Dreams

"Hold fast to dreams. For if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly."

- Langston Hughes

    I stumbled across this quote today; its veracity stopped me cold. When we're young, we all have dreams of what we want in our lives, not just at the moment, such as asking for a pony, but more so for the future. We dream of being astronauts, actors, musicians, and even the President. Then life comes along, and responsibilities ensue. Things like getting an education, a job, marriage, kids, and a safe place to live suddenly take precedence, and those big, important dreams slowly recede into a memory, never to be lived.

    But what if we could make such dreams come true? I am a firm believer that they can. I mean, why not? If you want something badly enough, why not give it everything you've got to make it happen? I've watched many people turn their dreams into lives they envisioned. People who became doctors, medical researchers, business entrepreneurs, writers, musicians, actors, inventors, and countless others. Each of them believed not just in the dream, they also believed in themselves, and that if they worked hard enough at it, they could turn the dream from a wish to reality. 

    Last night I watched the film, The Freedom Writers, which came out in 2007, about a teacher and her class of troubled students in Long Beach, California. When I say troubled, I mean TROUBLED. These kids were in gangs or were on parole or dealing drugs, and have witnessed more deaths in their gang-infested neighborhood than most morticians. They're rife with attitude, hate, arrogance, and bigotry toward anyone outside of their ethnicity. Then along comes a teacher in her first job after graduating college who has never seen, much less known, kids like these. And boy, do the kids pick up on her insecurity and make her job 200% harder than she imagined. Early on, you think she's gonna quit any moment. Except she doesn't, and you know why? Because she had a dream to make a difference in these kids' lives. She applied to teach at this crime-ridden school because she believed she could help these kids, and she wasn't going to let anything, even the backward, archaic-thinking school administration, get in her way of turning these kids around. Ultimately, she succeeds, but it wasn't an overnight achievement. It started with baby steps and using creative teaching techniques that other teachers at the school ridiculed. As I watched the film, I kept thinking and hoping that this was a true story. Turns out it was which made my heart practically burst out of my chest with joy. I love films based on real life and real events, especially where someone achieves something incredibly unbelievable, something that seems unachievable, and then you watch the person succeed.

    I suppose the film appealed to me because it fit right in with my notion and the quote about dreams. Anything is possible if you believe in yourself and never let go of your dream, no matter how big or small, no matter your age or experience. It's your dream and only you can make it happen. 

    Just imagine if Colonel Sanders thought that at 62 years old he was too old to open his first Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant.  

   Grandma Moses, didn't pick up a paintbruch until she reached her 60s. It took 10 years her work was noticed. Once they were, her paintings were displayed at the Museum of Modern Art.

Joseph Campbell opened his canned goods company at age 52. He sold canned tomatoes, condiments, and jellies. He developed his first condensed soup, tomato soup, at 78 years old.

And finally, Laura Ingalls Wilder quit school at the age of sixteen and worked with a dressmaker. She was in her forties when she began writing, but it wasn't until she was in her 60s that she wrote Little House in the Big Woods and began to gain a following.

Inspiration comes from everywhere. Personally, I am inspired by people who pursue their dreams regardless of barriers.


Till next time,

Jeffree Wyn

The Generous Spirit

I recently learned about a relative doing something so extraordinary that it made me reconsider the choices we make. It is in moments like these that you realize there are those around us who practice benevolence, selflessness, graciousness, altruism, and compassion every day without ever giving a second thought to doing what they deem is right.

There have always been people who follow a moral and ethical code, the most extraordinary example having occurred during World War Two. Some non-Jews could not tolerate what was happening to their Jewish neighbors and took it upon themselves to hide Jews, save them by providing forged travel documents, rescue them from deportation to the camps, and do anything else they could to prevent the mass slaughter of the Jewish people. These people who risked their own lives to save others became known as Righteous Gentiles. Of the nearly nine million Jews living in Europe before the Holocaust, it's believed that six million perished in the Nazi genocide. Thousands, if not millions more would have also died were it not for the courageous intervention of a few world leaders and thousands of individuals who risked their lives to save Jews from the gas chambers. Many of them paid for their heroism with their lives.

Good moral character comes in all forms, from major acts of valor to quiet behind-the-scenes gestures that few notice other than the beneficiaries. And that is where people like my relative come in, doing something unexpected that redefines kindness. This family member lost her husband of many years. It was devastating for her, and you would have thought that lifelong close friends would have gathered around supporting and caring for her. That's what dear friends do, right? Yet quite the opposite occurred. They stayed away, as though they might get the plague if they came near. Only one friend came to her aid, a friend who helped her get through one of the most difficult times of her life. Fast forward several years. The best friend of the widow's husband passed away. Rather than treat the new widow as she was treated, my relative came to her aid, sitting with her, taking her on walks and errands, in short, doing whatever she could to ease the woman's pain. She never thought twice about helping; it was the right thing to do.

When you start recognizing goodness around you, all of a sudden, you begin remembering witnessing other such acts of decency, character, and morality.

Several years ago, a colleague at work walked into the office wet from the rainstorm and wearing flip flops, which was highly unusual for that time. I noticed and asked her if there was a new dress code I didn't know about. She said there wasn't and she planned to buy a more office-appropriate pair during her lunch. She saw the confused look on my face and sat down on a chair in my office to explain.

"I put on my blue flats this morning to wear to work. As I pulled out of my garage, the rain started to come down hard. I drove through it, and at a traffic light, I saw a homeless woman standing on a curb without any shoes. She was in pretty bad shape. I pulled over to the curb, got out of the car, took off my shoes, and handed them to her. She needed them more than I did. When I got to the office, I took out this pair of flip flops I keep in the trunk for emergencies."

My colleague didn't hesitate for a moment to help a stranger in need. If that isn't the purest form of a generous spirit, I don't know what is. These stories remind me that every single one of us is capable of being a hero, or simply doing good for another less fortunate when the need arises. In this new world where divisiveness reigns and people are more interested in casting blame and turning from one another, we could all do with being generous spirits and helping to make this place we call home a better place.




Till next time,

Jeffree Wyn

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It's Been a Grand Year So Far

Seriously, it has. On May 20th (my dad's birthday in Heaven), my story about Willie (see pic above), a cat who adopted us, will be published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: What I Learned from My Cat. This will be the third Chicken Soup for the Soul book I've been in this year, which for me is a record. Now here's what's so unbelievable to me: I'd always wanted to get a story, that's right, ONE story published in a Chicken Soup book. It was a bucket list thing. When my story about my dog Sitka was included in that 2016 title, My Very Good Very Bad Dog, I was ecstatic. My wish had come true. In a weird way, I felt like I could now die happy. I hadn't planned on submitting any more stories to Chicken Soup for the Soul; I was done. Or so I thought. What did I know?

Then, I got an email, a callout really, of upcoming titles encouraging me to submit to more books. Wow, I thought, they must really like me (kinda the way Sally Field said she felt at the Academy Awards). So, I looked at the list and saw a title that appealed to me, one called The Spirit of America. I instantly knew I had the perfect story for them.

I had been mentoring a woman from China with a Ph.D. who was in the U.S. for one year. She told me she wanted to learn about the real America and real Americans, not just what she read in books. Her English was excellent, and we got along famously. I decided that the best way for her to learn about America was for me to show it to her, and show it to her I did. Grace and I met once a week in my office to engage in a half-hour activity, like my teaching her about English idioms, which boggled her mind. For the second half hour, we'd plan an activity we'd do on the weekend. I showed her the kinds of activities Americans in my beachside town liked to do, places we liked to visit, foods we liked to eat, and what made Americans, well, Americans. The best day, and the one I wrote about, was taking her to our county fair. I will never forget that day, and if you'd like to know why, pick up a copy of The Spirit of America. Whenever I think about that day, I can't help but smile.


Fast forward nine years, and I find myself still writing for Chicken Soup for the Soul. Happily writing I should add, because every time I receive a callout from my Chicken Soup family, I see a new opportunity to share a beloved personal story. Getting back to the new cat book coming out on May 20th, this will be the 16th Chicken Soup for the Soul book I've been lucky enough to be in. And to think all I was trying to do with that first story was get into one book. To be able to say, I was a contributor to a Chicken Soup for the Soul book. I never imagined the Chicken Soup folks would honor me by including so many of my stories in their books. I am grateful and consider myself one lucky woman.


Till next time,


Jeffree

 

Jeffree vs the Jury System

        Don't faint, yeah, another post just a couple of days after the one about spring. I know, not my usual pattern. For some reason, it just kinda felt like I should get a few things off my chest. Not necessarily bad things, just stuff I've been holding in; I'm sure you've gone through it, too.

        So, I've had a few health issues that have been a real burden and have impacted my ability to live normally for several years. Never mind what, you really don't want to hear the details. The good part is that the doctor I've been seeing for a couple of years, who has given me every medication out there, none of which did a darn thing, told me there's a surgery that will fix the problem; at least, it will for 91% of patients.

        "Whattttt?" I almost screamed. "Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

        "Because insurance requires me to see if any of the meds would work because they're much less expensive than the cost of the surgery."

        'Of course,' I thought. 'Why in he-- are the insurance companies still managing our healthcare? America's healthcare system is still as broken as it ever was.'

        "Fine," I told my doctor. "How soon can you schedule the surgery?"

        Turns out they couldn't schedule me for over two months. I think I groaned. I took the date they offered me because two months out was better than living with this forever. I'd already been dealing with it for 10+ years, though it had only become really bad in the last two years. What's a few more months? A few weeks before the surgery date, I received a jury summons to report two days before my surgery. I felt a rage boil up inside. I was on the cusp of screaming so loud that people coulda heard me six blocks away. The next morning I called the jury office and tried very nicely to tell them I could not report for jury duty. 

        "Why not?" the uber efficient woman who answered the phone asked. "You have to report or you'll be arrested."

        "Gimme a break," I retorted. "I'm having surgery two days later, and if I get put on a jury, and it goes more than two days, I'm gonna play hookey on surgery day."

        "You can't do that!" she said. "You'll be arrested."

        "What are you gonna do, send the deputies into the operating room to arrest me?"

        She backed down. "Well, no." Silence. "When will you be able to report for jury duty?"

        "Not real sure," I answered a bit smugly. "I don't know how long it will take to recover."

        "Do you think if I postpone your jury date that you can report two months later?"

        Silence on my part. Finally, I thanked her because I recognized she was obviously making an effort. The funny part about all this is that I've never ever sat on a jury and I've really wanted to. I've been called for jury duty several times in three different states, and in every case, either the defense or the prosecution throws me off. 

        Long story short, I had my surgery, and it turned out to be 100% successful. Honestly, I didn't expect it to work, simply because nothing else has why should this be any different? Oh me of little faith. It didn't just work, it worked brilliantly. And life has returned to normal or whatever normal is.

        Till next time,

        Jeffree

       

How I Dearly Love Spring! 

                                                                           

        Everywhere I've lived with real winter, when the snow begins to thaw, and I can switch out sweaters for warm-weather tops, boots for flip-flops, and stop wearing socks to bed, my nefesh soars. For those unfamiliar with the term, nefesh means soul or spirit in Hebrew. Regardless of language, there's something about spring and the emergence of flowers and vibrant greenery that lifts the human spirit. In some parts of the northern hemisphere where winter can last until nearly June, spring is like a balm, a salve that helps the spirit thaw and feel human again. 

    Here in Texas, the weather teases us unmercifully. In March and sometimes as early as February, warmer temps, as in shorts weather, arrive, and we rush to the nurseries for seeds, colorful plants, and bags of fresh soil, tickling our fancies with dreams of yards that will look like estate botanical gardens tended by a bevy of professional landscapers. And then a cold front barrels through, dropping the temps into the 20s or low 30s, and we watch our beautiful new plantings wilt and die before our tearful eyes. The smart gardeners among us have either started their plantings in seed starter kits inside or in a greenhouse, if they're lucky enough to have one, or patiently wait until the cold fronts stop swooping in and then go buy nursery pretties and plant them when there's no chance of the mercury dropping below 50 degrees.   

    Me? I've lived the grief of planting too soon, as well as waiting, which had its own drawbacks. Planting radish, carrot, turnip, and other cold-weather veggies too late will often produce woody, hard vegetables that not even the squirrels will eat. As the saying goes, timing is everything. 

    And then, in my garden, there's my annual battle of the tomatoes. I love fresh tomatoes. Who doesn't? And I adore birds, especially the cardinals, robins, woodpeckers, finches, mockingbirds, doves, grackles, blue jays, and the darling Carolina chickadees who call my yard home. The only problem is that they like tomatoes, too. Hubby put up a couple of bird feeders, a hummingbird feeder, and a platform where he anchors seed cakes that he makes for the birdies. He really goes out of his way to take good care of them, so why do they have to eat MY fresh tomatoes?  

    Last year I planted just one tomato plant with regular-sized red tomatoes and one with mini yellow pear tomatoes, and guess what I discovered? They weren't terribly interested in the tiny yellow pear tomatoes. They went after the bigger red ones. Now, you're probably wondering why I didn't put netting over the plants to prevent the feathery vertebrates from dining on my precious tomatoes. I did! And they got in there anyway, except that they didn't bother with the mini yellow pear tomatoes. Lesson learned. 

    Last week, I was at a nursery and saw lots of tomato plants for sale. I walked right past the Celebrity, Roma, Better Boy, Early Girl, Beefsteak, heirlooms, and all the other enticing tomato plants calling to me. At the end of the row, I found scads of mini yellow pear and red cherry tomato plants. I grabbed one of each and planted them in pots when I got home. Why pots, you wonder? So I can keep a close eye on them in case an interloper like a squirrel or bird goes after them. If they do, I'll put together big cages and set them over the pots, and I'll weigh the cages down with heavy rocks on the top. No more poor me playing the victim. Nope. I got this. This summer, I'm going to have more tomatoes than I can use. And maybe, just maybe, I'll put a plate of extras out in the yard for the birds to nosh on. That is if they're nice and don't try to wiggle their way into my cages and decimate my crop.

    I sure do love spring. 

    Till next time,

    Jeffree

Mensch and I are Famous!

            You've probably seen pics of my incredibly adorable, Schnorkie, Mensch. Those soulful eyes, that face, I melt every time I look at him except when he's barking his brains out, which is how he communicates. I'd always heard that terriers bark a lot and are stubborn. I had no idea until this guy adopted me. I've discovered there's no way to get around it, considering he's half mini schnauzer and half Yorkshire terrier. But I digress.

            Around the time the total eclipse recently descended on Texas, a beautiful black lab appeared in our driveway and walked into our garage when my husband got out of the car. She was such a beautiful, sweet dog, clearly looking for love and a forever home. We ended up fostering her for a few days while we tried to locate her owner, which never happened because, unfortunately, our town is known as a place where people dump their unwanted dogs. Abandoned dogs run all over town, looking for their loved ones who are long gone. It really upsets me. I try to help rather than ignore the problem. 

            Eventually we did find someone who wanted her with all his heart. One of our town's police officers who transported her back and forth from the shelter in a larger city fell head over heels with her. We were ecstatic because they were clearly mesmerized with one another. Unfortunately, he couldn't take her home until the end of his shift the next day. So, the sweet girl hung out with Mensch in our back yard. It was pretty cute to watch the two of them play. At Mensch's full height, his head only came up to just above her knees. His body barely reached her knees. And that gave him a big advantage as they chased one another around the yard. Mensch ran wild and crazy circles around her, which made her spin like a top trying to catch our boy. When the sun went down, she and Mensch ate dinner together, and my husband made up a doggie bedroom for her in our breezeway. As soon as we turned out the light at bedtime, we discovered she was terrified of the dark. That poor dog was crying so loud that we were pretty sure the whole neighborhood heard her. We figured what's a few more cents on our electric bill to keep the light on for her. 

            Anyway, the story of Luna, as she came to be called, was one I couldn't forget. When Chicken Soup for the Soul issued a call for a new title: What I Learned From My Dog, I knew I had to write and send in the story of that very special dog who came into our lives near the total eclipse. Ya know, I've heard that strange things, magical things, have been known to happen just before, during, and after an eclipse. I never paid much attention to those accounts, but I sure do now. Luna was indeed one of them.

            The book was recently published and is now available wherever books are sold. Although the story isn't about Mensch, he did have a supporting role, and that's why he's included in the photo above. The Chicken Soup for the Soul folks sent us a bag of their doggie treats that I sparingly fed to Mensch while he helped me open the box of books. Now, every time I open the door to the kitchen pantry he charges in ahead of me, sits and stares at the shelf with "his" treats, and thumps his tail as though saying, "Come on, Mom!"

Till next time,

 

 

Where Did the Last Few Months Go?

        It just dawned on me that I've been remiss. I couldn't remember the last time I posted on the blog. I quickly discovered why I couldn't remember -- it had been two months since I'd posted anything. I have absolutely no excuse for why. Granted, four holidays were in that time frame, requiring all the usual activities that often take up my time. Seems like a good enough excuse, however, the holidays come every year with all the same responsibilities. I have no one else to blame but myself. Now onto a more interesting topic. 

        I took a brief respite from book signings and talks at Texas Quilt Guilds and Quilt Shops. The last one that Judy Steward and I did was in Austin the first week of December. What a great group of people. As I do at all our presentations, I read a segment of The Wedding Dress Quilt. Afterward, when I was signing copies of The Wedding Dress Quilt an impeccably dressed, precious older woman came up to talk to me.

Precious Lady: I dearly love it when someone reads to me.

Me: Did a teacher or a parent read to you when you were a young girl?

Precious Lady: Oh yes! Ever since I was a girl. That's why I loved your reading a chapter in your book to us tonight.

Me: I'm so glad you enjoyed it.

Precious Lady: Do you live here in Austin?

Me: No, I live in a small town two hours north of here.

I saw the smile on Precious Lady's face disappear.

Me:  Why do you ask?

Precious Lady: I don't have anyone to read to me anymore. I was hoping that if you live here in Austin or somewhere nearby that you would consider coming to my home and reading to me.

My heart began to beat extra hard. I took her hands in mine and looked deep into her eyes.

Me: I do wish I could.

Precious Lady: How often do you come to Austin? Maybe you could come to my home whenever you're in town.

I stood there grasping her hands in mine and feeling like such a disappointment. 

Me: Oh, if only I could. Honestly, I don't come to Austin very often. I've visited Austin only a half dozen times. 

She looked down, a look of sorrow creeping across her face. 

Precious Lady: Well, it was worth a try. 

She turned and walked out of the hall, leaving me feeling bereft, as though I'd lost something terribly important. And in truth, I had. 

Our next presentation will be on Monday, Feb 10, 6:15p at the Crossroads to Texas Quilt Guild at the Methodist Church in Harker Heights.  Join us if you can.