• Cynthia Dagnal-Myron

This work of art called life...

Hope you're faring well! Just wanted to check in. Catch up. Send out some good juju, too...

I've been ridiculously busy. Finished the first draft of a novel and started rewriting another on Wattpad, which is my favorite place to write now--they're so supportive, readers and staff alike. Having an audience waiting for every chapter is golden. Keeps me going!

And I got to see my baby granddaughter and celebrate her father finding his second dream job--still with Microsoft, too--and moving them to Orange County, Cali where my daughter gets to be a bona fide housewife. Whoa. In this day and age that's a serious accomplishment.

I hadn't written anything about 45 'til the other day when we discovered that he'd known every thing there was to know about COVID19 in February and pretended he didn't--that's on Medium right now, title: Say His Name: Herman Cain. Not a tribute, just a lament to do with dying for "urequited love." Which he did. Following a bunch of other Trump lovers to a rally without a mask...

Yep, you get the idea. I couldn't just let all the new revelations get past me without some kind of reaction. To get it out of my system so it didn't fester and spoil my sleep...

I'm white knuckling it toward November like everyone else I know. But I'm trying, every day, to do something useful about the upcoming election, something that makes me feel good and something that helps someone in the family feel good, too.

The latter has become the most important and rewarding part. Our our weird little family includes an ex-husband who has become a very good friend, a daughter, granddaughter and the man who loves them both. And for the past two or three years we've felt more like a real family than I ever thought possible.

The strange times have taught us that bonds like ours should be honored and tended lovingly. No one will ever love us the way we love us. Warts and all, we love us. Through thick and a whole lotta thin, we love us.

The trials and tribulations that tore us apart also, now, have pulled us back together like scar tissue. It ain't pretty but it's strong. And to us, I think it really might be kinda pretty. Something to celebrate, you know? How tough and unbreakable that bond is.

We Zoom. We Duo. Sometimes for fun, sometimes to work on things--I mean really work. Writing things, discussing things, figuring things out as family. It's weird, but I'm actually starting to feel something when we meet across the digital divide. Like we're together, right? It's getting more and more real each time.

My daughter and I--and a host of Hopi family and friends--even have "play dates." Like watching and buying $5 jewelry from a high-spirited Hopi lady now living in Pittsburgh--via Facebook. Which has become the platform of choice for Native America over the years.

She shows us jewelry, we chat back and forth on the side and try to be the first one to grab that "one and done" item everyone wants. She plays games with us, too, Laila. We win freebies. But mostly, we have a blast, all the Hopi ladies and I.

I cherish it. I cherish everything with "light" and love and laughter in it. We can't be together and yet...we are. That's magic.

I'm hoping we will all be free of some of this angst in November. And that we'll be out of quarantine soon as well. But I almost have to thank the strife we've been through for making us turn to and value each other so much more.

OH--I have a new saying for you, too. From Picasso, no less. It's my new motto:

Yeah, that slaps. It truly, truly does.

Practice that. And I'll be back soon...

15 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All