These strange and trying times have brought me back to Silky. Having been laid-off from work in March, I’ve had the time and motivation to reread my novel. And Silky’s life still amazes me! I suppose four years is ample time to gain a new perspective because I’ve finally got it. I’m ready to get back on the horse that threw me and take hold of the literary reins.

Like most folks during this pandemic–or what I like to call the zombie apocalypse–I’ve been tackling projects, joyously ticking off tasks from my To Do list. I’ve gone through closets and drawers culling unwanted clothing and items long forgotten in the depths of household storage. In my excavations I discovered a book-shaped locket I had purchased awhile back. I’d had it engraved SILKY on the front and always intended to have a picture of her made to put inside it.

So this week I found a photography processing shop able to shrink down one of the many portraits in my collection. I chose this shot from the 1920s that is, I believe, attributed to Cecil Beaton. It was taken shortly after her marriage to Lord Ashley-Cooper, securing her position in London society with a title she would use the rest of her glamorous life. The tiny photo will be ready for pick up tomorrow.

And I’m ready to spruce up my cover letter and start the submission process AGAIN. It’s time to find the perfect agent to help me get this fabulous woman’s story out into the world. Hi ho, Sylvia! And away we go!

Gam & me, 2011

I recently went up to the central coast to take care of my cousin’s cat while she was on vacation. As I left for home after my visit, I was overwhelmed by sadness.

Now I adore the Cecil cat. He’s extremely affectionate & demonstrative. But there was something else going on. Something I couldn’t name. My sorrow was so deep and huge for simply saying goodbye to a cat I love.

I remembered something the comedian Louis C. K. said about letting oneself feel all feelings. He points out that life is filled with sadness as well as joy—how they both exist—but that we shy away from sorrow. He recommends embracing it instead. He talked about running into sadness frequently while driving. He noticed that his mind was more free to wander in the car and that feelings of profound misery would overtake him. He suggests pulling over to the side of the road and letting the feelings come. So I did.

As the tears flowed, I remembered a conversation with a friend just the day before about emotional discomfort. She was talking about when scary or hard things happen to us, we distract ourselves instead of feeling the fear or worry or sorrow. But if we could just sit with the hard feelings long enough, answers and solutions eventually appear.

I finally understood that my sorrow was place related. When my grandmother was still alive, I used to drive that same route home after visiting her and cry in the car. When the dementia began and Gam was no longer the woman she had been, I missed her before she left her body. I began grieving when she lost her mind. And every time I left her, I wondered how much more time we had together before I lost her completely.

Realizing this on the side of the road somehow gave me comfort. The sadness was there. Then eventually it passed. Just like Louis C. K. said it would. But it had a beginning and I was able to finally trace the source because I didn’t resist the feelings or stuff them down. I just sat with them. It’s not easy, but it’s where the answers are to be found.

The basis of Buddhism is a doctrine known as the Four Noble Truths. The First Truth is that all life is suffering, pain, and misery. I used to view this notion as a downer, but now I get it. If you’re paying attention and living a compassionate, sensitive life, your heart will break a thousand times a day. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t beauty around every corner. There are treasures to be found in the rubble. After all, a diamond started out as a lump of coal.

my Gammy, 1940s

A friend recently commented on the anniversary of the loss of her beloved mother by stating that she’d lost her “northern star.” That really hit me. Especially so close to the anniversary of my grandmother’s death. And it’s a perfect comparison. How does one navigate without them?

You think it will get easier. And eventually it does. But not for a very very very long time. And you never really stop missing them, you just miss them a fraction less as life callously marches on.

I’ve saved a recording of Gam on my answering machine. It was back when she wasn’t yet confusing the T.V. remote with the cordless phone (a perfectly understandable mistake for a 95 year old woman who was middle aged when television was invented!). She was waiting for my arrival and growing impatient.

No matter what time I told her I’d get there, she’d start watching for me on the front porch. Sometimes she’d be waiting for hours. In the voice message she sounds forlorn and lonely, disappointed and worried. It’s not the best representation of her voice, but it’s the only one I’ve got. I listen to it about once a week.

I lost her two years ago today, two days after my birthday. Somehow I know she waited to crossover so as not to spoil my special day. But still, my birthday celebrations have a melancholy element to them. And probably always will. My deepest regret is that she’ll never get to see Silky published after how much a part of it she was…and is.

Looking for a photograph of her, I ran onto my post from last year at this time. It sums up exactly how I’m still feeling…

“As it turns out, my Gammy was the love of my life. No one will ever love me as deeply, as constantly and with as much sheer unconditional force as she did. No one will ever think I’m as smart, as charming or as beautiful as she did. No one will light up like a hundred birthday candles when I walk into the room. And that hurts my heart to know. Like realizing you’re no longer the ingénue or the star quarterback or just the apple of someone’s eye. To become irrelevant is untethering.”

Kathleen Curtis Stratton, 1950s

Can it really have been four months since my last post? How time flies when you’re not having fun. This year of the monkey hasn’t started out well for me. Without going into the dull details, let it suffice to say that I’ve been having a crisis of faith.

I’ve expereinced a lot of loss in the last few months–grief, disappointment, illness–and I’ve been hunkered down, trying to wade through it. Part of my sadness has been the lack of progress I’ve made with Silky. It’s challenging to keep pursuing your dream in the face of rejection (and trying to make a living). And the thing about taking a break is that the next thing you know, months have passed.

Cleaning up my desk today, I found this poem I wrote about ten years ago, when I first started Silky. I’m considering it a gentle prod from the great beyond…

Hats & gloves, cigarette cases & steamer trunks, opera capes with fur trim–

The end of an era.

I follow you to a place I miss

though it was never mine.

I tread your path, not in high heels

but with an outmoded sense of style.

Your gift to me: time travel.

My promise: strangers will speak your name.