Kathleen Varn's Blog, page 7

A Serendipity Lifestyle . . .

I’d been divorced for about three years. Between running a single parent household and keeping a full time job, I loved my newfound adult social life. And, in spite of the freedom to enlarge my social horizons, I silently grieved the loss of my white picket fence dream. I didn’t have my sites on finding a new partner or breadwinner to allow me to stay home and catch up on the Soaps eating bonbons. Instead, I opened myself to meeting new friends, female or male, through line dancing at Desperado, scuba diving and traveling.

Each morning, I cleared my head and asked my heart to embrace a moment presented by… dare I call it, Destiny? Fate? My faith supported my belief that even hardship identified the dross in my life that could be used for self-improvement and reveal silver linings.

My favorite new word became serendipity. I was constantly amazed at the seemingly random circumstances or people’s paths I’d cross in innocent activity. Louis Pasteur said, “In the fields of observation chance favours only the prepared mind.” So I tried to stay alert and prepared.

One Sunday afternoon, I’d been encouraged to hang out at a favorite seafood restaurant, Bowen’s Island. It was the venue for a music charity event. The admission fee would benefit a local woman’s need for medical care. Between Johnny Mac’s performance in one of the boardwalk sheds, dancing and cheap cold beer, I expected it would be a great people watching spot. My girlfriend and her boyfriend came separately and were off cooing in a corner.

As I looked down at the path to the sheds, I noticed several patrons sitting on the hand rails. One by one, I asked myself—would I like talking to him? Her? My eye passed a male in frayed khaki shorts, white t-shirt and water loafers. I felt a little butterfly urge me to consider introductions if the event got boring. As I sat and observed the changing scenes, my old friend, Al, rejoined me at the picnic table.

“Hey, there’s Stevie Varn,” he said, pointing to the guy in the frayed khaki shorts. I was stunned. I stared at his face and could not see the teenage boy that had graduated with me in 1976. Back then, his cousin had been my best friend. I’d sneak glances as he sat in the back of the class in algebra. There had always been a little intrigue. But, I was a geek, he was a cool surfer.

Serendipitous? Absolutely. I’d been fighting my shyness and so I marched my little blue cashmere sweatered body down to where he was propped, stuck my finger in his face and asked him to confirm who he was. His body language was amused but properly cautious. Did the bold move pay off? We talked on the dock for over two hours. Within the week, we were on our first date.

With many more serendipitous moments, I found the love of my life and am on the journey of growing old with him. I love finding something good without looking for it. You just have to listen and follow life’s nudges. Or, as Albert Einstein said, “God doesn’t throw dice.”

The Birth of a Book…

After two years of trying, I got the news last October. I’m pregnant!

Well, but, I’m also an empty-nester who has already raised a son and a daughter. I started juggling being a mom, wife (and many other plates) at the age of 20 and I like to think I learned through my mistakes and rejoiced through the milestones of mommy-hood. I wrote on the pages of my children’s hearts and recorded chapters of their experiences in journals.

So, in my late 40s, while they left the nest to pursue their own life goals and dreams, I turned my sights to a late life “baby” goal. It wasn’t that I had an unhappy marriage, or lacked outside interests. My life was thriving. But I’d always wanted to conceive and deliver a new story. The longing and yearning to fulfill my late life golden child pushed me into a relationship with a writing coach. After a one hour consultation, I conceived.

Under the watchful eye of my publisher, BQB Publishing, I’m now anxiously awaiting my due date in July, 2013. The story has survived and improved under multiple edits. And… it’s a Girl!

With much help from my writer friends, 7 Strong, she was named—Ameera Unveiled. I have gotten through my first trimester and heave a sigh as I carry the book into the next development.

My baby bump is adorned with a book cover of chartreuse and red sequins. I’m consumed and overwhelmed with decorating this website nursery. Once Ameera is delivered, I will announce her on my glittered up social media sites. My emotions swing as I anticipate her arrival. Am I doing a good job as a future author? Will my internet presence a.k.a. “the nursery” be finished in time? Will my readers like her?

Then I take a deep breath and tell myself to trust my maternal instincts as I have for my first two children. My book’s gestational period is in the capable hands of my publisher. My interior decorator, Shari Stauch, is helping me stage the nursery. And the best part? So far I’ve retained my girlish figure…

Tolerance … Can’t We All Get Along?

As I walked through the bedroom, something caught my eye in the corner of the room. My dog’s bed had two bodies in it. I only own one dog– Chaz. Chaz had taken over my daughter’s hand-me-down Great Dane bed. His small 18 pound body was curled in one corner. My 16 pound kitty, Hollywood, was curled in the other one. They were color coordinated and separated by a red blanket.

As I paused, two sleepy heads opened their eyes as if they questioned my curiosity. It was obvious that a cat and a dog sharing a bed wasn’t a normal scenario to me. For them – no problem. This paled in comparison to the lion and lamb symbol of peace. But it did speak volumes to tolerating each other’s differences.

In the wake of the 2012 Presidential campaign, differences and opinions saturated all media platforms. Television, newspapers, bumper stickers… social media. The American Pie was dissected and wedged by political party lines, special or personal interests, among other things. Voices and words rang in loud decibels. Anything and everything was heaped on the sacrificial political altar. By the end of November, it was clear that the country was divided by groups that thrived on anger and finger pointing.

I was raised in a social environment that appeared to hold certain traditions sacred. The moral compass that once trained my right and wrong choices seems to spin out of control under the banner of individual freedom. Violence saturates our culture, from childhood video games to domestic fist fights. Leadership delays offending selfishly motivated groups in lieu of a poll. We’ve lost the lead in leadership.

So, as I watched my dog share his bed with Hollywood, I have to admire the civility, in spite of their differences. I reflect on past American communities that need not be fractured by labels such as dog or cat. Gay or straight. Christian or Jewish. I choose to honor the melting pot of our diverse ethnic country. But I also take responsibility for my choices. My hands embrace work—not reaching for a government check. As the post-election voices quiet, I pray it isn’t too late to recover the civil society that we enjoyed. We need to pull together and pull our weight instead of lapsing into complacency.

“A society begins with us, it must not end with us,” said John Gardner.

Good job, Chaz and Hollywood.

I’m Retired from the Tooth Fairy Army

When I became a mom, I enlisted in The Tooth Fairy Army. I took the oath to defend the integrity and legend of Her Mini-highness.

I’d had a nine year headstart to practice on my daughter before I added my son to the family. As each tooth fell out, I improved on how and where it was placed so I could exchange it for a coin. I was developing a stealthy pillow op tactic. In the morning, a quarter impressed her unless her friends disclosed their tooth fairy left TWO quarters. So, as each tooth grew larger, I raised the booty to keep my Head-of-Ivory-State happy. Eventually, my daughter traded earning income from babysitting, rather than selling the last of her molars.

By the time my son started losing his baby teeth, I’d earned military ribbons for meritorious service during my daughter’s Tooth War. I’d never forgotten to retrieve a tooth, proper restitution for the lost tooth and my uniform was impeccable. (Okay. They were pajamas!) I’m not sure if my attention to my pillow post had waned due to him being a second child or maybe my age? But I will never forget the time I went AWOL.

“Mom, look! I lost another tooth!” he said, holding it up. I saw quarters in his eyes. “I’m going to go put it under my pillow so I don’t forget. I hope She doesn’t forget.”

“Make sure you put it where it won’t fall under the bed,” I said. “Do you want a Ziploc or something?”

“Can She get it out?” he asked. “You told me to never put my head in a plastic bag.”

I stuffed a chuckle. “Sure, She’s got this job down,” I said. We finished out the Sunday night, getting ready for another school week. I went to bed and abandoned my post. The tooth would still be there in the morning.

Monday came and went, no mention of the tooth. Nor did I remember it was still under the pillow. On Tuesday, before my son left for the bus stop, he popped his head into the kitchen.

“Mom, that Tooth Fairy is slack,” he informed. My mind snapped to attention. OMG. I’d left the quarters on my nightstand for two nights! I was running a single parent household. My eight year old wasn’t going to care about that because he didn’t know I was a Captain in the Tooth Fairy Army.

“You know what? If She hasn’t come, I’ll bet there’s a good reason,” I fudged. “Why don’t we give Her one more night?” With a grin, he left for the bus stop.

At work, I pulled out my razor fine permanent marker, created a note the size of a postal stamp and wrote in my tiniest Tinker Bell letters: “Dear Seth, I’m sorry it took me so long. There was a really big Palmetto bug on the porch. I left a little extra.” The Tooth Fairy.

That night, the Tooth Fairy delivered.

Wednesday morning before he left for the bus stop, he ran into the kitchen. “Mom, look what the Tooth Fairy left! A whole dollar and a note!”

“See!” I said, detecting he knew it was from me.

“Well, I hope She’s late again. I don’t want any more stinking quarters,” he said, shutting the front door.

 

Peace Out, Chaz

I own the most gentle and eager to please mutt, Chaz. Back story: I am not a dog person—I’m a cat girl! Chaz migrated from my ex-husband’s home to my home sometime early 2000s. Eventually, my son graduated high school and Chaz remained in our home. My husband does the walking, feeding, playing and even showers with him once a week. I do potty duty during the day but it is on a leash and only as long as it takes to get the deed done.

Chaz melts the heart of anyone who visits our home; we have out-of-town friends that will drive to Charleston just to pet sit. My husband sneaks snacks into his morning breakfast. Chaz wants for nothing.

Since my childhood, I’ve always sensed I could feel people and animal energy. When I heard there was an animal communicator holding sessions, I had to sign up. I brought Chaz.

We waited for her to ask, “What does your pet want more of, and what does your pet want less of?” But, out of the gate, my dog wouldn’t let Barbara get a word in edgewise. She looked at me, smiled and said, “Chaz won’t let me speak. He insists that he has to let you know why he is in your life.”

I stared at Barbara, waiting on Chaz’s message. “He says the reason he is in your life is because you needed something gentle.”

True, the atmosphere of my first marriage was far from peaceful or gentle.  Wow!

“Let me ask him what he wants more of….”

I sat quietly.

“He says he doesn’t want anything. He says he has everything he needs. He is a happy dog.” Wow!

“Let me ask him what he wants less of…. Again, he says he is happy. His home is very peaceful.”

I looked at them both and said, “I can’t believe he didn’t talk about his showers with my husband.”

Barbara looked at Chaz and mentioned my husband’s name. She started laughing and relayed, “He said that he loves Steve because he takes him on really long walks and lets him run.” Guilty as charged!

With my pup finally silent, we moved on to my horse. But—that’s another testimonial.