Woman of the House - A New 300 Rejections Series Vol. 1

One of the biggest adjustments back to single life is knowing the car and home maintenance fall squarely and singly on my thin shoulders. When I was last single 15 years ago, I rented an apartment and had facility people I could call if something needed to be repaired.

Last summer, my parents helped me with a few things. Dad rebuilt the rotting wooden steps that led to the patio; he re-anchored the gate in my back yard; he also repainted the porch railing and replaced my furnace filter.

In the past year, other things have gone kaput: my DVD player stopped playing; my microwave lights up and blows air, but does not heat. Excessive rain the day after Christmas flooded my basement. The spin cycle on my washer is working less reliably than in the past. The wall mirror in my bedroom tipped over and shattered. The kitchen faucet is broken and the ceiling fan switch in my bedroom needed to be swapped out.

It's been irritating and overwhelming. It's also been empowering as I find creative ways to prevent having to fork over a lot of money for these repairs or replacements. With the magic of one cord (sourced by a friend's husband and teenage son), we watch movies using my laptop. A friend passed on a microwave that was on its way to Goodwill. So far, these have been reasonable workarounds for some of the malfunctions.

Two friends helped me replace the switch in my bedroom. Since I'd taken the basic electricity class at Home Depot last year as part of my 40/40 list, I had some sense of how to replace it. My friends didn't take over the job, they let me do it and guided me through the process. They were complimentary about my confidence and ability to do the job.

So when I was told recently that I needed a man-of-the-house and a friend would be the man until I got one, I was caught off guard. He listed a litany of things he wanted to help me with. I was embarrassed to discover that I needed to have changed my furnace filter many times since my Dad did last summer. I had no idea! I wondered, "How do I learn all I need to know?"

I also cringed at the thought of not being a competent homeowner on my own.

It would be great to share the burden of these responsibilities with someone some day. I like the idea of trying my hand at partnership again because I'm a team player. I like the concept of a couple working side-by-side accomplishing things together. But I cannot subscribe to having a man-of-the-house simply because I don't know what I'm doing, and I need someone to do things for me.

This awareness reminded me that you don't know what you don't know. It also reminded me of what Maya Angelou said: "When you know better, you do better."

And so tonight I did better. I drove to Home Depot. I asked a lovely young woman at the customer service desk where to find the filter. I told her about the kitchen faucet I need to replace as well as the filter and she cheered me on. "You can do it. Get on YouTube and it'll show you step-by-step. I replaced my garbage disposal on my own with the help of YouTube. My Dad was shocked. 'How'd you know how to do that? he asked. I told him I learned online. You can too." I also marked my calendar to remind me to replace the filter in 90 days, per the filter information.

I don't have a problem asking for help if I think I'm out of my element. (Like when I tried to replace the struts on my pathfinder. WAY OUT OF MY ELEMENT.) But I definitely want to learn to do as much as I can for myself. So the wake-up call is worth the embarrassment. There's a lot at stake: my own self-respect and self-confidence as well as ensuring my daughter has a great role model. She's watching my every move. I want her to watch me be a confident homeowner. I also want her to know that she is capable of anything. Just like her mom.

Me with a gleaming white new filter

Yikes!

The replacement is already on my calendar

Next up: I'm going to watch the delta faucet video. I'll keep you posted.

I need my editor to title this one.

This little girl didn't have a complete picture of herself. She loved reading Ramona Quimby books, playing house with her sister, strawberry crunch cones at DQ, and roller skating. She knew she was a good friend, a hardworking student, and an expert at giggling. The popular kids told her a different story: she wasn't cool; she was too skinny; she didn't need a bra soon enough, and no boys would like her. She believed them, and these messages stuck with her for years.

What this third-grader didn't know at the time was that a sweet, funny, popular little boy sat in the desk behind her and had a crush on her. He saw something different: a little girl who was kind, and smart, and compassionate—different from the other girls. She wouldn't learn this story until she was an adult. When the boy-turned-man confessed his childhood crush years later, it was like watering a nearly-dead plant. Before the pitcher of water, it could be assumed there wasn't much life left in the parched plant. His words absorbed in the soil of her heart and prompted new life to sprout. With wisdom, she decided to believe his version. His friendship, affection, and belief in her helped rewrite the little girl's story and to see herself differently as a woman.

And then she got ahead of herself and fell for him. She dreamed about what life with this kind man could be like. It was a nice fantasy, a beautiful one, really. Shared place, shared memories, shared values. But it wasn't to be. Long-distance, careers, children, and bad timing intervened. Time passed. He met someone else. More time passed and one day he announced he was getting married.

It would be so easy to wish none of this had happened. That he'd kept the crush to himself. That she hadn't fallen for him. But easy doesn't work for this woman. Experience has taught her that there is too much good stuff guaranteed to meet her on the other side of confusion and a bruised heart.

What she's learned so far: (in no particular order)

She deserves and is capable of a beautiful, healthy relationship.

Our view of what we see and believe about ourselves is limited.

People come into our lives exactly when we need them. In this case, this friend walked her into a new, exciting, and scary chapter of life.

She has so much to look forward to.

Life is best lived in the present. Too much time spent forecasting the future is problematic.

She has a resilient heart and spirit.

This time was not a waste.

Healing happens in unexpected ways.

Friendships can shift and change form and still be nourishing.

Seeing life as adventure and mystery are the best ways to navigate it.

Endings are always paired with new beginnings.

So many lessons that fortify her in this liminal, in-between stage of life.

Disappointments and sadness are inevitable. She is determined to weed them out when they crop up, and to plant seeds of hope and joy, humor and humility, growth and goodness. She's blooming where she's planted.

Rambling Thoughts on a Recent Family Reunion

I have never been prouder of being a Steele as I am after having attended my family reunion. I come from good, hard-working Kansas farm folk. There were seven (living) Steele siblings: Zella, Alva, Eldo, Wayne, Floyd, Louene, and Bob. Zella had one daughter who has passed, but otherwise there was at least one representative from each of the other siblings.

We have gathered to celebrate the last sibling of her generation, Louene. First for her 99th birthday, then her 100th, and now her 101st.

Louene is an inspiration. Her eyes still twinkle and her smile lights up her face. I had the opportunity to sit next to her for awhile and ask questions about her life and my grandpa, Wayne. When someone asked her what it was like to grow up with five brothers, she said, "Well, I guess I survived. I'm here to tell the tale, but they're not."

 She had an album full of black and white photos from her nurse's training days and the six months she spent in the army nursing wounded soldiers. In the pages of that album, I found some treasures.

This photo above is of my Dad's dad, Wayne Kenneth. I love his smile and posture in this photo. I love that I can see my Dad's face in Wayne's face. I also love how happy he seems. My memories of him are of his later years when his posture was stooped and he didn't have much to say. I asked Aunt Louene about that and she assured me that he was not a "sad quiet" only quiet. Apparently my Uncle Floyd was happy-go-lucky and talkative, so Wayne (or anyone else) wouldn't have had a chance to get a word in. This revelation made me feel better.

My grandmother, Maxine, is the blond standing second from the left. My grandpa is peeking through the back row. I like this photo because for the first time ever, I can see a resemblance between she and me. I've never seen it before now.

Wayne and Louene took a trip to Colorado together in 1938. God Bless Louene for labeling the photos when she did! There's no doubt about the whos or whens of these photos.

This is a photo of my great-grandmother Hattie. As my cousins told me more about her throughout our visit, I got the distinct feeling that I had unknowingly been channeling this woman as I created the grandmother in my novel. It was a goosebumps moment. On many occasions, I questioned whether I was creating someone who could believably be who I was creating her to be, but through stories of Hattie, I know it's possible. It's what I'd call an Elizabeth Gilbert "Big Magic" moment.

I find this photograph absolutely astounding. This is Hattie holding newborn Louene in the bed where she gave birth in a neighbor's home. The Steele family had come down with sickness, so Hattie had to go to another home to deliver her child. Can you imagine? I'm stunned that someone  in 1915 thought to capture the moment and I am so glad he or she did.

 In this photo, my grandmother is the woman on the right in the front row. Maybe I see the resemblance here even more. Gramps is in the overalls, second from the right.

This is my cousin, John. We never lived near each other growing up, but I have happy memories of our visits together. He's smart and witty and kind. He always makes me laugh. I feel privileged to get to know him and his beautiful family better now in adulthood.

These two girls are cousins who live a state away, but are inseparable each summer. They made cards, played dolls, swam, and had a sleepover in the hotel. I can feel how their bond is forming each time they are together and it makes me so happy and grateful for these summer reunions.

This is my cousin, Scott's wife, Jo. She is awesome and amazing and we bonded over breakfast on Sunday morning because she has three boys under six and was busy the day before. We live only a few hours from each other and plan to meet up, so another generation of Steeles can bond and become each other's people. I have two cousins in my Dad's generation who are like aunties to me. They do the work of keeping the family together despite the many branches of the family tree and the miles that distance us.

On the morning we were heading out, I told them that I'd like us to keep these annual gatherings going even when there isn't a big birthday to celebrate. Jo piped up and said she wanted to help. I said, "We'll be the matriarchs-in-training!" Then Jo said, "Can I please be Marny? I want her long arm quilting machine!"

And so, Jo and I are the Carole and Marny of the next generation.

"Aunt" Carole and our Matriarch

There are so many questions I wished I'd asked my grandparents and our family's patriarch, Uncle Eldo (he requires a post of his own.) So during this reunion, I asked all the questions I could think of while we're all still together. I sat and listened and watched as family interacted. I know our histories and that there have been misunderstandings, hurt feelings, and other unpleasant times. But I also watched how time heals and grants new perspectives. I watched how kind we were to one another. I learned about others who have felt like black sheep in their own part of the family tree. I felt encouraged that I can continue to navigate my way through those feelings and still feel connected to the larger family and the stories that are passed down. I felt a sense of awe and gratitude for being born into this big, imperfect, happy family.

I drove home with a sense of peace and joy overflowing.

And anxious for next summer's gathering.

Yogi Wisdom - Tuesday Evening Edition

Tonight was my fourth yoga class in as many days. The class package I bought a few months ago is expiring in a few days and while I will lose a couple classes I'm making the most of the days my calendar allows.

During last night's class, I accomplished something I have never been able to do: I extended my legs straight while holding onto my big toe with my "yogi peace fingers." This is a big deal for me since I have majorly tight hips and hamstrings. Remember, how long it took me last year to touch my toes without bending my knees? I straightened both legs (not at the same time) in spite of the pain I felt. I got there by "playing the edge"- the yoga concept of pushing oneself outside one's comfort zone, but not so far as to cause injury.  

After five years of yoga practice, I've come to expect epiphanies to occur on a somewhat regular basis. Tonight did not disappoint.

I've heard my teachers tell the class to move "toward" a pose on many occasions, but tonight the word lit up like a neon sign in my mind. I was reminded that each time I am on my mat I will have different experiences. Some days I'll be bendier than others. Some days I will have to use a block to reach the floor while other days I'll be able to reach the floor with out assistance. And either way works. The concept of TOWARD grants permission to be between where you are and where you want to be.

So when she told us to work TOWARD a thigh parallel to the floor in a bent knee pose or and arms TOWARD straight with hands clasped, the thought came to me: getting there (wherever there is) is only part of the deal. Doing the work counts, even when the pose is modified. It's not a less-than proposition. You're still doing yoga, still doing the work.

Off the mat, the TOWARD model is a companion to this in-between stage I've been contemplating in the last few weeks. It applies in every facet of my life. Working TOWARD paying down my debt is an important step in becoming debt-free.  It won't happen overnight. And that's okay.

So what that I'm stuck in part two of my novel? It counts that I continue to meet with people who can give me context and insight into the experiences I will eventually write into my characters' lives.  All of this research and contemplation will serve me well when I return to regular writing sessions.

The same goes for the monster jungle I have growing in my backyard. I will get it tamed one day. Hiring a landscape architect to draw up plans that may not be implemented for a few years or at least in very small increments is still moving me TOWARD my goal of outdoor serenity.

The lesson on the mat tonight that so beautifully transfers off the mat is that moving in the direction we want to be headed in is an important element of the entire journey, and should not be overlooked or underestimated. We are not off course (even when it feels like it) when we are moving TOWARD our goals. There is something really satisfying about having to work hard and see the growth, improvement, success in increments.

Namaste.

Glenda's Wisdom with a Recipe

I was hosting lunch for friends after church the next day. As often happens, I wait until the last minute to put things together. So at 9:15 p.m., I started browning ground beef. Spaghetti was on the stove boiling its way to al dente. I bent over the open dishwasher loading dishes, creating order from kitchen chaos when I thought of the recent Wizard of Oz performance I'd attended.

Since I was born and raised in Kansas, I've always felt that I should like the Wizard of Oz story more than I have. Watching it as a child, I remember two things: it was a long movie and the flying monkees were scary. However, something clicked when I watched the production in the outside Muny amphitheatre in Forest Park a few weeks ago. The worries of the Scarecrow, Tin Man, Cowardly Lion seemed poignant in a way I hadn't noticed before. I could relate to their search for qualities that would strengthen their ability to make their journeys through life. Particularly the Lion's need for courage. I heard the lyrics of Somewhere Over the Rainbow differently than any other time. It speaks of having dreams and aspirations--something I've spent a lot of time thinking about. It also addresses the quality of having not quite attained those things, but also believing that those big dreams are possible. It's a song about liminality--an in-between time and space with which I have grown more familiar and even comfortable. Not something an elementary school ager would have picked up on.

As I moved quietly around my kitchen, it dawned on me that this feeling of peace and joy and wholeness I feel when I prepare food is becoming less novel. I feel those things more often than not. I even find myself drawn to the kitchen when I need to find calm and peace. I have for so many years been convinced that I was a klutz in the kitchen. That I was a failure. That I didn't have anything to contribute. This is simply no longer true. I was in the midst of preparing a meal to feed a table of beloved souls, and I knew I was up for the challenge. I also felt exquisite joy having food, a table, and a home in which to welcome these people.

That's when I remembered what the Good Witch Glenda had said to Dorothy: "You've always had it, my dear." Bent over the dishwasher, I realized Glenda's words were for me too. The problem in the past wasn't my inability to function in the kitchen. It was the inaccurate story I told myself with insignificant anecdotes to back up my claim. Just like Dorothy, I had to find out for myself through trial and error that loving people through creations in the kitchen was, indeed, something I am capable of.

It's still so new I keep writing about it, but I bet I won't be writing about it much longer.

Life imitating art is just the best. So is the sacred in the ordinary.

Spaghetti Bake (as seen on Facebook)

Combine one block of cream cheese, garlic salt, and italian seasoning with cooked spaghetti.

Brown 1lb. ground beef, pour in a jar of spaghetti sauce. Stir mixture.

Pour a portion of the meat and sauce into a greased casserole dish. Pour spaghetti concoction on top of meat and sauce. Pour remaining meat and sauce over pasta. Bake at 350 for 30 minutes. Sprinkle shredded cheese of choice (or what's on hand) on the dish for the last 5 minutes.

Add to your dinner rotation. It is so easy and de-lish-ous.

Solvitur Ambulando

My writing habit has slowed.

I'm not doing daily yoga.

These two powerful constants in my life haven't been feeding me the way they did last year.

And so I stopped forcing them.

I wasn't comfortable not doing these things, but not doing them felt right.

I leaned into the discomfort.

And then I started walking on the city streets and residential blocks around my office.

These walks broke up what is often a monotonous day in a cold office.

I noticed that I returned to the office with a little bit more energy, more zest for my afternoon's to-do list.

I also noticed that my insomnia was fading. I still woke early without an alarm clock, but I wasn't waking at 2:30 or 3:00 in the morning with little hope of falling back to sleep.

For awhile, I didn't have a route. I explored different streets.

Slowly a new pattern formed. I walked to the Ritz Carlton Fountains. Sat on a bench for a few minutes and let the sound of the fountains overtake my hearing like the ocean. Then I'd resume my walk through the county seat and into the lush, well-manicured neighborhoods with plenty of shade trees and inspiration blossoming from every strategically placed plant or flowering bush.

This new pattern has evolved into the newest habit, which feeds something deep inside. I am undeterred by hot temperatures. I have carved out a path that meets my diverse needs--sunshine and shade, sidewalks with people and solitary blocks.

I have long loved this latin phrase: Solvitur Ambulando. It is solved by walking.

My daily walks have created space for me to examine things: my work, my writing, my grief, my desire for companionship, my mothering, my spirituality, my dreams for my house, my debt, everything.

A Robcast podcast accompanies me on these walks. For a long time I have found companionship in this teacher's voice and thoughts. He cracks me up and makes me tear up.

The combination of physical movement and listening to such profound conversation is shaping me and healing me. As I work up a sweat in the summer sun, I feel something else burning off. The anxiety that is always so close to the surface fades. My head is clearer. I smile at everyone I pass.

I am grieving, plain and simple. I did not recognize it for what it was, but in time I have come to understand that the life changes I experienced in the past year are indeed very big. And changes, even positive ones, are a form of death. Old things must die away for new things to be born. I am in what is called a liminal state--the time between one season ending and another beginning. I have struggled for months with the question, "What comes next?" I have felt aimless--not a good feeling for someone who prefers control and having a plan. Oh, this question used to break my heart and bring me to tears. But now, I pause and breathe and remind myself I'm in liminal time. I am meant NOT TO KNOW. Giving it a name has given me peace.

What I DO know is that writing and practicing yoga are life-long pursuits. I will return to them I just don't know when. And that's okay. I will know it when I feel it just like I felt the walking was doing me so much good. Solvitur Ambulando. It is solved by walking.

Slowing down makes it easier to pay attention to the small beauties of life.

My favorite start to every walk. Ritz Carlton Fountains.

I found another fountain enthusiast who circled the fountain again and again.

Commercial landscaping has inspired an idea for my backyard.

Beautiful variety at the local town hall on my route.

The entrance to the shaded neighborhoods.

One day I weeded sidewalks and picked up trash.

Today I walked through the sprinklers and felt like a child again. Glorious.

Fan Letter

Dear Rob Lowe,

I have made it a habit for the past seven years to write letters to authors whose work moves me. You are my next recipient.

While I've always known who you are, I only became familiar with your massive talent as I binge-watched Parks and Recreation on Netflix. I am literally late to every pop culture party, but once I arrive, I'm all in!

I am writing a new script for myself: a newly divorced, Midwesterner who shares custody of my nine-year-old daughter. I have more time on my hands than I have had in years. I am adjusting to this change, and the cast of Parks and Recreation has offered me company and laughs that have kept my spirits afloat more often than I can count. Thank you.

I stumbled on your memoir on audiobook at the library. I was not prepared for the beautiful work of art and masterful craft you demonstrated in your autobiography. I loathe my commute to work and home, but during the few weeks I listened to you tell your stories I relished every moment I could be in my car. The stories of JFK Jr. were particularly poignant.

I was fascinated to learn about your writing career and the people who encouraged and inspired you.Writing is my raison d'être. Draft two of my first novel is challenging everything I know about myself as a writer and a woman. The writing process is also an apt metaphor for settling into post-divorce life. In both pursuits, ample doses of faith, perseverance, gentleness, and grit are required.

While our stories are vastly different, I recognized my story in your reflections on people pleasing and boundary setting.Your memoir reminded me that there are many universal truths in our diverse human experience.

While I allow my protagonist's story to continue to percolate and my heart to heal, I am exposing myself to art in all its forms. I am feeding my muse with the artistic expression of many, and your memoir was a feast. 

You talked about how true connection was an important part of changing your life--it is the same for me. I have been sustained during this difficult period by my friends and loved ones.

Thank you for sharing your stories. Your amazing impressions during your reading was a delight.  You have gained a fan.

Warmly,

Julie Steele Mahoney

PS: I've begun watching The West Wing on Netflix and am hooked.

PPS: I really hope you write more stories you only tell your friends.