I got my painting from my dad, and I got my writing from my mom.

These are recent realizations.

My dad started painting little wooden blocks after he retired. When my daughter Heather saw them, she said “Now I see where you get it from.” His blocks looked very much like some of my abstract paintings.

“No!” I said. “I was doing it long before he was.”

But my dad had it inside him the whole time.

I worked hard at developing my writing style. I prefer to call it “finding my voice”.

Today I read a letter that was written by my mom in 2002.

I never knew my mom could write like that.

I got other things from her, too. My self deprecating tendency. My inability to believe that someone would read, let alone enjoy, let alone treasure what I had created.

I wish I had known.

I wish I had known that my father had it in him to appreciate art. I wish I had known the stories that my mother had to tell while she could still tell them.

These are two of the most important things to me. I know this because when I am all alone, and create a still, peaceful atmosphere to fish for the most important catches in my stream of consciousness, these are the things that come out.

Writing and painting are the ways my body records what I want to remain of me when I am gone.

I recently wrote about my family that “they don’t value what is important to me.”

Now I don’t know if that is true.

The months of June and July have brought upheaval to my life.

In my sci-fi autobiography, my alter ego, Flash Meridian, watched the surface of the planet Olo explode into clouds of dust, and settle again, transformed. The material was still the same, but rearranged in such a way as to be unrecognizable as its former self.

The facts we hold onto and repeat about our lives… about ourselves… do not tell the whole story. Our interpretation of facts can be very skewed.

It’s not all about me.

I am literally bits of my parents, incarnate. Physically, I look like them. Mentally, I think like them. Spiritually, I create like them.

I never knew my parents were real people. I didn’t realize that my mother was such a cripplingly shy girl with the kind of struggles, doubts and regrets that girls have. I only knew them as adults. I thought they were perfect. Not at all like ordinary people.

How could I have missed this?

And so my tectonic plates have been shifting, and my entire life is being transformed.

My house is populated with objects that they no longer need. I revisited the rooms where I was a child, secure in their care.

Now I have a new lens to help put my life into focus, and I am grateful.

The letter was not sent for 18 and a half years. I’m glad that my mom wrote it when she did, and that my brother investigated why a drawer didn’t work right, and found it in the back of an old cabinet. I’m glad he took the time to read it, and made the effort to copy it and mail it to its intended recipients.

What a day.

Birthdays seem to circle around quicker now.

I stayed busy all day… finished June’s curtains, did lots of laundry. Friends stopped by with balloons, cake and ice cream. Tomorrow Luuka will spend the day with me. I keep trying to clear the trip clutter out of the living room, and I’m working on a commission painting. We hauled away the garbage and recycling.

I was awake until 4 am, and then before 8, Liam called to sing Happy Birthday to me (with cha cha chas). Phone calls, phone calls, phone calls. Good stuff.

I’m going to learn to frame walls and install windows. I’ll have good helpers. I believe we can do this.

All of it.

Nobody gets to tell me how to feel, what to think or what to believe.

Not a friend, a family member, a therapist. Certainly not a preacher or politician.

I have the powers of observation and recollection. I have the ability to assimilate information. I can recognize what rings true to me, and I can even tell the difference between fiction and lies.

I am open to new ways of thinking when I find that my approach needs updating.

If we attended the same meeting or party at the same time, our impressions would be different. If we read the same book, or watched the same movie, our reviews would be different.

We don’t have to think the same, and we will not think the same.

Everyone sees the world through their own eyes, through the unique filter of their experiences and perspective.

We don’t need to be convinced or persuaded. Your way is not the only way. A different way is not wrong.

It just IS.

I know a lot of people who think that everything hinges on their very narrow, very specific way of thinking… their definite authoritative tenet.

When I was about 10, some of my friends and I had a sleepover in the barn for my birthday. John, Kirk, Gabriel. We had found a box of Christmas lights somewhere and strung them up. We made my parents come out for a surprise. We led them up in the dark, and then plugged in the lights yelling “Merry Christmas!”

My birthday is July 20.

I have an opportunity to turn bad memories into good ones.

I was hiking with a friend today and I told her that every romantic relationship I have been in had been disappointing. That’s why I’m single. It wasn’t for lack of trying.

I love myself and I love my kids. I’m not settling when I say that is enough for me. I have deep, meaningful, intimate relationships with my friends. These relationships are profoundly satisfying.

After my divorce, I threw out all of my wedding pictures, and I smashed the wedding video with a hammer. She didn’t want them either.

I recently brought a van and trailer load of stuff from my parent’s house in North Carolina. They put all the pictures of my kids into an envelope for me. At the bottom of the box, I found a VHS tape of my wedding.

I don’t have a VCR.

I also don’t have regrets. My past is my past. It is what it is. Carved in stone. All those years have brought me to this day. They have made me who I am, and I don’t think there is much I would change if I could. I like where it has brought me.

I might have liked to learn certain lessons earlier, but everything has come in its own time.

You can’t erase your past. Not even with a hammer.

In a half hour, it will be my 60th birthday. My only regret about aging is that I have less time to adopt more children, and less time to spend with them.

As a little kid, I remember having a conversation with friends about the year 2000. That was so far away, we could hardly imagine it. I would be FORTY YEARS OLD.

I don’t know what I thought my life would be like, being older than my parents were then.

I have so many dreams and plans. Big dreams. I try to make them into reality. Most of the time, I’m eventually successful. As one friend said, I always land on my feet.

People try to discourage me. When I was younger, my mom didn’t want me to be disappointed. She didn’t want me to fail. She was very nervous the first time I approached an art gallery with my work. She thought they might reject me. One way to keep from failing is to never try anything. To me, that would be the biggest failure of all. Case workers have tried to discourage me from adopting kids. They go on and on about the challenges. I don’t ask anyone to be perfect. I just think kids deserve a family that allows them to become the best “them” that they can be.

My son likes to tell me what won’t work. Over and over I repeat “Don’t tell me what can’t be done.”

It bothers me when my kids see only the obstacles. They give up before they’ve really tried. It’s easier. But when I succeed, things are so much better for all of us.

I’ve been disappointed many times. But I keep trying. I keep dreaming.

I can see my dreams before they are a reality.

A few pieces of advice:

Live within your means. Junk is so expensive, and it doesn’t enhance our lives. It just leaves us with clutter and debt. Live with what you need and what you love.

Be content where you are. Sometimes we need to move. When we are being abused. When someone elsewhere loves and wants us. But at some point, learn to be content. Contentment leads to true happiness. I used to move around all the time. Whenever I got my feelings hurt. I thought I could escape my problems by going somewhere else. It didn’t work. I realized that I kept taking myself with me everywhere I went. I brought all my baggage along.

I love where I live, and I never want to live anywhere else. The first year or two that I was here, I wanted to leave. I stayed, and the seed was planted. I learned a lot about myself and very slowly, I faced the big issues I carried in my suitcase. I put down roots. This is something that I didn’t have as a teenager and young adult. I had moved around the world so much that I called myself a gypsy. I was unhappy.

Now, my house and my yard are like magic to me. I love the details and the history. Trees tower over my yard. Trees that I planted when they were tiny saplings. I planted them when my daughter was born, and more when my grandson was born. They have grown strong and tall like my children and my grandchildren.

Learn to forgive. Forgiveness doesn’t mean excusing or condoning the behavior that causes harm. Your bitterness only hurts you. When we forgive, we free ourselves. We don’t forget. We don’t continue to put ourselves in hurtful, uncomfortable, abusive situations. We learn and we change and we move on. Everyone is flawed. Everyone sees the world from their own perspective. It’s not all about you. So be careful. Learn the lesson and move on smarter than you were before.

Do what you dream. If you want to do something, and someone says you can’t, prove them wrong and do it anyway. If you tell me what I can’t do, I will dig my heels in so deep, and I will pull harder than you. I’m stubborn that way. Not stubborn… determined. It’s not easy. I’m not offering you pie in the sky. I’m saying that if something is important to you, fight for it. Sometimes we have to recognize when the job is too big, but that’s when we try another approach, if it’s important enough.

You have the chance to do something no one has ever done before. You have the unique opportunity to live your life, your way.

Step outside of your comfort zone. I used to have horrible stage fright. Crazy. Now I love public speaking. 25 years ago or so, I auditioned for a play. I’m not sure why. I had a small part. A couple of lines. It terrified me. I hated it. I was so relieved when the run of the play was over. Then I auditioned for another play, and got a lead role. WHY? I don’t know. But I had enlarged my circle of comfort. It wasn’t terrifying anymore. I had done this before, and survived it. I went on to act in many more plays, and people said I was a good actor. I started performing weddings. I was nervous the first time. Now I perform weddings often, and I am able to be a calming presence for those nervous about the event.

Math. I grew up believing I could not do math. I’ve written about this before. Turns out I’m pretty good at math. I aced a math aptitude test. I took math in college and graduated with honors. Math doesn’t scare me anymore. I think it is beautiful.

I was never much of a reader. The words jumped around on the page, and I was discouraged by the number of pages yet to read. It was not fun. What changed? I think it was writing that made me a reader. Now I get caught up in novels the way I used to watch tv, only better. I read five or six novels in February alone this year. Now I’m reading mostly short stories, but a couple of novels, too. When I finish a book now, I feel exhilarated, and sad that it is over, and my comfort zone grows bigger.

Why am I giving you advice? I’m no different than you.

All I know is, I used to be unhappy, and now I’m content. I’m not happy every minute. I’m often sad, frustrated, afraid. All of these emotions are important. If you didn’t know what darkness was, you couldn’t know light. It would have no meaning. Every day is made up of equal parts of darkness and light. The darkness has a lot to teach us, and then the light is that much brighter.

I adopted a newborn almost 24 years ago, and when she grew up and moved away, I was devastated. I had two kids before her, they were 13 and 14 when she was born.

I found myself as an empty nester, but all I really ever wanted to be was a parent. So about 2 1/2 years ago, I started on the path to adopting from foster care. I have a large house, so I adopted a sibling group with special needs. My friends were skeptical, but this has been one of the greatest experiences of my life. I told my 23 year old that I was not trying to replace her, but it is a testament to her that I wanted to adopt again.

It is not always easy, but it is always worth it. I have a very supportive network of family and friends, and I live in a small town that has been supportive all along the way.

This is what I tell my kids: There is nothing wrong with you. Everyone has their own strengths and challenges in life. Because we are all different, we can all be each other’s teacher.

People say I am an angel, or a saint. No. I am doing exactly what I want to do. I think I am getting more out of this than the kids are. It gives me a purpose.

Dad of 5, Grampa of 9.

I brought a trailer full of furniture and boxes of stuff up to Minnesota from my parents’ house in North Carolina. There is a beautiful writing desk that my dad bought in Gloucester, Mass. I’ve paired it with a vintage medical stool. The kids have antique bedroom sets that mom and dad bought at an auction in South Carolina. There are pieces from the farm, from Africa, from North Carolina, and pieces collected by my family from all over the world. I have a table made by my Grandfather. I have Grammy and Grampa’s dresser. I especially love the pieces with a story. The box my uncle Bob made when he was a boy. The bowl my grandparents got as a wedding present in 1925. Little items I remember seeing on shelves in my childhood.

But my favorite piece is a modest wooden stool. I think they got it when my dad was in medical school. Long before I was born. I have a photo of me sitting on it when I was five years old. The seat has been cracked the whole time I have known it. At one point, someone stabilized the crack and painted the legs. The seat was padded and upholstered.

When we started talking about items I might want to bring north, I mentioned that stool, and it was put aside for me. I have stripped it and will varnish it to make it look like it did 60 years ago.

People talk about the holy grail, and imagine a golden or ivory goblet, encrusted with gemstones. The real thing was probably a modest wooden or clay cup. Ordinary things become extraordinary because of the stories attached to them. This stool is one of my most prized possessions. It’s not the kind of thing a person would gush over as they walk through my house. They might not even notice it. It’s just the right height for haircuts. It’s friendly. Simple, not precious. Sturdy and honest, it’s always there. You can sit on it. I remember a hamster named Hammy eating a saltine on it back in Ferndale, before I started kindergarten.

It gives me a connection to another time. I think of the childhood me as a different person from who I am now.

This stool tells me that it’s still me.

The best part of any trip is getting home again.

We just spent a whirlwind 6 days driving 3,000 miles.

This was attempt number three at going to see my parents. The first time, we were thwarted by the arrival of covid. The second time, our van died an hour and a half into the trip. This was all for the best. By waiting, I was able to visit and tour my childhood home. This was a dream come true for me, and meaningful to my family when I told them about it and showed them the pictures. Even my mom remembers the house and the good times we had there.

She saw pictures of Lempi and Poika and asked “is that Minnie?”

Minnie was my cat on the farm.

Adding to the farm visit, I came home with many treasures… items that I remember from my parents’ house.

In my sci-fi autobiography, I wrote about the farm, and the longing I had to touch physical objects from my childhood. Now I have them right here with me in Minnesota.

So you see? Dreams can come true. It may be more accurate to say that things are more likely to happen if you ask. They are even more likely if you work really hard at making them happen. I did all three.

My family was grateful that I took the objects and brought them home with me. I am grateful that they are here.

I assured my mom that this furniture is still hers, and I will take care of it for her in case she needs it again.

She still has objects in the drawers, and they will stay right there just in case.

My dad worried about the trailer, and I did my best to assure him too.

“Dad,” I said, “I am a problem solver.”

It all worked out.

What a strange feeling it must be to no longer need the things you’ve spent your life acquiring.

This is a sacred trust.

To someone else it might be just an old dresser or plate.

Mom didn’t want to lose it, so I will hold on to it for her.

That trip is so long. It gives you time to think.

I want my kids to think as fondly about their childhood as I think of mine. What will they remember? What will they long for? What will they dream about?

My dad said that he’s glad I was born because I bring a dimension that would remain a dark corner if I were not there.

That’s what my kids do for me. They light the dark corners of my life. They have made my house into a home, and we have created a family together.