This is Why I’m Skeptical of Media

Posted by Joanne Huspek

A cautionary tale of (mis)information…

the dark hole of untruths

I haven’t been a fan of the media for almost two decades.

This from a woman who started her college career as a journalism major. It took one quarter to realize I couldn’t do it. Oh, I could write – still can. But to adhere to the tenets of “who, what, where, when, how” – nope, I couldn’t do it. Writing news stories involves objectivity, and you see, I have opinions. Tons of opinions. I can’t lay out “just the facts, ma’am” if I tried. Even if I were paid millions.

Fiction is a better venue for me. Fiction is great. You can weave quite a tale basing your story on facts, but interlacing your own take. Embellishment! I love an artful turn of phrase. I love story lines that teeter on reality, but are exciting enough not to be. Plus if you call it “fiction”, you won’t get called out when you get the story wrong. Fiction as a genre means in all likelihood you won’t get sued too.

I’m not sure how or why I became a skeptic of the media. It might have started with a liberal dose of adverbs and adjectives and inflammatory nouns and verbs in the news articles I was reading. It might have been having finished an article and being left with the hollow feeling of only getting a fraction of the story…not once, not twice, but too many times.

The “news” is just not the news anymore. It’s pointed and biased.

At one point about 15 years ago, I belonged to a social media network, not unlike the current models. So disgusted with the “news” back then, a friend of mine and I started a “Non-News” page to point out the hypocrisy. We weren’t as good as the Babylon Bee, and we had families, so that idea bit the dust out of neglect not long after it began.

I currently don’t seek out “news” of any kind. I haven’t watched TV “news”, either local or national or cable, since the beginning of January. On occasion I’ve been subjected to it in my car but that’s rare. I’m a fairly intelligent, thinking human being. I don’t even need the weatherman, because I can look outside and determine sunshine from clouds. It’s tough. You want to believe those that have descended from the likes of Walter Cronkhite, but no, I can tell when I’m being snowballed by legacy media. I know where to find information, and I like dissenting viewpoints. You won’t get dissenting viewpoints on your TV.

So I’ve enjoyed the last seven or so months of blissful ignorance of the fake media, picking and choosing what I want to consume…

Until…

A couple of weeks ago, I got a text message from one of my cousins. It appeared that her sister was a subject of a “news” story that was published in the “news”paper in Minnesota a month before. (I refuse to link the article for reasons you’ll soon know if you continue reading. If you really want to read it, message me and I’ll tell you where to find it.) My cousin and her sister aren’t on lovey-dovey terms, otherwise we’d all have known about this article in June when it was first published.

Now a little backstory: I know my “news” cousin is a narcissist and it doesn’t surprise me that she was prominently featured in this article. I’ve maybe exchanged a few words with her since I’ve known her. Not my fav.

I would have ho-hummed after reading this tripe, but for a few things. One, she mentioned my father. Mentioned speaking to him. Quoted as much. Said my father was her favorite uncle. (He’s the only remaining uncle.)

“News” cousin has never spoken to my father about this or any other matter. They’ve probably only exchanged a few sentences between each other since 1974. “News” cousin is definitely NOT his favorite niece.

But here’s the kicker: “News” cousin said it was my father’s “dying wish” for her (or someone) to complete this task she was in the paper for.

Except for the fact that my father is old (nearly 90) and has some health issues, he has not now nor has ever been on his deathbed. (Yet.) The article made it seem as though my father was deceased. What a surprise! A total shock to me.

My sister was also misquoted in the article. Actually, quotes were attributed to her which she had never uttered, so perhaps “misquoted” is the wrong term. The fact that my sister’s name was misspelled led me to believe said reporter had never spoken to her at all and manufactured “quotes” to fit her narrative.

My sister was heartbroken, as she felt she had done most of the work in this task. She was about doing a good deed, not about publicity or making her actions about her. My father, upon finding out that at some point he’d been on his deathbed, laughed and laughed. (He might be old but he’s got a wicked sense of humor.) He wouldn’t mind going back to Minnesota at some point, but he won’t be visiting with “news” cousin. (I doubt any of us will.) I cannot convey his true feelings about this relative, just know it’s not positive.

I wrote a rather scathing email to the author of this fluff piece, laying out all the facts. I asked her why she hadn’t spoken to my father, or my sister. I asked her to consider adjusting the article to reflect what the truth of the matter was. I suggested she contact my father if she wanted the true story. I especially wanted her to point out that my father isn’t dead, hadn’t been on his deathbed, and that he hasn’t yet had a “dying wish.”

Nope, she wouldn’t do it. She became combative, actually. She tried to justify her poor reporting by aligning herself with a worthy cause.

Yes, I know. This, my friends, is a small story in a fairly large city’s newspaper. So my “news” cousin is an attention whore? So what? So the “reporter” is a sloppy one? She got paid, didn’t she? It wasn’t a life-or-death story, had nothing to do with national security, right?

I don’t care what they call it anymore, but truth is truth and ethics are ethics. No amount of modernity can change that.

The moral of this story is you can barely believe anything you read (or see, or hear). A true reporter would have gotten her shovel out and dug a little deeper. A true consumer of information has to do that as well. What is offered on the surface is a veneer. Writers, especially of “news”, are masters of exploiting emotion. Throw in some adjectives, adverbs, and descriptive nouns and verbs, and all of a sudden you have a cause. I see data all the time, and I’m thinking (critically) what about the missing link?

It’s time to think about how the sausage is made and what it’s made of before you’ve ingested it.

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Out of the Hole

Posted by Joanne Huspek

This is a prairie dog hole, in case you’re wondering. Big enough to swallow a chihuahua.

For anyone who cares (and that might be a number limited to the fingers on one hand), no, I haven’t died. I’m not sick, I’ve been in remarkably good physical shape since late 2019. Not a cold, nary a sniffle, no headaches. No cancer or heart condition or broken bones. And no, I haven’t given up writing, or making jewelry, or fashioning baskets out of pine needles.

I’ve been in semi-hibernation, which coincided with a brutal late winter and a spring that had been delayed for whatever meteorological reasons God has decided. It’s just now spring-like, and fer God’s sake it’s almost June! Living in Colorado, you cannot rely upon the calendar to make decisions, like when to plant potatoes and tomatoes and when to put your winter clothes away. It’s snowed in June. The threat of hail is a daily concern. (Last Saturday, I participated in the run up to the Shrine, and mile 2 and 3 it rained and hailed like crazy.) To be fair, the weather is quite changeable from one extreme to the other. We’ve already had 80 degree days in April.

The inn has been crazy busy the last few months, even with a virus to contend with. I think people are looking to escape, and this isn’t far from the metro areas, so you don’t have to fly. (I’m not sure I will ever fly again, so I get it.) However, finding reliable help hasn’t been easy. In fact, it’s been the most daunting of the challenges we face right now. It’s easy enough to replace broken furniture and faded bedding or to repair a structure, but people…that’s another story. (Maybe I’ll write a book!) Finding people to work is the most difficult task these days, so my husband and I are the ones who are doing most of the menial tasks you’d associate with an inn.

The other reason for hibernating was to get in touch with something other than the Internet. Oh, the online world! So vast, like a black hole, so easy to get swept into! I used to find positive influences online, but now it’s mostly vitriol, lies, and hate. We have also given up commercial TV (especially news) since January, instead watching recorded TV shows or movies. We’ve become fond of Turner Classic Movies, not only because it offers vintage movies which are so much more inventive and entertaining than modern fare, but because the only commercials on it are for their own programming. Now when I see commercial TV, it’s not just the programming that turns my stomach, it’s also the inane commercials. (I do allow myself some news, so I’m not completely under a rock.)

I’ve filled my days with walking (or running), and with reading. I have some strong opinions about life in general and the future of writing in particular, and while I haven’t published any of my thoughts (yet) I guarantee that someday you’ll hear from me.

I might have stayed in my hole forever, except I do find an inescapable urge to write. Yesterday, I happened upon some notes I took in my phone from the last San Francisco Writers Conference I attended (2020  and just before the pandemic – seems like a decade ago). No conference this year, but my notes brought me back. Jolted me back, actually. I need to edit my novels, and maybe write something new. These few sentences had a more positive influence on my enthusiasm than anything. Like seeds warmed by spring sun, my head has finally gotten to the point of germination.

I knew it would. This isn’t the longest sabbatical I’ve taken from writing.

Sometimes a writer needs down time, to think, to observe, to relax, to get close to nature, to think about the right and wrong of people and the evenness of the universe. (Psst… It’s what we all need. Take the time.)

See you next time.

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It’s a Wonderful Life – 2020 Style

Posted by Joanne Huspek

It truly is a wonderful life.

As we round the corner to the end of the year (thankfully, as 2020 has been fraught with all sorts of challenges I’d just as soon shed), I reflect as I usually do on the last twelve months. Only this year I thought back all the way to the beginning. Reflection is easy to do if you spend a lot of time walking or driving. In the last two months, I’ve spent most of my time driving between my home and Cripple Creek. The rest of the time, I’ve been walking. Or hiking. Or running.

On my off time, I spent this holiday season watching Turner Classic Movies. No, not the news, God forbid. TCM not only played the vintage Christmas classics, for a couple of weeks they aired any movie with Christmas featured anywhere during the story line. What a relief it was to see happy endings every couple of hours. Good versus bad, conflict, conflict, resolution. It’s just what the doctor ordered. Although I binge watched Christmas movies, I was unable to view It’s a Wonderful Life this year, but I’ve seen it many times before.

All this good cheer and peace on earth, good will toward men was not lost on me this year. Besides TCM, I overdosed on Sirius XM’s Hallmark Channel. Not before Christmas, but on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, like most sensible people are known to do. (Don’t do Christmas at Halloween or before; it’s just not right.)

Reflection is good. You look at the past and weigh your choices, good or bad. A local radio host implored people to call in and share their favorite Christmas memory, which caused me to think. While I’ve been blessed, but life hasn’t been easy for me. It isn’t easy for most people. Even if you’re born with money and means, there are always pitfalls. Tears. Sadness. Controversy. Lots of bad times.

I don’t remember much of Christmas growing up, except I didn’t like the time off from school. School saved me from my home life, and two weeks away from it was sheer torture. I liked my teachers, and I loved my books – borrowed, of course. We grew up struggling, probably poor by today’s standard. We received sensible gifts like coats and socks and underwear for presents. I never owned a Barbie, much less did I receive one as a gift. No toys at all after I turned five. We had turkey for dinner, but turkey is cheap and you can feed a lot of children on it. There weren’t any Christmas photos I can turn to or traditions I can pass along to my children or memories of my mother saving favorite ornaments. Too many kids.

Yet, I wouldn’t change one thing or one minute of it. No, no regrets. There’s a lot to be said about weathering hard times – you learn to navigate poverty and need. You find other interests to fill your day. You look for calm in the middle of discord.

Later on, I would have plenty of wonderful memories to turn to. Because of the poverty of my childhood holidays, as an adult I went out of my way to make spectacular memories for my own children. Christmas trees that probably should have fell over on the weight of the lights I strung on them (it would take me two days just to do the lights!). My husband lit up the neighborhood with his lights on the trees outside. Of course, it cost a bit in electric bills come January, but it was worth it. Every year, I’d expend rolls and rolls of film just to get the one perfect shot of my kids that I’d put on the Christmas card or newsletter. (Digital photography is so much cheaper!) Each child would receive one new ornament, which I’d save until they became adults with Christmas trees of their own. We had neighborhood Christmas parties with Santa making an appearance. Christmas Eve dinner would be one great production; Christmas Day dinner another. I would have a legacy to leave them, damn it.

I felt lucky to give them such memories. I felt luckier that I had such memories for myself. But I didn’t have to work so hard at it. I know that now.

My children are grown and starting their own lives. My happy memories are simpler now. Now I find myself happy to see a herd of bighorn sheep at the side of the road. Or I’ll drink in the sunshine on a winter’s day and revel in the blue of the sky above. I’ll have a nice dinner with my husband, which is always a treat even if it’s made at home.

And while I haven’t really led a charmed life, looking back, it’s been about as charmed as anyone could imagine. Every rainy day had the sun shining at the end of it. Things could be worse, way worse, but I would rather concentrate on the positive.

After all, it has been a wonderful life.

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2020 – The Frozen Year, and the Quick Thaw

Posted by Joanne Huspek

Sun through morning fog, Ocean Beach 2020.

You’d have to be living under a rock or off the grid to not know about 2020. The year that will live in infamy. The suckiest year of my life. Of everyone’s life. The year everything and every person on the planet was frozen: frozen in fear, in worry, in anxiety, in depression, in a holding pattern of waiting for the other shoe to drop (a big shoe). Virus, politics, intrigue – these are the big picture challenges, the kind that the everyman has no say in. No matter how much we bitch and resist, we can’t change the outer world, we can only mold and whittle what’s within arm’s length.

I’ll admit I was frozen too, much as I tried to live a normal life. But life wasn’t normal this year, and the roadblocks were many and huge.

When I think about the last eleven and a half months, I feel as though I just lived through a decade of bad juju. Yet I struggle through, tread water when I’m too tired to fight, try to find solutions to the myriad of puzzles thrown at us. Thank God this year is nearly over, although I’m holding my breath as to the next year. It could be worse. It might be worse.

I haven’t done much writing this year. I hate to admit this, but I don’t write when I’m this out of kilter. Every once in a while, I do try. I pull out old material and look at it, especially on days after nights where I’ve dreamed of my characters and think of ways to make what I’ve already written more cohesive. I do a lot of thinking about writing. I’ve lived through these “dry” spells before, the last one lingering for nearly two years, and I know I’ll write again.

I should now start planning for the San Francisco Writers Conference, but 2021 has been canceled. Perhaps it’s a good thing, since I have nothing to pitch. This gives me another year to work, and maybe to finish something.

For those who don’t know what’s been going on with the rest of my life, here’s a sampling:

The HOTEL (and BAR)

2020 was not the best year to buy a struggling bed and breakfast, but yes, we sank a lot of our retirement money into this venture – and have been swimming against the current ever since. CoVid nearly killed us in April and May. Oh, we were open as hotels are considered essential infrastructure. FOUR guests in seven weeks. That didn’t pay the utilities. The bar closed down too. Summer was brisk but not full, the bar was partially open, but at least we weren’t struggling…much. After Halloween, more CoVid restrictions and the brakes slammed hard on any reservations.

Then there was the hotel roof, and subsequent flood, and resultant insurance claims, and total remodel of four rooms and partial repair of a couple of others. We’re still dealing with that.

Employee issues.

Local weirdness (I’ll have to write about this. Although too weird for words.)

The Gallery struggles. This year was tough on all creative types, especially artists who no longer had art fairs to depend on. It took three months longer than I’d expected to open (September 1). People all over were frozen, artists, customers. I hope spring will breathe some life into the art world.

HEALTH

Oh, I didn’t get the ‘Rona. Supposedly my husband did. He tested positive after testing negative, and he was sick, but after four days in bed, he recovered. I didn’t get a sniffle. My regimen? Tonic water (sometimes with vodka, but not always), one zinc tab daily, Vitamin D and B12, plenty of fruits and veggies, enough sleep, and daily exercise. Lots of sunlight, which is easy to get in Colorado where the sun shines nearly every day. Knock on wood veneer, I haven’t been sick all year.

MEDIA

Backing away, slowly. Deleted Twitter, too caustic and negative. Nearly out of the Book of Face, as I’m a first amendment loving gal and the shenanigans on that site make me angry. I’d rather not be angry. Gave up on ALL news except the local morning show. I must know the temperature and the forecast (as I’m driving back and forth into the mountains four or five times a week) and the weather guy is crazy nuts and I need laughter. Humor is the best medicine. If I turn on the TV to watch long term, it’s usually TCM. Old movies are the bomb. I’m living in a black and white world and I like it.

THE OTHER ARTS

If I can’t write, I find that doing other things with my hands (mindless pursuits, like wire weaving and basket making) most helpful. At least my anxiety is somewhat assuaged by the task, and I end up with artistic pieces I like (sometimes. for the most part.). Having a hobby like this is helpful when it’s December and the ground is frozen and digging in the dirt isn’t an option. (My garden was spectacular this year, even with a hailstorm!)

And now, for the QUICK THAW:

It’s hard to take your own advice and easy to give it. I plan on making the Quick Thaw part of my New Year Resolution regimen. Take a moment to do each of these things each day.

1. Movement. You don’t need a gym membership. Walk. Doesn’t have to be far or long. I had a neighbor who after a heart attack walked to the end of the driveway and back for a month before he went further. If it’s cold out, jump up and down for two minutes.

2. Read. Again, you’re not running a marathon. Just a page or two will do to start. Use reading to wean yourself from screens.

3. Find beauty and rejoice in it. Yes, things are challenging, things are ugly. But there is beauty in everything. Look for it and enjoy.

4. Create, if just for a moment. Your creation doesn’t have to be a magnificent work of art, just effort. Whether it’s writing or art or a batch of chocolate chip cookies. (In the case of the cookies, make it a small batch.)

5. Give thanks and let people know you care. As I mentioned before, things could be worse. They might get much worse. Don’t waste precious time wallowing in negativity. Love with intensity and make sure your loved ones know.

Each tiny action precipitates the thaw. Don’t let the frosty frozen conditions of 2020 creep in to the new year.

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A Long Awaited Howdy

Posted by Joanne Huspek

No, I have not fallen off the edge of the earth. No, I haven’t become sick and/or died. No, I haven’t given up creative pursuits.

Yes, I have been busy with Real Life and what I call my own private Money Pit. OH. MY. GOD. I could honestly write a book. Too many odd things have happened, from ghosts to major disasters. Running a bed and breakfast isn’t for the faint of heart. Running a bed and breakfast with your first eight months during a worldwide pandemic is no picnic in the park. The upside is that I now have a million and one ideas floating around. One of these days I will expound, both here and on a much larger scale.

Social media has become so anti-social, I don’t spend a lot of time there. It’s the current political climate, it’s the current unrest, and a deadly virus in the mix is making everyone loopy. That’s why I prefer to shut off the devices at this time.

Just because I haven’t written anything on this blog lately doesn’t mean I haven’t written anything. For one thing, I’m always thinking of writing. I’m anxiously awaiting my edits back from my Editor for Life. He says it’s coming soon. I’m writing in a notebook. This current effort is called Letters Unsent. I write short letters to people in my life and on the world stage, letters I’ll never send because someone will likely lock me up for my thoughts. Or they’ll hate me, unfriend me, or look at me with new eyes. Maybe one day I’ll publish it, probably on my deathbed.

I’m also toying with doing yet another NaNoWriMo, although I could use that time to finish up one of five previous manuscripts that really need to get to the it’s-a-complete-first-draft stage.

Mostly when I’m not working (isn’t it odd that we pick another seasonal business to run, one that settles down into nothing during the winter), I’m walking. My husband has taken to hiking too, quite an achievement since about eight months ago he couldn’t walk in the hills without needing oxygen. So far he’s walked up Pikes Peak twice and another 14’er once. (I mostly hike the lower 12,000 ft. and below elevations. With my chihuahua. Yes, both I and my adventure dog did 8 miles once.)

I use the walking time to embrace the mountains. They are, after all, beautiful. Harsh to a degree. The hills around Cripple Creek are riddled with many small, sharp rocks. You can’t dig an inch without hitting something. They’re quite a tripping hazard too. You really have to watch where you’re going. I don’t know how they dug holes to bury the dead. I know this terrain is the reason they couldn’t grow anything up there. It’s windier than hell, and when the wind blows, it goes right through you, even in the summer. In winter, the wind chill cuts like a knife.

The landscape sweeps before you, wild and mostly untouched. You can see the Continental Divide from the top of Grouse Hill. I spend a lot of time thinking about my main character, Addie. (Yes, she’s an imaginary person, what’s your point? 🙂 ) About how she must have felt seeing the West for the first time after spending all of her life in Ohio. Her tale is not just an adventure of coming of age; she’s a pioneer on the cusp of the start of her life and she doesn’t even know it. If she’s like me, her heart is full of wonderment of what lies before her, both in the land and in her future. The world constantly turns, and with every rotation, there is a new vista, a new opportunity presenting itself.

Modern life is fraught with many perils, most which fall away with a stumbling walk in nature with the wind blowing your hair to bits. Your life might not always be the same. It’ll never be hassle free, if running an inn has shown me. There’s no destination where you’ll find Nirvana. There’s only the journey, the courage to take the next step and keep going, that is all that matters.

Oh yes. I’ll be back.

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Please Don’t

Posted by Joanne Huspek

I’ve been thinking about writing this post for a long, long time.

(Yeah, you’re thinking, where has she been? Dropped off the face of the earth? Contracted the virus? Suffered a heart attack? No, I’ve been here. Mostly thinking. Part of the time running an inn – you know, that post retirement job I thought might be fun? It is, sometimes… It’s work most of the time. But I have a new idea for a novel which I’ll probably write in November. Emerging Inn Sync. Yeah, I like the sound of it too.)

I’ve been suffering from a case of fatigue. Mostly from looking at the internet and specifically from following people on social media, which is becoming less and less sociable and more and more like the wild, wild West. Yes, there’s a virus, yes, there’s injustice, yes, there’s unrest, yes, the world sucks. I follow people because I like them, because they’re authors or agents, because when they speak it’s interesting. Or it used to be interesting. I don’t follow them to get their world view – I’m sure they have passionate world views (as do I) but the constant harping, name calling (on all sides), and vitriol had me clearing out my list once and then again. Which is sad. If you post one hateful thing, you’re gone, and that’s not because I’m better than you. Hate consumes the vessel carrying it and I don’t want any part of that. I’ve seen good friends descend into a vortex of bile so strong it makes my stomach hurt just thinking about it. I’m almost ready to give up Twitter, it’s such a cesspool. And Facebook is right up there too as a major disappointment.

I don’t know how to put this other than just saying it: P L E A S E   D O N ‘ T.

Please don’t.

If you write, please write. If you paint, please do. If you play music, play the hell out of it. If you make pine needle baskets or jewelry like I do, put your passion into that. But please don’t contribute to the noise, unless you are actively doing something to make things better, and I don’t mean just donating money to a cause. At that point, I’d want to know. Before that, it’s just complaints with no action.

I’m not a Pollyanna or an ostrich with my head below the surface. I have eyes. I have a mind with which to think. I need more than an echo chamber to live a full life.

I try not to engage in fights, honestly. I follow a great variety of groups and people. Mostly writers, but there are others. In the last month I have been dragged into a bullying mob just for asking a simple question. In a group that was supposed to be a community helping one another. Then derided and called names. When I sought to clarify a point, no one read that part. Oh no. That would have made sense.

Manners are dead. Common courtesy is on life support.

I’m too old to stir pots anymore, but I do like to point out there are two sides to every story. (I did take classes in journalism, before the news biz became the editorial/propaganda biz.) That’s what makes writing an interesting proposition. It’s not just telling a story, it’s delving deep into background, of why people do the things they do. You don’t have to agree, or even like the person, but there are valid reasons people do and say the things they do.

If we were all the same, life would be pretty bland. I don’t want to be the same as everyone else. I’ve never wanted to be the same as everyone else. Individuality is the sparkle in the facet. Different is good.

In the meantime, I’m trying to stay away from the devices. Enjoy the warmth of the sun and the fresh air of the mountains. I’m coaxing tomatoes to fruition and feeding my angry swarm of hummingbirds. I’ll start working on my edits, because every time I go up to Cripple Creek, I see where I need to change something. And I did most of the research before writing!

I wish you peace and as much happiness you can grab in this crazy world. Grab it, because there’s not much left.

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Requiem for a Virtual Mom

Posted by Joanne Huspek

Remember this fun novel? I wrote it over ten years ago. It’s the story of six women from all over the country, who met in a Beanie Baby AOL chat room way back in the mid 1990s. All mothers, they bonded over small plush toys and shared their trials and tribulations. They watched their children grow from toddlers to teenagers. Some have met in Real Life, while others have not. One of them invites a single parent who has lost their spouse in the Iraq war, one who appears to have secrets…and then the intrigue begins.

It was a wacky story line, but I loved the characters and I especially loved the premise. This would be considered a tame story now, but back then no one had a cell phone. Facebook was just for college students, and Twitter was nothing. There was no zoom or Face Time, as the internet was just a baby. It was relatively easy to shield yourself from prying eyes online. I remember trying to pitch this novel at the San Francisco Writers Conference and getting the skeptical expressions of nearly every agent I spoke to. Something about “oh, too weird for us” or “it doesn’t have a genre” – I called it “mom-lit” or chick-lit for aging women. Eventually I self-published as an ebook. (There’s a sequel but it’s now so dated I’m not sure I’m ever going to publish it.)

I based my “virtual moms” on a real life internet group which I belonged to, the Beanie Moms. I’ve met all but two of the ladies in my group. Don’t ask who’s who in the book, I took a little personality from each of the women I know. (It’s 25 years later and we still refer to ourselves as Beanie Moms, even though our kids are in their 30s now, and me? I gave all my Beanie Babies away when I moved to Colorado two years ago.) We’re still close. Unbelievably.

Just as unbelievably, one of us (of the Real Beanie Moms) passed away recently.

It was rather jarring, as you can imagine. We had just had a group chat on Mothers Day. She was still young! Younger than I am. She died the Friday after Mothers Day. It was an accident, a freakish one where she fell, hit her head the right (or wrong) way, and that was it.

It took a while for me to recover. I was rendered speechless for quite a while. And then I thought, “wow,” and of course, I went through a period of thinking holy shit, life is short, what am I dinking around for.

I couldn’t write. I could barely function.

Even now, six weeks later, it’s still unbelievable.

I never met Cyn in Real Life, although we got close a few times. My son had an audition for school in Philadelphia at the Curtis Institute back in 2004. She lived not far away in New Jersey. But we had another audition to make, and my car was acting weird so we headed to Boston right away. Then last year, she was in Denver visiting another Beanie Mom. I was going to come up to meet her, but unfortunately I was running in the Race to the Shrine that morning and that afternoon she had plans. We were only separated by an hour and a half of geography.

What I remember most about her was that she was always positive and energetic. She would post these hand made memes on her Instagram (she had a board!) that were catchy and smart. She loved her husband, her daughter, and her dog. She had so many friends! Which was no wonder, since her personality was so uplifting.

But she had fears too. She was afraid of the CoVid19 virus and didn’t go to many places. She masked up when she did. She was super careful. She told me she had things she still wanted to do; she wanted to travel, she wanted to see her daughter married, she wanted to play with her grandkids. I’m afraid I’m a bit more rambunctious. (I’ve been a government disbeliever since Nixon, and hey, I live in Colorado where the fresh air and sunshine has definitely been a positive influence on my health.) So we had a bit of a disagreement over our opinions, but nothing that would break a bond.

I’m going to miss Cyn. You need a super positive influence in such a negative world. I’m sorry she won’t make it to her daughter’s wedding, but she’ll be looking on from heaven.

Rest in peace, Cyn, you deserve heaven.

 

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