Letters from the past

As I was sitting at the computer the other day, contemplating on how I was going to make this blog successful for myself and my daughter, I heard this loud crash come from behind me. My cat Charcoal decided it was a smart idea to climb onto my nick knack ledge and in the process knocked over my white plastic basket that holds all my past letters I still hold unto. I have letters from old pen pals, from my grandmother, my big sister from Big Brothers & Big Sisters and my mom.

It amazes me how there are certain things that we just hold onto throughout the years as we move from one place to another. Many of these letters began their journey with me when I was still living in Shakopee, MN as an elementary student at Pearson Elementary. This is where I first read a letter from my long time pen pal, Stacey Waite, from Richland, England.

As I cursed slightly under my breath at my cat, who's favorite time is knocking down anything he can put his paws on I came across some of my favorite letters from my mom. She wrote these letters to me the summer I was selling books door to door in Monroe, Michigan. One of the most grueling jobs I think I have ever done. Also during the fall of my sophmore year in college, months before she passed away. My mom knew it was difficult for me so to encourage me along she took me a on a journey through Europe.

On each note card was a picture of a different European city. I traveled through London, Venice, Prague, and Paris. In a few short years I would be traveling these cities in person and caring my mom's memory in my head. She always wanted to head over to Europe with me, this was my way of paying her back. It was her encouragement that installed my love of traveling. Her undying belief that if you believe in your dream you can succeed in them.

These letter from the past help remind me that I am not alone and she still looks over me as I pursue this ambition dream of making a living as a writer. As a mother she shows me how to have unwavering support for my daughter, how to be a mother and also a friend. I can only hope that I can be as good as she was to me, honest, firm, and willing to show her true self to me.

I will close out this post from one of my favorite parts of these letters. Selling books was my first major attempt at cold sales and learning how to receive rejection was hard. Learning not to take things personally, is a great lesson in all that we do. Even though my mother claimed not be much of pep talker she knew me and could always find away to make me feel better:

Front of note cards sent in the summer and fall of 2000.

"I know that even though things may not be going perfectly as you envisioned. You are learning from the rejections. Remember they are not rejecting out — they are rejecting the books and the product." - Denise L. Parrish

I have used this same advice to many people in my life, whether it was selling a new product or training someone to sell jewelry. No, just means that, that person is not ready to commit right now to that product, food, or person. No is not a death warrant but a chance for evaluations. A chance to better the sales approach or a one's own demeanor. We don't know what is going on in other's people's lives, and that no is only because it doesn't fit for them. Without the No's the Yes' would not be as wonderful as they are. Take rejection as an opportunity to learn as my mom taught me 13 years ago. Dreams can only come true if you are willing to hear a no in life more than just once.

Birthday Celebrations

Turning 18 is a wonderful day.  The day where we emerge as adults, exfoliating the last remanence of childhood - I learned this quickly in the coming year. Many 18 year old's worry about what college is going to be like or what job they will obtain.  They are riding the thrill of graduating high school.  They're thriving on the independence from their parents.  Some embark on a road trip with friends or backpacking through Europe.  

I did this too.  My best friend Mary and I hit the road to Colorado from Minnesota.  We spent two weeks, at the end of  June and beginning of July, traveling in my 1989 Jetta Volkswagen.  The car was creamed color with crank windows and crank sun roof.  I was in love with it!  We had our tent, bags, cigarettes, and freedom.  We sped through South Dakota viewing the Badlands, Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse, and Deadwood. Always keeping the car running, for fear the starter wouldn't connect again. We spied Devil's Tower from a distance bemoaning the fact if we turned my car off we would be thumbing a ride to Cheyenne, Wyoming. We made mechanic friends along our journey, Christopher and his dad in Wall Drug, South Dakota, working late into the night. Only to discover that the wrong starter was shipped. In Cheyenne our tow truck driver, who had owl like eyes, refused to charge us for the lift. The car behaved properly for all the mechanics in Wyoming and Colorado, but left Mary and I stranded in a KOA in Cheyenne, in Deadwood for an extra day, and in Custer State Park.

We never could stay at a place long because my car refused to start unless it had twenty-four hours to cool back down.  After two starters and arriving back, my own mechanic in Minnesota discovered, that my starter relay kit that was faulty, not the actual starter.  This trip was just the beginning of honing my problem solving skills. In August I left behind all my friends, and a mother who's health seemed to be failing her.

My mother, an active woman facilitating support groups, teaching juvenile delinquents not to use anger, attending various meetings, and chauffeuring my brother and I around to Tae Kwon Do tournaments, was tired for a year or so before she was diagnosed with her disease.  It all started the last part of my senior year of high school.  My mom was an avid walker with our dog Hoops, but she soon found that she no longer could walk the two miles. She'd return home, face pale like freshly fallen snow, perplexed as to why she couldn't maintain a distance. She'd visit doctor after doctor, determined to find an answer, but doctors kept telling her she was fine.  The tests came back normal.  This lasted for an entire year until a doctor finally listened to her and sent her to Abbott Hospital in Minneapolis for a full heart test.  By my 19th birthday the tests determined she needed a pace-maker.  

On the day of my birthday, I sat in my mom's hospital room. The room was white, cold, with blue curtain to divide the room, sterile instruments beeping, swishing, sucking the life out while trying to keep people a live, but the room, for me, was filled with warmth of a mother's love.  It was like she and I were drinking coffee in the comfort of soft coaches at City Perks - a local coffeehouse. We talked about everything — what bills to pay, what my plans were, how she was sorry she couldn't be there more.  She encouraged me to go out and have fun with my friends but I wanted to be there with her.  I knew it was important for me to be there.  Even though at that time it didn't register to me, I knew this was my last birthday with my mom.   She handed me this letter to me that passed along all of her wisdom.  She was preparing me for life without my mom.  She was helping me to become a woman. 

 Dearest Tamera - 

As I am lying here in this hospital bed this morning, I am remembering another hospital stay 19 years ago and the promise that day held and the great reward it gave me — a  beautiful baby girl.

Activity wise this birthday may not be very exciting, visiting your mother in the  hospital, possibly going out with some friends but this birthday is special this is a threshold birthday (the doorway to being an adult).  I am sure you know all of the things I am about to say - I say them because I love you and want to spare you from the mistakes I made so you can go out and make different  ones.  Then you can pass on my message and yours to your children.

 *Listen objectively and with an open mind.  There are many different  ideas and 

 thoughts out there, listen to what all people have to say and base your beliefs 

 and decisions on what feels right to you.

 *Always give people a second chance.  People (strangers & family) make mistakes,

 they are only human.  Allow them  to apologize and try again, but don't become a 

doormat and let them mistreat you.

 *Be strong in your beliefs (not overpowering). Allow people the same freedom

 allowed you, the ability or option to disagree without it being held against you.

As I have often told people I've spoken to, diverse thoughts and ideas are what

makes this country a great place.

  

*Like yourself and get to know yourself.  You are not how society sees you or how

 other people see you.  You are how you see yourself.  If you see a strong, vibrant

 young woman that is what you will be.

   

*Know that your family will always love you (present & future family). Always be fair and respectful in your dealings with them.

 Have a wonderful 19th birthday, I love you and will always be there for you in the physical as well as the spiritual.

     

 Your Mom,

 Denise

My birthday wish, at the time, was just to have my mom back home — healthy. I envisioned us playing scrabble under the oak tree adjacent to our town house, on a summer evenings, sipping my Grandmother's ice tea. I wanted to take those two, five, seven mile walks throughout the woods surrounding our Chaska, MN home. I grasped to hope as if I was dangling from a precipice that this pacemaker would be the cure all and my mom would be healthy again. This was to become my daily mantra for the next seven months.

The Ups and Downs of writing a Memoir

I started this journey over three years ago. On the onset of that journey I felt I would be able to accomplish the end piece in a year, but this did not happen. I am here again to work on my memoir that will be focused on my life with out my mom after losing her to a rare disease called Amyloidosis, a disease that affects the protein cells in the body. In the coming week I will post an article about the disease to help answer any questions that may arise.

I invite anyone who knows what it is like to suffer a loss from a disease or are going through an illness in the family, join me in my journey. There will be times that will be hard and even joyful memories. No matter this journey is meant to be learned from. For the most part I will be posting chapters from the book that will eventually be published. At other times I will be writing just the struggle and joys I receive from going through the process.

I started this journey again because my daughter is now five and I am noticing how hard it is to raise a child with out a mom. I am hoping that this journey will teach me some tools to pass onto my child and receive knowledge from other's who have already journeyed down this path or just find those like me who need to voice their sadness, joys, and struggles.

Please feel free to leave a comment, make sure it is respectful and I will post it.

Until the next time.

Peace.
Tamera

Winter Time In Minnesota

There are many wonderful things about living in Minnesota or at least being from there, but for me the last thing on my list has always been winter.  I know, right, why choose to stay there.?  I have been asking myself that for years.  For some reason I just can't move.  I believe it is because of all the wonderful seasons and the adventures each one brings.

As I mentioned in my profile I also sell jewelry on the weekends.  Two weeks ago Milwaukee and Minneapolis were hit with a beautiful snowstorm. Large snowflakes floating down like a leaf onto a river bed.  It was warm at 25 degrees.  I fall in love with winter on these days, but by nightfall the wind picked up and the gusts of 15 miles per hour made it felt like -10 degrees.  

The snow fell all day along in Minneapolis which made it slow at the art show.  So by closing time I was ready for a relaxing evening with my grandparents but first came the wonderful task of loading my car back up.  I had navigate the wind, slush, hungry families, and snow drifts.  This is my first draft of the poem.  Keep checking back for the revisions.  I am always ready for comments, especially on a first draft!

Slush Ballet

I open my hatch door,

closely eyeing my trunk and casting

a gaze over into my back seat

I contemplate how each piece is

going to slide smoothly as I hurriedly

walk through the fresh fallen snow.

My tables - one grasped in each hand - 

act as 10lb weights perfectly balancing

me as I preform the slush ballet.

Carefully placing my feet tenderly onto 

the road with a glide and a twist

I dodge the unaware driver of the 

silver BMW quickly approaching valet parking.

I place my partners gently against my

legs and delicately push the hatch door open,

lifting them into their awaiting 

spots - to the left - one on top of each other.

Finishing this act I grab the next

performer - my boxes,

readying ourselves for the comedy relief

as we clumsily, cautiously 

eye the ice packed stairs.

Timidly like a beginner dancer we step 

back and forth unaware of he choreography.

Glancing side to side we move forward

trudging across the dance floor.

I grasp my partner awkwardly, tilting

it to the left side - pushing rather than leading.

My wrists are collapsing against their weight but I save

the routine through reaching the

hatch door, I fling them into their

resting pose - on top of the tables- side by side.

Only four more performers left & the slush 

ballet will be over.

The necklace board, earring display and I 

do a wonderful Morse

dance, jingling down and across knocking into

the car like wood sticks.

The routine is fast like an Irish Jig and

I place them on top of my boxes out of breath.

Leaping back, flying above the snow 

in a perfect ballet arches I beckon my

last two performers by my sides.

We lune up for the Cotton-eye Joe - giddy and 

fast we head out kicking snow and slush up

with our heels.

We reach the car and I swing each on 

my hip and pass them into the car.

Closing all the doors we bow for the 

car, clicking its blinkers for my spot.

Pulling out, I wave farewell to my patient audience 

watching the Slush Ballet.

Pregnancy Poems

This is for all the females who've had the chance to enjoy the journey of pregnancy.  It isn't a easy path but a rewarding one.  The ups and downs of gorwoing a child in you is thrilling and draining. These poems are from all aspects of this ride.

Freedom

They call out "hi," as I walk into the room

of smiles with my made up face.

I wave back like a toy princess doll.

The gifts stand in a corner,

I'm led to a chair labeled "Mom to be."

I fight the urge to run like the princess

on the day of her arranged marriage.

They cover me with baby blankets and pacifiers

that becomes lead chains.

The poison seeps through like

water through a sieve.

The room spins like a merry-go-round.

I finally hear the waves - I smile.

Loss of a Friend

The coffee wafts under my nose

like the perfume of a lady gliding

by, it lingers minutes after she leaves.

I inhale, allowing the vapors

to soothe my neglected throat

but I cough - 

I grab the counter as I ride the scrambler - 

full speed at work.

I hold my breath struggling for the surface,

as I empty the grounds,

I gasp for air.

I walk back to the counter eyeing

my co-worker, like a dog waiting for a treat,

who sips her coffee as a fine wine - I sigh.

Tide

My belly ripples like a wave

as you aim your tiny feet,

kicking repetiously.

Rushing forth and receding slowly out

like a tide,

but instead of the moon

the sun is your guide.

At 7:00 a.m. I feel the first splashes

against my abdomen.

4:00 p.m. the kicks are waves

suitable for a surfer,

By 7:00 p.m. you negin to relax

with slow lapping - 

a soft kiss goodnight.

Children

My daughter has become an inspiration to me. Everyday she makes me laugh and I am always amazed at how much she grows and learns.  These poems are inspired by her but can be about any child.  Each child brings pride and joy to his or her parents.  I look forward to your comments.

Growth

Laying in my arms, your head and legs dangling like you were in a lazy river.

I hand you your bottle and you grasp it like a jogger does after a marathon,

the refreshing formula guzzles down your throat.

In a minute you relax and wrap

your tiny fingers around my hand,

from your sleepy eyes you stare at me for a second,

then quickly shut them like a camera shutter.

Your head tilts back into sleep.

I'm amazed at your size,

you've sprouted like a plant only

a few months ago you were this 

tiny delicate plant that listed slightly

to the left.

Now you are straight,

your petals come down absorbing

the rain drops of knowledge - rushing up that stem,

extending your petals down further,

soaking that sun to give you the food to keep you sharp.

Sickness

Sitting next to me I hear that dry racking

cough like a car trying to start on

a cold, blustery December morning -

only after a few attempts you sputter to life.

The green snot slides out of your nostrils

like the sludge of an old pop can.

I attempt to wipe your face and you 

jerk from side to side like a pin ball game.

I pull out the arsenal of saline drops, vapor rub, and sucktioner.

The first wave attack is saline drops,

laying you on your back,

I straddle my legs around you

as a vice grip.

Tilting your head back I manage to clear one nostril

and through wailing arms of your windmill

I clear the other with a few minor scratches.

You begin to tire,

breathing hard you whimper as a hurt animal.

I massage in the vapor rub

and hold you in my arms

rocking you as a ship in the ocean

into a restful sleep.

Death Poems

Most of us at some point in our life experience losing someone close.  My mother passed away when I was 19 and since then I have become more comfortable with the idea of death.  I believe it is just another part in the circle of life.  I find death easier to deal with when I am writing.  All of  these poems deal with some form of death.  Not all will be losing of a loved one like the first two I have put out.  Keep checking back to see what I add.  I look forward to your comments.

Act of Pride

Whispering-

A voice dips through the crack we hear

"We have not money.  My

children deserve a better life,

away from the one bowl of 

oatmeal, half cup of juice, and 

potato pancakes for the past three years.

I listen to their constant stomach

growls, drifting to me 

from the termite-eaten table."

Tightening our circle by

the crack, the whispers dissipate into silence.

We clasp each others hand opening the 

kitchen door we creep through and

we see our mother's blood flow

peacefully onto the floor.

My sister speaks in a whisper - 

"Don't leave me."

Lost Son-

I walk through the cold

metal sliding doors that suck all the life

From outside - no germs allowed.

The caution sign reads

- don't light fire; oxygen in use -

The sterile iridescent lights

cast pale reflections against

the pale walls.  A man with pressed cream khakis

and white polo shirt rubs his dry eyes.

I take the moment to watch,

observing his face - thin line

etching stronger as I move closer.

Turning slowly with his sudden age

this man embraces me to share his grief;

all I can do is hold onto him.