While you’re reading take a moment to read this year’s winning essay “Disappearing Act.”  It’s also about a mother/daughter relationship through Alzheimer’s.  The piece is beautifully written and definitely resonates with me.  What I love about the fact that the Quarterly chose two Alzheimer’s essays in this year’s contest, is the tipping of the scales. 

The stories we tell shape our understanding.  As we dive into the personal and universal tale of grief and loss and learning to find the hidden moments of happiness, perspectives shift.  It’s through sharing our stories that we teach, heal, and hopefully pave a smoother path for those who come behind us.  For far too long stories about Alzheimer’s have been tucked away in family albums, but that trend is changing and with it, we are too.

First, the Vancouver Voice, where I write my column Couv’ Connections, is venturing into subscriptions.  Now instead of grabbing a copy of the Voice at your favorite coffee shop, it will arrive nicely bundled in your mailbox for a steal of a deal.  Click here for more info on how to subscribe and kick back in your pj’s to read the next issue of the Voice.

Second, I recently learned that I’m a finalist in the Oregon Quarterly’s Northwest Perspective’s essay contest for an essay I wrote titled, “Pack It Up Kids-We’re Leaving:  Lessons Learned from an Unlikely Football Fan.”  I love the kind of writing and features that the Quarterly publishes and am thrilled to be connected with their incredible writing community.  Plus, this essay is an homage to my Duck-loving dad who so deserves to be recognized.  As soon as the essay’s live on the web, I’ll share it widely. 

Third, early this summer I’ll be writing a column about Alzheimer’s for a new publication.  More details to come but as always, I welcome your suggestions, and for this particular column, any caregiving stories you’re willing to share.  I promise to change names and protect the innocent!

Saving the best for last…a release date for Underneath the Ash is coming soon.  That’s all I can say for now, but stayed tuned!

As with any writing project I tackle, I interviewed master gardeners and local green thumbs.  They imparted wisdom on everything from container gardening to the best methods for stringing up peas.  I researched succession planting and the benefits of shade versus sun.  Once I’d gleaned enough content and my article was complete it was time to tackle my next project:  my own garden!

The best part of writing my column each month (or other freelance projects for that matter) is that I’m able to write about things that interest me.  Cultivating a plot of land in my back alley was high on my interest list, but the reality of actually making it happen remained to be seen.  I worried about the scandal that would ensue should my own garden fail after expounding the virtues and ease of city gardening in my writing.  Imagine the horror should a Voice photog happen along to find my alley sprouting weeds rather than an assortment of fresh veggies.

So, on a somewhat damp late April day Luke and I donned garden gloves and dug into the thick weeds taking over our back alley.  We tilled soil, pounded stakes, and sprinkled seeds in dainty rows.  We took delight in watching the garden transform over a relatively short amount of time.  Within just a few weeks tiny green sprouts poked up from the dirt.  Even when we admittedly forgot to water the garden for a day or two, or when the neighbor’s cat decided to mark his territory on our little seed-lets, it continued to flourish. 

[singlepic id=149 w=150 h=150 float=]And yes, the proof is in the peas…just in time for summer our small container garden is busting with crops:  sweat peas, butter leaf lettuce, dill, cilantro, and tomatoes ripening on the vine.  I sleep easier at night knowing that my words were not lip-service.  It was quite easy after all.  And, I have to say quite tasty too.

[singlepic id=144 w=150 h=150 float=]This idea of distance bubbled to the surface last week as Luke “graduated” from preschool.  I understand that my reflections of this transition in Luke’s life may be altered with the further passing of time, but today it feels important to look back.

The week Luke first trotted down the street to preschool over three years was the same week my mom died.  The brightly colored primary walls of his initial preschool experience were the backdrop for a dreary, drawn-out death.  I remember a myriad of scents blending together those days – play-dough and peanut butter infused with the scent of my mother’s decaying body.  I remember watching the top of Luke’s baby fine blond head bound into the classroom, and how my feet felt like lead as I turned to leave him that day.  I remember his chubby two-year-old hand waving goodbye while I lingered by the classroom door trying to summon the courage to say a final goodbye to my mom.  At the time, I was convinced that the intersection of death and grief with Luke’s formative years would leave us both forever tainted.    

[singlepic id=146 w=150 h=150 float=]This week Luke trotted into the classroom for the last time, his head held high and sporting a construction paper graduation hat.  He shot me a half wave as he took his seat and chattered with his classmates.  Other parents grinned behind video cameras, I smiled through heavy tears.  A mother next to me squeezed my shoulder and whispered, “Just think this is only preschool.”  But for me, Luke’s graduation from early childhood marks more than a stage of development.  It’s a moment to glance back – a moment to immerse myself in those early memories, to embrace the lingering ache, and to find myself grateful for the distance.

Here’s where my guilty pleasure comes into play.  When questioned, should I reveal my secret source for red velvet bliss, or offer up a white lie and direct those seeking confectionery delight to a perfectly suitable recipe like the one above? 

You guessed it.  I revealed my source.  Inhaling, I stared at my feet and muttered, “Um, I found it in a culinary mystery.”

“A what?”  someone responded. 

“Huh?” questioned another. 

Yes, it’s true, I’m secretly addicted to culinary mysteries–pure candy for the mind.  A sweet treat before bed is absorbing myself in one of these tasty gems .  Sure, I read a lot of non-fiction.  I consider myself well-versed in the classics, and my literary fiction repertoire includes many novels not found on any Oprah reading list.  But, I feel like it’s time to come clean about my cheap mystery fix.  Titles like “Dying for Chocolate” and “Espresso Shot” call out to me in the book store.  I’ve read late into the night trying to decipher who the cookie killer is.  And, I’ve decided I’m fine with it.  Reading these delectable tales serves up a healthy dose of escapism for me.  Plus, the recipes are to die for!

But, the election is officially over.  Political signs will soon be replaced with pilgrims and cornucopias.  Turkeys will be purchased, stuffed and seasoned.  Families will bicker over drumsticks and football scores.  As the festive holiday season kicks off many families will be struggling to hold on to their homes or put peanut butter and jelly on the table.

The November issue of the Vancouver Voice features an article I wrote titled, Brown Baggin’ It.  The feature focuses on a simple idea to help those in need this holiday season.  Click here to read the story.      

Beginning in January 2009, I’ll be writing a monthly column for the Voice in the same tone of this article.  I’ll be highlighting outreach and community offerings.  If you have any suggestions feel free to send them my way.  If your bank account isn’t stretched to limit, consider packing a box of protein bars or a pair of warm socks the next time you head out.  As the our new President mentioned in his acceptance speech these times call for all of us to take action!