Homecoming Reunion

My children wear orange and black stripes. I want to support the town I live in, my parents' and children's hometown. I even bought a shirt with the word Tigers across the chest.

But it doesn't change the fact that my blood still runs like a Bulldog's.

Homecoming Court 1993

  I remember the dance to the fight song and am not afraid to do it.

Headed to Nationals, baby!

When I feel the bass drum of a marching band in my belly, I see red and black. When sneakers squeak on a gym floor, I remember slam dunks and three pointers and open mouthed opposing teams. When I walk in a theater, I feel at home.

Polariod taken during opening night. That look on my face? Acting. The dress? Sewn on.

When a football team rushes a field beneath a star-studded sky, I breathe deeply and wonder when the news helicopter will arrive to catch footage of our record-breaking running back and a team with heart.

That's what I remember most about my high school: heart.

When I hear someone (from another school, obviously) speak with anathema of their classmates, it saddens me. They missed out on so much. I'm not saying heartbreak and humiliation didn't happen to me or others--we were teenagers, after all--but there is so much more to treasure from those years. And the hard stuff taught me things. It was a good place to grow up because I was lucky to grow up with nice people.

And that can make all the difference.

I graduated with about 103 others.  In middle school, our class was twice that size, but closed factories, an oil bust and the economy caused a mass exodus. Maybe watching so many leave made us hold on to each other a little more.

We called ourselves The Class that Makes Traditions.  Yeah, we had a motto. We knew we were special.

10 year reunion.  Can you find me?

I missed my reunion this weekend.  Many things prevented me from attending, but on the morning of the reunion I thought the stars had aligned so that I could at least make the parade, tailgate, and game. For a couple of hours, I was ridiculously excited.

But, we had two people out at the office. Then, my daughter got sick.  Then...

I went on Facebook to wish a classmate a belated birthday. After posting a cheery message on his board, I scrolled down.

My heart stopped. My throat burned. I didn't like the messages before mine. As I sent a text to two of the reunion organizers who were probably herding classmates toward a parade float, I prayed that Jimmie was there with them. That I'd misunderstood the messages.

He wasn't.

Then I received messages from other classmates asking if I'd seen his wall and wondered the same as I.  We watched Facebook. Eventually, someone posted that he'd been in an accident that morning and had not made it.  I deleted my birthday wish and added a comment of condolences instead.

And cried.

I went to school with nice people, and we lost another one. Jimmie's smile, and orneriness, and energy will forever be a part of my memories and my life. Thank you for that, Jimmie.

And thank you to my classmates for being such a fun and loving group through the years.  Thank you for your heart.

This photo was all over Facebook. I'll give photo credit when someone fesses up.

The Red Tent Sisterhood

I'm a sucker for sisterhoods. There's just something magical about the bonds women form. Like spider webs, they appear delicate--but those intricacies create deceptive strength.

photo credit: Valarie Olson

As I sat in my kitchen with my new friend Valarie I discovered she felt the same way.  Somehow, the conversation came around to Anita Diamant's book The Red Tent. 

We love it.

Valarie and I are both fairly new to the area and discussed how we missed monthly gatherings of women--book club, writing group, etc. We discovered how similar we are to those ancient women in the novel who gathered beneath the moon each month in their red tent and relaxed, shared, and bonded.

Gaining strength from other women must be engrained in my DNA.

We decided to create our own Red Tent Sisterhood.  We knew we wanted to meet once a month... but doing what?  I wanted to involve food because something special happens when people break bread together. Valarie suggested we exercise.

Those of you who know me well can stop snickering.

I mean it.

Really? Now you're just being insulting.

Possessing many talents, Valarie is also a yoga instructor.  She teaches at 108 Yoga Studio, an amazing gem our mutual friend Libby Rogers opened several years ago. I've met so many nice ladies since I've moved here, and like that intricate spider web I mentioned earlier, somehow many of them are connected to the studio.

And that realization was it.  On the last Monday of every month, we planned to meet for yoga and dinner. We mentioned it to friends who mentioned it to their friends.  I think the first text said something about inviting any woman who wants or needs a sisterhood. Our Red Tent Sisterhood was born. 

Libby loves glamping, so at our first dinner, she wrangled a bunch of us into her Girl Camp.

photo credit: Valarie Olson

 I was hesitant.  I mean, there would probably be bugs since outside is their house and all. I had several excuses--one of which was that Garrett was out of town on the weekend it was scheduled.

Others were completely excited.  Once Moria Kinsey mentioned costumes...well, I was in. That really should have been brought up first, right?  

photo credit: Valarie Olson

 The kids went on "vacation" with my parents and I made it to Girl Camp. And I'm so glad. Gratefully, we didn't have to sleep in non-air-conditioned red tents--but we were beneath the moon in our metaphorical red tent in spirit.

photo credit: Valarie Olson

Check me out on Oklahoma Women Bloggers this month. I'll tell you all about glamping at Girl Camp and how you can do it, too.

Inklings Retreat 2013

I love my writing group and our annual writing retreat at Lake Tenkiller.  This summer was our tenth-ish year to hang out at the lake, eat lots of food, critique works in progress, and laugh. A lot.

photo courtesy of Lisa Marotta

This year Dee Dee Chumley introduced a word tournament.  It's kind of like March Madness, but with a bunch of logophiles instead of athletes  We (okay, mostly I) slung a lot of words around trying to intimidate other players and help Dee Dee with tough-talk dialogue for her next novel. Of course, one can only sound so intimidating when throwing around language like "confabulation" and "diaphanous." But it paid off.  I won with the word "petulant."  (Ironic since I was talking trash, don't you think?) We might have trouble if you tell me you would have voted for Lisa Marotta's word that also made the finals:"serendipity.'

Sometimes we make it to the water to float around and commune with the dragonflies.  This year, a few of us ventured forth and practiced water yoga with Heather Ezell of Hang Zen.  It was awesome. Then we went back to the deck and enjoyed some of my daddy's special sangria--that Kelly helped doctor with OJ--while talking about all things bloggy. I'm already looking forward to our fall retreat!

Pictured below are Martha Bryant, Dee Dee Chumley, Kelly Bristow, Heather Ezell of Hang Zen, Lisa Marotta, and Brandi Barnett.

photo courtesy of Kevin Ezell of Hang Zen yoga

  
 Read more about my ideas about yoga over on Oklahoma Women Bloggers.

Listen to Your Mother Show: These are my people

We send our stories into a theater packed with 400 bodies. That's 800 ears.  We send our stories into a social media project that will spread our stories to more bodies, more ears.

We can't take them back.

The house lights go up, but there is a strange combination of stage lights still shining that leave much of the crowd in the dark--at least from my view point. Applause fades to giddy conversations as cast members reunite with their people.

I stand alone onstage, peering into the gloomy abyss.

Where are my people?

A silhouette waves, and I think it's one of my tribe.  The cast member in front of me waves back.

Where are my people?  They were coming... right?

Loneliness sweeps over me as the waves of emotions the show tossed about go out to sea and come back for me--pulling me into a place that churns like a sea monster.

Then I take a deep breath.  I'm being silly. A saying drifts across my psyche: "If your ship doesn't come in, go out to meet it."

Right. Even if my people aren't here, I have a whole new sisterhood in the inaugural cast of Oklahoma City's Listen to Your Mother show. And these amazing women and man deserve to be congratulated.

I step off the stage and into this new world where everyone knows my story.

My eyes adjust to the light.  I see them.  I hear others call my name. 

I am not alone.  I never was. 

That's the thing with sisterhoods.

Some you grow up with.

childhood friends Tina and Ange--and our mommas--at the show

Some you help create.

my Inklings at Christmas--didn't get a pic after show!

Some you find through other people.

Tina, moi, Shannon, Kellie, Ange

Ashley and Jennifer at Kentucky Derby party. (They didn't wear the hats to the show.)

And some you share your soul onstage with.

2013 cast of Oklahoma City's Listen to Your Mother show (photo by Macy Fitzgerald)

Just when I feel lost at sea, my family--the ones I'm related to and the ones I've adopted--buoy me.

my hubby and kids at after-party

my mother-in-law, mom, and dad at after-party

They always do.

Even if I can't see them doing it.

Our cast was warned about the "me too" moments when strangers approach post-show and connect to your story.  I really didn't experience that.  However, I did catch people watching me, and when I looked their ways, they avoided me.  Now I know why. Since that day, I've heard from two people who told me my story helped women who were still so raw that they couldn't tell me personally.

I didn't share my secrets in vain. My story is a letter in a bottle tossed into the sea meant to be found by someone I may never meet.

That's why I did Listen to Your Mother.

Because, sometimes, it's not about me having a buoy. It's about me being the buoy.

Cheer for Your Team

I'm not very good at the preschool athletic mentality. 
1.  Every kid is not the Most Valuable Player.
2.  Each game should have a winner and a loser.

That's life. 

Don't get me wrong. Winning isn't everything, but losing doesn't mean hanging up your sneakers, either.  When you fall, brush yourself off, quit your crying, and get back in the game. It's important to always do your personal best because your only real competition is yourself.

I was a cheerleader--the kind that believed more in the job than the uniform.  I disdain the "spirit leaders" who leave when rain or sleet falls from the sky. If the team can still play, then they can still cheer.

12th grade: front and center in a parka in the pouring rain

After a few adult beverages, I'm willing to dance my high school's fight song.

Go Bulldogs!

 

Last month,  I put my dormant cheer skills to use and cheered myself on through my own special version of March Madness.

Here are the rules: If a writing opportunity presented itself, I must enter the competition.

Even if I doubted my abilities--especially so--I must take action. With failure comes wisdom. With wisdom comes success.

Want to know how the brackets turned out?

I submitted my essays to two Listen to Your Mother shows.  Instead of submitting to one show, I embraced March Madness and submitted to two.

Two! Two! We want two!

And, well, you know how that turned out. Read about it here and here.

Gooooo team!

Then, I tried Brenda Drake's agent contest.  My cheerleader was still asleep when I dragged myself out of bed to submit early in the morning.  Right before I pushed send on my carefully written entry of my novel's first 250 words and 35-word pitch, I doubted myself.  I changed the pitch.

I did not make the next round.

That's all right. That's okay. We're gonna win another day!

Then another opportunity presented itself. Mini Vaughn, one of the slush zombies for the contest, volunteered to critique the pitches on her blog Dirty Silly Things.  I thought, "Oh my. I can't put myself out there and face rejection again. It's so public. She even says something about spanking us and making it hurt."  *Blushes* 

My cheerleader gave me a high-kick in the butt.  

Be aggressive! B-E Aggressive! B-E- A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E! Be aggressive! B-E aggressive!

Because she was an obnoxiously perky, insistent little inner cheerleader, I not only sent the rejected logline, but I also submitted the one I'd planned to send. If I was going to get a smackdown, I might as well really feel the pain, right?

The critique wasn't painful at all. She thought the original pitch was "fantastic." Lesson learned.  My biggest opponent is self-doubt. 

Defense! (clap, clap) Defense! (clap, clap)

Over the month, I had a couple of contest triumphs and forfeited one opportunity. The point is that I put myself in the game.

I'm gearing up for submitting my freshly revised novel to agents. I've listened to agents who seemed excited about the story but rejected it. I've rewritten the novel and improved my game. 

First (clap) and ten! Go! Fight! Win!

Why compete? Because someone has to win.  Why can't it be me?  Or you?

  Dribble it! Pass it! (clap) We want a basket!

Have you stepped outside your comfort zone lately? What would you like to achieve?  

Go for it!

Listen to your personal cheerleader and take the challenge. Let me know what it is.

I'm already waggling my spirit fingers for you.

For the love of . . . friends

I've been writing along with the Oklahoma Women Bloggers Challenge this week.

Monday: The Love of Music

Tuesday: The Love of Knicknacks

Wednesday: The Love of Friends

Which reminded me of this post about The Sisterhood of the Traveling Jewelry.

I am blessed to have so many different kinds of friends in my life--childhood, college, married, church, mommy, yoga, work, club, etc.  Each friendship has its own lifetime.  And I'm grateful for the existence of each one.  Wicked's For Good pretty much says it all:



Take a little time and check out Oklahoma Women Bloggers.

You may just meet a new friend.

Inklings Retreat 2012

L-R: Dee Dee Chumley, Kelly Bristow, Sonia Gensler, Lisa Marotta, Martha Bryant

Fellow Inkling Lisa Marotta led our 2012 summer Inklings retreat by guiding us through a series of exercises designed to help us identify our own passions, how those passions appear in our writing, and how we can nurture an audience and develop a relationship with others by letting them get to know our passions.  

Sonia, Lisa, and Martha during a session

I learned A LOT.

The weather felt like fall, so we didn't get to swim. Mostly we had workshops, critiqued pieces, and took walks.

Appreciating the scenery during a walk with Lisa and Dee Dee. (Photo courtesy of Sonia Gensler)

Since the focus was on "platform," we thought we'd build one for Lisa.  Okay, I STRONGLY encouraged the others to do it, but it gets the point across, right? Note: I am not bossy. I just have good ideas.:)

Lisa on platform

Glamour was about fairies.  Lucky Charm, the novel I just completed, has fantasy creatures in it, too. I accept that unicorns don't exist, but I still believe in the fairy tale. Perhaps that's why I love how our group wears tiaras at conferences--and at the lake.

If you can't play princess with your friends, then I don't want to grow up.

Inklings lake tiaras

Lisa Marotta conducted the weekend workshops in such a way that when it was over, I announced, "I would pay a lot of money for this experience."

So...other authors, take note and contact her! You won't be sorry.