The Mayor of Blackthorne

   The street I live on, rocks. It's the kind of neighborhood most people don't believe exists anymore. It's almost like a small town in itself, or a village.  Everybody knows everybody, not in a casual wave because we happen to live on the same block kind of way, but in a we actually like hanging out together kind of way. Our kids have all grown up together, gone to the same schools together, and shared some of life's crazy experiences together. I won't lie. It's not always smiles and tra la la. There's been drama, and arguments and rivalry; pretty much like a normal family in some ways. And that's what we are: a big extended family.  I have more kids that call me "mom" than the old lady that lived in a shoe.  People can move away, but they still remain "Blackthornians". There are even a few honorary Blackthornians: those who haven't ever lived on the block, but have participated so many times in our events that they have become a part of us.  By the way, I'm not talking about an occasional BBQ or birthday party. I'm talking camp-outs, trips to the beach, Easter egg hunts, Posadas, Talent Shows, 4th of July block parties, cookie exchanges, Halloween costume parties, summer bashes "just because". The list goes on.
    One of our neighbors, Steve, was one of the driving forces for these events. He, and his wife Karen, organized some of the best events and parties. We came to call Steve "The Mayor of Blackthorne". He always seemed to greet everyone a big smile, a big hug and a welcoming personality. He had his faults. We all do.
    Yesterday, Steve passed away. It was so sudden, most of us couldn't even process the thought. One of our own, was gone: someone our age; someone who had been such a big part of all our lives, and the lives of our children.
   When my son was very small, he wandered away from our house. We were frantic. Everyone came out and helped to search for our little one. Steve was the one who found him. I only just remembered that. Funny how memories work sometimes, but it's those memories that we are left with. It's those 4th of July, Halloween Elvis, Pictionary Party memories that will keep Steve with us.

He'll always be the one and only, Mayor of Blackthorne.


Caren E. Salas

Some of the Blackthornian Men:  Bob, Dave, the Mayor and Steve W.

'Tis the Season

Looking over the past few posts on this blog I seem so...optimistic. Sadly, I haven't been able to post much lately, especially on this one.  Part of that was my participation in the "poem a day" challenge in November, but here it is halfway through December, and I'm only now finding time to write. The sad thing is, I really don't have the time. There are about a hundred other things I should be doing, but for my own sanity I need to do this.  I'm having a bad case of the "bah-humbug-blues". Try as I might, I'm having a hard time getting into the spirit.  This is strange for me since for most of my life, I've really enjoyed the Christmas season. Maybe it's because my kids no  longer believe in Santa Claus. Maybe it's because the holidays just seem to add to my work load. It could be my head isn't screwed on just right, it could be, perhaps that my shoes are too tight... I digress.

I don't think I'm alone feeling this way, in fact a lot of people I know seem to feel like..it just doesn't feel quite  right this year. Sometimes I want to scream at the advertisers "NO, REALLY, THAT'S NOT WHAT MOM WANTS FOR CHRISTMAS!". (Mom just wants a day off.)  I watch Christmas movies, knowing that it doesn't always end "happily ever after" even if you have all the freakin' Christmas spirit in the world. I notice that there are fewer and fewer Nativity scenes, and way too many Santa Clauses. Nothing against Santa... but a little perspective, please.

So if you are feeling like this, just know that you are not alone, and hey, call me!! (or facebook me) Or call another friend, or your mother or anyone. You'd be surprised how "not" alone you really are.  Meanwhile I know for me, a few optimistic heart cells still beat, in hopes that in the end, everything will work out; everything will be okay.  I hold on to that, turn on the Christmas music, and get through one holly jolly day at a time.


Caren E. Salas

photo: guardian.co.uk 


and http://www.fanpop.com/spots/how-the-grinch-stole-christmas/images/8139758/title/grinch-photo


quote from "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" by Dr. Seuss

NaNoWriMo

I must apologize for my absence from this blog. It has always been one that I only posted on occasionally, but lately it has become terribly neglected.  There are many reasons for this, which are really not that interesting so I won't bore you.  At the moment, I'm trying to work on several projects at once. One of them is Robert Lee Brewers ("Poetic Asides") November Poem a Day Challenge, which I didn't quite get through last year, but I am determined to conquer this year. I'm also working on NaNoWriMo which is, I don't know, some Martian language for National Novel Writing Month.  The goal is to write an entire novel in a month. You are encouraged NOT to edit or rewrite. The point is to get the story down. Cleaning it up comes later.  While I don't see myself able to finish a two or three hundred page novel in the next few weeks, I am working on a story. I'm not putting any kind of label on it until I see how it goes.  My writing seems to take on a life of its own and who am I to get in the way early on?   I will try to write about my progress if possible. At this point, I have about seven pages handwritten, which, believe it or not will probably translate into about ten or twelve typed out. (I have my own messy short-hand)

To see what I'm doing for the Poem a Day Challenge check out my other blog:
http://carenwrites.blogspot.com/

For news about all my blogs, "like" my Facebook page:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Caren-E-Salas-Writer/111359518941793

Gotta' go. Gotta' write some Mo.

Caren E. Salas

Breathe

I can never seem to explain my overwhelming love for the ocean. It draws me in like a rip tide.  I can't even conceive of living somewhere where I couldn't at least jump in my car and be there in 20 minutes.  The feel of the wind...the sound of the waves pounding the sand...it's like: weighlessness.  It's fascinating to me the way the water pushes up a little farther with each swell, or pulls in a little closer, powerful and yet...a slave to the moon.  I can spend hours searching for shells and sea glass, or exploring tide pools, in search of hermit crabs and urchins.  After a while I can feel the salt on my hair, and my skin, and I don't care.  When I die, throw my ashes into the sea so I can be in that blue-green heaven, swimming with the dolphins, gliding through liquid space like a manta ray.  Meanwhile, I'll just spend my free moments (rare, though they may be) walking along the shoreline, because that's where I find my peace, and inspiration.  When the craziness of life starts to suffocate me, I find my way to the beach
...and breathe.


Caren E. Salas

Goals, Ambition and Coffee to Go!

   I was reading a blog by Arthur A Levine (http://arthuralevine.wordpress.com/), and he had written about ambitions and goals; how there needs to be some kind of balance between them. It's one thing to be ambitious and believe you can do something, and it's quite another to actually do it. Most writers I know, myself included, are really good at one thing: procrastination. We all have the best intentions, and all the ambition in the world, but it's hard when you don't really know if all your work will actually pay off. I've spent years writing and re-writing a novel and I have no guarantees when or if it will ever be published. Somedays I'd look at the manuscript and think, finally! It's done. Then I'd realize, that's what I thought last year, only to have someone look at it, and point out a few major flaws (sometimes more than a few...). How do I know this time it was really is ready to submit?  Well, I don't know, but it sure won't get published if it's tucked away under the bed.

      In the beginning of this year I gave myself one goal: submit my novel. I decided long ago that New Years Resolutions were futile. I'd always give up after a month or two, but goals were different. This was one thing. One thing to do, and I did it. Having ambition was like having a Starbucks gift card; I still had to decide (make a goal) to walk to the store and use it. At this point, anything else I do will be like whip cream on my caramel macchiato.

So...I'll take that Venti Caramel Macchiato please, extra shot of espresso, don't hold back on the whip cream!!
Friends, say a prayer, wish me luck, sprinkle a little pixie dust. I'm still holding my breath, waiting to see if my order will be filled.

Caren E. Salas

Photo: http://sixthseal.com/

Reunion

    
     I often hear people refer to their high school years as the best time of their life, saying that they wish they could go back. I, on the other hand, feel differently. You couldn't pay me enough to relive those years. I had braces, acne...you know, the common teenage nightmares.  I was a "theater geek" but within our small family-ish group I felt I belonged. There was no shortage of drama of course, (in every sense of the word) but when I think of that time in my life, theater was what got me through. It made me feel good about myself. On stage, I could be someone else, not the awkward ugly duckling I felt like the rest of the time.

     When my class had its 10 year reunion, I opted not to go. The wounds of real and perceived teasing and degradation were still too fresh. For the money I would spend, I could invite the four or five people I actually wanted to see, to my house for a party. After 20 years, comfortable with my life and family, I decided to go to that years festivities.  I felt much more confident in some ways, but still felt like I was on the outside looking in. Still, I had a good time.

     By the time we got to the 25 years, I was all over it. I know what you are thinking...Why Caren! You can't possibly be old enough to be out of high school that many years!! I know, right?  (Okay, stop laughing.) Anyway, at that reunion I was ready to face the music, even if it was disco.  I had a few things published, I was working on my first novel, and I was happy in my life. I felt good.  I sat with some old friends, and we had fun, but I didn't mingle much. Part of me still thought, they don't want to talk to me, I'm still just the geek to them. I felt my former classmates looking at me almost as if they were thinking "who does she think she is?" Twenty-five years, and I still felt like I had to prove myself.

     This year was 30 years. Ouch. Struggling with my health, and still trying to finish the novel I'd been working on for years, I thought, maybe not this time.   I didn't want to go, feeling unaccomplished and under the weather. Having a disease that comes and goes at will, I tend not to make plans that may require...energy.

     But then, there was facebook. Every time I'd go on I'd see comments regarding the upcoming reunion. I was torn between really wanting to go and feeling even more strongly that I shouldn't. No, I'm not going, I had finally made up my mind...or so I thought. Upon my declaration of decline, I received several adamant protests. "What? You have to go!!" No, really, I don't.  Finally, mere days before the event, my friend Rita told me she had a ticket that her husband would be more than happy to donate (the proverbial arm twist). She even offered to drive.  Seriously, turning that down seemed almost rude. 

     The day of the reunion I agonized over what to wear. I didn't want to look too casual, or like I was trying too hard, I wanted to look nice, not too dressy, blah blah blah! I wondered if I had made the right decision. Was it too late to back out? I called in my fashion guru (Lauren, my 18 year old daughter) and she helped me find just the right thing. Rita picked me up and we arrived early. I felt strange at first considering there was no plan for me to be there. I had no name tag, there were no pictures of me (that was a plus actually, haha) and honestly I didn't see that many people I recognized. 
    As the evening progressed I became much more comfortable. I looked around at the people who once were cheerleaders, football players, class clowns, popular kids, brains and theater geeks. Now they were parents, professionals, business owners, writers, dreamers, but mostly...friends. We joked about needing reading glasses, and how we just couldn't seem to party like we used to. Some of my classmates who had seen my posts on facebook asked how the writing was going. I thought, wow, these people have changed, but really, I think that I'm the one who's changed. I finally see myself as someone worth knowing. I may not be JK Rowling (yet) but I will get published. I will. The great thing is I already have readers, people that I grew up with, and  went to high school with, who will see my book in a store and say "Hey, I know her," and be at least a little proud of that.

And that, was worth going for.

Caren E. Salas

No Lifeguards on Duty

     There's something about having a lifeguard around that makes me feel...secure. I'm actually a pretty good swimmer, and honestly, if a shark was attacking me, chances are the lifeguard would look out, say "damn" and call someone to pick up the pieces. Still, I think it's just the idea of someone watching over me.  Lifeguards are the keepers of the peace; the enforcers of the rules; an icon of safety on the beach.

If only I could have my own personal lifeguard to follow me around all the time and keep me from drowning. Often, I feel like I'm a little piece if driftwood, floating about in the huge ocean, helpless to control my speed or direction. I'm bobbing on the waves holding my breath each time I go under, and then gasping for every molecule of air I can get each time I get back to the surface. I'm searching for a lifeguard to rescue me, but instead there's a airplane circling over my head with a banner saying "You're on your own, baby!"

I'm pretty sure I used to have a raft, or a body board at least.  I suppose I will just have to keep swimming, stay afloat as long as I can, and hope for the best. Who knows? Maybe I'll end up on the shore of a tropical island.

Caren E. Salas