she who blogs

Josephine's Official Cure Date

 

On September 28th 2008 my daughter called to tell me that she was turning herself in at the Emergency Room. The next morning she called to tell me the diagnosis; Acute Promyelocytic Leukemia.

I can still hear her declaring that she would be cancer-free a year from that day. And she was. To celebrate her cure date Josephine wants to help others.

Please visit her her Together4Cures page

And thank you for the three years of support, prayers and love you have given me.

Love,

Frances

 

New SWB Member!

Callista gave birth to baby Liam on March 29 at 4:19 PM at 9lbs 1oz, 19 inches long.

He came in a scheduled C-section.

Everything went fine and we are taking it easy at home.

Visit Callista at Callista's Ramblings and SMS Book Reviews.

Brene Brown

At BlissDom we were lucky enough to have Brené Brown as the keynote speaker. When I first heard of her back in September ’10 she was having a Perfect Protest to promote new book The Gifts of Imperfection. What she spoke about resonated with me, she comes across as a real woman, with real issues, she logical, hilarious and inspiring.

Wholehearted people have a sense of courage.

Courage to be imperfect.

Compassion to be kind to yourself first, and then to others.

Have connection as a result of authenticity.

Let go of you you think you should be, so you can be who you are.

Embrace vulnerability.

Believe what makes you vulnerable will make you beautiful.

xoxo

 

Visit Carrie

 

The Vintage Pearl

Yes, I went to BlissDom and it was super-fabulous-amazing and I would go again in a heartbeat.

But I know there are 700 other wonderful ladies & gentlemen posting in the blogosphere about who they met, what they wore, etc., so I’m going to do something different. I’m going to tell you some {super-short & you’re welcome in advance} stories about my BlissDom experience.

When Kristi and I checked in at the conference we picked up our name tags and über fabulous swag bags. We got back to the room and started going through all of the wonderful gifts. All right, we were especially excited for & searched for the jewelry first. Don’t judge, we’re both one-track-minded, creative, crafty, handmade bloggers and we just couldn’t resist the little brown boxes with the pretty bows.

Captivated.

Kristi was ooohing and aaahing her new necklace from The Vintage Pearl first {I’m kinda slow.} When I dug my box out of the bag I opened the box to the lovely white cushiony-pillowy stuff that goes in the box… and nothing else.

Empty.

We decided we would go back to registration to remedy the mistake, because really that’s all it could have been. Organizing 700 of anything and there’s bound to be at least a couple of oops-a-daisies. But, registration was a brick wall – I could have been talking to a brick and the outcome would have been the same. But that’s another story for another day. Maybe.

Content.

So I decided to just get over it and get on with it. What the heck, right? I was in a great place, with great people and this was not going to get me down. Not in the least. At one of our first sessions I was sitting at the table, alone, because I kid you not Kristi is a social butterfly on steroids. A lady approached my table and introduced herself as Erin Edwards from The Vintage Pearl. Inside my brain I was like oohemmgee SHE is standing 6 inches away from me! When I came out of my celebrity induced haze Erin was telling me that my friend ran into her and explained my situation to her. Kristi told her I would never have approached her on my own {true} and would never have told my empty box story {also, very true.} But when Erin found out she had one of her associates go an get one of their swag bag necklaces {because honestly they didn’t need them, they made them} and she came over to my table and gave it to me.

Over-The-Moon!

Erin also told me, though I already knew, how lucky I was to have a friend like Kristi.

So, here’s to friendship, new and long-term – and may you always have a friend who will move a body for you {or get you jewelry, because that’s important, too.}

xoxo

Visit Carrie

Share a Square 2010 Begins

She Who Blogs member Shelly is always up to good.  You can visit her at This Eclectic Life, Spin Me A Yarn &  over at Posterous.

Shelly also has a weekly meme called Only The Good - it's on vacation right now -  but do check back there in the fall.

If you crochet, chances are good that you have a handful of tiny balls of yarn. Though they aren’t big enough to create a project, you can’t bring yourself to throw them away!

Here is your opportunity to use that yarn for a good cause. It’s called “Share A Square” Our mission is simple:

We are going to blanket some children who are
battling cancer with afghans filled with our love!

• Over the next year, we will create 150 afghans to give to children at Camp Discovery cancer camp in South Texas (in July of 2011).
• Each afghan will contain 80 crocheted squares (each 6″ x6″) made by 80 different people
• Each square will have a laminated card attached with the name and location of the creator of the square (business card size — 3 1/2″ x 2″)
• Each child will receive the afghan and a binder ring (probably attached to a necklace of some kind) for holding the collection of tags.

I tried to answer any questions on the FAQ page AND I have set up a Facebook group (although I’m still not sure what to do with it). Why don’t you go join (or send your mother, if you don’t crochet)? It will make me feel less foolish.

Am I a bit nervous about the enormity of this task? Oh, yes, indeed! I have butterflies in my stomach, but as Dr. Rob Gilbert says:

“It’s all right to have
butterflies in your stomach.
Just get them to fly
in formation!”

 

 

The Most Influential Woman In My Life...

Michelle aka The Italian Mama Chef won SWB's 3rd Anniversary Writing Contest with this lovely essay.  Choosing a winner was very difficult.  At the end of this post you'll find links to other entries.

The most influential woman in my life is not one woman but many women who have taught me many things.  I can’t say that is was only my mom or my grandmother. It was both of them, it was a neighbor growing up. It was my sister, my cousin and my best friends. Today the women around me that influence me are those who take the time to share with me the things in life that I didn’t learn early on. Some of these women pray with me and for me. Some of them simply listen. How can any one person be the biggest influence on your life? We are constantly growing and changing with the trials of life so that brings about the need for different women to walk along side of me to help me to where I want to be.

Lately I have been finding that my daughters influence me in many ways. They challenge me to improve myself as a mother and grandmother. I watch them as they are mothers to their own children and think to myself that someone had to have shown them how to do that and then I realize it was me! My mother in law has also been a big influence in my life. She was a friend to me when I moved away from my family and knew no one else in our town. She accepted me and my daughters as a part of her family from the start. My sister has helped me to see the truth about things in my life that I might not have otherwise have noticed on my own.

Pictured below is my mom, my grandmother and my aunt.

 
I can also say that my mom influenced me in several ways that were monumental in my life. When I had my first child at 16, she was there for me but she did not become the parent for my baby. She made sure I was the one doing the parenting.  I needed that. I watched other teen moms around me go out partying while their moms raised their children and felt bad for their kids. I knew that I was the one my daughter needed to raise her. I took on that responsibility and never looked back. If my mom hadn’t done the things she did I would have relied on her or others too much and never stepped up to the plate.

My grandmother Matilde Michelina circa 1929

 
I was unsure how to write this post, it’s for a contest, because I could not narrow it down to just one woman who influenced me the most in life. It’s all of the wonderful women who have come into my life over the last 43+ years.  But my Italian grandmother is the one who’s memory lives on in this blog more than anyone. She was a kind woman and did more work in a day than I can imagine. I wish she was here to teach me how to cook like she did.  All I can do is go by memories and research but she is the inspiration for this blog as a whole.

For all the women in my life, I love you all!

As promised ...

Lisa

Candid Karina

Callista

Lori

Making a Difference

I saw an 8 year old autistic child earlier this week for a first time visit. He had been to a pediatric dentist previously and because of his uneasiness and fear, they had strapped him in a papoose board and proceeded to force him to complete treatment, very much against his will. His mother had come in to talk to me a few weeks ago, saying she’d read the article in the newspaper last year written about me and a girl similar to her son that I had been treating successfully for years.

She explained his previous treatment and how scared he was but that she had talked to him and he was willing to try… if she could find someone that wouldn’t strap him down or use sharp things. I told her I would see him, but no promises on what would happen first visit – that sometimes it took a few trips before there was enough trust between us for  him to allow me to work on him. I was willing to give it a whirl.

He was a very high functioning boy, smart as a tack (reciting lines from movies in response to my questions, instead of just answering). I worked slowly, talking to him about everything I was going to do before I did it. He was terrified of the “sharp” things (because of last time) but was fine with me using a mirror and the rubber cup to polish his teeth…. although he was terribly texture-sensitive so that if my gloved finger touched his tongue, he freaked out. (And I couldn’t use toothpaste of any type because of the flavor/texture.) Overall, it was a very positive experience for him, despite the tears he shed from time to time.

At the end of the appointment, as he was leaving, I put out my hand to shake his, saying, “It was a pleasure meeting you. Come back and see me in 6 months.” He shook my hand and then…. rushed me in a big bear hug, so quick and tight that his cheek smashed against my boobs. I was startled at first but then, gently hugged him back. My eyes caught his moms’ over the top of his head and I saw her tear up, mouth dropping open in shock to see him hugging me.

There may be days when I question my profession, my abilities, my skills, etc. but…..somehow, but some sheer miracle,  I made a difference to that child.

It sure made me feel good.

Visit Dory

Running Between The Raindrops

A lot of people I know have been feeling a little down, lately. Sometimes I just want to get everyone and wrap them up in a big blanket and squish them and hold them all day long. But that’s just not possible. I asked my friend, Gina, what would make her feel better and she said a story would help. A romantic, hopeful story. So I wrote one. The title comes from the wonderful photographer and blogger, Frances of Blogjem and Daytrippers; it is something her own father used to say to her (thanks again for letting me use it, Frances).

This is dedicated to everyone who needs a little lift….

Rose’s father ran a store in the city selling umbrellas, rain coats, all manner of rain-related gear. Rainy Days and Mondays he called it. It was an enormously profitable business, particularly since he got the students from the local design school to design umbrella prints in limited editions. Those umbrellas were cool – there was no other way to describe them – with their slogans and images that exploded onto the landscape.

On rainy days Rose felt as if the city belonged to her father. Everywhere she looked she saw one of his umbrellas. People commented on how much she smiled when it rained, but she couldn’t help it with so many of her father’s creations catching her eye from street corners and doorways.

Her father favoured only one umbrella. A rarity designed by the famous Parisian designer Bernard De La Pluie. It was deep red, a plain weave made from silk and cotton. The shaft was fashioned from walnut and the handle was etched with De La Pluie’s signature. It was extremely valuable and beautiful. People commented on it whenever her father used it.

Despite its beauty the De La Pluie umbrella was fragile. Rose’s father feared its deterioration. He used it sparingly. So when the rain was light he would take her hand and gaze up at the glistening sky, moving slightly from one foot to the next as he gauged the speed with which the raindrops fell. When he had ascertained their rhythm he would shout RUN and together they would plunge over the wet streets in between the fall of the raindrops, sheltering under trees until it was safe to run again. It was a game between only them. A precious thing they shared. Whenever it rained Rose would pray that the rain would fall lightly and that her father would have time to run between the raindrops with her.

One day Elaine came. She captivated Rose’s father with her tight skirts and swinging hips. She looked at Rose with a curled lip, saying : You’re very plain, aren’t you?

It wasn’t long before Rose’s father confided that he was in love, that he and Elaine would be married.

Rose felt sick on the wedding day. Her father had puppy dog eyes and a new suit that puckered at the shoulders. Elaine shimmered in champagne-coloured lace. They danced to Your Song by Elton John.

Rose caught sight of herself in the mirror near the kitchen. Her face was puckered like her father’s suit. And very plain.

Soon after Elaine suggested Rose move out. That she was too old to be living at home. Rose’s father apologised but did not object.

Elaine was a quick worker. One day she emptied out all of Rose’s father’s bank accounts then disappeared. Rose’s father sat in the kitchen drinking tea and listening to Your Song over and over again. He refused to open the store. Rose got into a panic. She didn’t know what to do. The bills piled up on the kitchen table unopened.

It rained for two weeks, a light, soft rain that should have been comforting. Rose didn’t run between the raindrops once; she had decided to reopen the store. The umbrellas had almost sold out. She asked her father what to do but he was sitting in the kitchen eating dry cereal from the box and weeping. She could get no sense out of him.

Sam walked in just as Rose sold her last umbrella. I’ve sold out, she said, biting her lip.

I’ll help you get some more, Sam said.

Sam bought new stock, dressed the windows with jolly umbrellas and helped Rose pay the bills. She told her father she had given Sam a job. He stopped gazing out the window for a moment but was otherwise unmoved.

The rains came swiftly. Rose and Sam opened the store early to cope with the rush. The streets were clean-washed and blue, smelling of autumn. They sold all of their new stock in three days and were able to put some money in the bank.

The design students wanted to run another series of limited edition umbrellas called Crying In The Rain. The umbrellas were printed with eyes and tears. It caused a frenzy. People called from all over the world to secure a Crying In The Rain umbrella. Rose and Sam were interviewed by the local news station. They made so much money they could afford to buy Rose’s father a ticket to Paris to visit the factory of Bernard De La Pluie. The excitement of the trip broke him out of his melancholy.

One night a wind blew up from the south full of magic and whimsy. Rose and Sam had just received several boxes full of umbrellas.

Let’s unpack them tomorrow, Sam said. I’m hungry.

They locked the store, caught off guard by a light rain that had begun to fall. The only unpacked umbrella was Rose’s father’s.  I’ll get my father’s De La Pluie umbrella, Rose said.

Don’t worry, Sam said. We can run between the raindrops.

Rose looked at him, wondering how he knew, taking his hand as the wind cavorted at her heels. She caught sight of herself in a shop window as they ran and danced. She was no longer plain and puckered. With hope held high in her heart she plunged into a night that tasted only of good things, as Sam’s gentle breath caressed her face.

Visit Selma In The City

dreamer

 
“Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world.”
Harriet Tubman

Illustration by lissa@the memory of rain

A Good Day

When my blog buddy Lissa and I exchanged blogs back in February I had the pleasure of meeting Selma.

Today while putting together a profile about Selma to publish here, I read her most recent post.

It brought back memories of Easters past for me, and I know it will for many of you.

 

I often feel blue on Good Friday. More than at Christmas it is a day when I miss my family in Ireland. Even after all these years.

I miss the ritual of going to church. Of wearing my new shoes and the dress stiff with starch. Of my cousins Jessie and Patrick breaking the Lenten fast early with chocolate drops and humbugs, brazenly popping them into their mouths during the Celebration of the Passion of the Lord. Of the time Patrick gave my other cousin, Aine, a gobstopper that stained her lips blue and she had to spend the rest of the day being told she was a sinner by my grandmother.

Of the time when my sister was only about three and she got Christmas and Easter mixed up and kept shouting out in the middle of the church:’ What happened to the baby Jesus?’

My Aunt Nellie cried during the liturgy once, overcome at the pain Jesus must have felt as he was nailed to the cross. She is one of the few people I have met whom I felt lived in a Christ-like way.

My Grandfather, a normally quiet and unassuming man, used to sing with such passion I would stand with my mouth open, surprised at the clear, powerful voice coming from this man who usually let my grandmother do all the talking.

I miss the ritual. The sanctity. The reverence. When I was in church on Good Friday and again on Easter Sunday I was convinced I believed. I did believe.

It is hard not believing as much.

On this Good Friday, whoever your gods are, I hope you find a moment of clarity and faithfulness where you feel that life is precious and sacred and maybe even a little divine.

I hope you remember that the things we held dear as children stay in our hearts long after we have grown. And that memories and love have a power all of their own.

I miss my family today but in some strange way I know they are with me.

Even after all these years.