The Unattainable Dream

Have you ever had a dream that seemed unattainable? What is to be done with those dreams?

Should they be tossed to the side, never to be thought of again? Should you keep them on the back burner and live with that constant thorn in your side? Or perhaps, you pick it up from time to time and try to take small steps toward making it a reality, while knowing that there isn’t a remote chance of it ever coming true? I’ve done all the above.

For years, I’d walk the aisles of Barnes and Noble, run my hands over the books and sigh, wishing I could someday have my own book on one of those shelves. That was my unattainable dream.

When I was a young girl, the local bookmobile would drive out into our part of the countryside. My sisters and I would ride our bikes to where it parked and choose a handful to take home for the week. I loved how a book could transport me to another place, another time.

I wish I could recall the name of the first book that did just that for me. What I do remember is that it took me to the 1920s and allowed me to experience the adventures of a farm family who lived in poverty, but were happy, nonetheless. I don’t remember any big event that occurred in the book, only that I wanted to read more about their daily lives. That book set me on a lifelong path to read stories of people who live life differently than what I’ve personally experienced. I will forever seek out books that set me in another era and in a far-off place.

Another book that made an impact on me, as a child, was Ginnie and the Mystery Doll, by Catherine Woolley, about a girl and her family who spend their summers in the same house, on the same seashore every year. That alone sparked an interest in me, vacationing in a place so familiar that it feels like home. With a sweet mystery added into the mix, this book made an impression on me, so much so that I recently bought it for my grandchildren.

As I grew older, I began to write short stories and poetry, for my eyes only, never sharing them with anyone.  In my Junior year of High School, I was fortunate to have a young teacher who assigned our class the task of writing a story from a single line prompt. After reading mine, she was complimentary and inspired me to keep writing.

After High School, life came at me fast and furious. Married at age eighteen and a baby at nineteen with two more children soon after, life was full and busy, which left no time for creative endeavors. My dream was set aside and mostly forgotten for thirty years, apart from those moments walking through the aisles of a bookstore.

A year after a trip to France, I had an idea for a mystery novel, which I told only my sister about. She loved the idea and constantly encouraged me to keep at it. I would think about the story from time to time, and soon a plot began to form in my mind. To keep up with the ever-growing narrative, I outlined each scene, each chapter on a chalkboard where it remained for almost a decade. In 2020, when the world came to a complete halt, I figured there would never be a better time to start writing it. I sat in my recliner for sometimes seventeen hours a day, pecking away at my little tale. In just over a month, I teared up writing the words, ‘The End’, unaware that years of edits would follow.

Fast forward to July of 2024, when my historical fiction, dual timeline mystery novel, The Painting Box, was published and officially for sale on Amazon in hardcover and paperback and as an e-book @ barnesandnoble.com. Though it hasn’t gone through wide distribution yet, I will continue the process until one day, I will walk into a bookstore and see that my unattainable dream was not unattainable at all.

Our Last Days

Kurt checked the weather forecast and it was showing a 90% chance of rain for the remaining two days of our trip. There isn't much to do when it rains, so we decided to change our flights home. It was sad to be leaving, but we could all use the weekend at home to adjust to the time difference and reacclimate to being back home.

Before the rain came, I took Mom and Kathy out for a morning excursion. I wanted to show them one of my favorite places, Domme. Of course, they were just as amazed at the incredible views. One can see for miles, but it isn't just the distance. It's the meticulously manicured French countryside with the Dordogne River running through it. So breathtaking. We walked around the quaint hillside town and picked up a few more gifts. What's a few more, right?

Back at the house, we began the arduous task of packing. Unsure of how we would protect our paintings and other delicate purchases, we asked our neighbor, Margot, for help. Her husband, the paintings restorer, had packing boxes and kindly retrieved them out of his barn. Who knows what precious paintings those boxes may have once held.

Margot took us on a tour of their lovely home, showing us a few of the many treasures that they've collected during their exciting and charmed lives. Even their home could only be described as charming.

We began stuffing our luggage, rearranging and restuffing them. We were trading items. Will this fit here? Will that fit there? Finally, after throwing away purses, toothpaste, deodorant, makeup and other things, we were able to get it all in there. Every piece of baggage was bursting at the seams.

Once we had everything packed, I took Mom and Kathy on one last outing to the castle ruins of Commarque. It was late when we arrived and the tours were closed, but I really wanted them to see it. The long walk back up from the castle through the "enchanted forest" seemed a little scary this time as it was getting dark, and we were out there alone.

Next came the problem of getting all of that luggage and the four of us into that tiny European car. We kept rearranging things, saying, "This will never work. We will have to rent another car to Paris." But, persistence paid off, well sort of. All of us had luggage under our feet so our knees were up to our chests. Mom and Kathy were in the back seat with luggage stacked to the ceiling between them. It was hilarious that they couldn't see each other in that tiny space.

Home

We couldn't wait to get on that plane. I was asleep before we took off and thankfully was able to sleep during most of the flight. For some reason, we had to pick up all our luggage in Philadelphia and then had to re-check them. Ugh. Then, it was just a short plane ride to Nashville where Jeff was waiting, sitting on the tailgate. It was so good to see his face. Our luggage took up the entire truck bed. He couldn't believe we had gotten all of it into that little car. Neither do we.

It was the trip of my dreams, and I still cannot believe I was so blessed to have experienced this once in a lifetime, if you're lucky, trip. Thank you, God.

Turning 50 in France

If you must turn the big 5-0, you might as well soften the blow by doing it in France. So that's what I planned, and it actually worked. It really wasn't that bad. I have spent the majority of my last few birthdays working at Camp Neyati in Alabama. Jeff is usually working in Bowling Green so it has been his practice to call me about ten times during the day to sing to me. He knows how much I love the birthday song. Since it costs so much to call, even with the international plan, he texted me instead every couple of hours. It was very sweet, but I missed hearing his voice sing, "dear Ju-ya". Mom took a few pictures of me before we headed out to the beaches of Bordeaux.

The beach was really different from any other beaches I had ever been to. There were no high rise hotels or buildings of any kind. The beach had really fine brown sand and was very wide. Several huge concrete structures looked as if they had just fallen there. They had square openings with iron bars that resembled jail doors, and they were covered in grafitti. Mom and Kurt had walked up ahead while Kathy and I stayed back a bit so we could do something sneaky. (I'll never tell) Mom heard us laughing hard and said she knew exactly what we were up to.

We walked a long way down the beach to find a place where the waved crashed onto the shore, then we set out our towels and made ourselves comfortable. We laid back, closed our eyes and listened to the waves while we soaked up the sun. After about ten minutes, Kathy said, "I hear water!" We all opened our eyes and saw that the ocean was upon us! Thirty seconds later and we would have lost our car keys and cell phones to the ocean. We jumped up, grabbed our water logged belongings and headed way back on the beach. We wondered if the other people on the beach had been watching us, waiting, then laughing at us, the clueless foreigners. The waves and undertow were strong. This time, taking our cue from them, noticing that no one else was in the water, we decided not to go in too deep.

It was fun being on the beach with my mother and sister. It reminded me of the old days, only this time, one of her girls was 50.

I bent down to write in the sand, Then Kathy did, too.

After getting our fill of sand and sun, we packed up and drove past Bordeaux to wine country. Most of the family-owned vineyards sell their wines in elaborate barns, however, we were late and most were closed. However, Kurt bought a bottle of Chateau Julia for me for my birthday. I don't know if I'll ever drink it, but I love it.

We used the GPS to find an Italian restaurant for my birthday dinner and followed the directions to a questionable looking place. While sitting there trying to decide if we should chance it, we noticed a steady stream of locals stopping by to pick up take out. Taking that as a good sign, we went in but were promptly escorted outside to eat, which ended up being very nice. It was really good food. I had the vegetarian lasagna which was served in the dish right out of the oven. It actually boiled in the bowl for a long time.

It was a three hour drive home to Baran. All in all, a beautiful way to turn 50!