My new essay in Victoria magazine

A new essay I wrote about adopting Coco, our sweet rescue dog, appears in the March/April 2019 issue of Victoria magazine. This is the third piece I’ve published in Victoria, and I’m always proud to see my byline in its pages.

If you’re a fan of Masterpiece Theater, I’m guessing you’ll appreciate this beautiful magazine as much as I do. Featuring historic sites, literary destinations, gorgeous homes and gardens, it’s always a visual feast. The new issue is available on newsstands until April 2nd.

To read more of my work, please visit my personal blog, Things that make me happy, where I post inspirational quotes daily and a new essay every weekend. ~CL

My new essay in Victoria

DSCN2106I just received an advance copy of the September issue of Victoria, which includes my new essay about the bittersweet process of selling my mother’s home and sorting through her belongings for an estate sale. This is my second piece in Victoria — one of my all-time favorite shelter magazines. September is my mother’s birth month, and I think Mom would be honored to know that her love of beautiful things is the subject of my essay. The new issue will be on the newsstands August 2. For a preview of what’s inside, please click here.

New Year’s newsletter

Cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right.”  ~Oprah Winfrey

Though I’m not big on New Year’s resolutions, I’ve always loved how January nudges us toward self-improvement and encourages fresh starts. The month, after all, is named for the two-faced Roman god, Janus, who’s always depicted looking backward and forward. Janus seems to remind us that we should pause long enough to consider the events that brought us to the present moment before we start something new.

My father-in-law died of Alzheimer’s in June. As you probably recall from previous posts, the months preceding his death were especially tough on Doug. There were grueling decisions that involved finding the right nursing home for his dad as well as helping his mother with the changes in her household and finances. In retrospect, I was so involved with the upheaval in my own mother’s situation, that I don’t think I offered as much emotional support to my husband as I should have.

And isn’t that always the case when we are preoccupied with our own stuff? We turn inward and neglect others who need us — especially when the others who need us appear to be handling things well enough on their own. That’s something I need to remember and work on in the year ahead. Because people who have strong arms sometimes need a helping hand, too.

Meanwhile, this week, we completed the last of four appointments for my mom at the Beaumont Geriatric Evaluation Clinic. Offering health-care and lifestyle consultation for the elderly and their caregivers, the Clinic put my mother through a series of tests (including a neuro-psychological interview) in addition to a complete physical. The good news: My mother’s memory loss was re-diagnosed as vascular dementia, not Alzheimer’s. Regardless, dementia is dementia, no matter which label you paste on it.

My mother is in the milder stage, and still capable of caring for herself in her condo with minimal assistance. Even so, I’ve been told that putting Mom in an assisted living facility would make things much easier for me. But Mom loves her home — it remains one of few things she’s genuinely enthused about — so I’m honoring her wish to stay there as long as possible.

The bad news: Once a patient is officially diagnosed with any type of dementia, there are serious liability issues when it comes to allowing that patient to drive. So, early in the evaluation process last year, the doctors suspended my mother’s driving privileges. She never drove very far, anyway, but she’s nonetheless freaked about having her wings clipped. The final verdict will come after Mom completes an official driving test to be conducted at another Beaumont Hospital facility in a couple of weeks. Ah yes, more appointments.

Even when we’re adults with kids of our own, and even when we uphold our most noble intentions, most of us secretly struggle with the idea of becoming parents to our parents. For the past two years, Mom’s doctors have asked me to show up at her appointments, oversee her medications, and supervise her health-care decisions. I haven’t minded that half as much as I’ve mourned the loss of my real mother — the strong, capable woman she used to be. These days she’s like a surly teenager riddled with anxiety. It all makes me sad and angry and, mostly, emotionally drained … which is another thing I need to work on this year.

It does get better, though …

When I tally up some of the year’s happiest moments, I recall the good friends who’ve been at the ready with a listening ear and a willingness to meet for lunch, dinner, or drinks. Or heartfelt conversations on the phone. As an only child, I don’t have much of an extended family to speak of, so having longtime friends who function like a true family has been more valuable than I can express in words.

And in the fun department, Doug and I continued the recreational foray into background acting we began in September of 2009. Between the two of us, we’ve been in 14 different film and television productions to date. We continue to support the film industry in Michigan, and hope our new Michigan governor will see the benefits of hosting Hollywood here.

Writing-wise, I didn’t start many new projects. Like the dormant plants under the snow in my garden, my muse was sleepy, or maybe she was deliberately giving me extra time to focus on my mom’s health care. I did manage to get a new essay published in Victoria, and several of my previously published essays were chosen for national anthologies. Guideposts gift books, for instance, published a Christmas piece (from Writing Home) in The Heart of Christmas. It was a thrill and an honor to see my work in a collection containing writings by Sue Monk Kidd, Pearl S. Buck, Marjorie Holmes, and others whose work I’ve admired. And in the fall, I was hired to write a weekly column for Royal Oak Patch, one of AOL’s hyper-local online newspapers.

After a long day with my mom earlier this week, I came home and crashed with a book in one of the big chairs in the living room. Doug and I had taken down the Christmas decorations the day before, and it was a relief to see the mantel and tabletops cleared of elves, angels, pine boughs, and other holiday doodads. I was reminded once again that, when life gets more complicated than usual, the sanest thing you can do is to clear some space, cut back where you can, and focus only on the essentials.

Wishing you all a wonderful, healthy New Year. — Cindy La Ferle

— Winter garden photos by Cindy La Ferle —

Zen garden

All my hurts my garden spade can heal.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson

Titled “The Art of Midlife Gardening,” this essay was originally published in Victoria magazine, March/April issue this year. With the editor’s permission, I’m sharing the piece with you while I’m off this week…

Last spring, members of our local Master Gardener Society invited me to speak at one of their meetings. I was honored, at first, but as soon as the date of the talk rolled around, I started getting nervous.

And with good reason.

Master Gardeners arent just fooling around with bulbs and blossoms. These folks earn a minimum of 40 hours of instruction in horticulture science. Meeting for at least 11 weeks, they take classes in caring for indoor and outdoor plants, establishing lawns, growing vegetables and fruit trees, designing gardens, and more. I bow to their expertise.

Barely getting my hands dirty, Ive written a few magazine pieces and newspaper columns on my romance with plants and flowers. Ive shared back-yard memories of sweet peas and apple trees and my grandfathers ferns. But set me loose with a shovel, and Im just an eager amateur whos murdered rose bushes and planted azaleas in the wrong spot.

Regardless, the kindly president of our Master Gardener Society assured me that his group of green thumbs would be open to anything I had to say about writing and gardening. They would humor me — and even offer some tips on deadheading my tulips. Somewhat relieved as I prepared for the talk, it occurred to me that gardens have taught me many valuable lessons. At this stage of my life, especially, gardening is rich with metaphor.

Five years ago, when my husband and I turned 50, our only child left home for college. That same year, we also lost several stately maple trees to disease. The removal of those trees wreaked havoc on our back yard: The lawn was totally destroyed and the surrounding beds were trampled. Not a single root or shoot was left of the delicate woodland shade perennials – trillium, Solomons seal, or bleeding heart – that Id collected over the years.

As every gardener knows, the natural world serves to remind us that change and upheaval are part of the master plan. Likewise, our bulldozed back yard reflected my emotional state as I adjusted to the changes in my menopausal body and my newly emptied nest. For a while there, I felt uprooted in my own household. Yet it also occurred to me that when a new space opens up – by choice or by accident – you have an opportunity to try something else; something you couldnt do before.

A Japanese garden had been at the top of my wish list for several years, but until all those dead trees were removed, Id never had the right spot for my dream garden. And so, with the help of a landscaping team, I created a path and some raised beds for my meditation garden, which now includes a small wooden bridge and a dry river of beach stones my husband and I collected from Lake Michigan. The garden has become an outdoor sanctuary, a peaceful escape from my writing deadlines and the clutter inside our home. Its also living proof to me that middle age can be a signpost to a new life — not just the end of our greener years.

At the end of my talk, I reminded the Master Gardeners that I often struggle with acute writers block, or fallow time. I would guess that anyone whos been doing the same work for so many years does too. Fallow time is the desert where ideas shrivel and evaporate, if they sprout at all. Fallow time is the waiting season, the creative slump, when blue moods hover like pending thunderstorms.  During fallow time, we can turn to the garden for another lesson.

Michigan winters are incredibly long and dull. For those of us who battle the blues, its easy to believe that spring might forget us on its way north. But just when things cant get any gloomier, usually in early April, along comes a balmy 60-degree day — a day drenched in the scent of moist earth, tulip bulbs, and new grass waking up. Suddenly, a glimmer of hope breaks through, melting all those months of doubt and dejection. The frozen river thaws. Possibility stirs.  And that when I know it’s time to grab my tools, dig in, and begin again. — Cindy La Ferle

–Reprinted with permission from Victoria magazine. All garden photos copyrighted by Cindy La Ferle. Please click on each photo for a larger view. —

Victoria magazine

Perseverance is not a long race; it is many short races one after the other.” — Walter Elliott

Speaking at a writers’ conference last year, a magazine editor fielded questions from an eager audience. Inevitably, a new freelance writer asked, “What does it take to break into national magazines now?” The editor’s answer: “Good old-fashioned perseverance.”

It’s true what they say about perseverance. It really pays off. So I’m sharing the following news not in the spirit of boasting — but to remind you to stay the course and keep trying, whatever goals or dreams you’re pursuing.

Several times over the past decade, I’ve tried to break into Victoria, one of my favorite shelter magazines. In the meantime, I published pieces in other national glossies and kept submitting new work, but the Victoria byline eluded me. (The magazine folded in 2004, then resumed publication in 2007.)

Over a year ago, I wrote a garden essay from threads of a talk I gave at a regional Master Gardener Society meeting. With high hopes, I submitted “The Art of Midlife Gardening” to Victoria. And then I waited.

Months passed — which isn’t unusual in this line of work — and I nearly forgot about the piece. So you can imagine how thrilled I was when Victoria‘s managing editor contacted me last year to ask if it was still available for publication in the March/April 2010 issue. That issue is now on the stands, and my essay’s on the back page. When I found a copy today at our local Barnes & Noble, I did a little happy dance right there in the magazine aisle. –CL