Happy and Peaceful, New Year

On this New Year Day, I'm sharing something from the bottom of my heart, an offering of hope,

requesting peace and understanding

to be ours in 2010.

For Christmas, Joe received Mitch Albom's , Have A Little Faith, from our daughter, Sydney. You might recognize the author's name from an earlier work, Tuesdays with Morrie. Joe devoured the book rather quickly and seeing his obvious pleasure, I'm now doing the same.

Already, I could share a handful of dog-eared passages that are especially meaningful to me but for now I just want to bend your ear, maybe your heart, towards this one simple exchange from page 161. Here, an aging Rabbi is explaining how he has tolerated other beliefs throughout his ministry while so often, his own faith has been anything but accepted.

"Look, I know what I believe. It's in my soul. But I constantly tell our people: you should be convinced of the authenticity of what you have, but you must also be humble enough to say that we don't know everything. And since we don't know everything, we must accept that another person may believe something else."

He sighed.

"I'm not being original here, Mitch. Most religions teach us to love our neighbor."

See, I told you. What gripped me was not a flashy lightbulb moment that accompanies a 'Wow, never thought of that before' kind of experience with bells, whistles or even a handful of leftover, New Year's fireworks kind of 'Ah-ha', attached. This is just a replay of the simple biblical instruction of how we can choose to live in peace...

Love you neighbor as yourself.

Happy New Year to everyone,

and by all means and

most sincerely,

may

peace be ignited.

Not Too Long or Late!

It’s been a long time… honestly, too long.

2009 was a busy one at our house, just as the case for most everyone else, I imagine.

Nowadays, we have so many options regarding ways to say hello, how are you, I miss you and even I love you yet oftentimes I'm finding the words left unspoken, unwritten.

The options are growing this very minute with ways in which we can choose to communicate with those we value… yet, here I sit counting the days spent without trace of words shared across cups of coffee, airways or otherwise...

Sometimes, weeks on end pass without even a quick line exchanged between myself and very precious people on FaceBook or Twitter.

Too bad, my heart suggests.

It’s a pity to live without sharing the details of the good stuff or regret for the bad. What better way is there to learn than than through an experience shared?

People who need people are the luckiest in the world_ the old song that Barbara sang, says.

Time certainly does fly when we let it_

that same rapidly evaporating time counts, when we make it.

Wishing you a happy and connected, 2010!

With Love,

Joe, Renee,

Mike and Sydney

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Unedited

Unedited... I'm really going to try, anyhow.

No colors or bold type, or anything.

This past Monday, July thirteenth, marked the thirteenth year celebrating the birth of my third baby, Ryan John.

Ryan was diagnosed with brain cancer when he was thirteen months old and died when he was sixteen months old. Had Ryan lived, I'd currently have the pleasure of three teenagers to call my own.

I guess I still have that pleasure though I'm guessing it's a little easier in that one of my three teenagers happens to live away from home, or in a better home, heaven.

Most of you know this chapter of my life. Most of you were with me when we welcomed Ryan into the world and there when we had to let go, in a way, and say goodbye. If you were there even just for the end, you know what a blessing it was to know Ryan and that even in death, you can understand that even during such a devastating time, it was a blessing to know him.

I only want to share this one thing right now and refrain from going any further.

Through all of this life and death stuff it has become very clear to me that love is eternal.

Love is the mightiest of forces that mankind will ever experience.

Love can withstand anything, just like scripture tells us.

Love even conquers death as when someone you love dies, the love that connects you, lives.

So this is all I have for you - this truth that love is so powerful that even dreaded and feared death cannot destroy it.

If you're thinking that you're not sure about love being able to conquer death in the way that I am meaning, which is to say that love lives on, forever, securely in our heart and mind - in the deepest part of our being, and never ever dies, then I challenge you to let go of everything, invest yourself fully into the celebration of someone else... you know, love them without fear of ever losing them...

and I promise you, they will be with you, through love, forever.

Love is win - win, even in loss.

(Ryan, this is dedicated to you, my 'Scooch Booch' - which is what I called you because of how you scooted across the floor as fast as you could whenever you heard the pantry door open or heard the sound of Grandpa's voice. I'm thinking there must be a huge pantry in heaven and that Grandpa is standing by it, holding the door open for you to gather all that you'd like.)

If Walls Could Whisper

Hello, it's me.

It's been a while since I last took a minute to share some thoughts. I'm honestly a little ticked at myself for allowing this latest massive wordless gap but I'll spare you the rambling list of excuses as to why it has been so long.

On second thought, maybe I should share just one of the reasons, or excuses, depending on how you look at things, that I haven't written.

A few blogs back I said something about a quick thank you email I had written to a woman who has recently had the pleasure of opening our town's first community arts center called, "Gateway Center for the Arts."

Gateway is just a hop, skip and jump from our front door and watching the multimillion dollar facility come to be from nothing but a pile of sand to full blown fabulous has been an exciting journey, to say the least.

A family friend who had gotten to know this ambitious art center building woman sometime last year had invited my family and I to join them for a walkthrough tour of Gateway while it was still under construction. It was quite a treat as we were able to hear and see the inside story before the roof was even in place.

I'll never forget

the tour

because

as we cautiously shuffled across the sandy concrete slabs

our guide described each room in vivid detail, so vivid, in fact, that I could hear

the piano playing smooth jazz in the auditorium and I could see the guests strolling around

the gallery, sipping on sparkling glasses of wine and casually talking 'art'.

I'd been elated to be a part of this intimate little tour.

Let me say that again,

I'd been thrilled - downright, thrilled!

You might think that I was thrilled because I had hopes of my families artwork hanging in the soon to be gallery, being discussed over those sips of wine and tastes of cheese while smooth jazz elegantly plays in the background.

True, I must admit.

Yes, yes, I most certainly had been a little excited for those reasons. After all, nothing is better than creating artwork and seeing people enjoy it as they try to figure out something about what you, the artist, were trying to say with the shapes, the color or composition of the entire scene.

Anyhow, the possibility of our stuff one day hanging in this soon to be gallery

was just a small part of why I had been so excited about our new art center.

Maybe you think that I might have been wanting to get a job there since, as you know via a few postings back, my husband's salary took a significant hit and our health insurance premiums increased by a few hundred dollars per month.

The answer to that one is 'No'.

A potential job at Gateway was not the reason I was so glad to see those walls going up.

Now,

you're probably getting bored

with trying to come up with

reasons why I might be so happy about

an art center being opened nearby

so I'll just stop the storytelling prompting

and

tell it like it is.

I was thrilled to see Gateway Center for the Arts being built because just the fact that our little town had conjured up enough money and interest

in the arts to build a multimillion dollar facility

meant one definite, thing...

Art,

really

matters.

It was no longer only about art in Orlando - it was about art here in

beach bumming, Volusia County... in our very own tiny little city of DeBary!

All of the years of creating and embracing, eating, tasting and literally soaking up everything creative that I could get my hands onto was being affirmed as being something that mattered.

The building was proof.

The building spoke to me...

"Renee, if you do your art thing,

people will eventually 'get it'.

Someday soon, they'll understand

that you haven't been chasing an impossible dream

but fueling a very personal call and purpose."

That tour through the unfinished rooms of Gateway

allowed the walls to whisper...

"You just be yourself and put those ideas down on canvas

- let them work their magic! Believe

that there is a wall with fantastic gallery lighting waiting for your next piece

and when it gets your piece - it will be glad

and you'll be glad...

and the people who walk by the wall and look at the piece will be glad...

and the world will be a better place because

you did what you were put here to do."

Okay, maybe that last part about the world being a better place is me taking liberties and putting words into the mouth of the 'talking walls', but seriously - those unfinished walls spoke volumes to me. If those walls could have spoken aloud I'm sure that they would've, but even without actual words coming forth, those unfinished concrete blocks inspired my world weary, creative soul. My artistic spirit felt refreshed - my passionate energy was renewed.

Now, back to the reason I haven't blogged in such a long time...

Like I had said, I wrote this thank you email to the Gateway Center for the Arts Director (aka lady from the tour) after the grand opening that my family and I attended. I simply felt impressed to share that I appreciated the decade, yes decade, of dedication and commitment that it took for her to get Gateway up and running. I told her how much it meant to me that she was building something that would feed our neighborhood children's creativity for generations to come. I shared that our entire family was just a teensy weensy bit on the artsy side of things and that she could count on us to help out in any way that we could. I told her that I was so thankful that she hadn't given up, that she had been determined to see her vision through to the end.

Long story short, my email touched her heart. She replied saying that she liked my writing and that it meant a great deal to her that I took the time to thank her in the way that I had.

A few exchanges later and she asked that I help out with the Gateway Newsletter.

I said, "Sure".

Joe and I got busy on that and then she thought maybe I could take on serving as the volunteer PR person for Gateway, representing them throughout various venues of the media, etc.

I said, "Sure".

A month or so went by and I found myself answering so many emails, calls, etc, all concerning advertising events happening at Gateway. I became so busy with Gateway PR that I hadn't written a word on this blog or for any of my short stories or articles I'd been working on and definitely not a word on the two young adult novels I'd been outlining before all of the Gateway stuff and,

gasp...

I hadn't picked up a paintbrush, at all!

Truthfully, I had made the time to scratch up a bit of freelance illustration work to help us stay afloat after the salary cut and ridiculously outrageous insurance hike - but still, that was for the sake of the bottom line rather than the pursuit of my own creative endeavors. I was becoming angry with myself because I had recommitted, with my whole heart just this past New Year, , to being the artist that God created me to be and not get off track anymore and follow my dream of truly being, 'me' - crazy little, wordy, artsy, got to paint, got to write, me.

So, we still do the Newsletter and a few DeLeon paintings have hung on those mouthy walls, but I no longer do the PR thing for Gateway, not because I don't want to help or that I can't do it, but because I'm not supposed to, and I know it.

I'm supposed to write these little stories and keep you creative types on board with your own aspirations in the arts. I'm supposed to share with you how incredible it feels for my writing or artwork to get accepted here and there and how it hurts when it's not.

Tonight, I'm working with Joe and the kids painting a huge canvas for my son's school. Mike volunteered to provide a school spirit type poster for a special awards ceremony. Mike's a bit artsy, too, and his school has meant so much to him over this past year that he really wanted to do something special to tell the Principal, Teachers and staff, thank you.

We're painting a lion - it's their mascot.

We're doing it together,

The DeLeon's.

(The Lions)

It'll take all night and we'll likely snap at each other a few times over our differing artistic points of view, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

This is who we are...

so I'm living it,

with pleasure.

******************

I'd love to hear about your rabbit trails or meandering paths that have led you either away from or directly towards who you believe you are supposed to be. Write me - tell me about you.

Our, Not So Bright House

Last week, Bright House repairman number three spent at least that many hours, three plus, at our home trying to find the cause of the repetitive self rebooting routine our cable company owned, state of the art DVR seemed determined to pursue. *Bright House is the cable company which provides our television reception as well as service for our telephone and Internet.

First, visiting repairman number three thought the problem to be a wire/connection issue so he replaced all of those which are so conveniently located behind the large and fragile flat-screen and the long, heavy cabinet on which it resides. Unfortunately, regardless of all of the smart new wires and connectors which were now keeping company with the troop of recently freed dust bunnies, the self rebooting continued.

Next, he'd said it must be our state of the art DVR - so out went the precious DVR box along with all of our favorite shows we had so carefully selected, recorded and saved. You have to understand, it was an especially huge bummer to lose our programs as we were looking forward to piling on the couch and watching every last one of them over the much anticipated long, three day weekend, which was just a measly day or two away. (You've gotta enjoy the three day weekend deals whenever you're so fortunate as to have them come your way, even if all you intend to do is relax and enjoy a little TV time with the family - you just do.)

After the shiny new box that had compromised our weekend was in its place and brand new wires and connectors left the rebooting problem unresolved, repairman number three suggested that the problem must be in the attic.

(I've got to be honest with you, until then, I had no idea that Bright House had anything in our attic.)

Anyhow, was the repetitive self rebooting caused by whatever the heck it is that Bright House keeps in our attic?

Nope.

The problem was in the ground.

Please take note...

One week prior to repairman number three's lengthy service visit,

the following events had occurred:

Since I had noticed BH trucks around Saxon Woods (our subdivision's name) more than usual - my guess was that we were not the only ones with the rebooting issues. When I had originally placed my service call to BH, however, their response was as if our house was the only one experiencing problems as there was not any indication of technical issues at their end.

A day or so later, BH repairman number one came for the first visit regarding our repetitive self rebooting issues. After about an hour of working on our DVR/cable box (no need for a new one, he'd said) and self rebooting being fixed, (or so he'd thought), the repairman shared his conclusion that whatever was causing the rebooting stuff to begin with, must be coming from outside because the work he had done inside was more or less a band-aid rather than a complete solution. He said he'd create a new work order requesting BH to service the 'outside stuff' he'd suspected to be the real culprit, as he himself could not address those issues as 'he was an inside guy', rather than 'an outside guy'.

Fair enough.

A couple of days past, the 'outside guy' came and left, rather quickly as I recall, saying that everything should be working fine, now. (I think our adorably fluffy, tail-wagging dog had scared him.)

Then, just a day or two later, our Internet connection started wigging out!

(Bad problem since I work from home.)

At this point, do you suspect that the self rebooting routine had possibly returned to plague us?

(Wow, you're quick.)

Finally, repairman number three, who had spent three plus hours in nearly every corner of our house and who had eventually dug up our cable stuff in the front yard ... saved the day, my career, sanity and who knows, possibly even my marriage. Yep, that's right, even though he'd started at the wrong end of the problem (inside rather than outside) and wrecked our long weekend as he'd failed to save our precious DVR'd shows by allowing that shiny new DVR to take our old DVR's place, repairman three became my hero. I mean, he'd embodied such dedication, such resolve , not to mention an enormous wealth of technical knowledge.

Though it was most certainly a

horrifyingly, traumatizing hardship,

I'm happy to announce that

my resilient family and I

survived the loss of

two new episodes of

Trust Me, The Mentalist, Damages,

Survivor, CSI, Ugly Betty

and LOST.

How we'll ever catch up and let alone, understand where the heck we are in the

flip-flopping story line of our favorite epic drama series,

LOST,

we may never know.

Do you think that Bright House has a guy to fix that?

"Thanks" ... Dr. Seuss!

"From there to here, from here to there,

funny things are everywhere."

(One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish)

Before gathering the courage to share my news with my ever hopeful and supportive home team, I silently read and reread the letter a few times, carefully refolded it and placed it in it's tattered envelope for safe keeping.

No,

not a glutton for punishment or anything near that, but...

wanted to keep the letter as a reminder,

a token of months of effort

and

lifetime of dreams dared to dream.

Finally, after rehearsing what to say in my head and making myself be ready, on Monday, March 2, I sat at our family dinner table and shared that I had received my very first official rejection letter from the children's publisher to which I had submitted my two hundred and something paged, young adults manuscript, '360, Yours Truly', three months earlier.

When I finally managed to utter the words conveying my heartbreaking defeat, my wonderful son, Mike, reminded me that I had been rejected on none other than the Birthday of Dr. Seuss.

Let me tell you_ with complete transparency, that tiny piece of trivia carried with it a huge amount of priceless encouragement for this 'wanna be published' writer.

In a moment, you'll likely agree as to how valuable Mike's words had been.

Now, ... a quick word about the decision mentioned a minute ago regarding keeping that unfortunate tear stained letter. Maybe you're wondering...

Why keep something that screams

a big fat 'No'

to your dreams?

Well, ... it seems that rejection

has come to many before me

who have not only survived,

but conquered.

Like, say...

Dr. Seuss.

That got me to thinking...

Did you know that it is said that Dr. Seuss was

rejected by publishers

over 100 times?

One hundred times!!!

That got me to thinking a bit more... in the past...

I've possibly handled rejection in a somewhat unhealthy way.

I know, ...right?

I'm sure that you can hardly believe that of me...

I mean, after all, aren't I known to be an...

incredibly strong,

flexible and

resilient creature?

(Hey, I got one little rejection letter - I can still dream, can't I?)

Even so, I must confess that it's true. In the past, rejection defeated me. The sad part is that

it didn't have to, but, ... I allowed it!

(Now, do you see

how terribly large

those well meaning though misguided

'buts' can be?)

There... it's out!

Yes,

it's sad but true.

In the past, ... rejection ... defeated ... me.

For example, did you know that I am a teacher, songwriter, vocalist, visual artist and aspiring children's author? Really, I am. (Until recently, it may have been difficult to notice.)

Really, though.

Accepted, approved, received or not,

I am, or so I believe that I am!

Except, of course, when

I'm allowing myself to wallow

in the sea of self doubt

that so often accompanies,

... rejection.

Here's a little tidbit of reality that I've often tried to ignore...

Creativity is

filled with situations

that pose the

practically inevitable possibility of

...rejection!

(GO FIGURE!)

Truth be told then,

I should be familiar with rejection,

at ease with the often critical and merciless judgement of others

and practically able to...

leap small art institutes,

museums and music directors...

in a single bound...

:o)

(Unfortunately for me, however, not so much.)

Lucky for me, though,

people can change

and changing,

I am.

No more tears, no more hiding.

No more quitting, no more running.

No more blaming, no more denial...

(ouch)

no more

doing anything other than,

that's right...

trying, again!

So,

I celebrate that I received

my first official rejection letter from a major publisher

on none other than

the Birthday

of our beloved Dr. Seuss!

As a matter of fact...

I, Renee DeLeon,

by the power made possible by

a lifetime endurance of multiple rounds of

heart ripping rejection_

after of which

I have picked myself up_

dusted myself off_

and tried, tried, again...

hereby formally

invite you...

to celebrate my rejection!

That's right_

celebrate!

Hey, if I am so blessed as to be able to follow in

even a few of his creative footsteps,

that leaves

only ninety-nine rejections

left to go!!!

(Laughter,

or so they say,

is the best medicine.)

Thanks to the determination and perseverance of Dr. Seuss to NOT allow repeated rejection to decide his contribution to the literary world and unfathomable numbers of precious young readers, I celebrate my own rejection and count it as a means to strengthen my creative abilities, passion, ambitious dreams and own determination to continue to try, try and try, again.

Thing One and

Thing Two and

Horton Hears a Who,

could Dr. Seuss

have imagined

the incredible good

his own life's work

would do?

I think,

somehow,

he did!

:o)

:o)

:o)

f