self-publishing

The Water that Surrounds

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 3 Comments

This is my mom:

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She turns 70 today. This picture was taken back in the ’70s, and while many beautiful images have been captured of her over the years, this is one of my favorites, because it perfectly encapsulates her gentle, loving spirit. (Plus, she’s holding a kitten AND a puppy, so the cuteness level is unreal.)

As I’ve grown older, I’ve heard my peers speak with exasperation about how much they now look and sound like their mothers. But for me, those are my best moments. When I speak and hear my mother’s words, I know I’m on the right track. When I choose to face adversity with a calm, quiet dignity, I am channeling my mom. When I am at my most patient, thoughtful, and gracious, I look in the mirror and see her reflected.

DSC_0101Mom’s lesson on how to pose for pictures

If someone is woven into the very fabric of your being, how do you describe what she means to you? It’s like asking a fish to describe the water that surrounds it. My mom is in my voice, gestures, and actions. She’s there when I kick off my shoes the moment I enter the house, not due to a “no shoes in the house” rule, but to a general “no shoes in life” rule. She’s there whenever I catch myself standing in tree pose – her natural stance most of the time. She’s there when I make a little quip or silly face that causes kids to burst out laughing. She’s there when I’m able to soothe an anxious animal. She’s there when I send someone a cute card or little note just to lift their spirits.

Front of card
Inside
Front of card
Inside

(I’ve gotten dozens of these kinds of cards ⬆️ over the years, out of the blue. A sticky note with her signature smiley face is taped to my keyboard right now. By the time my wrist has rubbed the image away, I’m sure she’ll have sent another.)

But Mom isn’t only an incredibly creative and thoughtful card-sender and gift-giver (e.g., for our tiny beach wedding, she gave my husband and me flip-flops that left “Just Married” prints in the sand, and for my birthday this year, which is on 8/8, she sent an Anna’s 88 butterfly, which has 88 patterns on its wings). On a grander scale, she does an amazing job of accepting her kids and grandkids as we are, without guilt or pressure. She embraces our dreams, friends, interests, and choices without judgment. And the attachments that bloom from that kind of love are fierce and immeasurable.

20171124_150854This is what “I love my Grammy” looks like.

Mom’s role modeling is powerful, but delivered with a subtlety that makes her influence almost undetectable. I experienced this in the Grand Canyon, as we trekked up a steep trail to see Anasazi granaries on a brutally hot day. About halfway up, Mom sat on a rock and said, “I can’t do it.” I started to think, This doesn’t make sense; Mom would not say that, but my thoughts were cut short as she finished her sentence: “…without a break.” It occurred to me then that I couldn’t remember Mom ever specifically telling me never to give up, but her actions throughout my life had clearly sent that message. (Also, she made it to the top.)

Beyond all of that, my mom is hilarious. I once emailed her a photo I’d taken of a caterpillar eating a leaf and wrote that right after I’d snapped it, a gust of wind had whipped the leaf away. When I posted the picture online, she commented: All I can think of is the sad look on his little fuzzy face when the leaf blew away.  Years later, a friend posted a photo of me at a waterfall, and my expression was really angry for some reason. I commented Kelly glares at nature.  Mom replied: And nature cowers!

Currently, my parents are in Tanzania, celebrating their anniversary and Mom’s birthday with elephants, wildebeest, baboons, and zebras. Whenever they go on a trip, Mom sends her poor daughters horrible documents detailing what we’re supposed to do if they…ahem…”don’t come back.” We respond with the level of maturity one would expect from two women in their 40s: “I CAN’T SEE THIS MESSAGE LA LA LA LA LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!!” The last time we replied to one of her “death emails” in this manner, Mom wrote back: “Ah, we’re in good hands!”

But the truth is I can’t think about a world that doesn’t include my parents. Such a thing would be, as the Sicilian oft repeated in The Princess Bride, inconceivable.

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So the plan for now is to remain like this:

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…and to treasure every moment, honor every milestone, and save every smiley face.

Happy birthday, Mom. You are so loved.

Dad Talks

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 3 Comments

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My parents celebrate their 50th anniversary today. When they got married in the summer of ’68, Dad was 25, and Mom was 3 days shy of her 20th birthday, which means this year brings other milestones as well: Dad’s 75th and Mom’s 70th. To honor their awesomeness, I’m going to write something about each of them. Dad was born first, so he gets Post of Honor #1.

Because I’ve been in the counseling field for almost 20 years, I tend to avoid things like talk radio, podcasts, and Ted Talks. The last thing I want to do outside of work is spend more time listening to people talking. But Dad’s talks are different. Like precious gems, they are both rare and valuable. The ones that stick out most in my memory are those that came during times of transition, usually right before a big move.

Dad Talk #1: On the night before I headed to college, Dad told me we needed to talk. He took me aside and said this: “At the place you’re going, there will be a lot of kids who are smarter than you and a lot who have more money than you. And I don’t want you to forget who you are.” His warning stuck with me, and each time my identity got derailed throughout the college years, his words helped me find the way back to myself.

Dad Talk #2: Six years later, when I made the decision to move from the East Coast to California, Dad sat me down for another talk. “All right, there’s something important I need you to know,” he began. Tears sprang to my eyes as I prepared for a heart-wrenching farewell speech, but what came next was this: “If you’re attacked by a mountain lion, you need to fight. You can’t play dead. It’s the same with black bears. Playing dead only works with grizzlies. Black bears and mountain lions will kill you, so you’ve got to fight.” I said, “Okay, Dad,” but what I thought was, If it comes down to hand-to-paw combat between me and a mountain lion, I will not win. I will be cat food. He did get a little more emotional after that. Once I’d agreed to fight off mountain lion attacks, he added, “I hope you don’t like it out there. But I know you’re going to love it.”

Dad Talk #3: Fast-forward fourteen years. When Dad caught wind of the fact that I was planning to move from Oregon to San Diego, I received a voicemail: “It’s your father. Call me.” Since his usual message was: “Kelly, call your mother,” I figured it was serious and called back right away. “Your sister tells me you’re thinking of moving back to California,” he said. Before I had a chance to respond, he continued, “Your nephew is moving to North Carolina, and he’ll need his aunt and uncle. It’s time for you to move back east. Your mother misses you.” The way I figure, if someone I love and respect gives me one stern directive every couple decades or so, I should probably follow it, so my husband and I packed up and moved across the country. That was five years ago. Now we have two little nephews, and it’s awesome to be a part of their lives.

Of course, Dad has taught me way more than what I gleaned from those three talks. He taught me to fish, shoot, play sports, face fears, be true to my word, appreciate the outdoors, keep an open mind, hold myself to a high standard, treat people with respect, and be an honest and genuine friend. He also taught me that vanity is stupid, which is an invaluable lesson. He once dreamt that he had a bald spot on the back of his head. Upon waking, he decided it was true, then retained the belief for an indeterminate period of time (weeks? months?) until he happened to mention his bald spot to Mom, who informed him that it didn’t exist. I just love the fact that he never checked.

DSC_0021.jpgSpeaking of hair, that hairy beast is ’90s me, fishing off the seawall with Dad

Many years ago, back in my mountain-lion-battling California days, I gave a training to a group of child advocates. At the end of the session, one of the trainees stayed behind to ask me some follow-up questions. He let me know he was a single dad raising two teenagers, and we chatted for a while about kids, families, and child rearing practices. Before he left, he asked if I was raised by both of my parents, and I told him I was. “Were you close to your dad?” he asked. I said I was and still am. “It shows,” he said with a smile. That was one of the best compliments I’ve ever received.

Love you, Dad. Happy anniversary. ❤️

Snapshots

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 3 Comments

I’ve been avoiding this blog, because my last post was about Libby, and she passed away a few days after I wrote it. Many times over the past several weeks, I’ve thought, I should write someth… as I’ve clicked over to this page, then glimpsed the last post and clicked away immediately. Guess it’s safe to say the grieving process is far from over.

In the interim period, I worked on a project that involved reviewing thousands of photographs from the past 40 years. What I felt during this experience was the profound power of nostalgia. As I looked through all the old photos, even the ones that featured loved ones who have passed on, my thoughts and emotions were filtered through an obvious, rosy lens. Thinking back on my years in Key West, I thought, The days smelled of frangipani, the nights of jasmine, the temperature never dropped below 65 degrees, and mangoes were free. (Our next door neighbor had a mango tree, but he was allergic, so we got to have them all.) And photos of a decade in California brought forth the memories: Lovely, sunny Santa Cruz. No humidity or mosquitos, inexpensive wine and incredible produce, summit views of the Pacific, and sandy feet every day.

Of course, there were hardships in Key West and California, but I don’t think of them when I look at old snapshots. Nostalgia smooths the hard edges of the past, leaving only wistful gratitude.

Dogs2.JPGCuddle pile with young, healthy pups ~ those were the days

My new goal is to bring nostalgia into the present. Why should the past get all the good feelings? It’s over, it’s not coming back, and I need those good feelings now.

So here’s my plan: the next time I look in the mirror, I’ll pretend it’s fifteen years from now, and I’m looking back at myself in the summer of 2018. Through the lens of nostalgia, I doubt I’ll think, That was the summer I got swarmed by yellow jackets and robbed at a music festival, we buried Libby, and my lifelong poison ivy immunity mysteriously disappeared. Far more likely, I’ll happily recall: Oh, summer in Asheville. Long, lazy days touring serene mountain lakes on a paddleboard. Fireflies and honeysuckle. Our garden teemed with tomatoes, figs, and greens, and mimosa trees in full bloom lined the streets.

And if that plan doesn’t work – if the reflection only reveals tear-stained cheeks and poison ivy scars – I’ll look at this photo and remember the first time Libby tried on her new raincoat.

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Then, awash in nostalgia’s warm glow, I’ll look back in the mirror and try again.

The Libertine

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 3 Comments

A while back, I wrote about our old pal Jasper. Today I’ll write about his counterpart, Libby, affectionately known as Libby-Lou, and less affectionately known as Libertine Lucifer. For the sake of this piece, I will focus mainly on her “Libby-Lou” side, and less on the demonic traits that have made for some hair-raising events over the past 10+ years.

Welcome, Libby! March 2008
Mama loves you
Cock-eared cutie
Snuggled by the hearth
2 dogs = no more room for me

Libby’s first days in our home, back in March of ’08

Libby is much like her mama in that she’s not too stoked on members of her own species. When she sees dogs, she thrashes around like a 100-pound tarpon at the end of a line, and introductions to other dogs, when unable to be prevented, tend to include a swift bite to the face. Many years ago, after I explained to a man on a hiking trail why it wouldn’t be a good idea for my crazy dog to meet his nice one, he replied, “Got it. She’s not good with ice breakers.” I thought that was a lovely way of putting it. The one positive thing about Libby’s attitude towards other canines is that I don’t have to go to dog parks and have stilted conversations with strangers. After all, I didn’t get dogs so I could meet people. I got dogs so I could hang out with my dogs.

Libby’s murderous instinct carries over to other creatures as well. She’s killed gophers, lizards, squirrels, rats, and a pet chicken at my friend’s parents’ farm, an incident that earned her the nickname Dexter Dog. While hiking along a ridge on Orcas Island, a small animal dashed across the trail in front of us, and Libby went after it. If I hadn’t been holding her harness, she would’ve plummeted straight off a cliff. This incident made me realize that Libby’s prey drive is strong enough to eclipse her survival instinct. Pretty impressive.

Okay, enough about that! On to the good stuff…

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Libby loves, loves, loves to be outside. When she sees her leash, she dances around like she’s won the dog lottery. (This is in stark contrast to Jasper, who pouts at the sight of his leash. What, again? his sad eyes say. There’s a perfectly good couch right over there…)

In her younger days, she loved to run whenever possible and was incredibly fast. One of my happiest Libby memories is taking her to an empty beach on the Oregon Coast around 1 a.m. and letting her run to her heart’s content. Her violent tendencies made off-leash opportunities a rarity, and her joyful face each time she raced by was a beautiful thing.

Of course, all that activity must be balanced out with some serious resting, and Libby has the adorable habit of sleeping with her tongue stuck out. The best is when she wakes up with her tongue still out, then looks at me like, What? Why are you laughing?

“Why are you laughing?”

Libby is great with humans of all ages. When I worked as a counselor at a construction pre-apprenticeship program where most of the students were young men, I sometimes brought her to work so they could tell their problems to her instead of me. The best example of this was when I got a heads-up that a particularly guarded, tight-lipped student was struggling with meth addiction. He looked horrified when I asked him to come to my office, but his eyes lit up the moment he saw Libby. For the next hour, I watched as he held her face, shared his fears, anger, and pain, and cried into her fur. In the end, he looked at me with a smile and said, “Libby thinks it’s gonna be okay.”

As a counselor, Libby works some real magic. She exudes this sweet sense of comfort that makes people know they’re loved.

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Julian

Libby didn’t come to us as a snuggler. While Jasper likes to sprawl his 65-pound bulk across anyone who’s around, Libby needs more personal space. For the first few months she lived with us, she wouldn’t even sleep in the same room as the rest of the family. Over the years, however, she’s gotten more comfortable with proximity.

Here are a bunch of pictures of Libby just lying around being cute. Do all dog owners take hundreds of photos of their dogs doing nothing? Because I certainly do.

Snuggling a stuffed wolf
Diva
Rainbow girl
Rainbow head!
Two Libbies
She loves to sleep this way

I write this now because my sweet Libby’s light is fading. Arthritis and degenerative disc disease have taken their toll, she hardly eats, her activity level is almost nil, and her mind is muddled. I feel her preparing to make the big transition, and it sucks.

When it comes to the loss of my pets, I am not strong, brave, or resilient. I am a blubbering, inconsolable disaster of a person. That’s how the whole last week has been. Crying at the office, then furiously fanning  my eyes when I hear a coworker’s approach. Crying in the car until I can’t see a damn thing. Crying while I pet Libby and soaking her fur. Crying right now as I type. Princess Leia watched her home planet explode and didn’t react so pitifully. But I cannot help it. It’s simply a reflection of how much love I hold for these animals and the amount of joy they’ve brought to my life.

Dogs are the best people. I just wish they lived forever.

 

[P.S. ~ I’ve done my best to focus on Libby’s positive attributes in this post, but JR said I need to tell the chicken-killing story, so here goes: We were invited to a friend’s parents’ farm, and she let us know they’d had some issues with canine visitors in the past but had lifted the ban for us, so Jasper and Libby could come, too. We had a wonderful first day which concluded with a lavish dinner on the back deck. As soon as we all sat down to eat – before the napkins were even placed on our laps – I heard my friend’s mom gasp, “Oh, no.” I peered over the edge of the table to see Libby, looking quite proud of herself, drop a dead chicken on the deck, then sit beside it like: Look – I contributed! As my friend’s dad scooped up the dead hen and whisked it out of the mom’s line of sight, I looked at JR and said, “I wanna leave.” He looked right back and replied, “We can’t leave.” It was like a Southwest commercial. So humiliating. We kept Libby quarantined for the rest of the weekend.]

Sir Jasper of the Too-Large Heart

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 5 Comments

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When Jasper joined our family in 2006, only his head was too big. Still in his puppyhood (the pound predicted his age at around 1 year), he’d been found in a field in Salinas, California, then spent two weeks at the shelter waiting for his people to arrive. The moment I saw the giant block head perched on a skinny little pound puppy body, I knew we’d found our dog.

For his first few months with us, many of the people we encountered on our daily walks referred to him as “the big head dog,” but after plenty of regular meals, treats, and exercise, his body grew to match his head. By that point, he’d taught us (and anyone who entered our home) a great deal about the profound power of snuggling.

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When he was about two, Jasper was diagnosed with a heart murmur. The vet said it would likely develop into something more severe later in life but discouraged us from limiting his activities. We readily took her advice. Over the next ten years, Jasper had tons of adventures. He climbed scores of mountains ~

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Traversed many waters ~

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And wandered under rainbows ~

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He traveled across the country and up and down both coasts. As a road trip dog, he was an absolute angel from day 1.

1(After many years, he finally taught Libby how to win at road trips: go to sleep immediately & snooze through the whole thing.)

A lover of all living things, he made friends wherever he went ~IMG_2582Over the course of a decade, Jasper swam in both the Atlantic and Pacific, drank from countless lakes, rivers, and streams, rode the ferry to the San Juan Islands, went canoeing and camping, and hiked in California, Oregon, Washington, Arizona, New Mexico, and the Carolinas. He even toured a vineyard in Napa and stayed in a yurt. When it came to family adventures, he couldn’t stand to be left out.2About a year ago, Jasper started to cough. The cough was prolonged and troublesome enough to warrant a visit to the vet, and we soon found out that the left atrium of his heart is enlarged, which pushes against his trachea and triggers a cough. This is a chronic issue that can be controlled somewhat, but not cured. At times, it gets really bad. He chokes, gags, and wheezes, unable to get a breath. It’s terrible.

My husband blames us. He says we love Jasper so much, we’ve enlarged his heart. I don’t know what he’s talking about. I mean, I may sometimes wrap Jasper in a handmade afghan because he’s looking a bit chilly… but doesn’t everyone do that sort of thing??20160125_124944While I don’t really believe we had anything to do with his heart issues, it is difficult to witness a dog’s aging process. It happens far too fast. Both of our dogs now gaze at us through eyes clouded by cataracts. They’re hard of hearing. Their bodies are dotted with fatty cysts. Their walks have been reduced from a brisk 3+ miles a day to a slow (maybe) mile. Libby has arthritis. Jasper’s heart is too big. As someone who loves them dearly, it hurts a great deal to see them grow old.

But it’s also worth it. Despite the pesky, encroaching mortality issue, dogs make life better. Jasper was the first dog I got to share my home with since I left for college at age 18, and he has been one of the best things about my adult life. IMG_3675I tell my husband that our home is a geriatric facility in which our pets now stand in a queue, waiting to cross the rainbow bridge. But I only joke that way to soothe myself, because I know how painful their passings will be. That’s why I chose to write a post about Jasper now, while I can still look at him across the room, snoring gently on the couch. If I waited until after he passed, I don’t think I’d be able to write this. It would be too hard.

My strategy for the remainder of Jasper’s life is to keep loving him as much as I can, even if it makes both of our hearts swell up until they burst. Because first of all, he deserves it, and secondly, what a way to go. 💖

 

Angry Fairy for President

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 6 Comments

I have a new alter ago. Her name is Angry Fairy. She grew out of a conversation I had with my husband, during which I revealed that I prefer to do nice things for strangers if they’re not around to notice. This is mostly due to my introversion, although it’s also fun to think of people happily discovering unexpected kindnesses. When my husband learned about this, he said I’m like a fairy, flitting about to leave a path of mysterious, magical deeds behind me. At first, I didn’t like the idea, since I’m a pretty giant person with a shaved head and don’t identify with fairies much at all. But then I thought, What if I were an ANGRY fairy? Like, someone who does hidden good deeds but is generally kind of pissed off? That image seemed to fit, and thus my new identity was born.

Here are my future plans for Angry Fairy: I will continue to do secret, helpful things, but from now on, I’ll leave a note behind that reads: “This good deed was brought to you by the Angry Fairy.” Over time, people will grow accustomed to my sweet little gestures. They’ll post photos of Angry Fairy’s notes on their various social media platforms, and other people will like and share them, and before you know it, society will have grown to love this grumpy-yet-benevolent vigilante.

Oh, but there’s a master plan behind it all, folks. Isn’t there always? Because after everyone has grown fond of the Angry Fairy and her helpful shenanigans, I’m going to run for President. It will be the weirdest campaign ever (although at this point, that’s hard to imagine). Instead of kissing babies, I’ll kiss baby goats.

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I will openly schmooze with the strangest of characters.

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To travel between campaign stops, I’ll paddle board. Yessiree. Even in a damn dress.

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And since, as we all now know, you don’t need to have any political or diplomatic experience whatsoever to hold the highest office in the land, I’m going to win. Yahoo! My first order of business will be to insist that everyone call me President Angry Fairy (or President AF for short, because I am going to be presidential AF).

Here is how President AF will run things: whenever an issue is brought before me, in bill-form or otherwise, the issue-bringer will be required to explain why that issue is so critical that it requires immediate attention. So say, for example, the issue regards the deregulation of lead ammunition usage on federal land. The person placing that bullshit idea before President AF will have to tell me why that particular point of focus is more important than…oh, let’s say: failing public schools, mass incarceration, the continued outsourcing of American jobs, opiate addiction, air and water pollution, child sex trafficking, crumbling infrastructure, the diabetes epidemic, etc. And if that person, after being summarily shut down, then happens to bring up another issue (this one perhaps suggesting that it’s just fine to shoot a hibernating bear in its den), he/she/they will be promptly shot into space.

Because President AF won’t play. I may have to do some finagling with the Constitution here, but as we’ve also learned as of late, these days, that’s totally on the table.

And I will do my best to keep up with the secret little deeds, though that may be more difficult with the Secret Service all up in my face. If I manage to dodge them, my first order of business will be to sneak into the Supreme Court Building to sprinkle rose petals in the Notorious RBG’s chambers. Then I’ll tiptoe into the Capitol Building and write “Feel the Bern” and “Nevertheless she persisted” in Sharpie on the backs of alternating chairs.

How’s that for a platform, folks? I’d say it’s golden. Plus, in my humble opinion, it would be far better to have an Angry Fairy in the White House than the volatile, bigoted, spoiled brat we’ve got now.

A Week in the Life of a Writer

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 1 Comment

Since resigning from full-time employment to focus on writing, I have accumulated little, part-time jobs like an evergreen bagworm accumulates plant debris. (Are you familiar with these creatures? My parents have one in their yard right now. It looks like a walking pinecone and is, in my scientific opinion, completely cuckoopants.)

p1191178Seriously – what the hell?

Last week’s schedule perfectly reflected my weird new “writer’s life.” It looked like this:

Monday: Teach first aid & CPR classes

Tuesday: Complete certification to instruct babysitting classes

Wednesday: Work at bakery

Thursday: WRITE! 😃  Oh, glorious day! Get way less accomplished than I’d hoped.

Friday: Head to stone mason’s worksite. Haul rocks & gravel. Drop boulder on toe. 😳

Saturday: Instruct babysitting class. Miss Women’s March and have sad feelings.

Sunday: Back to worksite. Transport 1500-pound boulder across hilly terrain using pry bars, planks, and PVC pipes.

20170122_114213We rocked it.

So…yeah, current life = somewhat scattered! Whenever I find myself wondering why it’s taking so long to finish the second book of Aret, I’ll just reread this post. 🙂

Norma v. Jerkface

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 1 Comment

dsc_0083-1“What the hell are YOU lookin’ at?”

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve teetered along the edge of an emotional Deep Blue Funk. Thankfully (I guess), I’m in my 40s, so I’ve had several years to become accustomed to the warning signs heralding said funk. It’s initiated by an uninvited visitor – an internal entity as destructive as she is unmotivated, whose counsel runs counter to all practical advice for a happy, healthy life. This entity does not want me to be happy or healthy. She wants me to fall headfirst into a vat of doom, ideally to drown there.

I will call her Jerkface.

Because of Jerkface’s crappy counsel, Normal Me (hereafter referred to as Norma) has to intervene several times a day, from the moment the alarm sounds and Jerkface says, “No point getting up. Sleep ’til noon,” and Norma cries, “Get out of this bed immediately!”

So I do, but Jerkface has just begun. For the rest of the day, she and Norma stage a continual debate inside my head, arguing about whether or not I should put whiskey in my coffee, shower, venture outside, exercise, answer the phone, believe in myself, etc. If I manage to drag myself out into the world and interact with humans, they have a field day.

JERKFACE: Did you see how that guy looked at you? What an asshole! Let’s hate him!

NORMA: I think he was about to sneeze. Or the sun was in his eyes. Either way, who cares?

dsc_0003Sometimes you get weird looks. Deal with it.

But when Jerkface stops giving advice and begins her apocalyptic philosophizing, Norma has to get more creative.

JERKFACE: Humanity’s rate of self-destruction will outpace its emotional and intellectual evolution. The world is doomed.

NORMA: You know what else? Kittens are cute.

JERKFACE: What?!

NORMA: And have you seen those people who use popsicle sticks to put silly faces on hedgehogs? Hilarious!

JERKFACE: Okay, maybe I need to repeat myself. Humanity’s rate of self-destruction…

NORMA: Did I ever tell you about the time I found the Skelly castle in New Orleans? When I was wearing my skeleton shirt?

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JERKFACE: No, but so what?

NORMA: That was a great day. I love southern cemeteries. And New Orleans. And fake castles. Maybe I’ll plan a trip to Disney World.

JERKFACE: You really are losing it.

But Jerkface is wrong. Norma’s not losing it. She’s just trying to stay out of the dregs of disastrous deliberation. It’s easy to board a treacherous train of thought, but it won’t travel anywhere helpful. Battles cannot be fought from within the murk of a Deep Blue Funk. If Norma doesn’t keep me positive and thankful, Jerkface wins.

Essentially, this is what I’ve learned after decades of dealing with Jerkface: don’t listen to her. Whatever she says, however convincing it seems, do the opposite. Go for long walks.  Smile at strangers. Laugh with friends. Listen to the Go-go’s. Read the Desiderata. Focus on gratitude. Take deep breaths. And remember all the beautiful moments in life.

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The Day I Earned a New Nickname

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 2 Comments

About six weeks back, my stone mason pal and I installed a creekside patio on a previously undisturbed area of land. My first task was to dig out a large pathway. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t be a problem, but this soil was unique, in that it was chock-a-block full of grapefruit-sized rocks, so whenever I drove my shovel in the dirt, it slammed straight into a rock (CHING!), sending up a shower of sparks. After several of these attempts, I got tired of the nails-on-a-chalkboard, chills-up-my-spine effect, abandoned the shovel, and proceeded to dig out the entire area with a pickaxe.

Every couple of hours, the homeowner came down from the house to chat with us, and as she watched my pile of extricated rocks grow into a small mountain, she apologized profusely for the condition of her land. I told her it was fine – it was my job, plus I was gaining muscle and getting a good cardio workout – and we all had a good laugh. By the end of the day, she’d given me a new nickname. I was no longer Kelly; I was Digger.

A week later, the patio was complete.

20160726_152824Nice, huh? Let me know if you need any rock work done. 😉

By that time, we’d become friendly with the homeowner, and I’d told her about Aret, my soon-to-be-published fantasy novel about dragons. She said she wasn’t a fan of fantasy, but her spouse was, so I gave her one of my business cards before leaving on our last day.

img_17931-1That was also the day an enormous dragonfly paid me a visit.

Last week, I received an email from the homeowner, who let me know that she and her spouse read and loved Aret, and I’ve converted her into a fantasy reader. She said they can’t wait for book two and concluded the message with this sentiment:

“More writing!!!! Less digging!!!!”

And that, friends, is my new battle cry.

[P.S. – When I told the stone mason about this, she replied, “Well we are all awaiting book 2, but I’m sure digging is inspirational.”] 😄

Three Good Things

~ Kelly Wolf ~ Leave a comment

As part of my nephew’s bedtime routine, his parents guide him through a ritual called Three Good Things. After teeth are brushed, pajamas are donned, and stories are read, they each describe three good things that happened that day. Because my nephew is 4, his contribution usually sounds like: “Um…I played. I made a Lego helicopter, and…I don’t know.” But it doesn’t matter. It’s the thought that counts, and what he is learning (despite himself) is to set aside a little time each day to focus on gratitude.

Right now, I need that kind of focus. Since the fanfare of Aret’s release has died down, I’ve reverted back to what I call my “new-normal” life. In my old-normal life, I had one steady, predictable, full-time job to keep track of; these days, I’m pulled in a variety of disparate directions, which can leave me distracted, breathless, and panicky. To drag myself out of that weirdness and into the light, I believe it’s time to fold a gratitude ritual into the new-normal. So here are my Three Good Things for today:

Good thing #1 ~ A bear crashed the Aret release party

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Some fabulous friends threw me a party on Aret’s pre-release day, and about an hour into it, their dog started losing his shit. We followed the direction of his frenzied stare and crazed barking and saw this ginormous black bear tucked into the foliage just off the deck where the partygoers were gathered. I think he was waiting for an invite.

I’d never heard of a bear crashing a party before. Even though it happened a month ago, it’s still one of today’s three good things, because I don’t think I’ll ever stop laughing about it.

Good thing #2 ~ I have a fierce new body part

20160811_1424261Meet Sabrina

Not only is my new wolf really beautiful, but now that she’s fully healed, I can go swimming again. Ahhh. [Note to future self: don’t get tatted in the summer. A ban on swimming in August in the South? Pleh. Terrible planning.]

But I digress – I love my wolf, even though she kept me out of the water for 2 weeks. All is forgiven, Sabrina. I can’t stay mad at you.

Good thing #3 ~ I’m healthy enough to do the things that bring me joy

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I recently filled out an extensive health-related survey, and I’d never even heard of half the diagnoses mentioned in the questions, even though those very ailments severely compromise some people’s lives. I may complain about pinched nerves and insomnia, but in general I’m healthy as hell, and good health is nothing to sneeze at (so to speak).

Okay, that’s three, but here’s a bonus, because really, there’s so damn much to be grateful for…

Bonus good thing ~ Dogs

DSC_0007Yup. Dogs. They are the best.

And now, just like that, I feel better. Hooray for the regular, intentional giving of thanks – the perfect addition to my new-normal. ❤