A Day at Hampton High

I am just recovering from my day at Hampton High.No I did not catch a flu bug or the sniffles but to say the day was draining and recovery was needed is an understatement.One probably can't understand why these days are so exhausting for me unless they sat in on one of my sessions. Now I know I do that to myself. I know I could present a very generic hour talking about writing , editing, publishing etc.and I do talk about all those things. But I bring more to each presentation than that. I remember when I did thirteen presentations during my TD Children's Book Week tour in Ontario. Driving to the last presentation of the week I tried to tell myself not to give so much, not to open up so personally to the kids I was seeing in the Scarborough library that morning. I went over in my head all the things I could say about loving libraries and loving to read when I was a kid and almost had myself convinced I wouldn't dig down deep and give the same heartfelt presentations I had delivered and felt proud of giving all week. I had had some amazing interactions in those previous sessions. I'd had standing ovations,tearful kids and warm embraces. I thought if I just kept it light I could get through it and not feel the deep exhaustion I normally feel. Seconds before I parked in the library parking lot it occurred to me that the kids that were filing into that room to see Susan White deserved to see Susan White. There were things I could say to them that belonged to only me. The second I saw the bright and receptive faces in the front row I knew I had no choice but to show up. I have to tell myself that before every school visit but Hampton High holds special value to me and special challenges. It is the school in which I feel the most responsibility to honor my son. I also admire and respect what goes on in that building. So many staff members nurtured Chapin and Caleb and supported Meg and Ashlie. I have a few resentments and heartaches concerning Zac's experience there but those shortcomings exist in every school . I do not dwell on them. I do however feel the need to always honor Zachary White in that building. I drive up and take a quick glimpse at the tree planted in his memory. I walk in the front door and take the opportunity to do so as a privilege. I show up and I don't hold back emotion and feeling. On page 84 in The Year Mrs. Montague Cried Taylor quotes Mrs. M as saying "Don't we look a fright? If someone came in right now, they would wonder what in the world I was doing to you.Tears are shed in my presentations, eyes well up , lumps come to throats, there is laughter and deep sighs. Real feelings emerge and I make no apology for that.I tell of sorrow,of joy, of pain, of comfort, of dreams and failures, of family ,of loss and love. I tell of accomplishments and discipline ,of vulnerability and triumph. I talk non stop and go rapidly from story to story and no two sessions are the same. Kids ask profound questions and always give me their rapt attention.I walk away exhausted but so thankful!

Taking Our Turn

Thirty nine years ago I was preparing to give birth to my first child. We had only been married a year and a half and we were living in a rented house and didn't even have a car of our own. I was beside myself with excitement, anticipation and fear.We were taking our turn with this stage of life. I observe young people at this same stage and feel such joy for them. It fills me with such a mixture of emotion. So much emotion and I keep a tight lid on it. What completely overwhelms me is just how quickly we've jumped from stage to stage. We are now the sixty some year olds, the grandparents, the old people. It occurred to me the other day it was a case of taking our turn . Each stage , each decade , each role we take on have been taken on for generations before us and will be taken on by generations after us. I know that is not a new or overly profound thought but it is for me. Seeing it that way helps me to embrace the turn we are now a part of. I think of kids on the playground waiting for a turn on the swings. This was always a major thing with four or five swings and a hundred kids wanting a turn. Who gets a turn , how long will the turn be, how do you give up your turn when you are really enjoying it and may not get another turn that recess.All very huge concerns when we focus on the turn itself and not the enjoyment of our turn no matter how brief.Turns end and others step up and take their turn. Turns come to abrupt ends and sometimes we can't imagine letting our turn go. But other turns appear, turns we didn't even realize would bring such joy. I look at my elderly parents and some elderly friends and realize their turn is almost completely over. Does stepping away from the swing when recess is over mean our turn wasn't amazing, we didn't give our time swinging high in the sky the attention it deserved? Of course not but it would help if we had no regrets getting off. If we spent our whole time on the swing worrying about the turn ending , worrying who was waiting to take the next turn, how we could have made our turn better then we've wasted the joy of the turn. I am possibly rambling now but this whole turn analogy is helping me to see the entire picture clearer. I know the sorrow of turns being over too soon;of twenty years olds and five year olds, of newborns and the unborn not getting long enough turns or no turns at all. But in all that we should constantly remind ourselves to step up and take each turn and give it all we can so that when our turns are over we know the joy and the gift those turns really were.

Thank you Tori

I am bursting to write this entry . In fact I was awake before sun up writing it in my head. I am so grateful for the gift of Sunday morning to process and write about the gift I received yesterday. I am probably not the only author who's not overly fond of signings.I compare it to being at a yard sale or flea market with the table filled with items nobody wants or takes the time to look at. Now seriously it isn't that bad. Most people at least make eye contact.At my last signing in Moncton I had cookies and that was a big hit. I remember a few years ago when signing copies of Ten Thousand Truths my table was set up beside a rack of Fifty Shades of Grey. People rushed toward me with excited looks on their faces . One little boy burst through the door with his dad and exclaimed." Mom has that book". For a split second I thought he meant his mother was reading Ten Thousand Truths. NO. So signings can be grueling. They can be as lonely as the life of the May Tag repairman.But usually I have one or two interactions that make it all worth while. Yesterday was such a day. Before I was even given a chair to sit down at the table that was set up for me at Indigo I saw a couple of women hovering near the table.They appeared interested which is always nice." We are waiting for you to sign some books " one of them said as she was joined by her daughter. I immediately recognized a student I had met at Bayside Middle School. She was carrying three of my books.She was also carrying the book report she had written after reading Waiting For Still Water. What a thrill for me to see the enthusiasm on her face and the pride on the faces of her mom and grandmother. Reading had not come easy for Tori. I spent years teaching and mothering kids with learning disabilities that make what seems so effortless to some kids seem like such an impossible hurtle to overcome for them. Tori's mother beamed with pride and joy as she told me her daughter's love for my books and her determination to read them. What more could any mother, teacher and author ask for? I can not even begin to express what interactions like that mean to me. I write for many reasons; because I have to, because I want to, because I have stories to tell, because it brings me such joy. I write for myself first trying to tell a story in the best way I know how. I write to express my feelings and my emotions and am thankful for the opportunity to do so. I am also beyond thankful to be published. I am so grateful to sit at a table and offer six books to any reader willing to open the pages . And I am so blessed every time I hear that one reader was impacted by the words I wrote and the story I told. Tori's mom said that her daughter was reading The Year Mrs. Montague Cried out loud to her which was something she never believed would happen. This morning as I sit in my office and reflect on the upcoming birthday of my firstborn son, the nineteenth birthday we've had to have without him, I take such comfort in knowing his story is being read. My little boy struggled so with reading. I felt so helpless as his mother and as a teacher not being able to take away his feelings of frustration and failure.In the few short minutes that I had with Tori, her mom and grandmother I felt the depth and magnitude of their journey. I felt the deep love of a mother for her child and the huge challenge life sometimes presents. I also felt the joy of simple accomplishments and the reward of fighting the good fight and not letting adversity rule.So now as I attempt to pull myself together and finish this entry on a lighter note I will say this. I would not trade those moments like I had yesterday for all the money made by the author of Fifty Shades of whatever, although it would certainly help to pay for this bathroom renovation. Speaking of which my middle son just arrived to begin crack filling. I have so very much to be thankful for this morning!

A Day at Sir James Dunn Academy

Yesterday I traveled to St. Andrews to spend the day with students at Sir James Dunn Academy.Funny story! I wanted to give myself two hours to get there so that I would have time to eat a leisurely breakfast at Tim Hortons in St. Andrews then find the school and get settled before my 8:35 presentation. So I went to bed early the night before setting my alarm clock for 5:30. I got right up, got dressed and ready to go. I went out in the cold and started my vehicle and sat for a few minutes waiting for my delightful seat warmer to kick in. I glanced at the dash and was surprised to see it said 4:55. I checked my watch and realized I was one hour too early. Somehow the time on my bedside table clock had been wrong and my 5:30 wake up had really been 4:30. Back to bed I went but of course I did not fall asleep. I got up at 5:30 and did round two, departing at 5:55. Good travels got me to Tim Horton's with lots of time. And so my day began. My first presentation was to was a great group of grade sevens.I kicked into gear and did my thing and the kids responded generously. A couple of their questions were. " Have you started your next book?" Are your earrings books?" Next I welcomed a group of grade 6 and grade 8 students. They were a bit more animated having woken up and I revved up and delivered a similar presentation. It always does surprise me how each one does take on a flavor of its own. Good thing because Mr. Carey sat in on almost every one of them.Some questions from that crowd were:"What was the favorite part of the first book you wrote?"Do you remember everything you wrote?" I then had a nice long break. A nap would have been nice but I wrote in my 'WRITE'journal and had tea and birthday cake visiting with several friendly staff members Then Mrs. Norman and I enjoyed a meal prepared by the culinary arts students. In the afternoon I presented to a grade nine class first. They were delightful. I made a point of learning all their names first thing and was able to interact with them for a lively and rewarding hour.The kids made random reading requests and I read at least one passage from each of my six books. Jacob asked me to read the Taylor Anne Reading Challenge and I had the kids stand if they had read the book or had it read to them as I went down the list . I was pleased to see that some of my favorites are still being read. Hats off to whoever read 'There's a Girl in the Boy's Bathroom ' to those St. Andrew's kids.After the grade nines took their collective energy out of the room the Grade tens came in. Again I quickly learned their names and gave my all to the hour we had together. Marshall ( can't remember if he was Gr. 9 or 10,sorry Marshall ) was writing pretty much the whole time I talked. I was so pleased he was actually processing my words. I got a kick out of the fact that he wrote that as I talked I branched out in all directions but usually came back to where I started. I do certainly do that and I sometimes wonder if it exhausts the kids as much as it exhausts me. But the kids are always kind and respectful. I looked out at this amazing bunch of kids as they sat taking in every word and responding to my story. Oh I love those magic moments and that is why I take myself away from my warm comfortable home and away from my desk on a writing day to share the gift that writing is for me. Thank you so much Mrs. Norman for inviting me and thank you each and every student and staff member that made me feel so welcome at Sir James Dunn Academy on a sunny November day in beautiful St. Andrews. The widow of Sir James Dunn gifted the town this impressive building and the generations that have filled its halls have and continue to bring that gift to life.

Rest,Regroup, Repeat

I find myself again on another Sunday morning having the same kind of talk to myself I so often have. It is raining steadily and the November sky is grey and dark. Its just the kind of day for staying inside and resting. Last week was a busy one. I only had one day of writing and only that one day at home with no interruptions or obligations. Weeks like that at this point in the game wear me out. I spoke to several teachers yesterday that had just finished writing report cards and I thought back to those hectic demanding days and must say I breathed a huge sigh of thankfulness. But with change comes new demands and one must step up to meet them ,then wind down to recover from them.That is what this day looks like for me. In my way I will rest, regroup and repeat. Firstly I make a list of my blessings and my concerns. I look at each (concerns mainly) and decide if I can do anything about them. If not I attempt to let them go. Yesterday on my walk I reminded myself to only carry the burden of one day's worry at a time. This is a very wise approach as so much of what we (me anyway) worry about is not immediate and important at the very time we worry about it. I can't think of the exact quote but the wisdom is don't borrow tomorrow's troubles. I can not remind myself of that one often enough. So today's troubles are few. I have a dry roof over my head.I am warm. I have food to eat. My family is well and several of them will gather at my table for Sunday supper. I feel healthy. I have choice and can let this day be whatever I need it to be. I have people who love me and I love my people. The bathroom renovation I have dreamed of for several years is underway and about half finished. Materials and tools are the mess I walk around and that is a good and hopeful thing. I have another school visit scheduled for Tuesday in St. Andrews which will mean a very early departure. I hope to get my winter tires put on tomorrow and I have two days at home before I have to put my energies and emotions into what I expect will be another rewarding and exhausting experience as an author.Looking only that far ahead I return to the gift of this day and tackle only the challenges this day gives me. Top of my list will be to get dressed and that does not seem too taxing. Rest, regroup and repeat and in all that be grateful. Seems doable!

Back at Bayside

Yesterday I spent the day in the Bayside Middle School library surrounded by books and 26 very keen, very engaged and very kind kids. I began with getting to know them a little bit first,learning their names. Lots of Rileys and lots of Katelyns made for a few mix ups and I mixed up Chase and Grace a couple of times but for the most part I didn't do too badly. Some of the kids were more vocal than others but each and every one of them brought something to the table. The long tables held copies of four of my books they had read and paper which they so willingly wrote their own thoughts and stories on. It was a magical day. We shut out the grey day outside and the frenzy of activity in the halls beyond the library door and concentrated on reading and writing. The kids shared parts of the books that had touched them and I was thrilled as they read passages I had written. The Sewing Basket group were especially vocal and I was so pleased Ruth's story had impacted them as it did.They asked good questions and made insightful observations. They compared and contrasted the four books and discovered slivers of similarity in them. They discussed the emotions, the conflicts,the settings and the characters in each. They shared their own aspirations and listened to mine.They divulged their writing interests and brought their own personalities and experiences to the paper.We discussed the things that keep us from writing and realized the common threads of being too busy,lacking confidence and doubting our own ideas that all writers no matter what age experience. I was completely exhausted, but hugely rewarded and encouraged as I left the building and waited in my car for the long row of buses holding our future to leave so I could go home. What a gift for a writer and former teacher the day was! Thank you Mr. Laskey and thank you Riley, Rylee, Jeana,Hannah, Sara, Madison, Lydia,Savannah Kate, Taylor,Jackson, Brady, Luke,Mathieu, Kaitlyn, Kaitlyn,Megan,Katelyn Valerie,Chase,Mackenzie,Riley,Reece, Hadyn, Lily, Grace.

The Silent Song

On my drive home yesterday after the annual shopping trip Ashlie and I take with Brianne, her Mom, sisters, aunts and cousins I did a draft of this entry in my mind and it seems I have a lot to say. First of all we have been doing this trip long enough to have accumulated a lot of memories and stories. We used to go to Bangor and have now for several reasons gone to Moncton instead. Lots of laughs , lots of shopping , memorable meals and a connection that increases every year. More than anything our trip builds a bond of love and support that is worth so much more than the purchases we take from our bags for our Saturday night post shopping Show and Tell.Another year and another great trip. Yesterday as the others broke off to do more shopping I went to visit my dear Aunt Lois. She is in a lovely care home and every time I visit her I am more impressed by the staff and comfortable caring home they provide. If someday I find myself unable to be in my own home I wish for a home like Serenacare on Briarlea. My beloved aunt is in the final stages of Altzheimers. She now spends most of her days asleep and unresponsive. When I arrived I was led to a lovely little sitting room where she was nestled comfortably into a comfy chair. She was looking beautiful , her snow white hair styled , her alabaster skin with just a hint of blush, her black turtleneck and red fleece vest was topped off with a lovely necklace. She was covered with a warm cozy blanket and her head tilted comfortably resting on a neck pillow. She looked beautiful to me and I was so thankful for the obvious care she'd been given. I knelt beside her chair and spoke to her telling her only half of what my bursting heart was feeling. I touched her cheek, her soft hair and I cried . I thought of so many things , so many memories, so many years of sitting in the presence of my aunt , my mom and their two other sisters bearing witness to the love they held for each other. I looked at the piano across the room from my silent aunt.My cousins gifted the piano to the home in memory of their dad my beloved Uncle Bernie who left us around this time last year.I thought of the part music played in my aunts and my Mom's life. They sang in church, played the piano publicly and daily for their own pleasure. I could almost hear my aunt's voice and Mom's voice joining hers as I sat in silence, the only sound being the shallow breathing of the woman I love so deeply. I could hear her loving words, her genuine interest in every aspect of my life. I could hear her comforting words as she came through my door the day Zac died.I heard the lines of the theme from Romeo and Juliet that she sang at my wedding.I remembered when that voice faltered as she kept playing unable to sing caught up in the emotion. The songs of her life were always songs of love and caring and of a faith so strong and constant. My silent aunt and my silent mom gone before they leave us but present in my very being which gives me the assurance that they will never be gone and their song will never be completely silent. My cousin Joy when visiting her mom these days sits at the piano and plays and Lois opens her eyes and her mouth and sings in her weak and wobbly voice. I did not attempt to play but heard her voice in my heart. A time for us, someday there'll be. A new world, a world of shining hope for you and me.

Love the Life You're in

Twenty seven years ago I was patiently waiting for my fourth child to be born.I had stopped teaching right after Thanksgiving as being on my feet and trudging up the stairs to my classroom was more than my girth would allow. The baby boy I would deliver on Nov 6th weighing in at 10 lbs 8oz was the reason for my discomfort in those last few weeks. He was welcomed and immediately loved by his two big brothers and one big sister. His nicknames of Cale-man ,Caveman and Bo Hunk were quickly given him and he took his place in our family. He now gets the name of The Farmer. We love our boy and all he's brought to our family (top of the list being Ashlie whom we love like a daughter)Yesterday I was privileged with a group of other writers as part of the WFNB WordsFall event to visit Beth Powning. What a wonderful gift that was. She welcomed us warmly to her home , to her writing garret and to her wealth of wisdom and experience. She and her husband Peter settled into their home and property in the early seventies and every nook and cranny of their old farmhouse speaks to their creativity and the beauty of the life they have lived within its walls and in the fields and woods of their property. It was wonderful to spend the afternoon with her.Coming back home last night I digested all that I saw and felt in Beth's home and in hearing her story.I thought back to the old farmhouse Burton and I looked at in Wickham when Zac was just a baby. We had dreams of buying an old farm and making it our own. I remember the summer kitchen and back porch attached to the house and Beth's house reminded me of that . I have often thought how different our life would have been had we been able to purchase that house in Wickham. Instead we redirected our dream to the piece of land Burton's father had given him years before. There was no house on the property and we needed to see a vision and wait for the resources to build a home and a life on that land. I went off to St. Thomas with a nine month old in tow and got my Bachelor of Education. We returned to the peninsula and rented for a few months while I started teaching and we began building a small shed on our property. We moved in with a two year old Zac. Meg came shortly afterwards and we realized the shed was too small and a bit too pioneer-like so we bought a trailer. For five years we lived in that trailer while building our cordwood home. Lots of stories there for another time. Fast forward to today and to my thoughts on my drive home.One can always look at another person's life, another person's home, and another person's achievements and feel discontent with your own. The choice is allowing that to diminish your own or instead to take that comparison and let it shine the light on your own blessings. I believe cleaning and attending to your home is a form of worship. Today I will mindfully worship my home and my property trying hard to see its beauty and its worth, not its flaws and shortcomings. The life I have been given has brought me right to this day. I will clean and make brown bread rolls to accompany the chili Ashlie will bring for our Sunday supper. I will walk the wood road to the top of the hill and deeply feel the amazement of my people , place and purpose.I will not covet, but celebrate and worship and take strength from that choice.

In Love Again

No my entry is not announcing a new relationship or the renewal of my old one . It is celebrating my joy in realizing as I write today that I am hooked on the book I'm writing. I am in love again. I often get asked which of my books is my favorite. There is no one answer to that but one thing I've noticed is that as I start a new piece of work I am always filled with doubt and skepticism. I don't always love it right away. Today 62 pages into the work that I started at the end of August I feel an attraction and a connection to it. It has a long way to go and many changes and revisions will take place but I care about it. This morning I finished reading the manuscript that I will soon begin the editing process to get it ready for a spring release. I cried and felt the deep hold it has on me. I believe in it and am ready for the next step to get it ready for a reader. My current work is in such beginning stages that I have not been sure of its value. As I work this afternoon pounding and sawing is my background noise. My friend Skip and his brother Tim are working away at our bathroom renovations. They are putting in a new window today and I am thrilled about that. I began with a vision , a hope of renewal for a dated somewhat moldy bathroom. The plan saw the demolition taking it right down to the bare bones. Walls will be re-located, all new fixtures and a walk in shower stall will be created. I see the vision and despite the inconvenience and annoyance of being without a tub and shower I am so excited for the outcome. It seems to me that is similar to the arch of creating a new book. Hard to let go of what was done in the past, hard to let the doubt and fear and worry go , hard to hang on to the vision but all so worth it. Nothing is free or easy or without effort.Every little step is meaningful and contributes to the beauty of the end product.I will post finished bathroom pictures(hopefully before Christmas)