CONFLAGRATION

 

I was sitting at the wood stove the other day and contemplating starting a fire… my husband usually takes care of that, but he was out for a bit. I opened the door and noticed that there seemed to be a few lit embers left over from the night before, they grew brighter as the oxygen reached them. So, I added a few small pieces of tinder, and the flames caught within seconds.

After a few minutes, letting the flames warm the chimney above, I added a few small logs. It wasn’t long before I had a satisfying and warming fire heating the house. (Supplemental heat, it is not our only source.) I was surprised at how quickly the wood caught and was burning so very hotly, it was both frightening and amazing. Thinking of the firefighters who put out uncontrolled fires, I was in awe at the task they must have to make sure that smoldering rubble does not re-ignite.

I also remembered nights singing around the campfire at the local Girl Scout camp, and the times we entertained in the backyard around an open fire pit. Always make room to be careful, not to get too close to the flames, and of course to make sure that everything is safely out, or properly enclosed, when it’s time to walk away.

Then I made the parallel and realized that the smoldering embers are a lot like our memories and emotions. You think your tears are tamped down but add a bit of oxygen and they flare up; all you need is a bit of fuel, more memories, and the fire rages again. In a way, it is comforting that our memories, both happy and sad, are always there. We should never forget the people we love, whether they are still here or not.

While flames may reduce things to ashes, they can also warm our bodies when controlled. There are both good and bad memories you can dwell on, but if you choose to soak in the warmth of your good memories, it does feel comforting.

Meanwhile, a hot fire in the wood stove on a winter’s night certainly sounds nice.

Mortality

Understandably as we grow older, mortality seems to be an ever-present tingle in our minds… and yes, sometimes the thought is VERY scary. We lose folks around us that mean a lot, and we discover new aches, pains, and things that just don’t work as well anymore. But instead of fearing the INEVITABLE (NO ONE ESCAPES!) and burying ourselves in what once was, I choose to look forward.

 

I choose to be thankful for the things and people I have had in my life, and the time I had with them. I choose to be thankful for what I have now. I choose to be thankful for now, who and what I am, my memories, and my ability to hope for a tomorrow. Yes, I still shed tears for people I miss, my parents, my sister, a couple of cousins, a few friends… and yes, even some beautiful pussycats. But I try not to let my tears consume me, and I know that those I love and loved wouldn’t want me to waste a single day or moment that I have left.

 

And yet I can’t help, every time my phone rings at an unlikely hour, and every time I don’t get a response from someone I’ve reached out to, just a little bit of a shudder and a slap of what could be reality… and thankfully MOST of these alarms are simply false as I breathe a sigh of relief. I just don’t ever want to waste a day, I don’t want to waste any time telling someone how much I love them, I don’t want to waste any time cuddling a pussycat. Yes, I want to spend time reliving some of our memories with my loved ones, and I also want to make lots of new ones.

 

And when the day comes when I am gone, and those I leave behind shed a few tears, I hope they will live and love the happiest lives they can… mostly for them (and selfishly, just a little tinge for me). I truly believe the best honor we can each do for our dear loved ones is to live each new day as fully as possible and to remember our shared memories long after we can no longer share.

 

Here is to EVERY tomorrow!

 

MEMORIES

The world is shaped by
two things – stories told
and the memories they
leave behind.
~Vera Nazarian

A few years ago, while we were packing up our home of nearly 40 years, the home where we raised our family, I had so much angst about the things I couldn’t take with me. The last survivors of the children’s school projects, certain pieces of bulky, and often dusty, furniture, and beautiful wall hangings lovingly gifted, or made, by a generation that had already passed on. Letting go of PHYSICAL memories has always been difficult for me.

We had to downsize to move to the beautiful and rural home where Mark & I planned to spend our retirement years, hopefully, without too much clutter. LOL, when you give shelter to a growing family with children still in school, you receive precious trinkets often. Sometimes the glue on those cherished keepsakes dries too fast to hold them together long enough for you to even dust them daily. But with the dust, cracked edges, faded colors, and more, some of these little knickknacks become too treasured to toss. As for clothing, even those pieces worn to wonderful occasions, go out of style, become frayed, or… shudder… just don’t fit your aged figure anymore. And then, of course, the neighborhood you lived in, with nearby stores and other conveniences, and neighbors that you hold dear as friends. There is just so much to be left behind.

So long as we are blessed with our full faculties, memories are the one thing we never do leave behind. We discarded MOST objects that we knew would not survive the move… and some more things we carefully packed did not live through the actual move. After living in our new home for four years, just my husband and me, there are STILL boxes we haven’t unpacked, mostly because there is no room to properly display the keepsakes within. I really do not miss the clutter, and certainly not the ability to “clean” for last-minute company in less than half an hour, but sometimes I do miss the artwork and photos adorning every single living room wall and corner.

I have my memories and in the event that they get a little foggy, I took pictures of almost EVERY arts and crafts project that my kids brought home; I took pictures of the rooms from different angles, not even minding when I caught some of the clutter; I took pictures of cookie jars that I donated (and almost never used myself); I took pictures of the back yard where my kids swam in the summer and sledded down in the winter; and I even took photos of the backyard corner where we buried our pussycats who had lived out their years sharing their purrs with us.

Mark and I have a beautiful home and property. We have terrific neighbors. And one more huge plus, our yard, and the surrounding community are often filled with various wildlife (deer, fox, bear, coyote, wild turkey, birds, squirrels, and more) who willingly share THEIR home with us. And I have my memories…

The ONLY problem I have is digitizing ALL of these photos to save room!

 

 

IT'S A SMALL WORLD (after all)

When we were little kids the world seemed so very big and immense. We tried but we couldn't possibly know everyone. But then as the years go by the friends we knew in our "yesterdays" seem to have gone their own way and we don't hear from them much anymore. And yet, so often we find reminders, connections, and sometimes even the people themselves…

 

In my own life there have been so many coincidences where my "yesterday" becomes part of today. In the past few years my husband and I made a move more than 100 miles away from where I grew up (not far from where he grew up). Since living here I found that among my "new" neighbors was an acquaintance from around the corner in my childhood neighborhood and even more recently I found that one of my NOW neighbors is the nephew of my next door neighbor when I was all of five or six years old. Not quite as close to where I live now, but still quite local, is a woman who lived in the same community that we raised OUR children in.

 

Although it isn't coincidence at all, it still is sort of mind-boggling to find distant relatives (many you never even knew existed!) after doing a DNA test; I did 23andME. The few I have been in touch with have amazingly similar attitudes and views… so much so that one 2^nd cousin who lives more than 2,000 miles away, someone I have never met face-to-face and only learned about recently, agrees with me that it almost sounds as if we grew up together! (Genetic memory?) It is ironic to find these long-lost relatives and find out how much you have in common.

 

Another amazing small-world connection occurred nearly 50 years ago when my soon-to-be husband and I were planning our wedding. I was getting our important documents together for the marriage license and such when I noticed that we were BOTH born at the same hospital and BOTH delivered by the same obstetrician 16 months apart! — no, our moms did NOT know each other, and our parents did not live in the same neighborhoods.

 

My husband and I raised our children in a suburban community more than an hour and change from where we were born, so imagine my surprise when I went into a local pharmacy and noticed the pharmacist's name tag, it was the same last name as the obstetrician that had delivered us. I jokingly asked the man if he had any relation to the doctor, and it wound up that the man who delivered me (and my husband) was the uncle of this pharmacist!

 

Six degrees of separation refers to a theory that all people on Earth are connected to one another by no more than six separate individuals. A theory that parallels the idea that “it’s a small world,” it maintains that, through a series of connections or steps, all people have the potential to know one another on a first name basis through mutual acquaintances. (wisegeek)

 

You never know where or when the past and present are going to collide. Don't be surprised, it is, after all, really a small world.

 

Writing Your Story

“You live as long as you are remembered.”
^{~ Russian proverb}

 

My mind has "run the gamut" of emotions these past years. With some (extended) family illnesses, and then with my sister (only sibling) passing away, it is hard NOT to think of mortality. What struck me very deeply was that when my sister passed, I became painfully aware that I was the last one left of my nuclear family (our parents died in 1977 and 1979 respectively); every family story, our very own history, it's only mine to tell anymore.

 

There are so many little snippets of my life, some funny, some sad, that I want to live on even past my own life's run. So, I began to write "The story of Chelle". This is not a memoir, certainly not one meant for public consumption, however it's my sincere hope that each one of my FUTURE family will get to cherish some of these stories and perhaps pass them along to their descendants. It's mere snippets, little memories, that have given me moments to chuckle, to remember, to know how many of these memories have made me who I am today.

 

It's been said that, just like DNA, all our ancestors live on inside us. I believe that is so true even when we haven't really known the folks who passed some traits down to us. Ironically, I met a distant cousin from a branch of my family I never even knew existed. It all started with a bit of (excuse me) spit… and the results of my DNA turned up a long list of potential relatives. Surely, I wasn't going to explore each one, but one profile popped up that intrigued me.

 

Turns out this gentleman and I are distant cousins on my paternal grandmother's side of the family. He connected me with another relative (unfortunately the DNA services do NOT share with each other so we may only find relatives through others). My new-found relative, and at this point a very dear friend, is a second cousin. We are quite close in age, and if you didn't know differently you might think that we grew up together because we share so many similar values and traits.

 

I am not looking for immortality, or maybe in a way I am? I just want some of my memories to live on for my children. As a writer maybe it is not unusual for me to take to writing these thoughts and memories down but considering my ego, I am just recording these memories for my family. When I recently told my daughter about my project, her loving quip was that I had an advantage… I could tell everything from MY personal standpoint since there was no one left to counter. Yep, she's got a point, LOL.

.

CHILDHOOD MEMORIES

Recently a question was asked on Facebook, "What do YOU remember from your childhood that children today would not?"

 

It was very interesting to see some of the answers, which included: The Flintstones TV Show; Lite-Brite; 45rpm records inside books; rotary telephones; The Andy Griffith Show; Howdy-Doody; Captain Kangaroo; Tinker Toys; Slinky; and several more.

 

I remember the metal TV Dinner trays (this was WELL BEFORE microwave ovens). In my house my parents would allow us to pick our favorites and once a week or so we were allowed to eat our TV dinners in front of the television (well, they WERE TV dinners!). My mom called it our "Dining at the Movies Night". My dad's favorite was either the meatloaf or turkey and stuffing, mommy liked the Southern Fried Chicken. My sister and I always tried to choose something "exotic and different" than our normal fare… after all, it was like a night of dining out and watching (mostly) comedies. Nowadays there are so many choices of quick, easy, pop-in-the-microwave meals, it has lost its novelty.

 

Drive-in movies! Yes, that was always special — especially since my folks rarely got babysitters even when they wanted to go out. My dad would put a board across the back seat and pad it with a big sleeping bag, then my sister and I would bring our pillows, blankets and favorite stuffed animal and we would go to sleep in the back while our parents had their "date night". (I got into trouble when my mom found out I was often peeking at the big screen instead of actually sleeping, LOL). I remember the particular drive-in theatre my folks went to the most, there was a playground and my folks always managed to buy us hot dogs for dinner and then let us play on the swing sets until we changed into our PJs and bunked down in the back seat.

 

My dad worked hard to make a living and when they could afford it, we always went to a motel called the Jolly Roger outside of Atlantic City, LONG BEFORE it was a casino mecca. His vacation was always the last two weeks of August and I remember many, many summers where we spent a week meeting the same group of friends and going to the boardwalk, swimming in the ocean and playing at the motel's mini-playground and pool. That was where I learned to swim, it was unintentional… I FELL into the pool. My dad had been relaxing on a lounger and my sister and I weren't allowed in the water without him, I still used a swimming tube. But I saw him peeking at us as we played, and I decided to tease him by running to the diving board and jumping on it. He sternly told me to get off and I realized he was serious, but when I jumped off the board I tripped and fell into the deep end of the pool. Desperately trying not to sink, I managed to swim underwater towards the nearest ladder. My dad was pretty quick, he was in the pool and swimming towards me and pulled me up just before I actually reached the ladder — he was both relieved and angry. I was just happy to hold onto him.

 

What are the things you remember from your childhood? When I spoke to my own offspring about some of my memories, they had NO IDEA what I was talking about. Maybe one day they'll get the same quizzical looks from their own offspring when they talk about their recollections.

LIFE GOES ON

 

Life goes on, despite tears and disappointments life continues.  We can sit mired in sadness or we can choose to live our best lives. For anyone who has suffered the loss of a loved one, a life-altering illness, the breakup of a relationship, or the betrayal of a friend, LIFE GOES ON.

In my own life, I recently suffered the passing of a loved one.  As I experienced the shock, pain and cries of “how do I cope”, I realized that she loved me as much as I love her — and she would not want me to “stop living”. I need to honor her memory and the love between two sisters. For ourselves and for those around us that we care about, we need to choose life in the best way possible. It is okay to carry our memories, and even shed a tear now and then, but life goes on.

Make the most of the time YOU have left to honor the memories and to care for those still around you. If someone you love has passed on and your heart feels broken, know that they would not want you to waste what is left of your life or to ignore other loved ones around you. You might even want AND need to double your love for the other members of your family who have also suffered the loss. You can never replace the loss but being with other members of your family is good for all of you.

If you have ever dabbled with Tarot Cards, you might have noticed the Five of Cups. The card depicts a figure that is wearing a black cloak. The person hides her face in what seems to be despair. There are five cups on the ground, three of which have fallen while the other two remain standing. The woman, however, doesn’t seem to notice that there are two standing cups and is too busy mourning over those which are fallen. There is a powerful river which flows between her and a house or a castle in the distance, indicating that a torrent of emotions have separated her from home.

Always remember your loved ones who have passed before you, keeping their memories alive will keep them from dying a “second death" by being forgotten. In Judaism we say a prayer for the deceased that is called Yizkor:

May G‑d remember the soul of my (mention her Hebrew name and that of her mother) who has gone to her [supernal] world, because I will - without obligating myself with a vow - donate charity for her sake. In this merit, may her soul be bound up in the bond of life with the souls of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah, and with the other righteous men and women who are in Gan Eden; and let us say, Amen.

 

Honor those you have lost by living the best way you can — love others, do good for others (including strangers) with charity and empathy, and most importantly, love yourself. Never lose sight of what you have had... and still have.

 

 

A SAD DAY

 

By the time you are reading this, I will most probably be on my way to my sweet sister’s funeral. When you lose someone that you have always felt so close to, it is not easy.

 

My sister Bobi was my first and forever friend and losing her feels like I have lost a part of myself. As kids she was my protector, a childhood friend called her “the cool big sister” — even as adults she was always trying to make things “easy” for me. We’re not kids anymore… we both have adult children. Bobi was also blessed with grandchildren and her very first great-grandchild.

 

My big sister (who always tried to tell folks that she was the younger sister!) helped me through some dark periods in my life, so often she knew the right thing to say and when to say it. Alright, there were times I balked at things she said, but most times her words rang true. Since our folks died before I was blessed with children, my sister was the one I called when I needed advice, and maybe that’s why she always seemed to take a big interest in my offspring’s welfare because in a small way she helped raise them.

 

We cried together when we lost our parents and other loved ones. And boy did we ever laugh together… not always at the most appropriate times. We had squabbles like most sisters do, but we never stayed angry at each other for long. Talking to each other almost daily was like sustenance to us and our husbands tore their hair out back when long distance calls cost per minute.

 

As a writer her support was immeasurable which is why I feel a bit frustrated that somehow, I can’t find the right words to express the hole I feel now that she is “gone”. Fortunately, our parents raised us with a bit of belief in an afterlife that surrounds our earth-bound selves and I sure as heck hope that is so and that I can always feel her presence in my life. We were five-and-a-half years apart in age but we may as well have been twins, we always seemed to be so connected. I remember the day when my daughter, in a petty mother-daughter disagreement, heard my sister comment on it and my daughter exclaimed, “There’s TWO of them!”… and now there is just me.

 

They say that losing a sibling is a different kind of grief. You lose someone who has known you all, or almost all, of your life. If your parents are already deceased, losing a sibling means losing another vital part of your “elementary family” and takes away a piece of your childhood. Your childhood memories are now only thoughts in your own mind, there’s no more sharing of childhood secrets and adventures. Burying a sibling is also burying a hunk of your life.

 

I am going to choose to remember all of the good times, maybe pick up a long-ago abandoned diary and record those memories that we shared. I will do my best to speak of her to her children and future generations for as long as I am here. And when I close my eyes I hope to picture her in my mind and hear her voice when I am lonely. I will always look up and tell her how much I love her.

Barbara Cordero Du-Bois

September 5, 1948 – June 20, 2021

 

 

War Stories

With Memorial Day just behind us, I couldn't help but remember sitting and listening to both my Dad and my Father-in-law telling AND RETELLING their favorite WW2 war stories. Although they certainly avoided some of the gorier and distressing points, they were always excited to brag about their heroics and laugh about exploits they shared with their comrades-in-arms.

 

It's not just soldiers who boast about their adventures and take pride in their experiences.  I am very proud to be a part of a first response family… heck, I spent nearly three decades as an EMT myself. While my husband and I  are now the “old, retired folk", our four kids (two born in and two joined by love) are all in various forms of first response.

 

Being seated around us in a restaurant or such must be surrealistic as invariably one of us starts off a story with “remember that time when…”. And of course we can't completely contain our laughter when we recall some of the funnier incidents. Of course we are all still bound by privacy laws so no personal information ever gets out there.

 

Of course it's not just military or emergency responders who do a  bit of bragging, lol. Within our family we've been regaled with stories of courtroom drama that could rival the best episodes of “Bull". We've also been treated to the literal ups and downs of elevator repair and so much more. Tales of our exploits, the people we've encountered, and the things we have done make us who we are.

 

Everybody wants the opportunity to know that something they have done has made a positive difference in someone's life. Boasting may not be considered a virtue, but it is just being human to pat yourself on the back a bit and want to share with those around you.

 

So the next time you hear someone's stories of their exploits, take a moment to listen.

Family Ties

 

For most of us, the lucky ones at least, growing up in a family setting (whether it was just parent[s] and you or a large extended family) was like you had whole world surrounding you with love and care. As we grew older sometimes we made “best friends” outside of our homes, but coming home always meant coming to a place where you always felt you belonged.

 

As we grew up and experienced teenage angst and the trials of young adulthood, tempers and words now and then caused arguments and tears — generally our parents forgave us the cross words we used in pain, our siblings might not have been so forgiving quite as quickly, but they still seemed to have our backs when it counted. Somehow as adults… and maybe parents of adults, we may lose that capacity to forgive the cross words so easily. And some even seem to forget the importance of family. That is sad.

 

Someone says a cross word in anger or pain, or maybe it was just a poorly worded comment with no malice intended, but suddenly it causes a family divide. And you just let it go, let it fester, while you wait for an apology that might not even be understood. Time passes, time that you can never get back and some even run out of time to make things right. When you realize there is no more time, no chance to hug that person again, no time to say “I love you”, that’s when you cry over your memories and especially the memories you were cheated out of.

 

Nowadays so many are taking mail-in DNA tests to find family that they may have never known existed, but somewhere along the line there was a break, a divide, people just drifted apart. While it is a great thing to find those long-lost family members, you can’t help but wonder what it would have been like to share the years before you found each other. Yet, even for those who crave those DNA matches, not all of them hang on to what they already know they have just because someone got annoyed.

 

Hang on to your loved ones because no one has forever. You can’t redo lost years; you can’t share memories that you were never together to share. And down the road when you realize how much you’ve lost, you might begin to question if waiting for that demanded apology was really worth it. There is a saying, “if you want a lot of space in your life, just be angry at the people around you,” and it could get very lonely. Even if you raised that child, realize that not everyone is going to think the same way you do. And even if your older parent seems to be annoying because they are so “stuck in their ways”, they are not always going to be there. Remember that siblings are often the first playmates you ever had and you’ve shared your lives and memories together.

 

 Logistically many families don’t remain together in the same locale and you may have to work a little to keep including each in your life. Between marriages and extended families, and when children or grandchildren come along, it’s hard to keep giving the same time to everyone, but make sure to remember to reach out. The effort is well worth it. Remember to tell your family members that you love them, pause and think before you let anger respond, share your thoughts, listen to theirs, and let them know how precious they are in your life.

 

Summertime Memories

My dad got two weeks of vacation time every year and he always arranged to take the last two weeks of August (just before the school year began for us Bronx kids). When I was young I remember our favorite spot was Atlantic City, this was loooonnng before the looming casinos. We always stayed at the same motel, The Jolly Roger [THE Jolly Roger I am speaking of allegedly burnt down several years later and was never rebuilt].

There was a regular group of families who frequented the motel during the final throes of summer play and we all arranged lots of group activities. Between the outdoor pool at the motel, the beach in Atlantic City, the boardwalk and the amusements it was always 125-percent fun filled and always the best way to rejuvenate before heading back to the realities of work, school and life.

I remember that I learned to swim in the Jolly Roger motel pool. Daddy always supervised my sister and me in the pool. Since I am the younger of two, I assume, if memory serves correctly that rules were obviously different. I was not allowed to be IN the pool unless my Dad was right there with me. This particular day he just wanted to relax and let the hot sun bake into him, I was SUPPOSED to be sitting on a neighboring lounge playing with dolls or reading a book. Alas this day I was being a brat and running around the pool deck.

My Father was unflappable, he had a way of “sleeping’ while he remained totally vigilant. There I was teasing him that I was going to jump into the water without my swimming tube. Calmly he told me that I should be seated next to him. I stood on the diving board lightly jumping up and down. I still remember thinking how does he know what I am doing, he’s got his eyes closed and I swore he was even snoring now and then, but I couldn’t get a rise out of him and I was ready to give up. As II did an about face away from the water my foot slipped and I tumbled in hitting the side of my ribs and SINKING like a sack of potatoes.

I don’t know how far I actually went down but I remember thinking I was going to get sucked down through the drain hole. I started kicking and managed to swim underwater to the nearest pool ladder. As I pulled myself up the rungs I looked over to the lounge Daddy had been napping on (I guess I was hoping he wouldn’t know what I had done?), his chair was empty! I looked over the water and was surprised to see my Dad gliding through the water at high speed; I barely had a chance to turn my head and he was already next to me and verifying that I was indeed all right. That was the day my swim tube disappeared and I discovered that Daddy really could see through his eyelids!

We had so many fun summers at the Jolly Roger, we all made friends and had terrific adventures. I remember meeting “Mr. Peanut” on the boardwalk, visiting Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum, eating cotton-candy and salt water taffy, building sandcastles on the beach with my sister, having fun filled dinners out with the rest of the gang. Finally the summer came when the gang seemed to fade and even my parents decided to try different adventures and go other places. We still had so much fun.

Summer vacation has always seemed synonymous with family fun, relaxation and starting the new school year feeling refreshed… I always loved the writing assignment “What I did during my summer vacation.” When our children were young we tried to emulate the summer family vacation and we actually got to visit some very interesting places. Now that they are grown adults hubby and I find other ways to enjoy and relax although we do tend to stay closer to home these days.

Remember that books can help take you on (short) mini-vacations filled with new experiences and lots of interesting people and I hope you’ll take some of “the gang” along with you this year.

I hope that your summer holidays are both fun and memory filled adventures. Thanks for taking this trip down memory lane with me.

Chelle Cordero's Amazon Author Page

Memories

As my husband and I are in the process of decluttering and downsizing I am finding so many tidbits here and there that evoke so many memories. Each time I come across a school project that one of my (now grown) offspring did in school I automatically picture them at that age – I swear it’s like a photo just flashes in front of me. I’ve come across so many other memorable treasures as well, some that make me laugh and others that set the tears in my eyes.

Memories are super strong motivators.

I try to give my characters strong memories, even when I don’t share the actual memory with my readers, I know what is in that character’s heart and I let it steer her reactions and feelings. In His LuckyCharm and Within the Law Caitlyn is very motivated by her memories (she is the heroine in His Lucky Charm, her cousin Tom is the hero of Within the Law). Her strongest memory in both stories is about the parents she lost as a little girl from a car accident. The loss doesn’t stifle her but it does make parts of the story very poignant.

In another story, Final Sin, Julie, a paramedic, is very driven in her independence and being a modern woman because of her memories of overprotective and overbearing older brothers. At the same time Jake, her love interest and a homicide-investigating sheriff, is haunted by the failure of his first marriage and his desire not to let his son suffer because of the discord with his ex-wife.

In a previous life I was a Theatre and Drama student (yes, at one time I aspired to act on stage) and it was common to be taught using the Stanislavski Method Acting System. Stanislavski (real name: Constantin Sergeyvich Alekseyev) wanted actors to have sincere motivation behind every action they took on stage. It wasn’t enough for a director to tell them to slam a door, Stanislavski wanted them to actually feel the anger behind the movement. If they needed to cry in the scene he wanted them to remember the sorrow they may have experienced in their own lives.

When I create a character I compose a basic dossier (the more major the character the more detailed the history) so I know what motivates them, what scares them, what makes them happy, and what drives them in all of their interactions. Often I think of my own memories to understand what would evoke the different emotions in my character’s life, and yes, there are many times I cry or laugh right along with them. In Within the Law Tom goes to visit the grave of his high school sweetheart and fiancé, my character wasn’t the only one with tears in his eyes.

Like Stanislavski’s methods, I believe that if my characters are genuine in their emotions then my readers can believe in them and can be involved in the story. Reading a book is supposed to be a little like taking a vacation from the real world, but it’s also supposed to be more than just reading words. I hope that by employing Stanislavski’s Method Acting to my writing I can (stealing a line from Calgon here) take my readers away for just a little while.

Author Chelle Cordero

Daily Prompt ~ Distance ~ #MondayBlogs

I found a terrific writing site (thanks to my friend Sugana) — The Daily Post: Daily Prompts provides a NEW daily prompt every day to give every writer a way to put a spark in her/his creativity. I decided to join this group every so often...

Today's Prompt is DISTANT

Definition of Distant: [adjective] far away in space or time, "distant parts of the world". synonyms: faraway, far off, far, far-flung, remote, out of the way, outlying, extrasolar, "distant parts of the world"; long ago, bygone, olden; ancient, prehistoric; literary of yore, olden, "the distant past"; away, off, apart, "half a mile distant".

What does the word DISTANT make me think of? Distant memories come to mind.

There’s the distant memory of a mother’s comforting kisses whenever a boo-boo made my child-self cry, or her comforting embrace when teenage angst seemed like the most tragic thing in the world. There’s also the distant memory of my father being able to fix anything in the world no matter how shattered the toy might be. As I reached my teenage years and entered adulthood my dad always managed to say exactly the things I needed to hear. I was just a newlywed when my parents passed away and I do miss those memories.

Now as an adult reaching my golden years with my own grown offspring I think back to every time I tried to sooth their aches, whether physical or in the heart, and wondered if my hugs and kisses were as magical as my parents’ were. And though they are now adults and more-or-less have no need of mom and dad to fix their problems, they are still my kids and always will be. Every time they make a turn that I want to give some advice about I go back to those distant memories and wonder what my dad would have said. Luckily most times I think at least twice and try to keep my mouth shut. I wonder if my children will one day have distant memories of those times that I didn’t meddle?

Life is made up of distant memories that influence all of our actions today and tomorrow. Distant memories can seem so sweet, some tug at the heart, and others that once felt so monumental now seem so insignificant. Our memories can sustain us and guide us and maybe sometimes embarrass us… but I wouldn’t trade those distant memories, those are my keepsakes forever.

Missed Phone Calls ~ #MondayBlogs

There are times I go to pick up the phone to make a phone call, just to chat, and realize that some of the people I most enjoyed talking to are gone. The two who I miss the most are my parents, it was always great to speak to either one, work out problems, share the day and simply connect. My dad could be a no-holds-barred and would automatically tell me how he felt about the things I needed to talk about; my mom was super terrific and it was evident she never lost her talents as a social worker, she was an ideal sounding board during my teen angst years.

Today, June 13, is my mom’s birthday, she would have been 99 but since she passed at the ripe young age of 61 I really have no way of knowing what she would have been like if she were still around. So I am looking upward and wishing her a happy day and sending her my love and somehow I have confidence that she hears me. She’s also probably dancing up a storm with my dad (he was 58 when he passed), they loved to dance even though my mom was partially disabled — he never minded having her lean on him for support. I am so glad to still be able to hear their voices now and then, to remember them, and to have known them so well that when I am faced with a quandary I can think what would Mommy or Daddy do.

I was very lucky to have also shared wonderful conversations with others who have moved on, just to mention a few and hopefully they can hear how appreciative I am for the times we talked — Aunt Ruth & Uncle Erv, Aunt Sally, Titi Dolly, Aunt Wilma, my cousin Roberta, and yes there were others. In my present day I try not to waste time, I speak freely with my friends and family, and we share whatever is on our minds… in person when possible, on the phone when necessary, but always often. My husband and brother-in-law teasingly (I think?) say that without my sister and me the phone company would lose its purpose.

Aside from using this opportunity to wish my mom a wonderful birthday… 
        HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOMMY!

I want to remind everyone to stay in touch with their loved ones, talk just for the sake of talking, never waste a day — because tomorrow all you may have left are the memories and you will want plenty to sustain you.

...

Moments of Memories ~ #Monday Blogs

You’re standing at the stove and preparing a holiday dinner, suddenly all you can see in front of you is an image of your mom in front of her kitchen stove preparing the dinner for the same holiday many years earlier. Memories of a childhood long ago spring to the forefront unexpectedly, welcomed by your heart and met with a tear on your cheek.

It’s Passover in our home and I prepare the Seder for a family gathering each year. Our table is filled with our children and their spouses, close friends and assorted siblings (varying each year depending on individual schedules). Good and plentiful food, so many traditional recipes… we take turns retelling the story of the Exodus when the Hebrews fled Egypt. Four questions asked and answered, the bitter herbs remind us of tears, the sweet charoses to remind us of the mortar used to build the pyramids, and Shmura Matzoh to remind us of the haste that our ancestors left Pharoah’s land.

The plates on my Passover table were my mother-in-law’s, the Seder plate was my mom’s, the Haggada story belong to all the generations. L’dor v’dor, from generation to generation, we are commanded to retell the story as if we were living it ourselves. There’s laughter as we “personalize” the tale.

Inevitably we each bring our memories to the table, some different and some shared. The older generation laughs about the Seders we shared with our parents. The younger generation remembers a few years before when they dressed up to re-enact the Passover story. And every delicious bite of our festive meal is spiced with the sweetness of happy times.

One day our children will share their memories with their families, a few tears will stain their cheeks, laughter will surround their table, and the sweet memories will once again be welcomed as new ones are made for future generations.

Year End Back-look ~ #MondayBlogs

One of my New Year’s resolutions will be to stop procrastinating and putting things off to the last minute — I guess that’s the reason I’m not waiting to the last week of the year to write this.

I look back and wonder what I’ve accomplished this year. I haven’t written nearly as much FICTION as I wanted to, but I have increased my NON-fiction business and, almost sadly, I make more money at that so… Since it’s fiction that I want to write, am I selling myself out? Or like many others who can’t survive on their books alone, am I just working towards paying bills and just lucky that my “daytime job” is also writing. It’s a hard decision to decide priorities when one is your dream and the other is your mortgage.

Hubby and I want to get our house in order as we are nearing retirement years and want the opportunity to actually consider the proverbial downsizing. Somehow my closets seem to have some kind of fertilizer though and every time I THINK I’ve pared one down, it just seems to still overflow! And after 35-years in this house and my impossible sentimentality, it is just plain hard to go through draws and files deciding what to actually keep and toss. Besides this is a house that raised a family so the memories have a way of grasping and nearly paralyzing my physical being, …so hard to get things done.

Time! Every day seems shorter and shorter, and I am not just talking about the approach (actually today) of the winter solstice. It’s so difficult to believe that each day has the same 24-hours it always has (give or take the actual few minutes). I remember a time when I actually had time to do things like my work, my dishes, and most importantly stay in touch with people I care about. I feel as if I’m busy, busy, busy and yet a look back and it doesn’t seem that I’ve gotten much accomplished at all. Sometimes I worry that life is rushing by and I am missing out.

A couple of years ago I began an exercise program, but thanks to real health issues (yes, yes, confirm it with my doctor!) I’ve slacked off somewhat and can’t seem to literally get back on track. Mentally I feel about half my age which was a time I had ENERGY, lol. Somehow the energy has retired before I’ve reached that age myself. Our bodies change as we get older, everyone tells me that, so shouldn’t it stand to reason that it feels fresh and renewed once in a while? Instead I wake up with the same, and a few more, problems I had when I went to sleep.

I do look back at the past year and I’ve had a lot of precious moments and I am busy trying to save mementoes in the most compact manner possible in keeping with the downsizing desire. I’ve spent time with family but it’s never as much time as I want. And I have made a habit of saying nightly prayers and most importantly being thankful for my many blessings; that’s something that does make me feel good.

I think after all the looking back I tend to do at this time of year I can make a one word resolution for 2016 —

TIME

·       2016 is the year I will work on time management

·       2016 is the year I will make time for family and friends

·       2016 is the year I will remember all of the good times

·       2016 will be the year I make time to think before speaking

·       2016 will be the year I make MORE time to write my fiction

·       2016 is the year I will look forward in time and not dwell on the past

·       2016 is the year I will make time to take care of myself so that I can be here to give time to my family

·       2016 will be the year that I won’t take anything for granted and I will take the time to say Thank You to everyone in my life

Priorities ~ #MondayBlogs

One of the hardest things about being a grown-up is having to set priorities — we have to be reasonable about keeping our commitments, fulfilling our responsibilities and doing all the things we NEED to do instead of what we WANT to do.

We learn to trudge our way to work in the mornings and come home at night to make dinner, do laundry, help the kids with homework, and finally crawl into bed and wait for slumber just to do it all over again. We work, make money, pay bills, work some more… and while we are busy taking care of business, our children grow, our loved ones go about their business, and we get older and lose people from our lives. One day we look back and ask where did all the time go and wish we had spent a little more time on the things we now realize are the most important in our lives.

I understand that to a point we don’t have a choice, there are bills to pay to keep a roof over our heads, to feed our families, to pay doctors when need be. But should we lose ourselves in work to the point that instead of working to live, we live to work and forget about living.

I remember hearing a relative of mine, upon introducing his second wife to us, tell us that he was retiring because he wasn’t going to make the same mistake, this time he WAS going to take those vacations with the woman he loved, and he was going to spend time with her… and yes, he did regret that he cheated his first wife of time together because he was so absorbed in his job and making money and living up to other people’s standards. This man realized, now that he was remarried, that he had “sort of” a second chance to get it right and he wasn’t going to waste it.

Is it more important that our children look back and think how we replaced our living room furniture every few years or that they remember fun family vacations we all spent together? I believe the kids, especially when young, appreciate tearing the wrapping paper off a gift more than they worry what the price tag was. I watch parents who spend a fortune on holiday gifts, even when they know it is beyond their budget, because they don’t want their children to feel like they received anything less than their classmates. The old expression “keeping up with the Joneses” seems to be alive and well even today.

So yes we have to be responsible and there are things we are obligated to do, but don’t become so obsessed with earning money that your family value is less than your paycheck. Make sure you spend time with your loved ones while you can, take those vacations now when the children are young enough to still enjoy being with parents… even if all you do is make sure you take the time to give hugs and kisses to your children and your spouse and take the time to call your folks and see your siblings, treasure those moments. Birthday parties and phone calls are so much better as precious memories instead of regretful missed opportunities.

When I listen to my grown offspring talk about their childhoods, most of the stories are filled with family time adventures, jokes we shared, places we went together, and of course the “dumb” things Mommy and Daddy did — I honestly don’t recall hearing them talk about how much was spent on their Chanukah presents or whether we stayed in a more expensive hotel when traveling. Yes, there will always be TV advertisements for the latest and greatest and the kids hear the message loud and clear, but you know they survive without the “hottest toys of the year” even if they grumble for a while.

I’ve had a couple of decades to be a responsible and mature adult and now that I am “older” I’ve decided that I will still take SOME responsibility seriously, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have FUN as well.

The Sentimental Menorah ~ #MondayBlogs

We go about our day, everything is normal, and suddenly something happens to remind us of times gone by and a tear falls…

Last night we lit the first Chanukah candle (there is the Shammos with eight candles, one for each night). To say our prayers and fulfill the mitzvoh (commandment), we light an open flame (in our home, candles) menorah, but we use an electric menorah in the window for display and safety reasons (curtains, shades, etc.).

Let me fill you in on back story here:

My family has the tradition of passing down the candle menorah to the oldest daughter by her first Chanukah in her married home. Somehow my mom received two heirloom menorahs so both my sister and I each received one. By the time I was married, and my parents gave me their second menorah, I wanted to replace a menorah for them; my mom was getting wary of the open flame and when safety is involved adjustments can be made, so I bought them an electric menorah which they used in December 1976.

My dad passed away suddenly in the spring of 1977 and later that year my mom (with the help of her daughters and their husbands) packed up the apartment. There were plans for her to move in with her children, but first she wanted to relax in Florida with her mom. She had a stroke and although we brought her back up north to be close to us, she never was able to come home; Mommy passed away in January 1979.

I’ve used the electric menorah we had given to my folks in my window since 1979. When my children were very young, before college, work and marriage, they used to take turns. One child would pick out the Chanukah candles to be lit in the brass menorah my mom passed along to me and the other child would screw in the correct number of light bulbs for the display. Mark and I have taken over both tasks in the more recent years. When my daughter married in 2007 we replaced the candle menorah for our use as the tradition carried forward.

Yesterday afternoon I took the electric menorah, a white plastic now turned yellow from age, from its box in the closet and hoped that each of the orange bulbs would still light; I plugged it in while standing in the kitchen to check if I had to replace any. All nine of the bulbs lit… then one flamed briefly and before I could pull the plug a circuit breaker switched off and half my kitchen was without power. I called out to my husband that “a fuse blew” (I’m old school and still call it that).

He reset the switch and came upstairs to see what I had done and there I stood just looking at the damaged menorah and, yes, crying quietly. He inspected it and confirmed my fear, the menorah bought 39-years earlier that my parents lit as they shared their last Chanukah together, was done. This simple gift I had given to my parents meant more to me than I ever realized. I mumbled how I had looked for orange light bulbs when I was in the supermarket just in case they were needed, but all that the store had was an LED menorah with little blue lights.

My husband, thinking swiftly, simply said, “Get your jacket on”. He drove us to the store and bought one of those LED menorahs with little blue lights and that is what was displayed in our window for the first night of the festival. Right after we came home and set the new plastic menorah in the window, I set the Shammos and one candle in the “real” menorah and Mark said the blessings as he lit them.

On the first night there are three blessings, the first one is Shehecheyanu where we thank G-d for giving us life and enabling us to reach this season. Seasons come and seasons go; life is forever moving forward. After 39 years the plastic electric menorah that I always thought of as my parents’ menorah has been retired and I admit without shame that I shed some tears as memories flitted through my mind. Now Mark and I will have new memories to make and share with a new display piece.

I hope that your holiday celebrations are fun and festive and whichever holidays or events you observe are warm and fulfilling.

Chag Sameach (Happy Holidays)

My parents' electric Menorah

Have a good life ~ #MondayBlogs

Pain and grief are personal.

No two people will feel the same pain. For nearly 30-years as a NYS EMT I always asked my patients, as we were all trained to do, "on a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the worst pain you ever felt, how bad is your pain?"

The real truth is that one person's "6" may be another person's "10" while someone's "8" barely gets a "2" elsewhere. It doesn't matter, it's all PAIN. As 1st responders we needed to know how the patient was managing the pain, was it getting worse or was it (hopefully) getting better?

It's the same with emotional pain, how we deal with it is individual. Two widows after losing their mates of many years will react differently and neither way is wrong or right. The same goes for other personal tragedies and losses, we all have to find our own ways to cope.

For some people the return to "normal" life takes longer than others, and for some the return never seems to happen. Is it wrong for a young mother to still cry years after a miscarriage, even when she has other children? Or for a man in his 50's to be angry after being hustled out of a long time job he's held for years? 

Human reactions are just that... human - and they are personal.

Somewhere down the line though we do need to regain some living potential again no matter how deep the wounds are. We need to allow ourselves the chance to heal even if it means we never lose our scars. Yes, there are people around us that need us to LIVE again, but we owe it to ourselves not to waste away.

A good friend of mine likes to say "Just put one foot in front of the other..." Healing is a process and no one expects you to ignore the wound or the scars it leaves. But if you let bitterness consume you or never stop crying, think of how much you will continue to lose.

It is so much harder than just these words, but somehow you have to find a way of focusing on what you still have whether they are memories or other loved ones. Whatever is in your past has made you who you are today and who you are is important, don't throw it away.

When I feel down and mourn loved ones no longer here (physically) I remind myself of the 5 of Cups Tarot Card and realize that I need to focus on the positives in my life. 

When my paternal grandfather died and I saw my dad crying I swore to him that I never wanted to grow up because growing up meant people got old and died. After laughing and calling me Peter Pan, he told me that yes, people do die but he was very glad to have grown up, met my mom and had my sister and me. He made me see that life is always giving us new things and we should never ignore the new joys. Years later I miss my parents very much, but I take such joy in my own husband and children. Daddy was right, I would never want to miss out on the life I have now.

I've been told that I have a Pollyanna outlook on life and that I am always looking for the bright side. In reality, I just want to live.

"I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me
and 90% of how I react to it."
~ Charles R. Swindoll 

The Five of Cups is a Tarot card that signifies difficulty, loss, and the challenges of dealing with that loss. The figure in the card wears a black cloak in which he hides his face in apparent despair. At his feet are five cups, three of which have fallen and spilled onto the ground and the other two behind his back remain standing. He does not seem to notice these upstanding cups because he is so focused on the fallen cups instead. Ahead of him a powerful river flows between himself and a castle or home in the distance. To his right is a bridge that can lead him to the security of the house across the river. Despite the fact that this card has a strong indication of loss and tribulation, there is a positive aspect that must be considered. Is your cup half full or half empty?