonderful world for Peter, and Aiden, and all the babies. I hold my grandchild and know that others hold him, too. A mom named Joanie--she holds Peter right along with me now. A girl named Maureen, who always wanted babies of her own but was taken much too soon--she too embraces our newest family member.  And as I stand, surrounded by love on earth and in Heaven too, I remember a Biblical promise: Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.

Ancestry.me

It just arrived in the mail--the amazingly small box from Ancestry.com containing an even smaller vial into which I will spit. The sealed, saliva-filled vial will be sent off for DNA testing and I will finally learn the truth: I am part Martian. Seriously, though, I am eager to get info about my forebears, if only to reassure myself that I have interesting relatives that go waaaaay back. At least I hope they are interesting. Famed artists come to mind, as do royals and war heroes. I'd even take a major criminal! Just don't let me have sprung from a long, dreary line of "average" people! I guess I’ll find out soon enough. 

I joined Ancestry last month, to trace my Irish roots on my mom's side. I know precious little: our family were the Sheridan's (hence my oldest son's name). Most of them lived in and around County Longford. My Great-grandma Minnie Sheridan emigrated to America sometime in the late 1880's. She, too, named one of her sons Sheridan (he died at age 4.) My Grandma Rose and Great-uncle Frank spent a couple of childhood years in Ireland, where they got to know their Aunt Roseanne and Uncle Felix. My mom's brother Jack and his wife traveled over there many years ago and were, I believe, somewhat successful in finding family connections. But I never learned what those connections were and honestly? Until recently I was not that curious. And my 29 years of intense parenting (I count from Sher's birth until Jules turned 18) left me with little energy to pursue this knowledge.

Becoming a grandmother has been like flipping a switch. All of a sudden, for the sake of Aiden and his sister-or-brother-to-be, our past has become very important to me, a mystery to solve, a gift to share and pass along to my precious little ones someday. I scan family photos like crazy; I gather up letters written by my own grandma and mom in hopes that my grandchildren may one day want to read them. 

Epitome of Catholic Education from 1885--Minnie's name is written in it

I'm planning to travel to Ireland with my daughters next year, to try and meet any kin remaining there. Meanwhile, my initial foray into old official records has yielded very little, mostly things I already knew. There is much more digging to be done, but I think I am going to enjoy the hunt.  Whether or not I discover anyone “notable” (though I have my fingers crossed about the late great Irish playwright Richard Brinsley Sheridan), I guess it doesn’t really matter. How “notable” will I be in a hundred years? Not very!

But I see life as a long chain, connecting us, one to another, down the centuries. Why not learn something about the people holding our hands from generation to generation, people whose looks and traits we have inherited? Why not expand our understanding of family (and we are ALL one family, when it comes down to it)?

And so I open the DNA kit. Here we go.