Mar 31, 2022
The Universe often decrees a path that we never envision and all we have to do is open ourselves up to the possibilities and dreams do come true.
Today, I pinch myself. I have written and published my first book. It is a memoir about a time in my life I never dreamed I would even speak about, let alone write a book about. It took seven decades to sit down and write it, but the seed was planted many long years ago.
***
I have a distinct memory of summer, 1958 in my hometown on the Gulf Coast of Mississippi. School had let out and I was looking forward to countless lazy days with neighborhood friends. One game we had made up consisted of play-pretending we were our favorite movie characters, Tarzan and Jane, and favorite television stars Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. I always demanded I play the part of Jane and Dale, partly because I was bossy and often, I was the only girl playing with my brothers and boy cousins.
But best of all I looked forward to months of free time to read. Like my Daddy I was a bespectacled bookworm. My favorite books that year were the Laura Ingalls Wilder books introduced to us by my third-grade teacher. I planned to re-read all of them before summer was over.
I loved writing my own stories as much as reading books and always included illustrations. Hours alone were spent sprawled across my bed, drawing ladies in antebellum gowns, embellished with magnolias and roses. I named my characters Belle, Sarah, or Charlotte and they were always beautiful with loads of dashing suitors, who would soon expire in a bloody Civil War battle. They were Rebels, of course.
There would be morning walks to Back Bay with my younger brothers where we would set our crab nets, loll around on splintery piers, and dip in and out of the murky water. Hours later, sunburned and starving we would bring home blue crabs for Mama to boil. As she dropped them into a vat of scalding water we would scream along with the thrashing, hissing crabs. I always raced from the kitchen, covering my ears, but the memory of the crabs’ tortured demise never hindered my delight once they were boiled and dumped on the newspaper covered kitchen table for our lunch.
Another summer pleasure was when my brothers and I joined the neighborhood kids for late afternoon walks to buy snow cones at the neighborhood snowball mecca…Millie’s. There was nothing better on a sweltering summer evening than that smooth shaved ice, loaded with sugary syrup. My favorite was a chocolate/coconut combo… I can still taste it and feel the icy concoction as it coated my mouth and slid down my throat.
I would miss school, but I loved summer.
***
At the end of May it was my birthday. I was turning nine. No party was planned which was the norm in our home, but I knew Daddy would have stopped by Uncle Paul’s Electric Maid Bakery and picked up a delicious birthday cake. It would be topped with the decadent buttery frosting that Uncle Paul was known for in our town.
That afternoon after whiling away the afternoon at my neighbor Diane’s house, I ran into our back yard and stopped. There, holding hands and ambling towards Keegan’s Bayou in our back yard was Mama and Daddy. I watched as their heads leaned into each other. My Daddy loved Mama beyond measure and sometimes it almost hurt to watch them. They both turned as I ran towards them, interrupting their precious time alone, butting in, wanting to be part of whatever they shared.
“Hey, Mama! Hey Daddy! I’m home!”
“Daddy brought you a special birthday surprise. Did you see it in your room?” Mama smiled.
Making a swift U-turn I ran towards the house, slamming the back screen door, and heading straight to my bedroom.
In the corner of my room set a dark mahogany desk. Small, with drawers and shelves above it. There was even a matching chair tucked neatly beside it. A thrill ran through me. This was the very best birthday present I had ever received. My own desk.
Slowly running my hand across the grain of the wood, I marveled. No one in our family gave such extravagant gifts for a birthday. At once I felt special as well as a bit guilty. What would my brothers say?
At my bedroom door, my parents stood watching me. Gentle smiles lit their faces.
“I love it!” tears threatened to spill from my eyes.
“It was your Daddy’s idea.”
Daddy grinned. “Plus, there’s a cake from Electric Maid.”
I rushed to Daddy, hugging him. Never demonstrative, he shyly smiled.
“You can write a book one day Laura. I know you can.”
I hugged him tighter, already visualizing myself burning the midnight oil, writing non-stop with a fountain pen in a fancy notebook.
Less than ten years later, still a child myself, the heartbreaking loss of a secret newborn son to closed adoption changed the trajectory of my life, leaving me bereft and feeling I had no family. My parents had told me this was the right thing to do, and they truly believed, along with our pastor and my grandmother, it was. I would go many years feeling my parents had let me down and feeling quiet anger towards them. Pulling away from all I knew and loved, I would travel far from home determined not to be part of my family, only to return to them years later a wiser and more forgiving me.
Yet even during those hard years I would never forget that moment in time and how safe and loved I had felt when my Daddy believed in me and thought I could do just about anything.
“Write a book one day.” He had said.
And I did.
Mar 2, 2021
Already March 2021… Last year on March 1st Gene and I were in Washington State. We had traveled to see our grandson Jake, play baseball at Central Washington University, and had a perfect weekend: a cozy romantic Air BNB complete with a rushing stream flowing past, fun dinners with Jake and his college pals and baseball game–watching in frigid freezing hurricane force winds. (well, that part wasn’t exactly perfect but it truly was a crazy time we will never forget) Heading home in our rental care we encountered beautiful blizzard-like snow on the freeways headed back towards Seattle airport and we were eager to get back to warm toasty San Diego where the sun was shining.
Little did we know that would be our last trip for an awfully long time and within two weeks we would be in lock down because an extremely scary virus invading our country. Would we have believed the world as we knew it was slowly shutting down with what would soon become the frightening speed of an avalanche? Like everyone else, I do not think we could have comprehended the magnitude of change that was in the works.
Life continued and like everyone else we stayed home, followed the guidelines to remain virus free and adjusted. We learned (maybe the hard way) that we had not always appreciated all the ‘givens’ in our lives. Just hopping on a plane and flying anywhere we wanted to. Hugging. Celebrating birthdays. Simply sharing meals with friends, classes, concerts, holiday gatherings…. oh how I missed the hugs, the face to face conversation with our children and not being able to fly and visit loved ones…. the list goes on.
I knew I would not take those wonderful ‘givens’ for granted ever again.
Despite the horrifying numbers of people dying and sick all over the world and the constant unsettling fear, despite the unrest and deplorable politics and violence raging around the country and regardless of so many mornings of awful news and saying out loud, “just when I thought it could not get worse…it is.” we all plowed on.
Gene created his spring summer garden, cared for the orchard, stayed busy with projects around our home and our acre of property. He even did most of the shopping that I did not do online, worried because of my underlying condition, asthma. We became the new human parents of a 7-week-old golden retriever puppy, our Layla Louise, and that little beauty took considerable energy and hours of our time. The perfect distraction. Like everyone in the world, I learned to Zoom and continued my classes and meetings virtually. The Memoir Association, where I am president took up many hours and kept me busy.
We were thankful we could maintain contact with our children and grandchildren virtually and the ones here locally stopped by for social distanced visits in masks outside on our patio. It was not the same, but we were thankful for that. Best of all a new (number 10) grandson was born during the COVID-19 year. Our little Arthur.
And then lo and behold, I finished my manuscript, a fifth (at least) draft of my book and submitted to a few agents and to a publisher that I had admired from a far. Last summer I received an email. She Writes Press was interested in my book! I was thrilled and scared to death at the same time, but mostly I must admit I was a bit ecstatic. Signing a contract with She Writes Press – Brooke Warner, was something I had dreamed about and it was coming true.
Right now, I am in the Spring 2022 cohort and my memoir, You’ll Forget This Ever Happened has a pub date of May 10, 2022!
Needless to say, that has kept me focused on the future and relieved so much of my COVID-19 fatigue. Gene and I have done this together. Without his continued support and belief in me, I wonder if I would have ever gotten this far with my story.
I hope this finds all of you feeling more hopeful and proud of the strong survivors that you are. I thank you for reading my words and for being a shining light for me. I hope I can be for you as well.
I feel there is light at the end of this long tunnel we have all traveled together. The grey clouds are lifting and let us look forward to a healthier world in more ways than one.
Until next time.
Laura
Dec 29, 2020
I will not say “what a year!” It sounds so cliché – so redundant now.
We exhaust ourselves saying it. We exhausted ourselves living it. But if you are reading this, we did live it, and we are thankfully still here to talk about it.
Instead, as we approach New Year’s Eve I will say “I have never been happier to see a year over with in my life!”
Even the worse years I have suffered did not include the world suffering along with me and although that fact made our lives so much harder, it did teach us, we are one, how insanely lucky and clueless we have been, and how quickly what we take for granted and love can screech to a halt.
This year cut our lives down to size. I hope our world has learned that lesson well.
Although the months of 2020 seemed to drag on like a continuous loop of Groundhog Days, when I look back at the months of little or no physical contact with our kids and friends, and the zapped creativity or motivation I suffered, I must admit, the year held beacons of light. For me it was not all COVID-19 related uncertainty and loss of what we considered normal. I, like so many of you, have experienced, despite the worry for our loved ones, some very wonderful things that happened along the way.
I do know for certain that I learned to appreciate all of you who stayed in my life and by my side and supported me in my writing during this time. You assured me my words were important and that my story deserved to be told. You kept me working on my book and ultimately finishing it. You are the ones who pushed me to submit my work and I did. What a scary thing that was for this new author – me.
After three years and 5 drafts I realized I had finished my book. I submitted it and sent out to a handful of manuscripts to Beta Readers (by the way they brightened my days with their reviews and critiques, and I am ever grateful). I had zoom conversations with editors, publishers and agents about my book summaries and they all instilled confidence in me. I submitted to a publisher I had admired from afar and this Fall I signed a publishing contract with that very publisher and Yes! my book will be published and available in the Spring of 2022.
What a journey and what a learning curve for me this writing has been. Many a day I shake my head and think how lucky can I be to have this sparkling new writing life after living all the other lives I have? And I marvel at the fact, it really is never too late.
During all of my book angst another amazing blessing occurred in our lives when our tenth grandchild arrived in the midst of summer, COVID-19 everywhere. Brand new baby Arthur! A reason to rejoice and to see life continuing in such a miraculous yet perfectly normal way. For all time, the universal hope for the future has been a new life.
Then yesterday I celebrated 40 years of marriage with my dear husband, Gene and although it was a quiet and simple celebration of just us two, it was glorious and just what it needed to be. My best gift of all is the health of Gene and myself along with our family’s steady well-being in such a year. That enough brings me tears of joy and whispers in my ear “keep the faith.”
So dear friends I thank all of you for reading my words for awaiting my book and with renewed and gracious heart I say farewell to a devil year and welcome with open arms a year that promises to have rejuvenated faith in our country and our world. Hope is tangible in the air and I take in great gulps of it.
My wish for you in 2021 is never-ending faith and hope, a renewed love of life, and of many family and friend gatherings once again with a celebration of a kinder, healthier world.
Laura L. Engel
Dec 2, 2020
May 22, 2020
Corona Virus.
When I first read the reports in January. I thought, what is a corona virus? It seemed so far away. I did my ‘go–to–reaction’ when something or some word left me uneasy or when that little red flag warning flickered inside my chest. My go to was a U-turn in my brain to think about something pleasant. Perhaps start reading a new book.
Besides, I was consumed with grief in Jan. My husband Gene and I were both morning the loss of our beloved 9-year-old Annabelle. Our golden girl. We had loved that dog so much and our grief was equal and all-encompassing to the love we had felt for her. I did not have time to worry about no virus. Plus we had had our flu shots.
Covid19.
In February, we were in Washington state, cold with frigid winds, when I became aware of the fact that Seattle was experiencing deaths from this covid19. I tried to turn off the flicker which grew a bit stronger in the almost empty airport as we headed back to San Diego with reports of the virus blasting from every gate.
I had other things to think about. We had been visiting our grandson at his university. It had taken our minds off our grief, softened the sadness of losing our dear dog. We had lots to do and renewed energy for when we returned home. I had sent my manuscript out to beta readers. The SD Writers Festival was coming up. Lots to do. No time to worry about no virus.
Corona Virus deaths.
That tiny flicker started growing – burning steady as March blew in. The statistics were not promising. At that time the virus seemed to target seniors. Gene and I are both in our 70s. I have asthma. “But it’s under control.” I say a loud. “But you have had some serious breathing issues in the past, and high blood pressure.” As always, my devoted Gene is worried out loud.
I try to change the subject. Change my thoughts. I watch the news and shake my head. What does this all mean? Shelter in place? Social distancing? Masks? No Masks? Hand sanitizers? Wash wash wash hands?
I reach out to my children. I repeat the precautions to my adult sons, shelter in place, social distance, masks, wash, wash, wash your hands. Depending on what part of the country they live in determines their concern for safety and what is going on in the country. Kansas, Louisiana… not as concerned. The sons here in California are most concerned and already starting to work from home and sheltering in place. The governor has asked all Californians to stay home, schools are closed, no events, no restaurants, no gatherings of more than 10.
The flicker expands in my chest.
News gets more frightening daily.
I try to do my ‘go to – buried head in the sand routine.’ I turn off the news and concentrate on my manuscript. Think positive. Think future. I tell myself. This too shall pass. To distract myself I start thinking up ideas for a baby shower in May for our 10th grandbaby, due in June. Work on next step now that I have completed my manuscript. Which publishers to send to? Our Writers Festival is postponed. Everything on Zoom now. Before covid19 I hardly knew what Zoom was. Our SDMWA meeting cancelled. Zoom. I cancel our Finches book club at my home. Zoom. Our classes are closed. Zoom. Zoom Zoom.
God who knew Zoom would be a lifesaver.
Ventilators. Covid19 cases doubling daily. Hospitals running out of beds, supplies. Mask shortage. Masks? No Masks? The stock market–crashed, crashed, crashed. Businesses folding. Unemployment staggering. Bad News. Scary News. There will be a vaccine. Soon? Not soon enough.
So much conflicting news. By the end of March, that flicker is ablaze. It never lightens up now.
I tell myself thank God all our family and friends are doing well. So far. So good. And we are too. We are still sheltering in place. We are extremely cautious. We are still smiling most days. It’s a good thing Gene and I like each. Together 24/7 after 43 years is a lot of togetherness for two independent people. We decide how insanely lucky we are. How our love for each other still magically colors our days. Pinch me.
Everything still shut down. Clamped down tighter than before. Healthcare providers call and cancel our April appts. You can Zoom your doctor if you absolutely must, they say. I have not left the house in a month. Gene, only for groceries, necessities, clad in mask, gloves, antibacterial wipes in hand. It’s as if I am sending my knight in shining armor out to do war.
That flicker is raging now. It is April. Life as we know it has screeched to a halt. News too terrifying to watch. In the still of the night as I listen to my husband’s light snoring, I reach for his hand. He half wakes and squeezes mine. We have lived a good life together, through rough patches, through glorious bright days. But, our children. Our grandchildren. What will their lives be like? Will this ever end? When will their lives be easy again? Will all changes be for the best? Is this the end?
Protests everywhere. Seems like half the country wants to escape out of their homes and resume life pre-covid19. There are confusing reports daily. We see a lot of complaining screamers, demanding their rights to return their ‘normal’ lives acting out like spoiled children, oblivious to scientist and brilliant medical experts. They want their beaches back, their bars, their hair salons, their lives and jobs. Who can blame them? But is it too soon? Is this really happening?
Mixed messages daily from an administration obviously not equipped to handle this crisis. ‘There may be a vaccine by end of year… there will not be a vaccine for a year.’ Social media is in overdrive. Many lament it is the end of the world, still many remain positive, their faces to the sun, refusing to fall victim to the negativity. The daily briefings make one’s head spin. One thing for sure, our economy, our world, travel, education, life as we know it has turned upside down. I have not left the house or yard in 2 months.
Mid May.
The flicker is steady, eased up, but there. People still dying. But the air is cleaner than it has been in decades. People are cooking more, walking their neighborhoods more. Maybe we are learning how important our connections with our loved ones really are to us now that we miss them daily. Country opening up. I watch with a let us see what happens next attitude. I remain cautious. Vigilant. There comes a time I settle and accept. There comes a time I look for the good. I calm myself at night when the worries of the future bring tears to my eyes and trembles in my body. I brace myself for what may happen, or what may not. I grieve for what was and that I didn’t even realize what we had. I tell myself I will learn from this, as will the whole world. Be brave I tell myself. This too shall pass.
I hold it together on this very different Mother’s Day. I get calls and texts, smiling facetimes from all six of our adult kids and few of the grandkids. I miss their hugs, touching their faces. I am grateful for any contact and for their health and happiness.
Gene and I enjoy our new puppy. I push myself to write, to go to my Zoom classes, meetings… I try not to hurt inside when I realize there will be no baby shower and I may not get to hold that new grandchild being born in June for who knows how long. I certainly will not be allowed at the hospital for his birth. I tell myself I will not permit myself to enter that road to self–pity. I chastise myself if I flirt with that road.
“Look how lucky you are? Look at the good.” Still, I worry about the virus.
I stare out the window. Spring is beautiful as ever. Maybe more so. And there is hope. There always is.
Laura L. Engel
May 2020
Dec 17, 2019
As the Holiday Season peaks and we rush head long into Christmas along with the closing of 2019 this is a love letter to all who have supported and cheered me on with my writing this year.
Many of you have asked so I wanted to let you know where I’m at with my memoir, You’ll Forget This Ever Happened.
While working on my book this year I experienced some thrilling moments, hours and weeks on end, but with it came hours and weeks of tragedy and loss. In the first half of the year two of my beloved girlfriends lost their husbands to cancer. That was especially hard to see them struggle and find their way after losing their greatest loves, their partners in life.
Within a month my best friend of over 60 years, my Nancy, died at 69 from cancer as well. She and all of us thought she had more time, but she had a swift decline and with that decline she took part of me with her. Just when I felt stronger after that incredibly hard loss, one of my baby brothers, Tommy passed away. He was 64. His death was not as much of a shock, because he had been in terrible health, but my heart split in two again.
Life has a way of handing out the hard times and then rewarding us with many blessings that sometimes we miss when those hard times consume us. I experienced this phenomenon all throughout the year.
As I reeled from the hurt and loss, I had to stop and realize that overall our family was well and healthy. Our 6 adult children, their spouses and partners were doing well in their careers and their children, our nine grands, were thriving as well. Our youngest son married the love of his life and now at the end of the year we learned the glorious news that we will be welcoming our 10th grandchild next summer.
Many times during the year I pinched myself as I sat writing and rewriting my book as I realized how far we had all come over the years. I would look at my husband, Gene and think about our long and windy road of a marriage. We will celebrate our 39th year of marriage next week and there is still no one on earth I would rather spend life with than him.
Good things happened with my continued path of writing my book. I was active in writing classes and served as President of the San Diego Memoir Association all year. I was fortunate enough to attend a first-class writing conference in Pennsylvania in July, attending a play lab, where I wrote a short skit about my story. I experienced Yale and New Haven, Conn. with a dear friend and my high school journalism teacher who I had not seen in 53 years that same month.
In April my author web site came alive. I found myself incredibly fortunate to be asked to do an interview with Dani Shapiro on her fantastic podcast, Family Secrets. Within weeks they hit over a million in listeners. If you haven’t listened to it, please do. https://www.familysecretspodcast.com/podcasts/the-secret-son.htm. Many of you have reached out to me during the year after hearing the podcast and I appreciate each and every one of your emails.
In June I won a place for the third year in a row in the San Diego Memoir Showcase contest, meaning a third publication under my belt in 2020. It was just as thrilling the third time to hear this news as the first time in 2017.
And all through the busy and eventful year I worked on my 3rd draft of my book. I had it edited again and now I am in the process of finding beta readers for my book. I have revised, edited it until I cannot see straight and have good news, I am closer than ever to publishing.
And this is what I wanted to tell you most of all… that your continued interest and inspirational stories have kept me going. It is not easy writing a memoir, well writing anything that you plan to publish and share with others. Life gets in the way, procrastination looms, self doubt flourishes, yet you forge ahead.
I have plowed through so much research when I wasn’t sure how much to trust my memories from 52 years ago. 1967 was a long time ago! At times I found myself angry once more at the injustice in the way unwed mothers were treated at that time and how adoptions were handled. But the fact that my son is back in my life and we are connected in such a powerful way has softened that anger and frustration. I am truly striving to live in the moment and not the past as I spend hours writing about the past.
What are you doing for the holidays? I’d love to hear from you.
This Christmas will find us with our family here at our home in So Cal. As busy and chaotic as that gets is there anything better? Through laughter and tears over the years, there is one thing I know for sure. For me just hearing my grown children tell their stories of our past Christmases as they roar and watching my grandchildren grow, their eyes shiny and bright, and having my husband look over at me with love in his eyes, well… there is no better gift.
I wish all of you a lovely holiday spent in the exact way that you find the most joy and please know I am forever grateful to each and everyone of you who have signed up on my website, www.lauralengel.com.
Good health and cheer and here’s to a blessed and joyful 2020.
Warmly,
Laura L. Engel
Dec. 2019
Jul 3, 2019
I’m in my home office getting ready to hit the ‘submit button’ on the computer screen.
Submitting my work for our local Memoir Showcase is as scary for me today as it was that first
time I submitted work in June of 2017. At that time my Memoir was simply an outline, a
dream.
I have weeded through several scenes saved in my documents, trimmed and edited
a few and now decided on the ones to submit. But there are other scenes I read through
and ponder. Here is the scene that while originally writing it, I often had to stop typing and
go outside to stare at the sky. Huge gulping sobs came from deep inside of me as I trembled on
my patio. I was inconsolable. I had written about the birth of my first son in the sweltering heat|
of New Orleans in 1967. Remembering that night, alone and petrified, knowing I would have to
leave my baby there was overwhelming. Writing it was excruciating. My heart ached for that
young girl.
Another scene makes me cringe while reading it. This scene with my ex husband on a
miserable hot steamy night in Mississippi brought me to my knees when I first wrote it. I
remember unchecked tears streaming down my face as I tapped away at my keyboard, my
shoulders feeling as if someone was beating on them. His angry face still as real today as it was
on that night over fifty years ago. A black fury overcame me as I pushed away from my desk.
How dare he treat me like that? I questioned all these years later. I wanted to hug that sad
young woman who thought this was to be her life forever.
Ah, and here is the scene when I meet my beloved 2nd husband. Once again the day was
in late summer. The sun is hot, my sons are there racing for soccer balls and my life is about
to change in ways I would never have been able to predict. I love this scene and remember as I
typed it how my heart beat reliving those first words, those first moments that
would result in a love so beyond reason that it would knock to me to my knees and take me to
heights I had never dreamed. I rewrote that scene over and over and loved my husband more
with each revised piece. I wanted to tell that young woman ‘you are thinking with your heart
and it is the smartest thing you will ever do.’
Another scene makes me laugh out loud. Me in my thirties, flying across the Coronado
Bridge in my yellow Volkswagen bug stuffed to the brim with our five kids along with towels
and beach toys for a day at the beach. As I typed I remembered the wind in our hair as we
sailed over the Coronado bridge singing to the top of our lungs along with the Bee Gees…
Stayin Alive. I can feel the golden sun burning my shoulders as I l sit in my bikini on an old quilt
surrounded by my ocean wet giggling kids. I see my children gobbling sandy sandwiches and
cookies, all talking at once. Tears for what once was run down my cheeks. Oh, to simply have
one of those days again. That summer was my halcyon summer and I didn’t even know it.
Ok, time to stop reminiscing, reading through my writing, living again as that young and
sometimes fearless woman. I could sit here and do that for days. After all, there are seventy
summers and countless tiny scenes that patched together make as colorful a quilt as any
glorious midsummer sunset I have ever seen.
As I write memories, I relive them. I feel the sun. I feel the love, the sadness, the joy.
The heft of my newborn sons in my arms, my Grammy’s fleeting kiss on my cheek, the
chilly indifference from my mother, my crippling fear of my x-husband crawl through me again.
I smell the scents of summer, my sons’ wet hair, Coppertone, fresh mowed grass, chicken
sizzling on the grill. I bite into the first peach of the summer again, taste the salt of my lover’s
skin, sip sun tea. I hear the crash of waves at the beach, my sons’ young voices calling
“mom”, our dog barking, my Daddy’s voice, my beloved husband whispering he’ll “love me
forever” that first time. I marvel at the gift of writing those memories. Time does stand still, if not for a short
spell because when I write it, I relive it. Is that not the best gift of all? I will continue writing my
story as there are many more summers to revisit, some wretched but most splendid.
Okay, here goes. I click on submit. Good luck to me and good luck to all the writers
who submit.
