Empty Pages
Author: Sarah
sarah@tell-me-your-story.org
New Beginnings
By Anonymous
I was recently at a dinner party, a 60th birthday celebration for a dear friend. There are 12 of us, in this close knit group. We range in ages from 53-64. We all met in our early 30’s in our neighbourhood. We travel together, celebrate life’s miles stones and end of the week together. We raised our children and dogs together, we hold each other through divorces and illness, sit at bed sides and bring meals when needed. We drink wine and water, margaritas and sidecars, none of us have given up the drink yet but most have slowed down our consumption substantially. We dance on tables and run or work out together at 6 am. You get the picture, it is a tight knit group of women. We adore each other and treasure our friendship.
The conversation at one point turned, as it inevitably does at this middle age, to what season of life we are living in. The birthday girl equated it to the autumn of life. We had to agree that certain body parts are falling. Colours of hair and skin are changing, like leaves we are becoming spotted with dark or streaked either by grey or the ubiquitous blond. We shared ways to combat this, red light therapy, creams, hydrogen peroxide, surgeries, lifestyle changes, sleep etc. I came home and thought “Fuck that”. Don’t get me wrong I will still use the creams and have a red light mask. But I have decided to embrace the dark circles on my cheek to life well lived in the sun.
The dark circles represent wonderful summers in the sun in Muskoka as a child and teen. Teaching swimming on the docks, sailing, water skiing, skinny dipping during the day. Winter vacations in Florida, visiting my grandparents, long walks on the beach, playing tennis with no hat. Winters skiing in the sun (with no helmet!). All these moments without sunscreen. Soaking in the vitamin D that I didn’t know existed. In fact, we would hold tin foil up to our faces and coat our bodies in oil to improve our “tan”. Which in my case, was always a burn and more freckles galore. For a while it was “cool” to coat your nose in zinc, when teaching on the dock. I probably should have done more of that as now I coat my nose with chemotherapy creams to fight the basil cell carcinoma that keeps returning. But it was worth while. And I plan to continue all those activities in the sun and more now that I am nearing the end of my 6th decade.
In fact, I am choosing to see this stage of life, not about fall at all, but yet an other spring. As the earth goes around the sun and we pass though seasons multiple times, so is my life. I have recently experienced a good degree of loss in my life. The past decade included a divorce of a 22 year marriage and the death of our family dog. More recently, in the past year I lost my father, the break up of a long term relationship with a man I loved, the loss of two more family dogs due to cancer, long before their time was due. My children have grown and moved out of the family home. A month ago I was at my lowest point. Walking through empty rooms and living with ghosts. I had gone from two years earlier, a home filled with people I loved, my own three children, two step children, two wonderful dogs and my partner of 7 years. My parents independent and well and in their own home. It was a time filled with highs and lows, laughter and love, drama and noise, forgiveness and lessons learned. Some stages of life are a season unto themselves. As I reflect, the last decade felt like autumn, many moments of beauty and warmth and full of colour with a sharp turn into a short season of winter, dark, cold and lonely with only glimpses of sun on occasion.
As we start 2026, I have a renewed hope of spring. I have a puppy. He brings me joy and love everyday. My eldest daughter is getting married and it is such a joy and honour to be a large part of this plan for her future. Although I have lost my father, I feel him with me everyday in ways that beget an other short story. As the sun beams in my back windows over my back yard of snow, I feel that I enter this next stage of life as a new beginning. I ran into a friend recently who was a widow, and was in love with a new partner. She commented at how lucky we are to experience new love again, at this stage of life. What joy! And like a teen, I feel that is yet ahead of me again. I am not in the autumn of my life but spring, and excited for what lies ahead.
My Year Of Creativity (December)
Unedited
The sun has set on 2025 and a new year has begun. Will 2026 be a year of color, with rainbows after a storm? Maybe the sunlight will shine on a field just right, and the glorious hues of the grasses grown will pop? Or the days could be dark, full of angry storm clouds overhead. Although it might be hard, on the darkest days beauty can still be found…the year has just started and what lies ahead is yet unknown.
Nursing a cold that appeared on New Year’s Day, I am reflecting on a year that is now past…in the greater scope of things, 2025 (for lack of a better word) sucked! Last year might have been spent in blissful ignorance, if knowledge of Project 2025 hadn’t urged me to listen to the news. Without tuning in to current events, there would have been little awareness of the chaos that our current administration has set to the world order. In our area things seem to be unchanged. My social media feed would have consisted solely of jewelry reels and hobby sites. Last year a choice was made to see life beyond my own backyard.
In December 2024, I decided that my 2025 New Year’s resolution would be to complete one creative project a month. The year ahead looked like it might have hard changes. For many people the prediction rang true. Being aware of what was taking place within our country caused me to have many negative emotions. The reason for my new year’s intention was this: having something to focus on, would clear the noise that might be rattling around my head. As last year’s door started to close, my husband asked if I thought the creative outlet helped. “Yes, sort of”, was my simple answer.
Paying attention to what was happening, gave me an understanding of where our country seems to be heading. The direction the U.S. is going is very bad. Currently, the one thing that has consequences for me is this: If Project 2025 were to fully go through, my rights as a woman would be severely diminished. As a white female in my late 50’s, turning the clock back to a repressive age might have little bearing, but it would affect our daughters. Equal rights are being challenged: since the overturning of Roe V. Wade reproductive freedoms have been rolled back in many states. In November 2025, the U.S. Department of Education reclassified traditionally female professions (social work, public, health, nursing, teaching…) to non-professional; possibly this is the beginning of time going backward for women. Many more freedoms have already been taken from other populations in our country.
Working on artistic endeavors last year allowed for an escape from the outside chaos. At the beginning of December 2025, there was doubt that I would complete this last month of creativity…one day, during the second week of the 12th month, my knee went out on me while swimming. At first, barely any weight could be placed on my leg and the thought of standing to solder any of my pieces seemed impossible.
Rest was needed because a large portion of my extended family was going to St. Thomas for the holidays. The trip was to celebrate my mother. She is turning 85 in March. I wanted to be in the best walking shape possible when our vacation began. Much to my chagrin, not loving to sit still, time was taken to mend. Bored with the wire wrapped, beaded necklaces, a chain made of wire (that required no soldering) was started.
Early in the month, a class to learn the art of decoupaging shells had been signed up for; this craft of decorating objects with paper was something not done in years! The workshop, was held upstairs in an area that had no elevator. Luckily my knee was stable with a brace and I was able to attend the class:
The third week of December turned out to be a busy time: We had the first “big” snow of the year; One of the projects I had started working on in November, was almost finished: a hawk pendant; Another piece, also started in the 11th month, was ruined: a bezel set stone; Lastly, my youngest daughter and I took an enameling workshop.
A few days before we flew to St. Thomas, my chain necklace was finished and the hawk pendant was painted with patina.
On December 24th, it was time to depart for the long planned trip. Although a few months before our matriarch’s actual birthday, this period was chosen because it was the best time for many of my mother’s grandchildren to attend. Unfortunately, we each had one adult child missing. Although it didn’t feel like a winter holiday, it was the first (and probably the last) Christmas that my mother, sister and brother have been together in about 3 decades. A beautiful location had been chosen: the property where we stayed was on a cliff. There were many Iguanas on the rocky shore. Cats and jungle fowl live together. We only stayed for five nights, but there was time for town, the beach and a day of snorkeling. Mostly, for those who don’t see much of my mother, there was the opportunity to celebrate her. This holiday was a nice way to end the year!
12th Month Complete
With this post, “My Year Of Creativity” ends. On my own, I plan to continue to create and write. What form the anecdotes take on this blog is yet to come. Hopefully, some of you will “test the waters” and share your story. Remember, this is why the site was created: for you to tell your tale. The only rule for the narrative (whatever form it takes) is that the account needs to be true…
Author’s note: The new year has already started ominously. Yesterday, I woke up to the news that the our country launched strikes on Caracas, Venezuela. President Maduro and his wife were placed in U.S custody. Although the Venezuelan president is a dictator, the fact that he and his wife were taken has serious implications for the world order. To better understand this please watch Heather Cox Richardson: the last six minutes are the most important.
Heather Cox Richardson:
How U.S. taking out Maduro matters to the world:
Despite the early bad news, I wish you all the best in the year to come and leave you with this:
“Everything can be taken from a person but one thing: the last of the human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances”.
-Viktor Frankl
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My Year Of Creativity
January https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/02/01/my-year-of-creativity/
February https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/03/07/my-year-of-creativity-2/
March https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/03/30/my-year-of-creativity-march-2025/
April https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/05/18/my-year-of-creativity-april-2025/
May https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/06/06/my-year-of-creativity-may-2025/
June https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/07/11/my-year-of-creativity-june-2025/
July https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/08/08/my-year-of-creativity-july-2025/
August: https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/09/14/my-year-of-creativity-august-2025/
September: https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/10/21/my-year-of-creativity-september-2025/
October: https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/11/08/my-year-of-creativity-october-2025/
November: https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/12/12/my-year-of-creativity-november-2025/
I Remember
In memory of the victims of PAN AM Flight 103. This was originally written in December 2018 on the 30th anniversary of the Lockerbie Bombing. Today marks the 37th year of this terrorist attack…
I Remember
The fall of my Junior year in college, I left my college in New Jersey to study with Syracuse University in London. I had applied to the Syracuse program because I needed a change from my college, which had begun feeling small.
I wanted to spend a year in London, but was afraid I would be homesick. I fully intended to meet friends from my hometown and travel during Winter break. The Syracuse program gave me the opportunity to extend my stay to a year if I was happy. About two weeks in to my semester in London I decided to stay for the full year.
I loved my time in London. I cannot put into words what a wonderful and exciting experience it was for all of us who studied there. We were young, practically still children, full of hopes and dreams.
30 years ago today the dreams were taken from 35 of my fellow students. The tragedy of Pan Am flight 103 changed all who it touched. For those people who were connected to the disaster over Lockerbie, Scotland: I remember.
Pictures flow through my mind…
Traveling for the first few days of winter break with my roommate, Deirdre
Leaving London
Traveling to Amsterdam, Cologne, Munster, Brugge and Brussels
Arriving at the Brussels train station where Deirdre and I would part ways:
She to a family she knew in Belgium,
I back to London to meet with friends for Christmas.
Liz, at the train station saying “There has been an accident on one of the planes”
Me stupidly saying “was anyone hurt?”
Being told, “Everyone is dead.”
Darkness fell,
Walking from the Syracuse center after laying flowers on the steps…
Being approached by another student “Sarah, thank God…I did not know your last name, there was another Sarah from our program on flight 103.”
Slowly finding out who I had known:
Ken Bissett, who sat next to me on the flight to London and was supposed to return for spring semester…
Miriam Wolf with her vibrant hair and welcoming personality.
The others: Pamela, from Bowden; Turhan;the Cocker twins…
Feeling guilty that I had not been on the plane.
Lighting candles all over Europe, In remembrance for those that had died.
Moving through the dark. Finding light. Letting go of the guilt.
Remembrance
Unedited
In October of this year, there was a short visit to Syracuse, NY. After a several hours of driving that beautiful autumn day, a stretch of my legs was greatly needed. I met with a loved one in the area and went for a stroll. We walked through a beautiful graveyard, as the autumn breeze blew. The golden leaves, of some of the changing trees, moved overhead with the wind. Up and down slopes we traveled and eventually reached Syracuse University campus.
When my youngest moved to the area, I mentioned the desire to one day to visit the memorial for those who were victims of the Pan Am flight 103 bombing in 1988. Having studied abroad with these students, this tragedy was an defining event in my young adult life. As we neared SU, my daughter said to me: “I found the memorial you mentioned wanting to visit”. We walked along the paths of the campus. Eventually, we came upon the tribute that was placed for my classmates.
We stood in silence, me with a little lump in my throat, almost 40 years later this is still hard…
About a week after my child and I viewed the site on University Hill, it was Remembrance Week. She sent me this picture in front of Hendricks Chapel.
Then, a few days later, a friend forwarded me this from instagram:
Remembrance Week
“Each year in the fall, Syracuse University observes Remembrance Week. Events are designed by the Remembrance and Lockerbie Scholars, whose goal is to raise campus and community awareness of terrorism and to encourage the entire Syracuse University community to remember the victims of the Pan Am 103 bombing by becoming involved and working to positively impact others.”
–From Syracuse University/Remembrance
https://remembrance.syr.edu/events/
Although it was hard to read the names, the first chair was the worst: I sat next to Kenneth Bissett on the plane to London. Interactions with many of these students are recalled. Yet with the sadness, gratefulness is felt: the SU community continues to remember….
Authors Note: Tomorrow is the 37th anniversary of the Lockerbie Bombing, and once again I will share my story.
My Year Of Creativity (November 2025)
In early September of 2024, my husband and I went to the Delaware Art Museum’s sculpture garden. Quite taken with The Crying Giant, by Tom Otterness, he became a subject for many photographs.
There have been so many days since January 21, 2025 that I have wanted to put my face in my hands, just like this colossal, yet gentle, figure. The dismay and disbelief over what is happening in this country feels monumental; in the early months there was the desire to weep and, to due lack of sleep, sometimes the tears came.
The mournful sculpture was created in response to the events that transpired on September 11, 2001. That day, which is commonly know as 9/11, terrorists coordinated attacks on the United States. They were part of an Islamist extremist group from several Arab nations. Sadly, Islamophobia began almost immediately on 9/11/01. Hate crimes increased. People, couldn’t see the difference between a religion and an act of terrorism by zealots; this made me sad.
The seeds of bigotry have always been in the soil of this young country; all it takes is a little rhetoric for it to germinate and grow. For those who resided in this nation, it was a horrific time. However, the American people came together on that day and the time following. There was global support: nations around the world held vigils and offered sympathy. 38 large jets landed in Gander, Newfoundland, as planes flying into the United States were diverted. The Canadians opened their homes, churches and schools to the people from these aircrafts. Food and accommodations were provided to thousands of unexpected “guests”.
That day, just over 24 years ago, the attack came from somewhere else. Currently, the horrors come from within our country. Our allies have been pushed away; it is doubtful there are any countries who would rush to our aid now.
By the end of November 2025, the sun seemed to be setting on what was once a country that people from all over the world wanted to be part of. The current administration dismantled so much of what was good about this country; it has rolled back years of progress in medical, social and global relations. Racism, xenophobia, transphobia, antisemitism and misogynistic tendencies are becoming “normalized”. People in the highest offices in this country seem to think it is “OK”: to have people being taken off the streets by masked agents because of the color of their skin; for the leader of our country to verbally attack women in the White House press corps and make derogatory remarks about their appearance; that the man in the Oval Office suggested democratic lawmakers be put to death because they urged service members to disobey illegal orders…. NONE OF THESE THINGS ARE NORMAL!
Paying attention to the news in November, the endearing statue, from the Delaware Art Museum, kept coming to mind. For all the things mentioned previously, there was want to put my head in my hands.
Perhaps it seems like I spend the whole day listening to the news; this is far from the truth. For the most part, my life is full, yet many days are spent in the minutiae (swimming, walking, playing the New York Times puzzles…). In November I didn’t travel very far, most of the month was spent close to home. Time was spent with friends. Some afternoons were occupied by writing my October story. Other periods, following lunch, working on my creative project(s) kept me focused.
As the 11th month came to a close, my mother’s house was visited. The American Thanksgiving holiday was upon us. Knowing Mom would ask everyone at the table what they were thankful for, I began to think. Deciding what to say seemed elusive, as this country’s golden light continued to fade. Then, the realization hit me, although angry with the politics of this country, hope and joy could still be felt.
Hope was present because it was becoming increasingly clear that a majority of Americans are unhappy with the current events. Special elections in November and people speaking out were evidence of the American people being downcast. Joy surrounded me. I have to a loving family, good friends in my corner, a roof over my head, food on the table and the ability to create, learn and travel. There was still much to be grateful for!
I arrived home from my mom’s with one day to finish my creative endeavors. Many projects had been started in November. Only some were finished…
11th Month Complete
This ring is made from the handle of this spoon:
Making similar necklaces all the time, is becoming tiresome, but repetition helps to build mastery of a skill.
My Year Of Creativity
January https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/02/01/my-year-of-creativity/
February https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/03/07/my-year-of-creativity-2/
March https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/03/30/my-year-of-creativity-march-2025/
April https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/05/18/my-year-of-creativity-april-2025/
May https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/06/06/my-year-of-creativity-may-2025/
June https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/07/11/my-year-of-creativity-june-2025/
July https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/08/08/my-year-of-creativity-july-2025/
August: https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/09/14/my-year-of-creativity-august-2025/
September: https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/10/21/my-year-of-creativity-september-2025/
October: https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/11/08/my-year-of-creativity-october-2025/
My Year Of Creativity (October 2025)
Unedited
Authors note: This story begins with a continuation from my September story, if it is not read, you may feel a little lost, here is the link to that story: https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/10/21/my-year-of-creativity-september-2025/
On October 1, 2025, I awoke at Ghost Ranch to two pieces of news: the first bit of information was not surprising: the U.S. government had shut down in the wee hours of the morning. The second fact was a text, from Kay, saying: “Sadly I have to go home. That’s the only remedy. I’m already in Albuquerque at the airport…”. The altitude was too high for my friend.
I was angry with myself for not staying at the hospital and taking Kay to the airport. Although grateful for the time we spent together, my heart broke for her. She had planned this getaway as a celebration for a momentous occasion in her life. However, my friend had given me a gift: being invited to travel with her, to this magical place, is an experience I will always treasure.
For me, the first day of October began well before the sun rose. Eventually people in the lodging around me began to awaken. The first person to greet me was one of the women from my class that had become a friend in the few days since we had met. She had traveled from Albuquerque to attend the silversmithing workshop. As I relayed that my roommate had left the ranch, my confusion over the high security in the Española hospital was also expressed. She was sorry Kay had departed. My classmate then confirmed that the bewilderment and somewhat of an uneasy feeling, from the night before at the hospital, was warranted: the unassuming town is considered to be the drug capital of the New Mexico.
Although Kay had left, I wasn’t alone. People at the ranch were welcoming and most meals were eaten with my two friend from class, one woman from Kay’s workshop, as well as various others that were met during our stay. The last three days at Ghost Ranch were busier than the first two; evening hours were spent the at the art studio.
Thursday night I finished my second piece of jewelry: a bracelet with a beveled stone:
Friday, October 3 was my last full day at the ranch. We had three hours of class that day. Knowing there was not enough time to make something big, I spent my time playing with wire. A ring was made:
When classwork was finished, we broke for lunch then returned to clean the studio. That evening there was an art show displaying pieces form the various workshops which included: Introduction to Southwest Silversmithing, Visual Journaling, Batik, and Painting (in the style of Georgia O’Keefe?).
Our time was almost over. I have traveled many places, in this country and abroad. The canyon, where Ghost Ranch resides, might be at the top of the list for the most beautiful spot!
Saying goodbye to my Texan friend on Friday night, I wished her well and gave her a hug. Very early Saturday morning, I bid adieu to my friend who lives in Albuquerque, also with an embrace and then was off to the airport.
The trip home was uneventful; there were no flight delays this early in the government shut down. I had time to watch two movies. One film, downloaded before leaving for New Mexico, was The Trial of the Chicago 7; it looked like a suspenseful drama. Shortly after the video started to play, I recognized the name Abbie Hoffman and realized this was based on an event that occurred shortly after my birth.
There were times while watching this historical American legal drama, that I could barely breathe. The protests that led to these men being charged were shown as peaceful. However, the people at the rally were met with extreme police brutality that created a riot. Everything about the trial was taxing and I wondered if Hollywood had sensationalized it. Apparently it was worse in real life. According to time.com,”The Trial of the Chicago 7 Is a Riveting Movie. But the True Story Is Even More Dramatic”(https://time.com/5900527/trial-of-the-chicago-7-true-story/). Bobby Seale was treated so savagely that I felt sick. You might wonder “why didn’t you stop watching the movie?”. The answer is simple: it showed a part of history. Our past should never be ignored for it is the only way to learn from humanity’s mistakes.
The next movie was a light hearted comedy. By the time my plane landed, my nerves were less strained. My husband picked me up at the airport and we talked about our lives since we had last been together. As I got ready for bed, still thinking about the movie from earlier in the day, I felt relieved that we would be in Canada for the next “No Kings ” protest. We were headed to Lake George, New York to spend time with our daughters and then on to our cottage in Muskoka for a week…
Plans sometimes need to be revised, as was evident the next day when my husband tested positive for COVID. We decided that I would head to New York on my own. Our trip to Ontario was canceled. Five days later I was on my way to Lake George. A relaxing long weekend was spent with my two daughters, the boyfriend of my eldest, and their dog.
Although disappointed that my husband and I wouldn’t be heading north of the border, the knowledge that my spaces in our home were a mess did not escape me. Between unpacking and repacking from my summer away, a trip three weeks after I returned home and then this trip, there was some organizing to do.
Traveling home on October 15th, from New York, there was also a decision to be made: would I join the next “No Kings” protests? Both the “Hands Off ” movement in April and the first “No Kings” rally in June had been attended. But this one seemed bigger and more dangerous.
The news was reporting of tear gas being deployed into Chicago’s peaceful protests. Reports of pepper spray being used on nonviolent opposition were also circulating. Knowing that in my county, both the sheriff and county councilman were clearly in line with agenda of the current administration (due to videos they had posted) didn’t make me feel safe. However, having listened to Heather Cox Richardson’s political chat the night before, her words ran through my head: “if you are worried about exercising your free speech and not using it, then you have already lost it”… A resolution was made that if a friend was going, I would go too.
Thursday, while unpacking, I got in touch with friends to see if they would be around for the protest Saturday. Everyone was busy. The thought of going to the protest alone scared me. Technically, a decision had been made because there was no one to go with. Maybe I gave up to soon?
Friday morning, the words from HCR were still in my head. Really, a familiar face was what was needed, someone known that would stand in solidarity with me. There were some like minded women that I knew, but was not close to. I reached out anyway.
In the end, I showed up to the “No Kings” protest. The smiling face of my first husband’s newest ex-wife was there to greet me. The two of us stood in solidarity with about 3000 other people, which had most likely doubled from the amount from June. We were there for America, to show up for our neighbors and to speak out against an administration that is trying to destroy democracy. I waved my American flag. There was joy and unity; chanting and singing; costumes and signs.
Signs and Costumes
“Offred’s” sign reads:
Now I’m awake to the world. I was asleep before. That’s how we let it happen. When they slaughtered Congress, we didn’t wake up. When they blamed terrorists and suspended the Constitution, we didn’t wake up then either. They said it would be temporary. Nothing changes instantaneously. In a gradually heating bathtub, you’d be boiled to death before you knew it.
-Margaret Atwood
…then the dinosaurs danced.
I was happy to be part of the “No Kings” rally, and thankful to stand with someone known to me. This time there was no reason to be scared, but what about the next time? Currently, in this country, we still have the right to speak our grievances but that could change. There is more to be done. In my own quiet way I am trying to push back.
For me, the final 13 days of October were uneventful. The news continued to report terrible things: the AI-generated bombing of excrement on protestors; a temper tantrum exhibited by tearing down of the East Wing of the White House; some of the administration moving to military bases; Snap benefits running out for millions of Americans….
My spaces at home were organized. A boring necklace was made as my creative project of the month. Now that I feel more settled, November will offer more creative time.
10th Month Complete
The necklace is somewhat of a choker style, perhaps a little small. The intent was to pick up the colors of the stone from the necklace I made in New Mexico.
My Year Of Creativity
January https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/02/01/my-year-of-creativity/
February https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/03/07/my-year-of-creativity-2/
March https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/03/30/my-year-of-creativity-march-2025/
April https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/05/18/my-year-of-creativity-april-2025/
May https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/06/06/my-year-of-creativity-may-2025/
June https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/07/11/my-year-of-creativity-june-2025/
July https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/08/08/my-year-of-creativity-july-2025/
August: https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/09/14/my-year-of-creativity-august-2025/
September: https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/10/21/my-year-of-creativity-september-2025/
My Year Of Creativity (September 2025)
Unedited
The Past
In the spring of 2018, I volunteered for an organization called “Girls On The Run” as a coach. The older group, Heart and Sole, is the one I co-led. The younger group, Girls On the Run, was led by “Kay” who was about six years younger than myself. When we first met, the younger coach and I discovered that not only were we born in the same month, but our birthdays were only one day apart.
The first season Kay and I only spoke about the running program. Spring season ended and we each went our separate ways. By the time the two of us started to coach again in autumn, my world had begun to crumble; I was trying very hard to keep it all together. At some point, early in the fall of 2018, Kay and I ran into each other in the post office. Our conversation turned from a normal, every day discussion to a realization that both of us had heavy things that were weighing us down. We decided to meet someday just to get to know each other better.
Although Kay was a pastor, and I didn’t attend church, it dawned on me that this woman could be a good friend: she was easy to talk to and we had some things in common. Between the fall of 2018 and spring of 2019 Kay and I began to go out for lunch, coffee, or walks together. Somehow, we were able to talk about anything and became fast friends. When we first started to spend time with each other, I paid no attention to the news of the country and the world. My focus was on the crises in my own family rather than current events. Kay wasn’t in the dark when it came to outside happenings and my new companion filled me in.
Our friendship took us on walks during the pandemic and (when the weather was cold outside) strolls in the mall. Sadly, Kay moved away in September of 2022. We kept up our camaraderie through texts, as well as phone calls. I still only paid half attention to the news, even when my life got better. In the summer of 2024, when “Project 2025” was the topic of many conversations, I began to take notice. Along with talking about our lives, I was now able to participate in a dialogue ,with Kay, about things happening in current events.
Present Year
I had been hoping to visit Kay late last spring and then the realization hit that it wasn’t going to work for me. One day, in early June of 2025, I received a voice mail from my friend saying that there was “an idea that she wanted to run by me”. As it turned out, my compadre had been looking at a few retreat centers where she might go, to celebrate her 25th year as a Presbyterian pastor. Among the places she was looking, was somewhere called “Ghost Ranch”, in New Mexico. Kay was inviting me to join her for this monumental celebration! There was a workshop of interest to her and silversmithing program for me. A trip was planned for the end of September. All summer I looked forward to the trip with Kay and traveling to a location that, until June, was unknown to me…
While away during the summer months, I kept apprised of what was happening in my home country. By the beginning of September, the current administration was into its 8th month. Democrats and former President Biden were still being blamed for things that were going sideways over half a year later. The juvenile words from the people in the highest office, speaking on our country’s behalf, were tiring!
For months the “us verses them” in the U.S.political news, had been gnawing at me. The name calling for anyone who doesn’t align with the ideals of the current administration was getting worse. Non-believers were (and still are) considered the “enemy from within”. One of the beautiful things about this country has always been freedom of thought, why else would we hold debates before every election? People are not carbon copies of each other….we should all be allowed to have our own beliefs without be called a “foe”.
Although being revolted with the workings of the current government in the country where I reside, traveling home on Labor Day there was tranquility. After being in Canada for almost 2.5 months, I was feeling, calm cool and collected. On the horizon was the trip planned to New Mexico with Kay. As I drove and tuned into some news, there was very little information about the “Workers over Billionaires” protests that had been arranged. Mostly, I heard about the escalating tensions in Chicago…
Ten days after arriving home, came the incident with Jimmy Kimmel and what appeared to be an attack on our freedom of speech; it wasn’t even the middle of September and I was mentally exhausted by the ever terrible news! The anticipation of the upcoming vacation, with a friend that I hadn’t seen in over three years, kept me somewhat distracted. The planned holiday helped me focus on something happy. My creative project for the month became a gift for the confidant who would be traveling with me soon (scroll to the end to see what I created).
On September 25th, with the Government shutdown looming, my friend and I met in the Hertz rental car at the Albuquerque Airport. We spent one evening and two fun days sightseeing before our arrival at Ghost Ranch.
Sightseeing
First Evening: Old Town Albuquerque
Day 1
Petroglyphs National Monument
Museum of International Folk Art
Day 2
Georgia O’Keefe Museum
Series I White & Blue
Flower Shapes, 1919
Oil on board
Georgia O’Keeffe Museum
Gift of the Georgia O’Keeffe Foundation
O’Keeffe explained that she turned to flowers as subjects and painted them “big” to capture the attention of “busy New Yorkers.” She described her flower paintings as calls to “take time to see.” She also noted that her goal was not to replicate flowers as they appear in nature. O’Keeffe takes a subject historically associated with women and the home and destabilizes the experience of looking at it. Her enlarged flower fragments and folds often leave the viewer without a stable vantage point from which to navigate ambiguity between inner and outer structures. While drawing attention to the reproductive parts of flowering plants, O’Keeffe responded to eroticized readings of these depictions as female reproductive organs by stating:
“When people read erotic symbols into my paintings, they’re really talking about their own affairs.”
Caption taken directly from the description on the wall, next to the painting in The Georgia O’Keefe Museum
Museum of Indian Art and Culture
Bandelier National Monument
After visiting Bandelier, we spent the night in a town called White Rock. The elevation of the town is 6,375 feet above sea level. While this is a “moderate altitude” by some definitions, people living in low altitude areas might feel the effects. Having a slight headache before bed, I decided I was dehydrated. Kay felt “off”, maybe she was also in need of some water?
On Sunday, September 28th, my friend and I arrived at Ghost Ranch: the summer home of Georgia O’Keeffe. At the lowest level we were at an altitude of approximately 6500 feet. Up first, was a tour that started at the original entrance to Ghost ranch. We drove (and walked) on the dirt road that ran along the red hills and beautiful surroundings that artist loved to paint.
When our tour was finished, we ate lunch, then heard the storied history of Ghost Ranch. The land, encompassing over 21,000 acres, was once a place where dinosaurs roamed, cattle rustlers lived and famous people visited; this place has a long and rich past. The present holds different stories: people from all over the country (and the world) come to explore the land, the classes or possibly just the stillness of the impressive landscape at what is now an education and retreat center.
By mid afternoon we were ready to settle into our accommodations: a rustic adobe style building on top of a mesa. Soon our neighbors began to arrive. The women, in the rooms on either side our ours, were also taking the same silversmithing class as me. As the afternoon and evening progressed, I felt the excitement of the first days of college in somewhat of a camp like atmosphere. Most of all, the noise from the outside world was trapped outside the canyon…the destruction of our country’s political system seemed to be a world away!
Sunset outside the dining hall, as we wait to meet with the instructors and our classmates, after dinner on the first night.
Sunrise seen from the mesa: my first morning at Ghost Ranch
The next two days were busy: breakfast, lunch and dinner were all held at set times. Kay and I ate most meals together. She still wasn’t feeling quite right. My travel companion started drinking electrolytes on the advice of her classmates. Why didn’t I think to suggest this?
Educational programs were held from 9-12:00, the again from 1:30-3:30 (typically we stayed working in out space until 4). There was an option, for those in the silversmithing workshop, to return at night from 7-8. I did not work in in the studio either of the first two nights. Monday night, Kay and I along with our neighbors (who I became friends with), took the time to marvel as the sun set.
Sunset from the Mesa
Unfortunately, by Tuesday morning my friend wasn’t feeling any better. She wanted to see the nurse, but each time she visited the health trailer, the professional wasn’t in…
On September 30, my first piece of jewelry was finished by the end of class.
I decided to go on a hike before dinner, as there was a short, easy hiking trail close to the art center. Kay wasn’t feeling up to it, so I gave her the key to the rental car and we made a plan to meet for dinner. What should have been a three mile hike turned into about half that. Alone I walked in the majestic landscape.
Reaching a creek bed with no definitive trail on the other side, I turned back. Better to not push my luck knowing there were signs of a mountain lion and bears on the property, not to mention rattle snakes and tarantulas!
Turning back was fortunate. When I reached the nurses station, The visiting practitioner was there, I contacted Kay and immediately she went to see the nurse. Sadly, the altitude had really gotten to my friend; it was decided that I would drive her to the emergency room in the nearest town with a hospital: Española. Kay thought that going home might be what the doctor would recommend, so we went back to our room and packed up her belongings. My travel companion said that she wanted me to stay and finish my class.
Not sure I would be able to drive the five hour, round trip, to the Albuquerque airport after being in the emergency room that night, I expressed this to my friend. She said something akin to: “You are not going to stay in the emergency room with me, I know how long these visits take.” She went on to say “If I can return to Ghost Ranch I will get a a hotel room for the night”. Lastly she said “If I need to fly home, I will get a ride to the airport.
We arrived at the unassuming town somewhere around 8, it was after dark. Toting my confidant’s backpack and rolling her suitcase, I followed behind Kay as she walked through the emergency room doors. There were signs on the doors that I see in city hospitals: “No Firearms, No Weapons”. Thinking this was strange for a town in the middle of the mountains, I proceeded to go through a metal detector, setting the alarms off. Nobody stopped me.
My friend was admitted and we said our goodbyes. We both hoped that her health was okay and I would able to pick her up the next day.
Feeling badly for my friend at the hospital, I arrived back at Ghost Ranch shortly after 9 that Tuesday night….
(To be continued)
9th Month Complete
The gift Incorporated some symbolism of Christianity and the Presbyterian church:
The Necklace
Made of 12 turquoise beads to represent the Twelve Apostles. Next there are sets of 3 beads to represent The Trinity. Each set of tree is subtly broken into 4 groups to represent the Four Evangelists.
There is no meaning behind the turquoise beads, they just felt right as I was making my selection.
The Crosses:
I learned that the Presbyterian cross is typically a Celtic cross. The first cross I made was too small for the circle to fit on. The Second one, to the right, I felt was too large and awkward. The third cross, on the left, had some issues as well, but I was able to make it work.
There is no question that this gift was made by hand!
My Year Of Creativity
January https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/02/01/my-year-of-creativity/
February https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/03/07/my-year-of-creativity-2/
March https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/03/30/my-year-of-creativity-march-2025/
April https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/05/18/my-year-of-creativity-april-2025/
May https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/06/06/my-year-of-creativity-may-2025/
June https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/07/11/my-year-of-creativity-june-2025/
July https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/08/08/my-year-of-creativity-july-2025/
August: https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/09/14/my-year-of-creativity-august-2025/
12 Years
September is Suicide Prevention Awareness month.
Suicide doesn’t discriminate; it touches all people no matter your gender, race or religion. Perhaps at this moment you don’t know anyone who has taken their life. Some day you might…This year there is so much anger and hatred being spread that it seems like many people have forgotten what it means to empathize. Pack away your disdain for one day, check in on those around you. Be humane: show up with kindness and compassion and maybe you will help somebody realize that they can make it through another day.
For the past three years, I have published the following story about the day my dad died, to help bring awareness to suicide. Today marks the 15th anniversary of his death, I am reposting this story as it was written in 2022.
I find irony in the fact that September is National Suicide Prevention Month. This is the month the unimaginable happened to our family. The date will be forever embedded in my memory: Thursday, September 16, 2010.
Twelve Years…. It is hard to believe that so many years have passed since that night. The year that followed is what I call a lost year. What is a lost year? To me, it is a period of time where I am pushed out of my comfortable, benign life to face a hostile, unknowing reality.
I remember that night like it was yesterday. We had sent our youngest child to bed early because she refused to eat her dinner. I felt awful because she cried herself to sleep. As my husband (Greg) and I read a bedtime story to our middle child, the phone rang. We ignored it. The phone stopped ringing and then immediately started to ring again. I said this call must be important, so Greg answered the phone.
The next thing I knew, the phone was being handed to me: “It is your mom”, Greg said, “you need to talk to her”. My mother was on the other end of the line crying, someone from 911 told me that my mother needed to talk to me. Then I heard “Sarah, your father has killed himself”. I told her I would be there as soon as possible.
I threw some clothes into a bag. Greg gave me some cash and asked if I was sure I could make the 1.5 hour drive, to my parents house, by myself. My eldest child asked me what had happened. I said “something is wrong with BopBop, I need to go see Nana.”; it was hard to believe what my mother told me was true. We had just seen my parents the previous Sunday. My father seemed off the day we saw him, but he had a lot weighing on his mind. I just thought my dad was concerned with a heart issue that might impede the upcoming surgery that he had scheduled.
With my bag packed, me partly in shock and denial, I got into the mini van. Driving into the night, a light rain started. On auto pilot the minivan drove, with me behind the wheel. How could my mother be helped before I got to her? Friends, I needed to contact someone who would go to mom. She couldn’t be alone.
Luckily, the hands free cell phone law hadn’t gone into effect. Dialing a number I knew by heart, into my little Nokia push button phone, I called the mother of a good friend of mine and at the same time a good friend of my mother’s. She would know what to do to support my mom. The phone rang for a long while. Finally the answering machine picked up, but this wasn’t the sort of thing to leave on an answering machine. Hanging up, I thought of someone else to call; this time the operator was dialed, because I didn’t know the number. Again, no answer. Old family friends…who could I call? I finally settled on somebody. “Just a friend”, I thought, “that is what she needs”. I called the operator again and another number was dialed for me. Finally, there was a voice on the other end of the line: Bob. I told him what had happened and he said that he and his wife would go right over.
On that long drive in the dark rain, the phone calls went on. There was a call to my sister, who was unreachable at the time. Eventually we spoke. She said she would make the calls to the rest of our extended family: our brother, aunts and uncles. The last call I made was to a close friend who talked to me through part of my drive, but then she had to go. Before she hung up she checked to make sure I was ok. “Yes” was the word that left my mouth, but really was I all right?
When I reached my parents house, there was a police car in the driveway. The lights were flashing in the drizzle like you might see in a movie. Bob was out there waiting for me with an umbrella. He said we needed to go through the front door. For some reason I couldn’t go in the door that I always went in. The door that lead to home: through the hall to the kitchen and then to the family room. I so rarely went through the front door. I didn’t really understand what was happening. Then it occurred to me that not only was Bob a family friend, but he was my parents lawyer. An investigation was underway.
As I was led into the living room, I saw all the friends that I had tried to contact, but had failed to reach. My mother sat on the couch, looking frail. I think she was all cried out at the time. There was a little spray of blood on her sweater and a small spot on her face. These are the things I remember.
The rest of the night is a blur. Anne, the first woman I tried to contact, asked us to come home with her. My mom’s friend and assistant, Sandy, offered to take my dad’s beloved dog to her house, just until my mom got back on her feet. Bob said he would go to my grandmother’s house in the morning to tell her what happened to her eldest child. I told him, “I need to be the one to tell her”. In the end, we agreed that he would pick me up at Anne’s house in the morning and we would go together.
I don’t know how I slept that night. The next morning I did the hardest thing I have ever done in my life: I sat with my almost 95 year old grandmother and told her that my dad, her son, had taken his life. She put her hand on her heart and started to cry. Then she straightened and said “I need to be strong for all of you”. My grandmother, who had lost her middle child to death by suicide 40 some Septembers before this, wanted to be strong for us. She knew how to survive the unbearable.
Anyone who has experienced a tragedy, knows that life can change in the blink of an eye. Our lives were forever changed the night my father ended his. We will never know why my dad chose to do what he did. His death was instantaneous.
I find irony in the fact that September is National Suicide Prevention Month only because of my experience twelve Septembers ago. At the same time I am extremely hopeful that, because of this month, more people are aware of how to help prevent suicide. Remember to support those around you. Be aware that different events may cause someone to consider suicide. Know the the risk factors and warning signs of suicide (https://afsp.org/risk-factors-and-warning-signs). There is also a National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, the number is 9-8-8
I hope that sharing my words this September will help you or someone you know realize that it is OK to ask for help or at least help recognize the warning sign that might lead to suicide. Unfortunately, my father didn’t ask for help and we hadn’t recognized the signs that told us he was in distress.
My Year Of Creativity (August 2025)
Unedited
When summer begins (with almost 15 hours of daylight) I always think there is so much time to enjoy the days that lie ahead of me: to see people I haven’t seen since the summer before, or spend time with my loved ones at the cottage. I always expect there will be room in the months I am in Muskoka for endless kayak paddles or swims in the lake, but the moments seem to go by so fast!
In the past, the 8th month marked the beginning of the end of summer. This year however, at the start of August, the time left in this warmest season felt infinite. The month began with warm days and cool nights. With the perfect days, I expected to practice soldering my jewelry work after lunch. Unfortunately, an idea for my creative project was no where in my mind….
One morning as I was walking down the outside stairs from the bunkie, with my AirPods in, there was an on odd noise. Was it the creaking of the stairs? When I reached the bottom stair, the noise intensified. My morning news was muted so that the sound could be determined. The realization hit me: I was hearing a duck! I looked around the corner, and sure enough, there was a lone female mallard quacking in the direction of a loon on the lake. As I positioned my phone to take a picture, she flew off.
The thought of the duck flying away lingered in my mind. An idea formulated: I would use this picture for the back of a bezeled stone; it would add interest to the wearer, but wouldn’t be seen by others. My stone was picked out and a design was made by transforming the mallard picture to something I could use as a template.
While my work was being done, I listened to the news; it was never good. Unfortunately, horrible things were happening in the United States in August and it appeared our democracy had crumbled. Somehow, I felt fairly calm. Was I becoming somewhat numb to the news? Or were the sources where my news was obtained giving me hope and little laughter in the face of darkness? Probably all three of those things were somewhat true and possibly, the summer had worked its magic on me.
Just as it was reported that Trump was going to meet with Putin in Alaska, and Federal troops were going to be activated in D.C., my design started to take shape. The pendant back was cut out and the bezel wire was ready to be soldered on: it was time to use the butane torch.
I had planned to solder the pieces of the bezel cup together, at a table, outside on the deck. Unluckily, the weather changed to reflect some of the hottest temperatures I have ever experienced in our non air conditioned cottage. The temperatures had reached the low 90’s; there was no way I was going to add more heat to my surroundings!
Time, however was spent in and on the lake… away from the news. Just before leaving Muskoka, my sister mentioned that she had paddled into the nearby marsh. I thought it was too overgrown, so my kayak had not taken me that far. On one of those sultry August days, I ventured to the swampy area. As I entered the bay, the Water Lilly’s met me. Paddling on, a beautiful fairyland of Forget Me Not flowers, Lythrum, Pickerelweed, Duckweed and grasses lay ahead of me; it was well worth going out in the heat to explore! Sadly my phone was left at the cottage, so pictures would have to be taken at a later date…
Mid August came all too soon. I had soldered nothing by the time six days were spent away from the cottage! Traveling to upstate New York, my husband and I spent some extra time with our daughters, before moving our youngest to college for her freshman year.
When my husband and I arrived back to Muskoka on August 20th, there was only a week and a half left of my summer at the lake; there was so much I still wanted to do those last days! Yet, the promise (to myself) of one creative project a month had not yet happened.
For two days I tried my best to make a bezel cup, using the cut out pendant back and fine silver bezel wire. The project failed. The fine silver seemed to bend too much and I couldn’t get the wire to sit flat on the backing. My plans had to pivot, but I didn’t want to waste the metal…
A break was taken away from “jeweler’s bench” while the next step was contemplated. During this time, I went paddling to the pretty marsh. Pictures were taken. In the week and a half since I had last been the swampy area, some of the wildflowers had died back, but it was still pretty.
That afternoon, I decided to use the bezel wire (already soldered closed) to encase the stone. My project was no where near finished. Progress was interrupted the next day, as I attended a class to learn how to use resin. The four hour workshop, which was located an hour away from my cottage, was great! We made pendants (or earrings) start to finish: from making and soldering the wire frame, securing the jump ring on the the top and then layering resin and flowers together. I still had the recent kayak trip in my mind, so I chose flowers that reminded me of the marsh.
Driving back to my summer home, after my class, the realization hit me that in one week’s time I would no longer be in Muskoka.
As the sun rose the next day, it danced behind the clouds like fire in the tree tops. There was less than a week left, but the appearance of the “flames” in the sky, ignited my creativity for the following days and I got to work.
Cold weather seeped into Muskoka. I went in the lake once, during that period, for 40 minutes; the water temperature was about 68 degrees. Even for me (a life long swimmer) that was a little cold. Most days it was windy. Due to the wind there were no more moments spent kayaking, but there was time to for artistic pursuits.
One evening, just before it rained, my husband and I went on a boat ride. The clouds were majestic, the kind that always remind me of the summer’s end: fluffy and piled high; some looked like mountains rising above the islands, while others seemed to have heavens light shining from behind.
The final week was busy, but not fraught: my husband and I spent two mornings at nearby farmer’s markets; there were last visits with family and friends; and the promise made to myself, at the New Year, was fulfilled. By the 30th of August, the northern days were noticeably shorter…almost two hours less than when I had arrived. Perhaps I didn’t get to do everything I had wanted to do over the summer, but I was happy to just be there.
8th Month Complete
My Year Of Creativity
January https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/02/01/my-year-of-creativity/
February https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/03/07/my-year-of-creativity-2/
March https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/03/30/my-year-of-creativity-march-2025/
April https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/05/18/my-year-of-creativity-april-2025/
May https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/06/06/my-year-of-creativity-may-2025/
June https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/07/11/my-year-of-creativity-june-2025/
July https://tell-me-your-story.org/2025/08/08/my-year-of-creativity-july-2025/
Tell Me Your Story 