For My Triple X Sistas

Yesterday when I woke up, my phone was blowing up with text messages. I had totally forgotten it was the pub day for my essay in the Huffington Post (long Covid brain).
One friend, who reads the HP regularly, said she almost dropped her coffee when a picture with me and two dear friends popped up on her computer screen.
Noah Michelson, the editor at Huff Post Personal, is an absolute dream to work with. He accepted my pitch back in November. Since then we’ve worked through edits. He had to contact Wendy and Suzy to get their permission. Now I see behind every good writer is a great editor.
This essay is dedicated to Wendy and Suzy.
I thank them for their time reading and sharing their edits. Really this is our essay.

I Agreed to Meet My Ex-Husband’s 2 Other Ex-Wives. I Did Not Expect That Decision To Change My Life.

Me and my daddy, August 1981

Love Begets Love

Love begets love.

A couple of days ago, an email from the New York Times appeared with “Your Tiny Love Story!” in the subject line. After submitting three or four times over the last couple of years, with no reply, I got a yes. It’s not easy to capture the love story you want to capture in 100 words.
The editor asked that I get permission from my college sweetheart’s wife, since she is mentioned. His wife, Kim, and I are friends on social media. I took a deep breath, messaged her with a copy of the TLS. Within five minutes, she replied, “Absolutely, what a beautiful love story, Gosh how I miss that man.”
Kim’s generosity was one of the things I wanted to come across in the TLS. The editor saw that. Once again, I am moved by Kim’s open heart.
My heart is full, maybe bigger today. The love for my sweetheart is as strong as it was 40 years ago. Truly, he was the love of my life, one of the healthiest, fun-loving, respectful relationships I’ve had. The demise of our relationship happened after an unfortunate occurrence. That’s another story.
Once he met Kim and married her, all my friends told me how much they like Kim and that I would too. They were right.
I couldn’t be happier that he married a woman as lovely as his wife. I know he was the love of her life too. He was one of a kind. And there is plenty of love to go around.
The Tiny Love Story should be out next week. In March, Huffington Post is publishing another essay of mine. Woohoo. I’ll send links when they come out.

Thanks for reading and keep your heart open.

Me and Tayloe
I still have the watch I’m wearing.
It was a gift from him.

8 Ways to Become Fierce on the Page

Four years ago off I went to Sage Cohen’s writing workshop, The Crucible of You, Write Yourself from Hurt to Healing.
Just what I needed. It was held for a weekend at Sitka Center for Art and Ecology on the Oregon Coast.
Sage put us all at ease from the get go. She created a safe environment for the dozen or so attendees to write our pain and share that writing. Putting my pain on paper helped me to release it. Sharing it and hearing other’s hurt helped to not feel alone in the process of grief. We laughed (Sage has a contagious laugh) and cried. At the end, we all hugged. Some of us promised to stay in touch and we have.
Out of her workshop, I gained a writing community. Three of us took her 2nd workshop together. Then Covid. Deb, from the workshop, started our online writing group that grew to ten of us who met once a week. Our time together was a treasured part of Covid. Not only did it commit me to writing but our care for each other keeps us still in touch.
If you are interested, next week Sage will be the hostess of a Craft Talk webinar, Fierce on the Page: Using Poetic Craft for Unforgettable Prose January 3rd, 2024 at 11:00 – 12:30 Pacific time.
I highly recommend checking out the Craft Talk webinars, curated by Sharla Yates and Allison K. Williams. You can sign up early for $15 then, price is $25. The webinars are recorded to watch at another time.

Happy writing, happy reading and happy New Year.

8 Ways to Become Fierce on the Page

Waking Up to a Yes

Hope everyone had a nice Thanksgiving.

On Thanksgiving day I was surprised and pleased to wake up to a email from HerStry, “congratulations we love you essay and would like to publish it next week.” HerStry publishes essays and theme based essays. The theme for November was thanks but no thanks.

I returned a gift that was given to me recently by an ex-boyfriend from ten years ago. This past year we reconnected, this time as friends. It didn’t take long for some of his old patterns to emerge, one being a plethora of gift giving. Even as a friend, I began to feel he didn’t respect my time and didn’t always keep his word. Were the gifts an effort to make up for this lack? As our relationship developed back then I remember becoming resentful of his gifts, thinking “I don’t want material things I want his love and respect.”

I had discovered the call of submissions the day before deadline and dedicated an evening to writing and submitting thinking it was a long shot. You just never know.

My essay on HerStry: Wisdom Comes With Age

After the good news my essay would be published, in the remodeled old farmhouse with the loveliest black kitty I was caring for, I cranked up the music and danced as I cooked cheese grits for a late afternoon meal with dear friends. These are friends from when I first moved to Missoula back in 1981, three sisters, their partners and one sister’s adult daughter who I love to pieces. They are family. We have fun memories from the 1980’s magical days in Missoula. They’ve seen and supported me when I was at my worst (back in my drinking days). We are still making fond memories together.

I started the day thankful for a “yes” and ended in gratitude for so many of my friends who feel like family.

As always, thanks for reading,

Frances

Getting to Know My Grandmother

“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.”
William Faulkner

Family movies show the plethora of flower sprays and large crowd at my paternal grandmother’s funeral. Effie Lee Galloway Scott died July1958, a year before I was born. From all the stories told, I feel I knew her and wish we had known each other.

She was a member of Jackson, MS’s pioneer Manship family, the daughter of Alfred Daniel Galloway and Annie Manship Galloway. Effie Lee was a devout member of Galloway Methodist Church, president of the garden club and Junior League, a member of the DAR and other civic organizations.

My older siblings called her Gaga and speak of how much they loved her, always upbeat up until the end and loved by many.

She endured enormous loss in her lifetime. Two of her four sons died.

Francis (Frank) Tomkeyes Scott, two years old, was hit by a trolley car in downtown Jackson while my grandmother helplessly watched from outside the Woolworth store screaming, “Oh my baby.” The newspaper article on this event is graphic and heartbreaking.

Her son, Walter W. Scott, 1920-1945, stationed in Italy and promoted to Captain was killed in action April 29th, 1945, five months before the war would end.

Effie Lee’s third child, Charles Scott, became a first pilot on a B-17 bomber that was shoot down during a raid. He was taken as a prisoner in a Nazi war camp for eighteen months returning to his family in Jackson, MS a forever changed man.

The fourth son, Bert Scott Sr., my father served in the Navy and outlived them all. I wish I had known to ask my father while he was alive, what all that must of been like for him. Did he feel undue pressure as the last remaining son of our prominent Southern family? Did he carry grief for his mother and lost brothers?
Certainly, Daddy was trying to bury some sort of pain through his drinking and alcoholism.

Effie Lee, it’s no wonder from all the loss and sadness she experienced that she died from stomach cancer at age 64. But she lived. She loved fishing and was saluted for her vivaciousness, charm and love during her life. (See newspaper clipping below.)

Missoula’s Library Has Much to Offer

It’s no wonder Missoula’s new library was named the world’s best public library by the International Federation of Library Associations in 2022, a year after it opened. The floor to ceiling windows on all four floors allow the natural light to spill in. Aside from books, movies and audiobooks to check out, the library has much to offer for all ages and range of interest.
Cam, the one year old boy I care for, and I go at least once a week. The children’s section on the second floor has an entire area for littles to run around, play kitchen, climb on soft benches. It doesn’t take long for Cam to run to the area for a little older children with a water play area and a soft slightly sloped platform for one years olds to practice running. Yesterday we made our way to the Spectrum space, an interactive science museum. As Cam and I put pegs in a giant bright light, a mother was making a large heart design with pegs. Her husband and two year old girl were on the other side of the board making shapes with magnets.
She introduced herself, “We are here visiting from Orlando, FL and just happened to discover this library.”
“I’m so glad you did, story time is tomorrow, but you do have Disney World.”
“But we don’t have a free library that offers all this.”

Even though I’m tired after a day of chasing a one year old, I made it back to the library for the evening family history writing class. Well worth it. A few weeks prior I attended a class on genealogy, learning how to search for ancestral records. Yes, I could get lost in research. Familysearch.org is free, you can access Ancestry.com for free if you are in the Missoula library. There is a genealogy section and Desiree is there to answer questions.

With winter coming I wanted to pick up knitting again. The library host a knitting group every Friday at noon. I went to be reminded how to cast on. Fingers occupied either knitting or crocheting, women of all ages looked up and welcomed me to come sit. “Oh Sandy can show you how to cast on.” For two hours as my fingers remembered, stories and stitches were shared.

Who knows, maybe I’ll make it to the yoga class on Thursdays or the introduction to podcasting class.

Remembering Brenda, aka Black Kitty

Brenda is how she was introduced to me three years ago when I moved into the hotel. Black Cat, Black Kitty, Rosa and I’m sure there were other names she had over the nineteen and a half years she lived. I’ve been calling her Monkey. She wondered into the hotel during a Valentine party back in 2005. Bob, a long time resident here took her in and she never left. He guesses she was around six months old at the time.
I wasn’t pet sitting when I moved in. It was Covid times. Brenda and I quickly bonded. She spent days in my room, wondering out for her meals and back in to sleep at the end of the bed at night. Bob lives on the 2nd floor, I live on the 3rd. Brenda still went down to spend time with him. He fed her and kept the litter box down there.

Once I starting pet sitting again, I missed her but knew our community was taking care of her. It sure was a sweet greeting coming home each time, having her pitter pattering behind me, prancing into my room as the door swung open. She’d stare wide eyed at me until I presented her a treat. She had me wrapped around her paw.

A year or so ago, someone moved in on the 2nd floor. She brought along her kitty. Brenda was not happy about it nor were most of us tenants. That’s when Brenda moved herself upstairs staying on the couch in the community room when I wasn’t home. We accommodated her with a new spot for her litter box and meals served to her on the 3rd floor.

Brenda comforted me after knee surgery and again through anal cancer treatment. Her usual spot was at the end of the bed never next to me, occasionally submitting to my kisses and hugs. I was touched and sure she contributed to my healing when she’d rest again my bum.

A week after my return from a three week trip Brenda wasn’t pitter pattering behind me when I came home. Another housemate noticed she was constipated. Fortunately, I had a few days off from pet sitting. After a visit to Sentinel Emergency Vet this past Thursday blood test showed her kidneys were failing, diabetes and anemia. Just days before I had seen a friend’s post about a woman who provides in-home euthanasia, Dr, Janet Alviar, with Twilight Paws. After a call to her and house mates Janet made arrangements to come the next day. The experience was tender, respectful and the best one would hope for. Monkey was able to be surrounded by several who loved her in the home she had known all her 19 1/2 years.

I held it together through it all until yesterday morning, the day after her death. Waking I reached to pet her and heard a meow. My morning tears left me rung out for the rest of the day. Last night I had the comfort of the sweetest dog I’m pet sitting. He slept on my lap, then next to me for the remainder of the night as I dreamt and woke to sweet memories with Monkey.

Koda providing comfort

It Was a Good Trip, Back in the Hotel

After a three week trip to Oregon which was filled with fun, friends, laughing, crying, blackberry picking, blueberry picking, floating the river, floating in a bird sanctuary at sunset and good food I’m back to life at the hotel. I love my friends in Oregon so much. It was such a gift to have my health and energy that hasn’t been there for years so we could play.
I was ready to get back to the hotel where I live and check on Robert, the 84 year old owner, and the eighteen year old black kitty. Both of them are unique and getting old. Brenda, the kitty, has never had vaccines or check ups. Robert doesn’t go to the doctor unless it’s an emergency. He did get the Covid vaccines. Both of them are loners but sometimes like the company of others.
It was late afternoon when I climbed the stairs to my third floor room. Brenda, aka Black Kitty or Monkey, followed behind me into my room for the treat she knew was waiting for her. Once I kissed her on the nose, I headed to the second floor room just below mine. The news was blaring so I knew Robert was home. “Who’s there?” he hollered after my knock. I peeked in saying, “Frances”. He smiled, “Boy, am I glad to see you. I missed you, not only technically but emotionally.”
After our catch up conversation, I let him know I could do his laundry and I would make his favorite oatmeal in the morning. He grinned like a kid on the way to get ice cream. I’m guessing those are the “technical” reasons he missed me.
Last summer some dear friends came through town. On my visit to Oregon, Terry, shared the photos he had taken of the hotel. He captured the essence of the hotel that’s hard to describe until you see it, maybe something out of another time and place.