Gonna be a time...

It’s gonna be a time. It’s a Newfoundland expression you say when adventure lies ahead—especially if it involves a gathering of your besties, booze, and good downhome music. I’ve heard the saying in my head so much this last year or so. But, while the voice in my imagination is laden with the familiar Newfie accent, I haven’t drawn any comfort from it. Mostly, because the voice has altered the words, instead, repeatedly saying: It’s been a time. And, it has.

 

Life has been weighted with loss, health issues, and stress. Just when I thought the world would soon tip upright, it tilted again. It has also been a year of hard work and reward. Writing under contract was new to me, and being an overachiever, I took it seriously, delivering my manuscripts polished and well ahead of deadlines. I’ve always functioned that way. But I’ve never had to do it while my personal life was reeling. The publication of my first historical romance series (a dream come true) was both joyous and bittersweet.

 

So, why the Newfoundland expression? I don’t know. Perhaps, during the harder days, I was drawn to memories of my life growing up in an outport there. Some of the happiest—innocence, youth, blind belief that life would be uneventfully eventful. Or is that what growing old does? Colour the past into comfortable pastel shades to ease the dark that splashes across one’s aging canvas?

 

My world is still askew, but less so. Maybe another aspect of getting older is that it never returns to its original position? Maybe we’re meant to look at our lives from each new angle? I’m not sure, but I do know, I am growing more productive. I’m also pushing myself back out into the world at large. A bit unnerving, but so far, I have been rewarded with the company of wonderful people.

 

So, it’s been a time. But more and more, I believe, that once again, the voice from my youth is going to cheer me on, and I will genuinely be looking forward to new adventures. Yes, some day soon, it’s gonna be a time.

Someone asked me what the most difficult thing about having a dog was. I replied – the goodbye. – Unknown

I began to take my writing seriously about fifteen years ago. Around the same time we got two little Lhasa Apso sisters. They were inseparable, except when I wrote. Spice decided she was my muse. Wherever I wrote, Spice was beside me. I don't write at a desk. My laptop is literally on top of my lap. And my little fur muse was beside me. Always.

On February 25, I said goodbye to my writing buddy. As anyone who has ever loved a fur baby knows, it is an incredibly hard thing to do. She was an integral part of our lives for fifteen years. My logical side knows that fifteen years is a good long life for a little pup, but my heart wishes it could have been a little longer.

I have written since. It took me a few days to face the empty couch. But I have managed to put words down and finish the first draft of the third novel in my Honorable Intentions series. I've also completed developmental edits on book two as well as cover copy and tag lines. It's been hard, but I've pushed through.

It seems she was not my muse so much as my life coach. She taught me how to laugh daily, to see joy in simple things, to stop and pay attention to one another. To be present in the moment. She brought out a maternal instinct in me that I would have sworn did not exist. As her health began to fail these past two years, her care became a top priority. We rearranged our lives around her needs because that's what you do for someone you love. And love? Boy, did she teach me about love. Spice reminded me, daily, that love is affectionate, demonstrative, and unconditional.

Ginger and Spice tumbled into this world together. They'd never been apart in their 15+ years of life. Spice loved all three of us. Ginger loved Spice. She is struggling to make sense of this new world where she has only the humans left. Every once in a while, she'll curl up near me. She's currently snugged in beside me, as though she knows I'm writing something challenging. She'll never be the cuddle muffin her sister was; it's simply not who she is. But, I like to think that when she joins me, she finds some comfort in my proximity. I know I do in hers. It's a start. For both of us.

RIP sweet Spice. Thank you for sharing your life with us.