Nearly two years ago, I set a goal of completing the memoir that I promised myself I would write 30 years ago. Over those two years, I have had to take large breaks during the writing process. The work has been difficult. I needed time to think, heal, and learn. Despite being a capable writer, I needed to hone the tone and voice I was using. I’ve also done a great deal of learning about website creation and management, the publishing industry, and even looked into self-publishing. I have learned how to research agents, how to craft a query package, and tried to ignore the daunting statistics about first-time authors.

I know that I am meant to publish this work. I will. It’s only a matter of when.

Last month I attended an online event called the Boston Writer’s Conference. During that day I met with an agent via zoom. She liked my idea and asked me to send her the full manuscript. It was a big day and might eventually turn into something, though I haven’t heard back yet. Since sending it I have pressed on, sending the manuscript to an editor as I had planned. I now have it back, with some great feedback. I plan to revise it again as soon as I manage household logistics that have been hovering. After revising again I will look into sending my query package to new agents. (For those of you who wonder: an agent helps sell rights to publishers/media and is an invaluable partner in the traditional publishing process.)

I have chosen, at least for now, to publish traditionally because I want the reach that can only be granted when you have teams marketing with you. I know that publishing this work will lead to many opportunities to spread awareness and create positive change. I don’t know the path yet, but I have faith: I am focused on success. I’m waiting for signs from Creator about where to turn next as I work to complete yet another round of revisions.

You are what keeps me going. Though I have no set deadlines or timetables, I want you to know that I am moving forward. I want to say “thank you” to everyone following along and giving me a reason to keep working.

Throughout the process of writing and revising I have relied on many amazing people to read sections and offer advice. I want to mention both Katrina Ray-Saulis and Borbala Branch, who are amazing editors that offer useful insights and reasonable rates. Please reach out to either if you need an editor? (I can’t promise they will be available.)

Until I know more, that is all for now. Stay healthy, keep moving toward your dreams.

“The answer is ‘no’ if you don’t try” – Translated Dutch proverb.

In the US, more than 16 Million children face hunger every year.

I can tell you that being hungry as an American child is a strange experience. Food. Is. Everywhere. You walk through a world as though separated by a glass wall. You alone know that you are hungry. You know that asking for food is not allowed. You can dream, you can obsess, you can watch, but you can’t have it. “In the U.S., hunger is caused by the prevalence of poverty, not food scarcity. Stable food access is often blocked for low-income families that struggle to balance the need for food with other basic necessities.”

Hungry children can look ‘normal.’ If they are getting some food they may not even look thin. They may look ‘ok’ to your eyes while suffering daily. They may eat poor quality, high-calorie foods that are over-processed. Nutritious foods in stable supply make all the difference. Children who experience mild-moderate hunger are known to suffer long-term chronic illness, dental problems, and psychological effects after prolonged hunger.

There is a video that emotionally illustrates what life is like for hungry children in cities. A little girl is dressed poorly and stands on a city street. People pass her by, even tell her to leave. When she is clean and nicely dressed, everyone tries to help her.

The best I could do when I was young was to stay home. If I was out, I pretended to be fine while I longed to eat a slice of pizza at the end of a ball game or to join in at a neighbors party where I could see tables loaded with snacks. Being offered food was magic.

At the grocery store when I was 10, I had only a few dollars. I tried to buy some bread and peanut butter. When the total rang up to more than I had, my brother burst into tears because we were going to have to put something back. That’s when a stranger offered to pay for the lot, and we were stunned. We were able to take all the food and keep our money. We took the food home, then went back to the store to buy more things, amazed that someone would help us like that.

Right now, with the majority of children at home full-time, I worry about how many of them are missing meals. I live in a state, a county, and a city where programs exist that help people feed their children, without question. We access some of the programs because we qualify for them, and because they help us focus on other things (like making sure we can keep the heat on through the coming winter, and keeping the kids busy while we can’t do any of our normal activities). It also helps the programs get funding if they are utilized. I hope that other families are able to access the food they need, but I see barriers: Do they have time to go pick up meals, time to cook the food, a car to access it, can they even find a program near them?

I never want anyone to be hungry in our country when so much food goes to waste. Some schools are now packaging leftovers as ready-heat meals for students to take home, but many times when I was dumpster-diving I found piles of perfectly good food just tossed into the trash. There were fresh fruits and vegetables as well as packaged foods that are, thankfully, donated to food banks more nowadays. It is such a shame.

I decided to write this today in hopes that if you are hungry you might find what you need here. If anyone is hungry, write to me and I will try to find you help. The following is a list of programs that are currently running, nationwide:

USDA Farm to Family Offers a box of fresh farm food delivered to families weekly.

Free Lunch Program offers two meals a day for all children under the age of 18 and has been extended until June of 2021.

Food Banks are feeding families, despite the pandemic. Demand is higher than ever. If you need food, follow the hyperlink above to find a food bank that can help. If you don’t need food, send up gratitude, and consider donating your time or money to one of the ones near you.

P-EBT Is a federal program that issues food stamps to families that qualify for free or reduced lunches at school. This is a debit card you can use for food at any grocery store.

Every time I see someone panhandling, sleeping on the street, or hitchiking with a large pack my heart catches. I think back to my long hours of waiting at bus stops in the cold, snow, and rain. I sat watching hundreds of cars go by with only the driver inside. I was resentful then and still often feel guilty if I drive anywhere alone in my minivan.

I watched the people pass by as I sat. I was hungry, tired, cold and wet. I never asked anyone for anything, but I wished desperately that someone would offer me a kind word, a snack, or a ride. I imagined sliding into a warm car and being driven in comfort before being dropped off close to my house. It rarely if ever happened.

I know what it feels like to wonder where I would sleep at night. I know what kind of desperate obsession hunger becomes when you can see others eating things you cannot have. I can easily disregard the choices that may have led people to the point where they are now: standing with a cardboard sign. I simply see a person suffering, that could benefit from any kindness.

Nowadays I rarely carry cash. All my income is direct-deposited and I don’t often need cash. In those moments when I see someone who is so very much in need, I often wish I had something to give them.

I have recently hit upon an idea I am excited about: care packs. The concept is simple; you buy a box of zipper bags and pack them full of small items that a person living rough or down-on-their-luck might need. You then keep them in your car. When you come across someone in need, you give them a care pack instead of, or in addition to, just handing out cash.

Something like this would have made a world of difference for me. I’ll include a list of items that might be good at the bottom of this post.

This is an article about some people in Jacksonville that have been helping people in this way. https://www.google.com/amp/s/amp.jacksonville.com/amp/5556519002

Here is my list: Snack bars, protein snacks, rasins, hand sanitizer, face masks, tissues or toilet paper, liquid soap, shampoo, toothbrush/toothpaste, socks, deodorant, soap and washcloth or wipes, a trash bag, a few dollars or a gift card to a grocery store or fast food. * I pack a couple with some feminine hygiene, too. In case I meet a person who needs those.

Drop a comment below with your thoughts? Share pictures if you make some packs of your own!

After having lived in New England, even a smile and eye-contact when I’m out on a walk really brightens my day.

This is why I understand how much it meant to this woman that these boys noticed a her sitting alone and acted. A group of boys at a diner thought about it and made a difference (and a friend!). Here is a news report about it: https://youtu.be/xyhQyi_KrWE

Have you ever felt sorry when you saw someone who was obviously cold, alone, hungry, or excluded. What would our world look like if we were to act on those feelings and make a difference for others?

What small thing could you do to make a difference for someone else?

About a week ago I saw a woman on the side of a busy freeway. It was hot. She looked worried. She was driving a van, so I assumed she had children though I could not tell if they were with her.

I made a split-second decision to pull over to ask if I could help. It turned out she was out of gas. She had been waiting for an hour for road side assistance. She had three sweaty kids getting impatient. Cars had blown their horns at her. Thousands of people had simply rushed by. We chatted for a minute while I tried to think of how to help. I asked if they had water to drink. Then I realized that it would be complicated to drive back and forth, but I could simply go get her some gas and bring it back. It took me about 10 minutes to borrow a gas can from the station, fill it, and haul it down the road and back again to where she was stuck.

Once I’d poured the fuel I had into her tank, she could be on her way again. They could all cool off and get home. She gratefully returned the can to the station so that I could be on my own way again. She couldn’t believe that I had stopped to help. I thought that was a little sad. It should be normal to ask for and receive all manner of help from our fellow humans.

I hope you’ll join me as I continue to seek out opportunities to give a simple act of kindness to those who need it.

            “What?” Anne was home and awake that morning as we tried to rush out the door in time to eat breakfast at school. “You’re gonna miss breakfast if you don’t leave really soon.”

“I know!” I sobbed, “but I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find any shoes.” It might seem strange that my shoes could vanish, but with the number of people in and out of our house daily, things went missing all the time and we took it in stride. Granted, it had never been my only pair of shoes that disappeared before.

“Boys, go ahead and go. No point in your missing food.” Anne pushed the boys toward the door. Brandon nearly burst into tears. She stood between me and the boys, who were heading out the door. She turned back to me. “Where did you put them?” she asked, as she picked up her fanny pack and cigarettes, signaling that she was getting ready to leave, too.

“I won’t go to eat if she doesn’t!” Brandon called resolutely from the doorway. I knew he was hungry. We hadn’t eaten since school lunch the day before. We all looked forward to breakfast at school.

“She won’t be going to school at all if we can’t find any shoes. You can’t miss any more school, they already called about it, now go!” She pointed out the door and he started walking, still looking back at me with tears in his eyes as he followed Tony up the stairs to the road.

Anne set her stuff down and looked for the shoes with me for a minute or two. It was not a large space. There were two small bedrooms on a short hallway, a bathroom, and the living/dining/kitchenette we stood in. She stood up from looking under our worn couch with a sympathetic frown on her face.

“Well, if you can’t find them you’ll have to stay home.” She picked her things up again.

“I’ll send you with a note tomorrow, keep looking until you find them,” she said. She pulled on her fanny pack and headed toward the door. I stood in my stocking feet watching her back disappear down the sidewalk. My stomach growled.

            I wonder if not having shoes is an excused absence.

I wasn’t able to go to school that day because I had no shoes. I looked everywhere in our tiny apartment several times. I kept thinking that being late would be better than missing the whole day. I found nothing that would work. In the back of a closet, I found an old pair of Anne’s sandals. She’d barely worn them because they gave her blisters. When I tried to wear them, my feet slipped around and they slipped off unless I walked very carefully. They were way too big. They would never do for a school day.

I sat on the couch. I felt numb and resigned to my lot. I turned through the TV channels trying to find something educational to watch.

This day at home would mean not eating until tomorrow. I searched through the cabinets looking for anything that might have been forgotten but found nothing. Even the leftover cans that were often hidden in the back of the top cabinets had been found and eaten. Nothing was in the fridge except a partial tub of margarine. I debated eating a spoonful, just to eat something, but the thought gagged me, so I shut the door.

It was weeks after we had been to the Bishop’s Warehouse. We stretched the food we’d given as far as it would go, but eventually exhausted our supplies. We still had laundry soap and dish soap, but everything edible was gone.

I watched the morning pre-school shows and drank as much water as I could stomach. The afternoon shows began to run and I grew bored and restless. I shut it off. I could hear my stomach turn, right as the bell for lunch went off at the nearby school. I found my backpack and worked on the next assignments in the books I had brought home. That barely took half an hour, then I was bored again.

I cleaned as much as I could, quietly. I did not want the neighbors to be suspicious so I didn’t vacuum. The last thing I wanted was to explain to anybody that I had to stay home from school because I didn’t have shoes; that would be embarrassing. It might also invite attention from social workers which was an egregious sin in our home. We all toed the line of appearing ‘normal,’ no matter the personal cost.

            I didn’t have anything to read except scriptures at home and I was not in the mood for that type of reading. It was a long, boring day. I knew going outside was a bad idea, at least until school let out, so I shut myself in the house and waited for the day to pass.

            I sat back on the couch, staring at the grey screen. I started to plot. I did not want to spend another day at home because of missing shoes. I searched the house again, and then made a plan.

             After I heard the dismissal bell ring at the school a block away, I headed outside.

I carried the old pair of Anne’s sandals and headed to the thrift store called the D.I. I stopped before going in and put them on my feet. I made sure I was hidden from the view of the door.

Once inside, I carefully walked through the store. Carefully because I was working to keep the sandals on and because I was hoping to avoid being noticed. I made sure that none of the staff was watching me as I made a circuitous path toward the shoes. Once hidden among the aisles of shoes, I pulled off Anne’s sandals and placed them on the adult rack. I knew she would not miss them, and they seemed to me as an offering to the store.

I made my way to the kid’s shoes and looked for a pair I thought would fit me. I pulled a pair of socks from my pocket and slipped them on. I kept an eye and ear out for anyone walking near, but no one was around at all. I tried on a few different pairs of worn sneakers until I found one that was a little bigger than my foot. I figured it would be best if I didn’t grow out of them right away. The prices on the shoes were written in chalk on the sole of one of the shoes. I rubbed the sole of the shoe on the carpet until I was confident that the $2.00 price was no longer visible. With shoes on my feet and a promise of being able to go to school tomorrow, I walked around the store.

             Getting the shoes was only the first part of the plan. I had 50 cents in my pocket, stolen from Kevin’s peanut jar. I knew he might notice two coins missing, but he would probably let it slide. He would have been far more upset if I had taken any more than that. I walked through the racks of clothes and found a T-shirt that fit me. The price read $.25. Perfect! I thought I had to buy something in order to make my presence in the store seem legitimate.

The shirt was pink with a Lisa Frank picture on the front. It was the right size to actually fit me, too. I carried it to the clerk and smiled at him. “Isn’t it pretty?” I gushed. The pimply teen barely glanced at me; though my heart was beating so loud I was sure he would notice. I stood as close to the counter as possible, hoping to avoid showing him the stolen shoes on my feet.

            “Twenty-five cents,” he said. “Do you want a bag?”

            “Sure.” I squeaked. I tried to say it casually but my nerves were singing. It’s working! I just have to keep playing it cool. I pulled both quarters from my pocket and held my hand flat so that he could see I had more than I needed. “Here you go.” I plucked the quarter with my left hand and handed it to him, slipping the other back into my pocket. I smiled again and avoided looking at my shoes while I waited for the receipt. He handed me the bag and receipt and went back to looking at something under the desk. This was long before cell phones, so I assume it was a book he was hiding.

            I took a deep breath and held my eyes forward. I was terrified that a security guard would tackle me as soon as I got to the door. I stopped in front of the door, resting my palm on the cool metal bar for a moment before pushing it. I walked away. Every part of me was screaming “run!” I made myself walk. I knew that if they were watching, it would look suspicious, so I walked. I avoided looking back. I made it across the parking lot and didn’t start running until I was sure I was out of sight.

            I stopped running after a few blocks when my side started aching. The plastic shopping bag in my hand hung limp around the pink shirt crumpled inside. I smiled at it and at the new sneakers. They were pretty nice. And, I’ll get to go to school tomorrow. I breathed a sigh of relief that my plan had worked. I didn’t feel bad stealing. It was just something I had to do. I needed shoes. Going to school was a lifeline. It was my only source of affection, appreciation, and accomplishment. It was also my primary source of nutrients.

            I felt hungry and thirsty. I didn’t have the energy to run anymore. I was weak and tired. I had already over-exerted myself, and the adrenaline from my heist was wearing off. I thought about the quarter in my pocket and decided that I would head to the nearby grocery store to cool off and drink water. I could look for free samples and buy a 10 cent donut. There was even an Arctic Circle on the way where I could get a free ice cream cone if I stopped in and asked.

            It turned out to be a great afternoon, though we never did find out what happened to my shoes.

I promise you, I’m working hard. I’m very close to completing the draft writing process but there are so many more steps. Editing of the first chapters is underway and they are turning out so much better. Thanks for sticking with me!!!

I found this video and I’m struggling to decide what to do about publishing now. (I already have an agent/publisher I have spoken with and have a shortlist of others to query if I decide on that route, so take those warnings with that in mind).

 https://www.thecreativepenn.com/self-publishing-vs-traditi…/

I’m so ready to have a copy in my hands. I promise I’ll get one in yours as soon as it’s ready! I may offer pre-sales soon, with some bonus material on a Kickstarter or other campaign. What would you think about that?

As a service to families in our area during the pandemic shutdown, our local school district has been delivering meals for our kids. Every couple of days each of them receives a bag of breakfast foods, a bag of lunch foods, and a few cartons of milk and juice. We have appreciated it. It has helped us to shop less, relax more, and the kids have enjoyed both the delivery and the individually packed snacks that are unusual in our house.

Today, the system changed so that instead of volunteers, the bus drivers began to deliver the meals. It was a great way to ensure delivery to all students, and keep the bus drivers driving and paid.

I was very triggered by what happened.

The kids were all anxiously waiting in our window seat as we heard the beeping of a bus outside. We saw a school bus pull up outside our house and park. The driver got out, opened the door to reveal bagged lunches intended for kids, and checked his list. He then shut the door, drove the bus around our street for a few minutes, delivered meals across the street, and then left. 

We are fine, we have food enough, and I’m sure it will get sorted. It was just crushing for me that the kids stood watching in anticipation and then watched the bus drive away. 

Their disappointment was nothing compared to the memory that it triggered for me. They accepted my reassuring words that things would be sorted out. They trust me to make sure that they have food. Theirs was the mild disappointment of delayed surprises.

For me, there is very little that compares to the childhood trauma of being so very hungry and watching other people eat when I was a kid. Trained to never tell anyone I was hungry I would sit silently while I could see and smell food just feet from me. I sometimes watched people throw food away after taking only one bite. Like a trained dog, I would hold perfectly still and silent. That all came back as I watched the bus drive away today. I managed my own feelings by creating a meal for them from things we already had on hand, and by calling to have the mistake corrected. The transport dispatcher was very apologetic and promised the driver would be redirected to us as soon as he could. The kids didn’t even look up when I told them, they were fed and happy. I tried to take comfort from that.

We will be fine and I really don’t need anything, it was just a hard experience for me. It didn’t help that I hadn’t taken the time to eat breakfast, either.

Another piece of breaking the cycle is learning to take care of my needs before they are overdue.

Today is a Sunday and with everyone home, my husband and I made a big breakfast. As we sat around the table with our children, passing pancakes and sausages, orange slices, and yogurt, I felt the weight of grief that bubbles up sometimes. It begins with a lump in my throat and a sob that lingers in my chest, stubbornly refusing to move.

The grief is obviously connected to years of hunger and food insecurity, but it’s more than that.

I carry around, in my heart, the image of the little girl I was. She is thin, with short hair and clothes that are too big or too small and totally out of fashion.

The hardest part of carrying her around is not her sadness, but the look on her face. In these visions, at these moments when the grief bubbles up, I see her looking not sad but confused. Confused about why she can see a world that is full of food and other riches, but she has to go hungry.

She can see a world full of people that experience joy and love every day, yet she is alone and scared of the people that are closest to her. She just doesn’t understand and I have never found the words to explain it to her.

The best I can do is to ensure that it stops with me.