Time to lighten things up a bit!  God I’m getting old!  This weekend, I will reach yet another birthday.  I’m vain enough not to want to disclose the precise number but suffice it to say I’m old enough to have a very vague recollection of the Beatles first album (thanks mostly to an older sibling).  Nuff said on the numbers associated with age (as well as the other gruesome stuff like hairs sprouting on my upper lip and chin—what’s up with that?).   

Now, on to the fun stuff about getting old.  The older I get, the more secure I get—and I have to say, that’s really great.  When I was young, the opinion of others drove many of my values, attitudes, and behaviors.  Now, I give much less of a damn.  And that’s refreshing. 

What’s more, I’m looking forward to those really ancient years (that I hope my past drug abuse doesn’t prevent me from reaching).  I can’t wait until that time of ‘allowed eccentricity’ where we can all act a little loo-loo and everyone puts up with it with a smile.  In fact, we all have certain stages in our lives when we can get away with bad behavior.  For example, take temper tantrums:

When you have one when you are two, it’s expected.

When you have one in your teens, you are ‘an adolescent.’

When you have one in young or middle adulthood, you might get yourself committed.

However, if you have a temper tantrum when you are in your 80’s, people smile and let it go!  And that’s not the least of it!  You can get away with some really wild things, such as sneaking doggie bags off other restaurant goers’ tables when they aren’t looking or shoplifting at Tiffany’s.  Sure, they might ask you to leave but it’s doubtful they’ll arrest a cute little eighty-year-old lady!  No one wants to hassle an old lady, let’s face it. 

You can also say outrageous things when you are older and totally get away with it.  If I swear in public today, I’m a vulgar broad—but if I do it when I am 80, I am ‘cute as a button’ (think Betty White)! 

Yes, I am definitely looking forward to the eccentricity my later years will bring me—but I am also interested to see how much different I might be twenty years from now because WOW—when I think of the changes I’ve been though in the last twenty, the results are truly astounding. 

Twenty years ago, I was just losing footing on any normalcy of life and slipping into a deep abyss of addiction.  Today, I am a respectable college professor and blogger with a wonderful life and husband, who has finished her memoir. 

Now, believe me, I don’t expect (or hope, God forbid) the next twenty years to be as dramatic as the last twenty but I am looking forward to the lessons this next stretch will bring me.  And I am not sad about aging—I truly am not. 

Each birthday is like crossing another improbable finish line and each time, it’s a renewed triumph!

BOOK UPDATE:  I finished the last chapter’s revision yesterday!  I pretty much had to rewrite the entire last chapter because of my new ending.  Interestingly, the last chapter just flowed right out of me!  It was, by far, the easiest of all the chapters that I’ve written.  Now, I will go through my mom’s edits, clean those up, and then send them out to a few trusted loved ones for their input.  I’m not doing another major revision—I just want reaction and major comments about the structure of the chapters.  I cannot go through another revision without a publisher again—so that’s the next step (although I am so glad I did this one, as the book is so much stronger than it was previously). 

I’m so excited because I am now feeling very good about my book!  And I’m happy—yes, I’m happy I’m another year older (almost, anyway!). 

Peace,

Melinda

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Played: 180 | Download | Duration: 00:04:08

 I’ll tell you, my life has truly been such a journey of lessons, discoveries, and growth.  Working on my book has been keeping me so wrapped up in knots that it finally took a few days of illness to make me step back and re-evaluate what I’m doing here!  I needed to step back, that’s for sure.  I realize now this book has me too wrapped up in myself lately.  That’s not surprising in some ways since I am working on the story of my life.  But at the same time, I’ll never forget what an old friend used to say:

“Melinda, when you are too wrapped up in yourself, it makes for a small package.” 

How utterly true!

During most major life events, we go through stages.  For example, in the breaking down the stages of grief using the Kübler-Ross model, we go through denial, anger, rejection, bargaining, depression, until we reach the ultimate stage of acceptance (note—not all people go through these stages in the same order and you may go back and forth—it’s not necessarily linear).  The fact does remain though that these are stages of growth—to get to the point where you can deal with the grief. 

Writing this book is a major life event for me, so it’s not surprising that I’m also going through certain stages.  Of course, these are not stages of grief but stages of strong emotions, which I believe are crucial to exposing, embracing, and then releasing my past:  the stages have involved pain, sadness, anger, becoming philosophical (which is where I feel I am now), until I (hopefully)  will reach serenity.  I do believe this is where the process will ultimately lead me. 

I believe when I publish this book—and I will publish it—one way or another—I will have the peace to accept everything my life has been—both good and bad, to find peace with everything I’ve been—both good and bad.  Who knows?  I may reach a tranquility so profound I will be able to completely forgive those to whom I've never imagined giving complete absolution.

I’ve been so wrapped up in myself I’ve felt unable to blog about anything else lately (as I have mentioned before)—and when you are so wrapped up in yourself it is bound to have at least some negative effects.  Therefore, I am going to be blogging about things other than my book (and my neuroses—lol!) in my next post but I wanted to update you on my progress (both personal and the book).  In fact, I think Melindaville will start looking at some interesting current issues central to my values, beliefs, and principles.  After I complete the book, look for some new directions in Melindaville! 

For now, though—I want to end this post by giving you a book update:  I originally ended the book when I left Montana after graduating college, where my mom sees me off at the top of the Montana Pass in the Rocky Mountains.  The last words were, “Knock 'em dead, honey!” (I was on my way to graduate school). And there I go—off into the sunset. 

However, I feel following me for four long years in Montana is too long (even though I've already written those chapters).  Those years are ones of development and growth but they’re a little anticlimactic after the extreme stories from my earlier life.  Therefore, I now think I am going to end the book when I have finished four months of treatment—when I return to Montana to see my mother after being apart for many years.  One thing I know after doing this revision—the book is far too long.  I have to cut out some major parts and this seems the most likely.  Ultimately, though, the publisher is going to have the say on this, which is why I do feel this is my last revision on my own.  I have to let this go because I cannot put myself through this again.  It's been an emotional cup of coffee, for sure. 

“Sitting atop Peet’s Hill with my mom, unfamiliar hope envelops me.  I’ve been through a war.  And I survived that war.   I look to the valley below, feeling energized by the magnificence of the Rocky Mountains while breathing in the sweet, crisp Montana air.  I feel a deep pull within.  Wherever my destiny, first, I need to return to Montana to face the past I tried so desperately to escape.  Instinctively, I know I need to build bridges to my future and heal from the damage of my life. 

I tentatively smile at my mom.  “I think I would like to come home.” 

What do you think about the new ending? 

Peace,

Melinda!   

(and thank you all so much for hanging in with me!). 

Played: 263 | Download | Duration: 00:04:56

Well, I have finally done it.  I’ve gotten myself so run down that I awakened today fighting some bug, which has me feeling “off my feed” (as Les would say).  I know I haven’t been taking as good care of myself as I should be so I’m not surprised I’m battling the flu.  I apologize for not having a podcast today but I honestly don’t feel good enough to do one. 

Writing this book is consuming and grueling.   It’s hard to really describe what I’m going through—I honestly wish I could talk to another person who has gone through terrible things and who has had to relive it all by writing a memoir.  It’s such a unique experience that it’s hard to put what I am going through into words. 

The deeper I get into the book, the more emotions it wrings out of me.  I finally realize how much I’ve suppressed and still suppress on a daily basis.  Freud really did have a point—we bury our pain in our subconscious because it is too gut wrenching to deal with that kind of pain daily. 

As the sentence, paragraph, and chapter fly off my keyboard, bandages are ripped away from the festering emotional wounds so many years ago.  Going through them once was a nightmare; each time I write and do another rewrite, I relive it again and that is torture. 

It is so strange—like reading the diary of someone I love very much—a person I know but who is not me.  It is enlightening to gain such a profound understanding of myself on such a deep level. When I wrote the story this blog post was based on , I crawled into bed and just hugged myself.  I realize now why drugs were so attractive to me—because they masked the terrible pain that was my world. 

But at the same time, this is cathartic and I know the benefits will be so worth the hell.  As I write this book, though, I have gained a new appreciation for my ability to overcome the worst of experiences.  I am also grateful for my innate resiliency.  That my life didn’t destroy me is a miracle in and of itself.  That I triumphed in the face of such misery is beyond a miracle. 

I can only imagine the terrible pain my mother must feel as she read the depths of where my life has taken me.  Hearing of such terrible despair and hopeless in your child must be heart wrenching.  But what both of us must remember—as I relive it again—and as she lives it vicariously through my chapters—is that the end is triumph and whatever the tragedy that was my early life has been overcome ten times over by the amazing gift my second chance at life has brought me. 

Thank you for your patience my dear readers.  I am struggling through and I am so grateful for all the support with your calls, emails, and comments.   It means so much to me.

Peace,

Melinda

As I said last week, my book is driving my life right now and I am so enraptured in its development, it seems impossible to blog on anything else (which I apologize for).    At some point, I know other topics will inspire me again but right now, I am breathing, sleeping, and eating this book!   Even after closing my computer for the night, the rewrites continue in my mind.  I am now keeping a small notepad next to me so I don’t forget any of the ideas or thoughts that continue to crop up.  

Working with my mother on editing is also rewarding and I feel so important for our relationship.  My mom and I have shared an incredible journey together and as a result, we have formed an amazing bond. 

When I returned to Montana to enroll in college in 1994, I remember sitting atop Peet’s Hill, feeling as though I’d been through a war.  In making the decision to return home, I realized even then, so early in my recovery, that my mother and I needed to build important bridges in our relationships.  That was one of my most compelling reasons to return. 

Indeed, this is what happened when I moved back to Bozeman:  my mother and finally developed the strong mother-daughter relationship we both always yearned for but it went beyond that; we each gained true respect and trust for each other.  One most incredible discovery was learning I would want my mother to be my friend, even if she were not my mother. 

Working on editing this book with my mother has been an incredible experience for both of us.  I’m so lucky to have her help because as a former English teacher and prolific writer in her own right, her input and command of language is invaluable.  I trust only one other person as much as I trust my mother and that’s Les.  I know she always has my best interest at heart and I know that no one could be more dedicated to working on the book than she is. 

My mother gains different benefits.  She has said that in reading and working on my manuscript, she almost feels as though she is in my skin, which must be terribly brutal and extraordinary at the same time.  I am part of her and I have been since my conception.  I will always be part of her. 

While my mother’s heard bits and pieces of my past, here and there, I think seeing how it all unfolded has been both overwhelming and enlightening.  One thing is certain, I feel we will both be better, stronger people and that our relationship will develop even further when the book is finally finished.   I think we will also both have less guilt, fewer regrets, and much more serenity when this process has played out. 

Along with this, I am reliving my life, which is often very painful.  One of the biggest reasons I need to complete this manuscript and get it off my plate is to close the book on my past, literally.  Of course, the past will always be a big part of my life but I am hoping the anguish of the past will no longer haunt me and that old resentments I still do have will finally die, as they should. 

Life always presents us with unique opportunities to grow, learn, and develop to our fullest.  Certainly, the experience of working on this book with my mom is one such unique experience.  And as I go along, I continue learning important lessons

Peace,

Melinda

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Played: 239 | Download | Duration: 00:03:46

This has been a tough week for me, emotionally.  I’ve been working on revising my book, which is great.  My mom is my primary editor and the experience of the two of us working on the book together has been an interesting one, although difficult for each of us. 

I know it has been so hard for my mom to read about the terrible pain my childhood brought me and for her to realize she played a role in that pain.  At the same time, she was also my champion—and it is essential for her to know that as well.  After editing ‘A Troubled Beginning,’ she wrote back saying how tragic she thought the chapter was.  This is true but I hope she keeps in mind that triumph comes later.  I do believe it is an important part of our journey of healing—for both of us.

Speaking of which, I’ve been on fire working on it—so much so that I find it difficult to blog about other things right now.   One part I’ve spent a lot more time on (which really needed it) was my childhood years—the abuse, the social isolation, and the fantasy world I created before I found drugs.  Working on these parts has left me raw.  I woke up in the middle of the night last night and just started sobbing for no reason.  I don’t remember what I was dreaming—but it had to have been centered on those very difficult years, I’m afraid because the floodgates opened last night and out it all came. 

My mom had told me at one point she hoped I would find more peace with my childhood once I finished my book—and obviously, that still hasn’t completely happened.  But then I have to realize I am still not finished with my book and until I completely finish it, I won’t be able to “close the book” on it (pun intended!). 

I was visiting my friend, Svasti’s blog today and she wrote a great piece about her triumph over seeing her ex—the man who abused her—and how she felt NOTHING upon seeing him.  I’ve watched Svasti’s amazing journey for close to two years now and I am so proud of her ability to heal and rise above. 

I will say this—I feel more hope with the way this book is going than I’ve felt for several months.  No doubt, it will go through more edits during the process but I really believe after this one, I’ll feel good enough to give it to publishers.  I’ve had some challenges with revising it in the last several months—and I put it aside for a while.  In the end, though, I think it was the right thing to do because coming back to it with fresh eyes has been great.

I also realized something else in the last few days.  The purpose of my book isn’t so for people to hail me as a great new writer.  That was never the purpose, although of course I want it to be written as well as possible.  But the primary purposes have always been to help other people—both in inspiring others to change and to raise awareness about the need for available treatment—but ultimately, to fund treatment for those who aren’t nearly as lucky as I am.

In the end, I know it will be worth the pain I feel right now.

Peace,

Melinda

Where is the fire?  It’s in me!   I have been on fire with the editing of my book!  My book is finally becoming what I hoped it would be!  I’ve been working with a couple of different people on the editing and have gotten some wonderful feedback.  Suddenly, it’s shaping up—for some reason, I have been able to view it in a far different light.  I feel the first four chapters are so much stronger now.

Now, I’m currently working on Chapter 5, which centers on my childhood and the terrible abuse I endured.  The first time around, this chapter was so difficult to write that I would have to stop, take a walk, and just cry.  I actually left some parts out, thinking I would go back and complete them later, which I am now able to do.  Because of this new burst of steam, I have been able to return to work on those parts that were originally too painful to write about and to clean up the rest of it. 

Most importantly, I feel the heart of my story—the emotion that needs to drive it—is finally reaching the place it needs to be.   I realize now hard difficult it is to get any piece of work to the point where you feel comfortable with it.  

For me, to get to the real heart of my story—and the honesty within—I’ve had to peel back several layers of the onion.  However, the result is that I am starting to believe in my book again.  I won’t go into too many details, but I have run across some challenges with getting it ready for publication recently but I really feel I am back on track now. 

Posting that first chapter had a remarkable effect on my confidence—because I really did lay it all out there.  When you do that, you feel vulnerable and open to criticism but it also gives a person the opportunity to view a piece of work in a new light—and that helped me so much.  I’m not even sure why.  Somehow, the success I gained from finally getting those first four chapters right has given me the momentum to work on the emotionally difficult Chapter 5.  I cannot tell you how grateful I am for this renewed fire.   

 Yes, I am grateful for the renewed fire, but I am also grateful for the gift my life has been these last sixteen years.  Each time I work on the book, I cannot help but think of the experiences of which I am writing.  I am struck by how being in the right place at just the right time can alter our paths forever.  Truly, serendipity or perhaps just plain dumb luck can sometimes change our lives dramatically.   

I realized after revising Chapter 2, which centers on the three suicide attempts I had that fateful weekend in January 1994.  I almost certainly would have succeeded with the final suicide attempt had it not been for such serendipity.  

The man who lived upstairs from the flat I was staying had found me with the pilot lights blown out and gas turned on earlier that day and stopped me from blowing up the entire house (which hadn’t occurred to me could even happen—I thought I was just trying to kill myself).  After that, he kept checking on me throughout the day—although I thought I had finally convinced him that I would be all right and that he was gone for the night. 

That’s when I drank the bottle of furniture polish.

I drank it, a fire began burning in my gut and I knew I would die—I just knew it instinctively. 

The doctors at the hospital told me I would have died had it not been for that annoying upstairs neighbor, who decided he should check on me one final time.  What luck it was that I hadn’t convinced him I was okay.  He told me later that he didn’t even know why he went down to check on me that last time—he just felt compelled to do that at the time.

If he had not, I wouldn’t be writing this post right now—I would not have ever had any of the wonderful opportunities life has awarded me since beginning my recovery.  My life did not have the tragic ending it might have had, had the neighbor taken my word that I was okay—that I was no longer thinking of suicide.  I would not be with Les—I wouldn’t have discovered my love of psychology and teaching, and I would have never gotten the opportunity to mend my relationship with my mother. 

There are other serendipitous moments in those early days as well.  I met Tim Callahan who got me into the Freedom House, I returned to Montana where my mother extended me the invitation to enroll in Montana State University—and so many other doors opened, once I became willing. 

When I think back to that terrible weekend, I am humbled with gratitude for my amazing second chance in life and all the miracles my life has consisted of since that dark day when death seemed the only solution to my troubled life. 

I’m so glad to be here. 

Peace,

Melinda

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Played: 222 | Download | Duration: 00:05:10

It was a smart move to post the first chapter of my memoir, as it allowed me to get fresh eyes to take a look.  God knows my own eyes were getting mighty weary with reading and rereading. 

Since I posted Chapter 1, I have been on fire working on Chapter 2.  I think posting and getting some feedback on that first chapter gave me renewed energy for going forward. 

Posting the book was a way for me to move out of the writing/publishing rut I have been stagnating in for the past six months.  I must confess—I have been sitting on the finished book for months now—and I know not doing anything with it has been a way for me to continue to hold on to it, which is a safe place to be.  

But if I am honest with myself (which is not always easy for me to do), I must admit I have allowed fear to paralyze me.  Interestingly, since the New Year, I’ve been talking to a good friend about just this subject:  how our fear can lead us to self-sabotage.   I realize now I should be giving myself this same talk—because I am in a position where I do have agents who are interested in my book and it has only been my fear of failure that has kept it in my grasp. 

Failure is often the result of self-sabotage or a self-fulfilling prophecy. If we convince ourselves of something, that something is more likely to happen!  My very wise mother-in-law, Gladys, who died several years ago, used to say, “Nothing is but thinking makes it so.”   How perfectly true! 

I have experienced a self-fulfilling prophecy before.   I will never forget the day I realized I was a junkie.  I’d been having legal hassles for several months and had a substantial amount of cocaine I was afraid to sell to anyone but close friends.  A friend living down the hall was a small-time heroin dealer and we began exchanging trifling amounts of our respective drugs each morning. 

Cocaine had lost most of its appeal to me by this point because it had a tendency to make me feel jittery, which was an unwelcome feeling with the mountain of legal problems I was dealing with at the time.  Heroin was a relief.  I’d do a shot of heroin and all those legal hassles seemed to fade in the rear-view mirror.  After several months, I awoke one morning feeling horrible.  My friend showed up at my door several hours later, wondering why I hadn’t stopped by for our usual morning exchange.  I told him I felt I was coming down with the flu and probably shouldn’t get high.  He started dancing around my apartment, bellowing, “You have the jones, Melinda!  You have the jones (meaning I was strung out on heroin).  I was stunned at his revelation and couldn’t believe it could be true.  After all, I had seen friends become junkies—and I knew I was smarter than that.  In fact, I didn’t believe him. 

Therefore, we made a small bet.  I would do a shot of heroin.  If I felt better, it meant he was right and I was a junkie.  However, if after that shot I still felt like I had a bad flu, it meant I won—that I wasn’t stupid enough to get addicted to junk.  The wager?  A small amount of drugs, of course! 

I’m sure that most of you can see where this is going but I did that shot and immediately felt better.  Moreover, the stark truth of my heroin addiction forever changed my world.  As soon as the realization hit home, everything about my world changed—and most importantly, my view of myself became altered.  I remember looking at my reflection, thinking, “I’m a junkie!”  Just like Lou Reed, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin and all those other heroes of mine.  I decided I was going to really experience being a junkie—and that someday I would write a book on it (Hello?!). 

With that realization came the harsh reality of a six year decline into the abyss of heroin addiction—one that nearly left me dead.  In fact, in those days, death was ultimately part of my destiny   I made it happen—no one else.  I almost became the destiny I prophesized.  I almost died.  We do have the power to do that to ourselves. 

I’m not going to be a self-fulfilling prophecy with this book.  I am not going to allow fear to paralyze me, never allowing myself the opportunity to succeed—or to fail—because I am too afraid to try.  One of my favorite sayings, as many of you know, is:  “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” 

Well folks, I am venturing!  Whether I succeed or fail—I’m getting this book off my desk and I am giving to the people who have expressed interest.  I am going to rise above fear.  

Peace,

Melinda

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Played: 264 | Download | Duration: 00:05:05

I have to say, I believe it was an excellent idea for me to post Chapter 1 and all of you can read my revision by clicking here. 

I have to thank all the people who read the chapter and who left me valuable input and comments.  Some of you posted your comments here and others emailed me.  In particular, I want to thank Sweet Violet from the blog, A View from the Other Side and Erika from the blog, Each Day is a Present  for the great editing and invaluable comments.  As long as I am making a mention here—I really recommend people to read their blogs as both are strong women with interesting experiences who each have quite a gift for writing. 

I also want to thank my mother for her editing of the first page.  It made me smile when she sent me back her edited copy and reminded me (sweetly) of my undergraduate papers handed off to her for proofreading.  (Mom—your assistance was as valuable here as it was in those papers that your sharp eye helped me earn ‘A’s’ in college).

A couple of you mentioned that the line, “I know I am a dead because I killed myself just last night” was a strong one—and indeed, a few people mentioned that perhaps I should use this as an opening line.  I have wrestled with this—and while I agree that the line is strong, I don’t know if it is a good way to open the chapter because I really didn’t realize I was dead until I had lain on the brink of life and death for a while (and who knows how long it was).  As I recalled the memory, it was like fighting through layers of gauze—it was a real struggle to regain consciousness. 

One of the greatest benefits of posting this first chapter was that it allowed me to view it as a reader.  I don’t know why this was so—but seeing it posted, I could remove myself somewhat and I really did see the problems with the first version.  As my mother pointed out — this is a very dramatic chapter, so it is important that it not be too wordy.  I feel this new version is a much cleaner, simpler version and I am so interested in hearing what all of you think!

Thank you again, for your help!

Peace,

Melinda

I have finished the major editing on my book and while traveling to Las Vegas and Montana, I read the entire thing from cover to cover.  I forced myself to read it without making any edits (which was much harder than I imagined it would be).  I printed it out so that I would not be tempted to start ‘track changes’ in making corrections here and there.  When I got to the end, I felt uneasy and somewhat dissatisfied.  I had thought I would feel enormously proud of telling my story.   I have to be honest—if I am dissatisfied with the book, then I think my readers will be too—and I must do this book right the first time. 

I didn’t get it right in the first or revised draft—at least some parts. 

I believe that parts of the book are well written—and parts of it (I thought) were ‘laugh out loud’ funny.  However, the heart of my story is an emotional one and I do not believe I have effectively translated the emotions that accompanied many of my experiences. 

Nevertheless, dear readers, you have been waiting so patiently—although some of you nudge me with a gentle inquiry, “Melinda, when is your book coming out?”  I keep saying soon.  Soon is such a lovely word because it sounds more imminent than it has to be.  It’s the perfect answer without really answering. 

I feel that ‘soon’ has run its course and that perhaps I must be more honest by answering, “When it is ready to be out, it will be out” (although that could be literally years because I am famous for procrastination).    I have decided to do something unusual.  I am posting the first chapter of the book—and opening up a discussion for all of you.   What are your thoughts?  Of course, this is only one chapter but it is a critical one.  

Or perhaps I am scared.  Actually, there is no perhaps about it—I am scared.  I am scared of rejection.  I am afraid of being imperfect—I am petrified of blowing my chance with this book because it is so important that it do well because the proceeds will fund treatment for addicts and if the book doesn’t sell, then that doesn’t bode well for the addicts I hope to help. 

Do I do another revision?  Or do I give it the okay to go to publishers?  Or do I just dither for another year or two?  The thought of sending my book to actual publishers fills my tummy with butterflies!  I know I am procrastinating here—because the revision is complete, which means the book is complete (supposedly).  What am I waiting for?  Maybe I am waiting for a sign from God.  Therefore, I am throwing out the first chapter and handing it off to all of you for your thoughts.  If I don’t get a sign from God, perhaps a sign from my readers will do.

So, click here to read my first Chapter (If This is Moses, I Must Be in Heaven).  I'd appreciate hearing your thoughts. 

Peace,

Melinda

I love San Francisco so much—from the moment I stepped foot into this city, I knew I was home.  No matter what, I have always been happy to be in San Francisco.  Although I have been working very hard this week, I have still managed to squeeze in some time, re-exploring some of my favorite neighborhood haunts in the city and enjoying watching the sun sparkle off the beautiful San Francisco Bay.  Dorothy really did have it right:  there’s no place like home.  While I will always love Montana and I enjoy Boston immensely, no place will ever steal my heart as San Francisco did those many years ago and still does today. 

I want to apologize for the lack of a blog post this week—I am taking a bit of a ‘Blogcation’ this week, as I work my way through grading almost 150 final exams (all with essay questions). 

I will be back next week, when I plan to post something about my book—which is taking on a new and surprising direction (have I piqued your interest?).  In the meantime, I hope you enjoy one of my favorite shots of my San Francisco neighborhood (which is in between Noe (pronounced No-ie) Valley and Glen Park.  Glen Park even has an amazing Canyon, which no one knows but natives who are familiar with the area. 

Peace,

Melinda