Twins

Today was an emotional day. It was the day I realized that my generation was now considered the elders.  When I finally crawled into bed I needed to settle down before I could sleep. I keep a variety of books at the head of my bed. Reaching up I found a favorite bedtime book- Small Miracles, a collection of stories put together by Yitta Halberstam and Judith Leventhal. I like a happy ending when I’m going to sleep.

I opened to a random page, to a lovely heart warming story. A blind woman was out walking and stopped at the traffic light, singing to herself, while waiting for someone to help her across the street. Finally a gentleman spoke to her, taking her arm, asking if he could accompany her across the street. Feeling grateful to have him at her side, they waited for the light and then arm in arm they crossed the street. Before she could thank him, he thanked her saying, “I don’t know if you realize how gratifying it is to find someone as cheerful as you to accompany a blind person across the street.”

They were both blind! The author, Charlotte Wechsler wrote, “That spring day has stayed with me forever.”  I can understand why.

It had been months since I’d read from this little book and I’d forgotten that after many of the stories there are comments. Turning the page there it was: “Sometimes when we feel most alone in the universe, God sends us a “twin” – a mirror image – to buffer and assuage our sense of differentness and isolation.”

It took my breath away, gave me the shivers and brought tears to my eyes. In 2007 after years of searching I had finally connected with my half sister. She is a petite blond and I am a slightly taller brunette, she is quiet while I am more out spoken. We share the same biological father and out mothers look enough alike that they could be taken for sisters. The fact that they raised us alone and worked to support us until we were school age was another similarity. Our lives have run on parallel lines, like mirror images. We felt like twins almost immediately. Sometimes like the same person or a split personality. Our hopes, fears, needs and desire to know our father were things we shared. In a matter of a few weeks we developed a rare connection, like ESP sometimes. It feels like we have known each other forever. The end of the story says it all, two blind people needing help to cross a busy street found each other! How unlikely is that? Kind of like me searching the world for my sister.

What are the odds of finding this short story when I needed it?

Strange and Mysterious Happenings

Strange and Mysterious Happenings

I believe in a mothers intuition, in a link with your children that can reach beyond what we could ever imagine. Until it happens to you it seems like a crazy thing to say.

In the sleepy little town we lived in there was nothing for active teenagers to do on weekends.  Our winter solution was skiing every weekend, often inviting friends to join us. They joined the race team and I watched them from our bay window over looking the finish line. Our first full year despite thin snow coverage, the hill opened for skiing on Thanksgiving.

On Dec 13, 1987 when the sun rose, the light snow cover that fell through the night combined with aggressive snow making provided a sparkling backdrop. Against it we watched the brightly dressed junior ski racers come flying down the hill.

My friend and I were sitting by the fire place watching from the window. It was lunch time and we expected them to come in any minute. As I stood up a toboggan came slowly down the hill flanked by two ski patrol staff.  As I looked at it I grabbed my coat and started for the door.

My friend Eileen called out, “Where are you going?”

With out hesitation I called back, “That’s my toboggan.”

The phone was ringing as I slammed the door. I was gone, down the stairs, running across to the First Aid station, to my youngest son, strapped on the toboggan with blood flowing from his face and four broken bones in his legs.

To this day I can’t explain how I knew. There was no thought  involved, it was an automatic response. I never before or after had that feeling when I saw the toboggan bring an injured skier down hill. It was a moment of rare connection, an amazing event in hindsight, one that changed me, one I will never forget. It still happens occasionally and not necessarily just with my kids, but also when I sense danger. Now I recognize that it’s time to act when that feeling comes over me. It gives me a chill just to think about it.

Has any one else had an experience like this?

If you like it and haven’t yet gone to my Facebook page I would appreciate a “like” there too.

Why I Feel Lucky Today

 Two years ago when I began writing, I naively believed that the actual writing would be my greatest challenge to successfully completing my book.  Retiring early I did occasional contract work, built a few websites, learned HTML and Dreamweaver, increasing my computer skills with each new challenge. I was fairly computer literate. But then came LinkedIn, Facebook, and Twitter, now we have Tumbler, Pinterest and Blogging….. and who knows what is next.

In addition, on every writing site that I subscribe to for support and advice there is more of  the same, more than I can humanly take in and still write, edit etc.

Today alone there were 5 different sites with full page suggestions for:

What I HAVE to do before I publish…

What I should do before I dare publish….

What I need now is to find an editor I can trust. And one I can afford with out selling all my jewelry! And how many times could I need to have it edited…..? These are the tasks that seem insurmountable.

So I consider myself lucky that the writing is truly the best part.

Tell us what was the best part of your day?

My Father vs My Daddy

Through out my life I discovered people reacted in many different ways to the fact that I had two father figures. One I have no memory of and the other raised me from the time I was six years old. Some are interested and caring, some are disinterested and some are down right rude about the fact that my father left my mother and me to fend for ourselves. One doctor actually said it was disgusting that I couldn’t provide any medical background on my father. I’m not sure what she thought I could do to get information out of a man who didn’t want to be found, but she certainly made me feel lousy.

For years I referred to my biological father as my mother’s first husband, not wanting to acknowledge that he had any significance for me. The man who raised me was my Daddy. It was not until 2007 that I began to refer to my mom’s first husband, who is my biological father, as my father. He didn’t become real to me until I found another sibling to relate to as a family member. Until then, I had no sense of who he was, no feeling of connection to him.

For this moment in time the issue is resolved.  Father, for me, refers to a biological parent while Daddy is the man who raised me. The first is a formal term and best describes how I feel about my moms first husband and the second an affectionate term for the Daddy I came to love and respect.

Does this mean I’m still keeping my distance from my father? Protecting myself from him?

He’s Not Your Daddy has a New Look – Check It Out!

We have a new look at He’s Not Your Daddy! I’m looking forward to sharing more photos. Check it out and let us know what you think. If you like it and haven’t yet gone to my Facebook page I would appreciate a “like” there too.

Be sure to check back for the next post to discover the distinction between my use of the terms father and daddy. 

 And heads up for all areas that still change their time twice a year, daylight savings takes place this weekend.