Pam Goode

The Days We Never Forget

/ Pam Goode / 12 Comments

“It’s not bad — we think you’ll be fine” and suddenly the words leap from “We’re just not sure why this isn’t working” to “I’m so very sorry, but this is all we can do,” and before we knew it, she was gone.

Today is the day my Mom died. It was 5:30, March 30th, 2006.

I remember every moment of that day, as do my sister and brother. Still. And Forever.

Death is so surreal — and often, so unexpected. Even when you know it’s coming, it jumps at you like a growling hyena, and you wonder if you’ll every understand.

If you’ll ever get past it.

My mother’s death was one of those “wait, WHAT HAPPENED??? sequences that spilled suddenly from “It’s not bad — we think you’ll be fine”, then morphed strangely to “Unfortunately we’re just not sure why this isn’t working” to tears and more tears right up to “I’m so very sorry, but this is all we can do.”

We stayed with her night and day, and still before we knew it, she was gone.

Mom was one of those women who could (and would) do everything. She loved us, fed us, had a fabulously and almost childish laugh, danced, taught us how to sew and create and curtsy, get along with Dad, AND be a bad ass??????

My sister, who gardens like a similar first-class badass in addition to raising sheep (LOTS of them) and growing food for the family, pretty much took on Mom’s role and keeps us together.

Three children — each forging their own path and as different as night and day. It didn’t matter a wink how different we were (and still are). I’m so deeply grateful that we’re all still together and helping each other along the path. Life isn’t always easy, and that’s an understatement, but we love each other.

Thank You Mom
Love Always

Breathe

/ Pam Goode / 4 Comments

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You know that feeling that somebody really, really understands you?
Or maybe they don’t, but they’re happy to pretend that they do?
Or more likely they don’t understand YOU so much as they understand what you feel.
That’s it. That’s always it.

We go through life looking for understanding. Sometimes we find it; sometimes we overlook it; sometimes it just escapes us. But mostly, we keep trying.

“Breathe, breathe in the air,
Don’t be afraid to care.
Leave, but don’t leave me,
Look around and choose your own ground.

Long you live and high you fly
And smiles you’ll give and tears you’ll cry
And all you touch and all you see
Is all your life will ever be.”

~ Excerpt, The Dark Side of the Moon, by Pink Floyd

I’ve always paused a bit at that last line, simply because it sounds so bleak. Of course when I was in college, I (almost) glossed over the bleakness because we all pretty much believed that WE were the ones who’d defy the odds. Frankly, I believe that’s a good bit of what college is for — believing — and then making it real.

And you know, even at a ripe old age, I still don’t read that line as bleak. In fact, I see it as a positive — a call to action of sorts — but mostly a reminder that what you need in life is there waiting for you — always more accessible than you think.

And music takes us a long way down that path, generation after generation, style after style, from Jazz to Rock, Punk, Country, Indie, R&B, Classical, Hip Hop, Classic Rock, Rap, Soul and a gazillion more in-between. Music loves us and we sure love music.

So many genres, so many musicians, so many avid listeners. I can’t imagine what the world would be without it.

NOTE: Pink Floyd is an English rock band formed in London in 1965. Gaining an early following as one of the first British psychedelic groups, they were distinguished by their extended compositions, sonic experimentation, philosophical lyrics, and elaborate live shows. They became a leading band of the progressive rock genre, cited by some as the greatest progressive rock band of all time. This photo is noted as part of the only photo shoot of all five members. They came in with killer music and we all fell in love. I miss them.

Each year it’s estimated that around 7 million adults in the US experience bipolar disorder, equating to about 2.8% of the adult population. Approximately 4.4% of all Americans will experience the disorder at some point in their lives. Too often, genius is a double-edged sword.

Kodachrome: The Power of a Photograph

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As a girl with a mirror, I never saw myself as ugly, despite my stubbornly cow-licked hair. I was short-ish and thin, with dark hair and darker eyes that could see to China and back. Out with my mother as a child or with friends in high school, I could feel eyes on me despite my shyness and disdain for beauty products. I had only a handful of photographs from those days, but it was enough. I knew my mirror well then, not because I was vain, but because I needed to see who was behind those eyes — where she came from, what she thought, where she would go. She didn’t spill any of the answers, but I had a passable understanding of her from year to year.

Coming to know who you are is a very personal journey. I’ve never been comfortable on the lens end of a camera, and early photos illustrate that all too well. So while I pulled at non-compliant hair and did my best to fit in, I was invariably the awkward girl in any photograph. And a photograph, no matter how random, how good, how bad, how bland or how earth shattering, changes the way you see yourself, does it not? Even if I could have convinced my brain that I don’t really look like that, or at  least not all the time, it’s quite clear that this is the face I show to the world more often than not. But we are never just an awkward face.

My mom hated having her picture taken, and solved the issue by grimacing garishly and sticking her tongue out for every click of the button. It was a pretty effective way to erase the possibility that maybe this was her real face, her real soul, being shown. And why? She was beautiful.

It made me sad.

Thirty years later, I received an unexpected package from a very-long-ago boyfriend that held a cd filled with images he had captured in college. Back in the 70’s when few of us had cameras and even fewer had good ones, he was rarely without his Ricoh. To this day, he remains the only person, outside of my children, who could capture an image that showed my soul, simply because somewhere among those 1,095 days we spent together, I finally relaxed in front of the ever-present lens and let it see me.

And in a flash I was given the ability to see the girl I was, the girl I am, rather than the girl I’d been carrying around for decades. It made me happy.

Imagination / Perception / Memory: They live on in us regardless of how closely they match the actuality, don’t they?

The Lives We Live

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My Dad wrote: “I’ve spent the afternoon sanding Uncle Alvin Howard’s workbench. My great aunt, Laura Hayward Howard, bought the bench in 1936 from Hammacher Schlemmer in New York, and then gave it to Uncle Alvin for Christmas.

Uncle Alvin quickly let on as how he wasn’t about to take up woodworking, and planned to give the workbench promptly to the local boys’ home.

Then Nana caught wind and talked him out of giving it away, saying that she had three rambunctious boys at home who could make good use of it. Both the three boys and their mother did, indeed, use it like crazy. Fifteen years ago, Dad wrote “whatever I know about woodworking tools, I learned at that workbench, sixty and more years ago. Mother is gone now, and I’ve always wanted to repair and restore it. Jeanne and Adam will be coming with a pickup truck in the morning. I’m flying out of Pass Christian on Tuesday afternoon to Atlanta, and then driving to Charlotte Wednesday morning.”

And so he did.

I can’t quite tell whether or not he ever got around to restoring it (the Pardue family wasn’t the hoity toity type), but I can definitely say that he used the workbench handily in his architecture office for quite a few years until he died in 2013. It’s now mine, and though I’m nothing close to a woodworker, I love it like crazy. Many thanks to Alvin, Laura, Nana, and Dad for always sharing their stories, and Jeanne and Adam, who I don’t think I knew, for making it happen.

We need more family stories, don’t we?

The Really, Really, Really Bad Day

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“You know, Hobbes, some days even my lucky rocket ship underpants don’t help.”
(Quote by Bill Watterson)

Today I was totally prepped for a great day. My husband has been on the other side of the continent for a week, and he flies home tonight. I’m wearing my Happy Clothes, saved for special days. The house is clean. Ish. I’ve amassed a neatly folded give-away pile with oooooooodles of my favorite (too small) outfits, we’re deep in the dregs of summer, which means we’ll soon be cooler (right?), I’m on break from cleaning the attic (self-imposed), and the garden flowers are joyously blooming despite daily basking in the bowels of hell.

But then — who knows, but something clicked — or unclicked, and hell threw open that door. And I’d say I haven’t been able to shake this Very Bad Day, but the truth is that I’m just not ready. Because you have to be real. You have to walk through these things rather than around. Otherwise they never go away, and just bury themselves in your psyche instead.

So I looked up Bad Day quotes. And honestly, they totally sucked except for Hobbes and Bill, so I made my own.

Snark: an attitude or expression of mocking irreverence and sarcasm.

Blech. I really, really don’t like snarky people. We all have so much goodness deep in our hearts — why waste it on the opportunity to hurt someone?

And I guess that’s the extent of it. I haven’t been shot or robbed or suffered a great loss. I have endless happy choices at my fingertips. But today, I guess what I really am is sad.

And I am. I’m really, really sad.

Footnote: Hobbes, named for philosopher Thomas Hobbes, is Calvin’s stuffed tiger and best friend.

Dear Ireland: I’ve missed you so!

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I’ve missed your lonnnnnnng frothy grasses, your ubiquitous flowers and delightfully moody seas. I’ve missed your shells of every color, and certainly your mind-blowing hand-built walls. And your stripey stones — how could I turn away from such whimsy?

I’ve missed your waterside horses and donkeys and cows inching closer and ever closer while hoping to get to know us better. I’ve missed your poets and your deep love of writing. I’ve missed your lovely tea rooms, your lobsters, your ubiquitous inlets, and your spell binding vistas over land and sea.

And I think —

You’re waiting for me, aren’t you?

Only 13 sleeps … and some fleece-lined pants. And two wool hats because one will need drying while the other is worn, and weather-proofed boots ….

But IRELAND!!!!!!!!

I’ve missed you so ….

It’s a Party!

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Setting up for a virtual book release party and having so much fun.

How much food should I make? What’s the happy lighting medium between sultry cocktail party and glaring spotlights on the books? Should I gab or go for “mysterious?” Is there enough virtual parking? Is there a God? Will she be coming? Should I spike the punch for sales and then drive everyone home myself? But, you know, in the backseat behind a divider and wearing masks. But seriously, what color should I paint my nails?

TOF Book Release Party Shot

Touch of Fire: The Scoop

/ Pam Goode / 5 Comments

TouchOfFire-3D-Collection

TOUCH OF FIRE by Pam Goode
Literary Fiction

Release Date: Friday, July 24

And as of July 25, I’ll be lying on a beach somewhere, being greedily ravaged by a pounding surf and loving it.

The Official Blurb:

“In their faces I tried to see who would be the first to break our little world of pick-up sticks and easy living. I caught sight of a spark in some now and then, but I guess deep down I pretty much knew it would be me throwing the dice wild.”

Not everyone grows up with role models for love. Raised in an affluent southern community where rules are clear and secrets held close, Jenny is surrounded by expectations she rarely believes in. When her journey betrays society’s demands, her tentative belief in love makes navigating emotions much more complicated. Ostracized by family and friends and struggling through a difficult marriage with a precocious child, Jenny moves through questions and awakenings with a soulful interior dialogue, hoping to forge a truer path.

My Preferred Blurb:

Sam has a touch of fire. When we got to be almost friends he would put his hand on my shoulder when it was time to leave the parties we both went to and he said goodbye. He would come up behind me and there would be the hand and I would know it was Sam without even turning because his touch was fire. One night I went to a party and I wore a sundress with no back. When it was time I thought he won’t touch me now, not tonight. But then we were leaving and there was the hand again, on my bare shoulder this time, and it was fire. Night after night always the same and when the hand came without stopping I was hard pressed to look at him full when I said goodnight because I knew the eyes would be there and I couldn’t tell yet what they were saying. So I made goodbyes at the floor, not wanting to leave until I knew but needing the cool night air and the dark ride home to keep his touch from showing plain.

The Scoop:

I’m one of those people who doesn’t really know how to engage in polite conversation. Therefore you can count on two things.

  1. I will tell you the truth

  2. It will tumble straight out from my brain, devoid of the usual filters, timeline, and social niceties (though I did cut WAY back on the profanity).

My favorite part of this book is the humanity. There’s no hero or heroine. It’s real and it’s gritty and it follows the journey of good people learning about love and, as they say, “it don’t come easy.” You’ll have a love/hate relationship with the main character, and that’s intentional. Because you know what? We’ve all struggled. We’ve all done things that were ill-advised or worse. We’ve all, at some point, been really ill-equipped to love, muddled through with varying degrees of success, and hoped to come out on the sunny(ish) side.

It’s not James Patterson. There isn’t a neatly penned plot laid bare in short sentences with an obvious (usually) bad guy and an obvious (usually) good guy. It’s real. It’s messy. It’s love and guts.

And because of #2 listed above, some of the internal workings are told in stream of consciousness bursts because … that’s how we think, right?

And Then …

I’d love to know what you think. There’s lots of space below.

Pam

Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/dp/1735174807
E-Book: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B08CCKQVSH

Book Release Coming Right Up!

/ Pam Goode / 1 Comment

It seems easy enough, right? Many claim to have penned this truth: “Writing is easy. Just open a vein and bleed” — and no doubt we’ve all felt it, whether during middle school exams or penning a verse to a would-be lover.

But the truth is, writing is sometimes hard and sometimes easy, but editing and publishing can extinguish god’s own holy spark in the best of us. Not that I’ve ever been particularly holy.

Regardless, I believe I’ve just pulled myself through the last hoop atop the last hill (and yes I CAN hear you laughing in the background) and have pushed the appropriate buttons to make the July 24 release date.

Can you hear my wild self-applause????

Touch of Fire by Pam Goode, available as e-book or paperback July 24, available for e-book pre-order July 10, aka, NOW.

Pre-Order Link here. Let’s roll!

Bowling Lady Watering Can

Birds and Words

/ Pam Goode / 2 Comments

Today I got out early enough for a bit of a breeze and so many birds, The birds are a gift to my own ever-tenuous ability to hear, as well as a sort of much needed cosmic validation that stretches between us. I’m still here and you’re still here, and some knowing of that life spark passes between us.

When I walk, the words flow, quite unlike the way they sit, box-like, arms crossed and eyes shut tight to truth, when I’m still. I often invite them quite graciously to join me at the table, but they know my tricks. And more, they know the cage has to rattle for truth to escape.

So I use my legs for the rattling. They say exercise saves lives. I say that much of that rebirth springs from the ground and heads straight to the page.

Birds in Tree Crop