Yesterday Grant was upset at the dirtiness and untidiness of our home. He does his part, though, by vacuuming the house from top to bottom so what is my part in this? It is a Sunday, and I want to spend the day writing, but I knew how important it is for us to have a clean home. Cleanliness helps feeling good about our surroundings, so I joined the cleaning crew. I put on the latest James Bond Movie for background noise, so I could attend to our piles of "stuff" and put them away which lasted as long as the movie. I started cleaning the rooms Grant had vacuumed.

Beth called while I was cleaning and said, “ I’m going to the Fremont Market and wondered if I could drop by after that and give you my writing on a thumb drive.” I’ve known Beth for years, so I said, “Sure, I’m home cleaning.” Beth came about five and stayed till seven. I saw how powerful it was for Beth to give me her thumb drive so I could copy her poems and stories. She was telling me fearful thoughts about what I would say like, "What are you doing thinking these poems and stories should be in a book? These are ridiculous and silly things you've written. And, there aren't fifty pages worth of writing.” I told her, “Let's see how the book works out because the book always works out. Besides, I’m not going to say anything like that. It’s why I listen and take the time to know what the person wants as well as figure out the technical and creative aspects, so it’s a good book.

Beth left, and I called my Aunt Mary Jane in Chicago. She is the oldest in my bloodline, and I cherish our weekly conversations. But the conversation got cut short because Grant was running out the door yelling for me to follow him because Mason, our 14- year-old- beagle had escaped for the second time today. I said, “Good-bye,” to my Aunt, put down my phone to grab my coat and ran to the car. But then I had to run back inside the house to get my phone in case someone had left a message on my "Nextdoor" app. Sure enough, someone had. I was texting that neighbor when a black sedan pulled up. Aaron and Erin (our neighbors up the street we haven't seen in two years) stepped out and opened the back door to let Mason go.

He’s so old that all he has is his rabbi tags on his collar, so I must get his name tag remade. Lori, LuLu’s Mom didn’t even recognize Mason because he’s not young anymore. Lulu is a female beagle, and both LuLu and Mason had all sorts of escapades in their youth, so everyone knew who they were. But neighbors have changed so I must get a tag for him. We thanked Erin and Aaron for taking the time to find us. Grant and I ate a quick dinner, finished cleaning and went to bed.

March 13th, 2017.

It's Elena's birthday today, and she is eight years old. She was our first granddaughter born to my husband and me. I was working in pharmaceuticals and was at a conference in San Diego. We had taken the weekend and some time off to drive down the coast before the meeting began. We were having dinner with one of the other sets of grandparents who live in California when John called to say,” Shaina had given birth, and her name is Elena.” Together, we celebrated being grandparents for the first time. It’s hard to believe how those eight years have flown and Elena has become her own unique and terrific person. Elena lives on the east coast. She has her present from us, and we'll call her today to wish birthday greetings.

It's early morning, and I'm sitting in my clean office. My kitchen is clean, and the rest of the house is clean. It was good to clean. I go outside to feed the dogs and the hens. The outside is trying to sing spring into the ghastly winter we've had. Pearl (My foxhound) and I climb the steps to go into my yurt which is in my backyard. Lots of people come here to tell their story. I come in here to listen to my story. I grabbed a sacred moment with Pearl. There's a sky window, and the roundness of the yurt is protective. I forget my fears in this place. Kind of like camping but the feeling of security goes back eons of time with tribal communities and lost worlds.

Pearl and I sat, to take in the energy. I went back to the house and ate some breakfast. I said my prayer I say before opening anyone's folder to begin a story. I ask for guidance from the ancestors and my heart. I have my smudging stick going so energy is here and now – between me and the thoughts, words, stories that are going to make a book. I opened Beth's file and read her poems and stories. I cry.

I cry with every story, every book because people have amazing stories to tell. I know it is an act of courage for people to interview with me or give me their thoughts, ideas, and stories. I am here to nourish these stories because I know the power of these stories. I tend to them for a long time, so their power is a realization for all of us.

It seems like we're at odds with the sacredness of who we are somehow don't believe we are enough or good enough to tell our stories, our thoughts, our poetry. I say don't believe it for a minute. You are enough. Right here, right now to turn your ideas, your words, your voice, your poetry into a book you can reflect on. A ok you know is you.
 
#yourthinstoriesrock
 

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