Within the next few weeks, I will publish my third novel, The Bennett Women, which is dedicated to my mother, Ruth Margaret Urbanek. Mom died when I was only thirty-nine, but her influence has remained a steady force in my life.
      She was born in Kansas, the oldest of four siblings. She grew up on a farm, surrounded by crops, cows, horses, chickens, lightening bugs, and acres of land to roam. Many women from her generation chose not to pursue a professional career, but mom had other ideas. With my grandfather’s support, she completed a three-year nursing program. That's her graduation picture on the left.
     She fell in love with a fellow Kansan who had his own ambitions. Mom and Dad relocated to southern California during World War Two where he landed a job as a machinist at McDonnell-Douglas. She obtained her California license, and began a long, distinguished career as a registered nurse. My parents bought a home in Bellflower, settled down, raised three children, and never looked back.
     A couple of months before Mom died, I caught her looking at a reflection of herself in the bathroom mirror. She glanced at me, but didn’t say anything right away. Concerned about her forlorn expression, I inquired about her thoughts. 
     She took a minute before revealing, “When I close my eyes, I become a young girl again, riding my horse across the Kansas prairie. I have wavy brown hair, few worries, and my whole life ahead of me.” She stared into the mirror and sighed. “Who is this wrinkly old lady staring back at me? I hardly know her; it’s not how I feel inside. 
     Her comments triggered an emotional conversation about life and aging; a moment of insight from one woman to another. She pointed to her reflection and said to me, “This will be you one day, Roberta. It happens sooner than you think. Live each day in ways that make you happy.”
     After mom passed away, I had little time to think about anything else except raising my daughters, treasuring my husband, nurturing friendships, and carving out a satisfying professional career. Even though she’s been gone for a long time, that image of her looking into the mirror has always stayed with me.
     Many factors influence my work as a writer, but mom’s spirit is at the heart of The Bennett Women. It’s a tender yet unflinching story that examines what moves us from daughter, mother, and grandmother to something much deeper. I wish I could have another day with my mom to thank her for guiding me with her quiet wisdom; to let her know about the positive influence she has had on three generations.
     And one last thing. I'd tell her she was right about the mirror. I miss you, Mom.

Today, Andy and I attended the grand opening of a friend’s yoga studio. What a thrill it was for us to see her shine on this special day. There are  countless reasons why I love living in Marin, but a big one is being surrounding by entrepreneurs. My town is full of courageous people who have dreams, and don’t let anything get in their way of achieving them.
       Melissa Thorne is one of them. Missy is one of those people whom you like immediately. She is kind, loving, considerate, and fun to hang out with. Andy met her in a College of Marin birding class, and they became instant friends. Missy cooks, lays floors, knits, upholsters chairs, bird watches, gardens, and loves yoga. She’s a bundle of energy with a renaissance spirit.
       Missy had a vision of owning a yoga studio. I watched her thoughtfully plot a course to achieve her dream. She created a business plan, talked with friends to gather opinions, and funded her operation. She searched vigorously for a good location. She poured her knowledge and wisdom into a self-help book that will be self-published soon.
       While she is skilled in teaching all types of yoga, her passion centers on helping senior citizens live healthier lives. To do that, she created a program at her church called Golden Yoga. My husband became one of her students, and I’ve watched him systematically become more limber and gain improved balance after attending her classes. Missy is patient, observant, and encourages participants in holistic ways; her students love her.
       Today, Missy opened up a yoga studio in Novato. It’s called Golden Yoga Method: Be Ageless. The space is filled with good energy—turquoise, gray and yellow colors, calming music and openness. She has an entrepreneur spirit combined with a heartfelt desire to help others--a powerful combination. What a joy it was for Andy and I to share in her special day. We predict Missy will have much success as she grows her business. 


You go girl!
THE GOLDEN YOGA METHOD
1559 S. Novato Blvd Suite A
Novato, California 94947

I’d like to introduce you to a Japanese crabapple tree that resides in my front yard. For one show-stopping week every spring, my husband and I are graced with the image you see here. In addition to the visual feast, a sweet fragrance hovers in the air that bees find irresistible. The tree has a magical effect, bringing neighbors and friends together to view the delicate blossoms. Strangers have turned down my cul-de-sac and stop in front of our house just to stare at this jewel of nature.
       Two weeks ago the tree’s branches were bare. A week from now, its magnificent pink flowers will fly away with the first gust of wind. Hearty green leaves will replace the flora during summer, and the chill of autumn will cause the leaves to fall to the ground, leaving the tree naked once again.
     Artists have created countless images of the four seasons, but my favorite is an embroidery art piece that Andy and I purchased in Vietnam. The work took the artist four months to complete because of its intricate design. We wanted to buy all four seasons, but only had space for one, so we chose our favorite: spring; a time of renewal and hope.
     There are days when I’m in full bloom and feeling glorious like my pink flowers of spring, while other times I feel vulnerable like the barren tree of winter. I’ve come to accept this emotional ebb and flow, knowing it’s part of living a full life. My crabapple tree’s blossoms serve as a generous reminder to cherish what’s right in front of me, realizing that nothing lasts forever in this ever-changing world.

I don’t know the three women in this picture. I met them on a boat traveling from Vernazza to Portofino in 2007, and asked permission to take their picture. The image has always captured my imagination as I pondered the meaning of life defined by generations.

The photo triggered many questions: Who are they and where do they live? How did they spend their days? Did they enjoy vacationing together?  What were their career paths? What kept them up at night? Did they have fears? What gave them joy? Were they in love? Did they bicker or get along?

Answers to those questions and others, enabled me to create an intriguing fictional family for my third novel, The Bennett Women. I’m proud to report that I've completed the first draft! It’s a heartfelt story with a satisfying ending, and I have at least six months of challenging work ahead, so don’t expect it to be on Amazon anytime soon.

Completing a novel is an arduous task, and one of the more difficult phases for me is writing the first draft. Discovering an interesting story and developing multifaceted characters is a blast. I delve into human nature and give people traits I covet such as being artistic, clever, courageous, enterprising, free-spirited, good-hearted, gutsy, imaginative and trustworthy, while balancing less desirable ones such as being abrasive, cruel, cynical, devious, flaky, pushy, tactless, and vindictive. How fun is that?

Once I know my plot and characters, infinite white paper taunts me as I ponder how to slant the story, what scenes to write and many other variables. Facing an empty page intimidates me like nothing else. Now that the first draft is written, the real fun begins. I’ll improve the writing, add or delete scenes and clichés, and endlessly tinker with the narrative. After I’ve done my best work, the manuscript goes to an editor and early readers for feedback, resulting in more rewrites. It's a fascinating journey that gives me surprising joy.

As I celebrate this milestone, I have no way to let these three women know how much they inspired my work, so I’m taking a blogging moment to publicly thank them for allowing me to take their picture on that fateful day seven years ago. If anyone knows them, please speak up and I’ll give you a signed copy of The Bennett Women after it’s published. Meanwhile, I wish you a happy and blessed new year as we welcome 2015!

On Monday, November 3, 2014 at 6:30 in the evening, our beloved cat, Zoe, died peacefully while curled up on my lap. Andy and I had hired a vet to come to our home to euthanize her because she was quite ill. On her last day of life, she enjoyed all her favorite foods: tuna, boiled chicken, milk and salmon, and she romped outside in the grass and bushes, sniffing and savoring nature’s wonders. Now, she suffers no more.

Those of you who don’t own animals won’t understanding our grief. You’ll think, “Come on, it was just a cat.” You might even suggest that we replace her since so many other cats need a home, which is true. If you know us well, you’ll recognize our anguish, and know we need time to grieve.

Zoe wasn’t just a cat. She had been a constant companion for fifteen years. When I began writing novels, Zoe would jump up on my desk and walk back and forth, brushing under my nose. She refused to stay away, driving me crazy. Finally, I bought a soft oval bed for her and set it next to my computer. She immediately curled up and went to sleep. When I had difficulty constructing a scene and erased more words than I kept, she’d sometimes reach over with her paw and place it on my right hand, watching me with her Apple Green eyes. I’d take a break to pet her, and often a fresh idea would surface. Anthropomorphic? Maybe, but I’ve written two books with her help.

Zoe loved people. When guests visited our home, she rarely hid. Instead, she’d brazenly sniff legs, rub against purses, climb into gift bags and jump in laps. My granddaughters, Collette and Sierra, loved dangling toys in front of her, watching her roll on her back and relentlessly swipe away. Zoe disliked riding in cars. When we moved from Southern to Northern California, I shared her company for eight hours, and she meowed the entire time. For her, a cat carrier plus a car ride equaled going to the vet. Veterinarians were the only people Zoe didn’t like, but they sure took good care of her.

Zoe was an indoor-only cat. One summer day, I couldn’t find her anywhere until I walked outside and spotted a black and white runaway rolling in the garden. I chased her back into the house, wondering how she'd escaped. The next day, I glanced up from a book and watched Zoe press her nose against the retractable screen door and crawl under it toward freedom. Once outside, she glanced back and, I swear, she smirked at me. We bought one of those wooden toddler gates so she couldn’t get out again, but I marveled at her ingenuity. 

I could go on and on, but there’s no need. Those of you who love your pets, know what I’m feeling and don’t need me to tell you about my loss. The danger in loving so deeply, human or otherwise, is that when the end comes, one must cope with an indescribable aching hollowness.

A light has gone out for Andy and me, but we’re so grateful to have been blessed with many years of Zoe’s energy and spunk. It was difficult to watch her chest rise and fall for the last time, but we made the right decision. She’s at peace now, and we are the ones who are suffering.

Today, I’m supposed to be in Huatulco, Mexico as part of a 15-day Panama Canal cruise with my sweet husband. I’ve been writing for two years non-stop, and Andy said it was time for a real break. He wanted us both to take a breather and experience new adventures to recharge our batteries. He’s one smart man.

We booked the perfect balcony room months ago, not wanting to miss a single viewing moment of the canal’s engineering masterpiece -- one of the largest and most challenging projects ever undertaken. Andy packed his travel books, and greatly anticipated traipsing through the Costa Rica jungle in search of rare birds alongside a skilled guide. I’m confident it would have been a glorious day for a dedicated birder and his wife.

Some of Andy’s favorite novels have pirates hiding in Cartegena, Columbia, and we couldn’t wait to tour its colonial walled city and fortress, which is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. I never pass up one of those places—especially when we might see Blackbeard.

Unfortunately, our trip was cancelled after I woke up the day before our scheduled departure with a horrible, dizzy sensation that made my world to spin, causing me to become helplessly sick. My doctor told me I have benign positional vertigo, a non life-threatening condition that takes 7-14 days to resolve. Armed with anti-nausea medication and tips on how to successfully evoke the dreaded Epley Maneuvers, I returned home from the medical office to hide, mope and heal.

For fun, Andy and I pretend we’re on our trip, and make ‘observations’ about our day’s discoveries or a fancy meal or the nightly entertainment. I imagine practicing my Spanish with native speakers, while Andy records the new birds he’s discovered in exotic places. We figure it’s important to laugh about this disappointment, so we don’t cry.

I know I must accept my reality, but it’s hard not to be a little depressed right now. Oh, I know there will be other trips, it’s lucky this medical problem happened at home instead of Honduras, my health will get better and brighter days are ahead, but none of those platitudes really help as my world spins and my spirit dips. I glance at Andy and can detect his sadness, but he says nothing as I wallow in guilt. I believe it’s a good thing to be humbled every once in a while, so I’m waiting to learn what the universe is teaching me with this set back. Only time will tell.

Meanwhile, I’m wondering how the Toucan eats food with such a large beak, I’m imagining the new friends we would have met on our trip and I’m marveling at man’s ability to carve a path between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, enabling ships to avoid the hazardous Cape Horn route around the southernmost tip of South America. One day, Andy and I will experience all this, but not today. Today is about disappointment, broken dreams and finding a way to accept everything, knowing it’s just a part of life. Our ‘real break’ will have to come another day.

Well, I just self-published my second novel, The Foundation, and it’s time to take a breather. I’ve always believed in the power of reflection, so here’s to practicing what I preach.

During my corporate years, my work colleagues often talked about “following your passion” and I never quite understood it. My passion centered on being a good wife and mother, educating my children and creating a home filled with love. I’m grateful to have spent many years working for an organization that makes a difference in the community, and I’ve worked with some really talented, fun people over the years. I’ve enjoyed various roles inside my company, and a number of work assignments stirred passion. But I’ll admit to coming up just short of “following my passion” while on the clock.

Today, my family would tell you I’m obsessed. My husband asks me frequently, “How can you sit there and write all day?” I smile sweetly at him and ask about his garden … or fishing … or birding, and then he leaves me alone. When my daughters call me, they silently count the minutes before I bring up my current project, and we share a laugh when it inevitably arrives. Even my granddaughter, Collette, said to me the other day, “Mimi, all you ever do is write. You need to do other things!” (like take her to get a pedicure, go to our favorite ice cream shop, or play a game). Of course, I do all those things, but the next scene in my novel is usually percolating in my subconscious.

I don’t apologize for my writing mania anymore. I want to take readers on an exciting journey that stirs their imagination, and leaves them thinking long after they finish the novel. I’m willing to do what it takes to keep getting better at my craft; I never want to stop growing and learning.

If you go to my Facebook page, you’ll find my ‘25 Things About Me’ response. I created this list in 2009, and here’s #25: “When I retired, I thought I’d write my great American novel, but, alas, I find myself stuck. I’m still trying. There is one good book inside of me that must come out before I leave this life.”

Five years later, I’m the author of two novels: The Vernazza Effect, and its sequel The Foundation. It’s taken a while, but I finally get that passion thing, and I wake up every day excited to create a fictional world that captivates, diverts and surprises my readers for a brief while. It’s been a fun journey so far, and I can’t wait to see where it takes me.

Well, the breather is over, and it’s time to begin plotting that third book … 

I just returned from Southern California where I spent four days promoting, The Vernazza Effect. My dear friend, Cheryl, and daughter, Kim, hosted book signing events. To say a simple ‘thank you’ to them seems so inadequate, but I’ll try.

I’ll start with Cheryl. I flew to LAX, and wanted to take the metro train to the Norwalk station for an easy pick-up, but Cheryl wouldn’t hear of it. We haven’t seen each other for a while, but once in the car, our conversation picked up exactly where we left off, never skipping a beat. We have that kind of friendship.

Cheryl drove to her beautiful hillside home in Whittier as we talked non-stop. When guests arrived, we began a walk down memory lane, having literally grown up together at Kaiser Permanente. Kay guided so many careers, mine included, and she’s still our glue. Roxie’s smile warmed the room, and Bob and I kidded each other like we’ve done for over 30 years. Cheryl T. co-wrote an amazing book with her husband, and it was fun comparing notes and sharing tidbits about the writing process. Connie was a secretary when we first met, now she’s the director of the plastic surgery department. Therese and I were partners in crime for many KP projects, and what a special treat it was to meet, Lauren.

I remember when Cheryl’s mom, Mary, drove her motorhome to the Member Services office so Cheryl could feed her baby. Now Kathryn is 30, and a second-generation KP employee. Cheryl’s daughter, Kristen, is an administrator at a High School, and the proud mother of two lovely daughters. I so enjoyed talking with them, marveling at what beautiful women they have become. Where did time go?

After everyone left, I felt gratitude for everyone’s support and encouragement. I talked Cheryl into going to Veracruz, my favorite Mexican restaurant, for dinner and margaritas. When we got home, her husband, Bruce, tried to entice us to watch a movie with him, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I settled into the comfortable guest room, and barely remember my head hitting the pillow. In the morning, Cheryl made tea and raisin bread for breakfast while we sat and ate, soaking up every last minute together.

Then, my daughter, Kim, and grandson, Camden, picked me up, and drove to their Anaheim home. I hung out with Cam, while Kim prepared our feast and, later that afternoon, had a second book discussion party. Thank you Gaye, Camille, Jenny, Rob, Cyndi, Debbi, & Katie for your support, and insightful discussion.

The next morning, Kim drove me to Westwood College where she’s the assistant academic dean. She arranged for me to be a guest author, and I ended up speaking to four different student groups over two days. I was impressed by their dedication to improve their lives, and they asked such thoughtful questions. The Vernazza Effect encourages readers to follow their dreams, and this audience was a living example. My favorite part was at the end of each session where Kim and I revealed our relationship, and shared insights about our journey as mother and daughter. We had a mutual admiration thing going on, and we reveled in it.

After everything was over, Kim drove me to the Long Beach airport where we said our good-byes, and I flew home. Even though it’s inadequate, I’ll say a simple ‘thank you’ to Cheryl and Kim for creating these opportunities for me. It never ceases to amaze me what gifts are right in front of us. We just need to open our eyes, receive them and never, never, never take the people in our life granted.

In May 2007, a friend, Anne, invited me and four other women to her home in Sebastopol. After eating a gourmet lunch, Anne shared the real reason for the visit: she had a vision that the six of us would form a consulting practice. She knew each of our unique talents and thought we’d make a powerful team.  Anne asked, “What’s important when you think about work?” Responses ranged from having fun, continuous learning, working with motivated clients, to engaging in work that would change lives. At the end of the day, we decided against working together, but formed a book club. We selected “Get Back in the Box” by D. Rushkoff as our first read, and scheduled the next gathering.  
     After fifteen books, several of us stopped reading. We finally admitted what we really wanted was time with like-minded women who enjoyed a good meal and interesting conversations. We christened ourselves, The Ponies, and ended the book club facade.
     Our name comes from a story about twin boys, and it goes like this:  Two brothers had extreme personalities, one a pessimist, the other an optimist. One Christmas, the parents tried an experiment. They filled a room with presents for their pessimist son to see if they could make him happy. Upon seeing the gifts, the boy burst into tears. “What’s the matter?” asked the surprised parents. “There are too many presents! I don’t know where to begin!” In another room, the parents gave their optimist just one gift: a box of horse manure. When the boy saw the box, he dropped to his knees and began gleefully scooping it out with his hands. “What are you doing?” asked the befuddled parents. “With all this manure,” the little boy beamed, “a pony must be in here somewhere!”
      My Ponies have that kind of optimism. We laugh and dream together. We share confidences and support each other’s ambitions. We listen without interrupting and seek advice on problems. We traveled to Calistoga for a spa weekend. Mostly, we come together to let our hair down without being judged. 
     Today, The Ponies officially disbanded. One woman is working on a non-fiction book and needs all her free time to write. Another works full time, participates in local politics and ran out of hours. A third pony is moving to Washington.
     These women have helped carry me through life for the past seven years, and I’ll miss them terribly. Anne, Janet M., Janet B, Liz and Madelyn, I wish you every success wherever life takes you, and I anticipate the occasional reunion where we'll gallop together once again. xo

I’m sitting on a comfortable couch in my best friend’s living room while she and her husband are at work. The house is quiet, it’s pouring rain and I’m feeling content and nostalgic. So why am I here? I flew to Southern California yesterday to attend a book signing party for The Vernazza Effect. Debbi and Rick hosted the party at their home yesterday evening.

Debbi prepared perfect antipasti: crackers, cheese, meats, artichoke dip and olives, and at least eight bottles of Italian beverages sat next to a full ice bucket. A video from our 2007 Italy spa vacation played silently on their TV while candles flickered all around the house. Debbi displayed pictures from our times together: weddings, cheerleader days, travel adventures, class reunions. Rick won an argument and picked up the pizza himself instead of having it delivered. Personally, I think he needed a quiet moment.

The Kightlinger home soon filled with an eclectic bunch of guests: a few folks from one of Debbi’s book clubs, her mom, daughter and granddaughter, Rick’s mom and sister, fellow teachers from Bell Gardens High School and some of Debbi and Rick’s closest friends. Debbi’s mother, Barbara, was like a second mom to me while growing up, so it was especially nice to spend time with her. During the book discussion, guests asked thoughtful questions about my novel and writing process. After everyone left, Debbi and I shared a few quiet minutes before I headed upstairs to sleep.

This morning, I’m struggling to find the words to express what Debbi’s friendship means to me. In The Vernazza Effect, the first time Ella tells Jack that she loves him, she mentions how these simple words—I love you—feel so trite. Ella thought the words barely conveyed the depth of her feelings for Jack. That’s how I feel about Debbi.

As always, she took a ton of pictures, and I’ll post them to my website later. Tonight she’s hosting a second party for another book club. It’s a sit-down affair with serious readers. Of course the menu is Italian: Left over antipasti, homemade lasagna, salad and gelato. Debbi does theme parties better than anyone I know. 

She and I have been best friend since 7th grade. We’ve helped each other deal with many life issues, and we share secrets that no one else knows. I expect to do some inspiring travels with her after she retires, and I know we’ll be dear friends until we take our last breath.

What I don’t know is how I got so darn lucky to have her in my life. I love you, Deb.