Post Christmas actually

Recently, I saw a Norwegian mini series about people stuck in an Oslo airport on Christmas. It had a somewhat melancholy sentiment and yet weirdly was also heartwarming.

This Christmas, I am somewhat melancholy too. I feel the loss of my dog Frodo. I miss him so. And his loss brought up the death of my father and my pervasive sadness at not being able to have kids along with so many other things I have grieved. This week, I have been waking up at 3 am and staring at the ceiling.

Now I know, I don't show my sadness often. Even to myself. But sometimes, you must be present in the sadness and feel it, really feel it. 

So I picture my shih tzu Frodo, his black eyes staring at me, right before I had to let him go and I kiss his furry black and white face. And I remember my father's face on my last day with him, on the day he passed. In my mind's eye, I kiss his cheek and hug him tight, so tight. I remember the hope I used to have that I would have a child one day. And I remember letting that hope go, and I imagine the hope flying into the wind like a colorful plane and then crashing into the sea. I hug myself for that one. 

And that's all I can do. I can't bring anyone back. Some hopes die. But other hopes and dreams take their place, for me it's my writing. People pass away, all of us eventually, and we can only remember them fondly. 

And dogs die. Their life spans are such that we caretake for them knowing this. So this morning, I give Chewbacca extra snuggles and I talk to him about how hard it is missing Frodo, and I can almost see a glimmer of understanding somewhere deep in his caramel colored eyes.

The lil writer that could

Today is a good day. I'm feeling hopeful. 

I've been working on some projects for next year. I made a "to do" list and it definitely helped. One of the things I want to do is to translate my books to the screen. But I know that I need help, so I hired a coach. Maybe it's time to invest in myself and get this done. Plus, I know that I don't have forever. Turning fifty woke me up, as did Covid, to my own mortality

I have a feeling this is meant to be. Sometimes, you just need to believe. You see, I've always loved movies. The love of film and television was passed down to me from my father. And when I wrote my long memoir, I always pictured it being adapted to the screen. 

C'mon, I mean, for Pete's sake, there's a story in it called "Movie Time".  And although I've never written a screenplay, I do have a draft of a stage play of my memoir. Yeah yeah, I know, the genres are very different and I know there are action points you need to hit in a film. It can't just be family drama and dialogue. Or can it?

Some days, I wake up and tell myself, start your next book. Let these two books go and start your next project. Then a lil voice inside my head, and heart, which is the voice of my soul and intuition says, not yet, not quite yet... At other times, I hear my father's voice saying, "You can do this Jenny. You can do this."

So I will try. And keep on trying. The little writer that could. That's me.