Winter’s Wheat

I’m glad I ran into you. As our long winter turns to spring and pandemic restrictions are easing a bit, I’ve been hearing it said that we’ve spent the last year while the “earth stood still” pretty much standing still right along with it. And I’m curious: Does someone think we just been sitting around, doing nothing? Does it seem like we fell asleep a year ago and are just now waking up? Parts of the last year have been a complete nightmare, true. But, dear friends, you know as well as I do that we were never asleep.

Walk with me through the fields for a moment. There’s something I want to show you. In the fall when the crops have been gathered, the leaves are gone, and the land looks barren, that’s when a variety of wheat, called winter wheat, is planted. Yes, winter wheat, like the beer. Winter itself arrives and snow falls and everything seems to be on hold. Oh, but it’s not. One day when the snow melts, these surprising green tufts of wheat are already there, having rooted and grown all winter under the snow, out of sight. 

The task of survival is one of our biggest feats of strength. Distance, quarantine, loss, uncertainty, fear, and piecing life together one segment after another—these things take time, and they take effort. Each step, no matter how quiet or unseen, needs to be counted as part of the journey. Our journey. I’m glad you’re here with me.

For some of us, this work may have been quiet, but it has been some of the most important work we’ve ever done. Our little rows of wheat will get taller and greener, but when they emerge in late winter, they’re already the color of spring.

A New Journey

I’ve been considering this blog restart for a long time. In the past I would ask myself, “What do you want to say to the world?” and I’d be off and running—well, typing. But this is a little different. I’d write, I’d edit, and I’d shelve it for later. Then lather, rinse, repeat. This clearly wasn’t working, but human nature being what it is, I kept trying it anyway. 

Caught up in this whirlpool of my own making, it took me way too long to just stop and let the water keep going without me. There’s resistance there, and I needed to dig in. And I realized: I’m not talking to the world. I’m talking to you. My people, my tribe, those of you who read my old blogs, my book, the [lately few] ramblings I put on Facebook, you get me. If I have anything at all to say, it’s to you.

So here we go. I’m thinking of this like a walk together, a journey that we’ll take. Yes, my swimming metaphor just turned into a walking simile, I’m aware. The words misbehave sometimes, and sometimes, it’s for good reason. We can do this. 

We may end up somewhere or nowhere, but right now we’re just taking a walk together and we’re talking along the way. This blog, this walk as it is, is not about pressing buttons. It’s not political, though politics may show up. It’s not about religion or love or hate, but emotions might join us and religion may stop by from time to time. It’s not about pizza, but it’s always about pizza so we’ll make room. 

This is our journey: You. And me. One thing I can tell you: There will be hope. I can pretty much guarantee that. 

…More to come…

Repost: Francesca and the Little Gods

By request, I’m reposting this blog.

This is one of my favorite conversations from Upside Down Kingdom:

“What is your thesis about?” I asked.

Francesca refreshed our wine and sat down at the table. “Basically, it is about how we set our goals and how we learn, or not, to achieve them, specifically in language acquisition, but it includes life goals as well.” She gestured with her hands in front of her, as if presenting the information to me or trying to carry a tray, then she curled her fingers up, and swirled her hands in circles. “You see, we are all created in the image of God. Therefore, we are all little gods.” That brought a smile from me, but she kept talking. “Ah,” the first finger up in the air, “but let’s admit it, we are blessed. And keeping with that, we have been given our own answers. Think about yourself, do you agree?”

“I suppose,” I thought. “Well, for me,” I said slowly, “Any time I’ve known what I needed to do, the problem is the ‘how to do it’ part. It feels like I’m locked behind a door that I can’t open.”

At this, Francesca got very excited. She picked up a blue booklet on the table and leafed through it, turning to a page with a sketch of a man unlocking a door with a skeleton key, with words written in Italian above it: “It’s not the key, it’s the way your turn it in the lock,” she translated. “Being little gods, I believe we already have our own key, and we’re wasting time searching for the keys to unlock the answers. Have faith. The key is right there, just…” she gestured this, “Turn it.”

Live like little gods. Turn our own keys. I was pretty sure my own answers were hiding from me. But maybe Francesca’s way was worth a shot.

~
Check out the rest of the book on Amazon.

Francesca and the Little Gods

This is one of my favorite conversations from Upside Down Kingdom:

“What is your thesis about?” I asked.

Francesca refreshed our wine and sat down at the table. “Basically, it is about how we set our goals and how we learn, or not, to achieve them, specifically in language acquisition, but it includes life goals as well.” She gestured with her hands in front of her, as if presenting the information to me or trying to carry a tray, then she curled her fingers up, and swirled her hands in circles. “You see, we are all created in the image of God. Therefore, we are all little gods.” That brought a smile from me, but she kept talking. “Ah,” the first finger up in the air, “but let’s admit it, we are blessed. And keeping with that, we have been given our own answers. Think about yourself, do you agree?”

“I suppose,” I thought. “Well, for me,” I said slowly, “Any time I’ve known what I needed to do, the problem is the ‘how to do it’ part. It feels like I’m locked behind a door that I can’t open.”

At this, Francesca got very excited. She picked up a blue booklet on the table and leafed through it, turning to a page with a sketch of a man unlocking a door with a skeleton key, with words written in Italian above it: “It’s not the key, it’s the way your turn it in the lock,” she translated. “Being little gods, I believe we already have our own key, and we’re wasting time searching for the keys to unlock the answers. Have faith. The key is right there, just…” she gestured this, “Turn it.”

Live like little gods. Turn our own keys. I was pretty sure my own answers were hiding from me. But maybe Francesca’s way was worth a shot.

~
Check out the rest of the book on Amazon.

Handling the Beast: Excerpt from Upside Down Kingdom

Why is it that when the weather turns nice we think thoughts of winter? Today, I’m reminiscing about New Year’s Eve, specifically, NYE in Dupont Circle. Here’s what I’m talking about. This is an excerpt from my first novel, Upside Down Kingdom:

I had no idea what New Year’s Eve would be like, but I was sure I couldn’t handle it…

“Okay, quiet down,” Stuart said as he stepped out of the office and walked toward us. “Alright, this won’t take long. We’re well stocked on everything tonight, so sell like crazy. It’s gonna get tough, gonna get busy, gonna get rough, so be prepared, be flexible, keep moving, and ask for help if you need it. Drunks: cut ’em off, get ’em out of here, hail ’em a cab. We brought up all the extra tables and chairs from the basement which should help you guys, but we’re gonna be busy as shit tonight. And when we reach full capacity, hit the point of no return, make ’em wait. Alright. New guys Raul and Amy: you’ll be downstairs here with T.J. and Charlotte. Jessica, Katie, Carlos, you’re upstairs. Any questions? Ready to open the doors? Let’s do it.”

In Virginia, the most we ever got out of a manager before a shift were the occasional “we’re out of something” talks. This was different; nerve-wracking. It was the moment before the big show. And what a show it was. New Year’s Eve wasn’t just busy. Mobbed was more the term for it.

By five, every chair was filled, including the extras from the basement. It was hard to maneuver through the serving floor, and even harder to keep up with all the demands. I was moving as fast as I could, breaking a sweat, and still never less than three tables behind. And yet, I was having the time of my life.

Unlike in Virginia, we didn’t have a pastry chef for desserts or someone taking care of our soups or plain coffees and teas. We did all of that ourselves from a two-by-two countertop which was covered in mess within an hour. After that, we used any available space we could find, and by the end of the night we’d have things thrown and stuffed everywhere.

We were creative about it: using the shelves of the refrigerator as counter space for slicing pies, lids of the soup well as drink holders, the ice bin as a tray stand, and everywhere served well as a garbage can. There weren’t busboys to help us out, so our priority was cleaning up the tables to make room for more customers, not cleaning up after ourselves.

By ten, most of our customers were in costume, from pixies to vampires to celebrity look-alikes, to Baby New Year—a grown man dressed in a diaper—to cats, strippers, and even a man in black with a lampshade on his head. The line waiting to get in was trailing out the door and along the sidewalk outside. “Standing Room Only” turned into “Stand Anywhere You Like.”

…
For more, check out Upside Down Kingdom on Amazon.

Patchwork

When you’re awakened in the middle of the night to clean up after a sick child, or in my case, a dog with indigestion, you’re suddenly granted all those groggy thoughts that cut right to the chase and refuse to mince words.

Last night was such a night. Here’s what I thought: Support System. We have support hose, support bras, hell, even suspension bridges. But how much thought do we give to our own personal system of support? I’m talking here about the people who show up when you need them.

Years ago, I stayed with friends for a couple weeks. Anytime I walked in the door, they’d stop what they were doing and ask me how I was. They’d ask how my day was. And what’s more, they’d ask specific questions about my day—how that important meeting went, how my friend liked the birthday present I got her, etc. They knew what was happening in my life, and they asked me about it. Sometimes we’d open up some wine and sit down together to chat for a while. Other times, they’d invite me to look at the newest artwork they were creating. I was spoiled; they even made sure to have some of my favorite cheeses or cookies on hand. I felt very, very welcomed. And very supported, even though money never changed hands. Support system: Something of a patchwork quilt made up of family, and friends who’ve become family.

Last night I handled the mess myself, like a big girl. And I didn’t begrudge it–too much. Instead, I thought about those late night talks, and I thought about how, this week alone, I asked a friend for a really silly favor. She did it, and never thought twice. She laughed, of course, but made the favor happen. The very next night, a neighbor asked me to care for his pets while he’s gone. I now have my very own key, which made me realize that on my key ring right now, I have four keys that belong to friends’ houses.

When I didn’t have a support system, I didn’t miss it. I didn’t think about it. But once it was in place, those friends and family members who would lend an ear, lend a hand, or simply remember you, even, well, life changed significantly: It stopped being so damn hard.

Don’t wait. Take a good, hard, groggy look at your own support system. First of all, make sure you have one, and then make sure there aren’t any holes in the fabric, any patches missing. Then take a good, hard, groggy look at the support systems of your friends and figure out if you’re a patch missing to them or if you’re sewn in. Again, don’t wait. The middle of the night comes every night.

~
My first book, Upside Down Kingdom, is available on Amazon.

Waking Up

This morning, I woke up replaying this scene in my mind. It’s one of my absolute favorites from Upside Down Kingdom, where main character Amy is at a late-night birthday party in Dupont Circle with her restaurant coworkers. At little kid birthday parties, we tend to eat too much cake and run around. At adult birthday parties, we tend to drink too much and dance around. I like that about us.

Anyway, here’s a simple and poignant conversation, which is not only a great moment in the “Katie’s birthday party” scene, but in my opinion, it’s one of the best moments of the entire book. I’ll write it here exactly the way I originally wrote it:

… “He adores you,” Patrick repeated. “I’ve known Dante a long time and I’ve never seen him this happy.”

“How much have you had?” I asked.

“It’s not the alcohol talking, Amy, really. You are beautiful. If I were straight like Dante, I’d be in love with you, too.”

“Now Dante’s in love with me, is he?” I asked, completely amused.

Patrick nodded. “He is. And so am I. Really, you’re beautiful,” he said, reaching across the table for my hand. “And I am in love with you right now,” he declared. “I just can’t do anything about it because it’s not a straight kind of love.”

I offered him my other hand as well, and slowly smiled at him. It was the strangest, and most honest, compliment of my entire life.

~
Find more from Upside Down Kingdom on Amazon.

Cutting Room Floor

I found this today—it’s a scene from my first book, Upside Down Kingdom. But those of you who’ve read the book won’t recognize this. I wrote an entire back story that ultimately got cut–though, it helped shape our main character, Amy. This deleted scene makes me laugh, especially that last line.

…My breathing was getting shallow and a little forced, but Brandy didn’t notice.  She kept smoking and was driving as fast as she was talking.  “A long time?  Yeah, Jack and I go way back, long before you two became an item. When we met, he took it pretty hard that I was dating another guy at the office. But then I broke up with that guy and Jack and I dated off and on for, what, two years I guess.”

He told me he never dated Brandy, that I was seeing something that wasn’t there. Unbelievable.  But there was more.  “We finally called it quits when I started dating Brad.  He and I are such a good match.  I’ve never been happier,” she waved her hand to dismiss the topic, and took one last drag on her cigarette and tossed it out the window.  “So you can imagine my surprise when I found out he was dating you.  You just seemed so different from his usual type.  I hate to say it, but I thought you were a prude.  I’m sorry about that, Amy.”

I made a noise, something between “uh” and a grunt.

“It’s silly, but I thought, you know, that you wanted Jack all to yourself or something, like you were his one and only.  But then you were cool when he went took Lilah out on Valentine’s Day, so it really wasn’t until then that I thought you and I could be friends. But, dating Brad for a few months now, and planning for our wedding–I totally get what they mean about spending time with only one person.  I’m sorry I thought you were nuts.”

I am an idiot.  The pieces started coming together.  Jack told me he had a study group on Valentine’s Day, the look that passed between Jack and Lilah when she said she’d helped him pick out my necklace, the panic that crossed Jack’s face when I mentioned Brandy at the party—he wasn’t covering for the cheating Brad, he was covering for himself so yours truly wouldn’t catch on.  And what was he doing in January for three weeks when we didn’t see each other?  Brandy prattled on but I couldn’t hear anymore.

It was all there, weeks of arguing and knowing something wasn’t quite right, weeks of feeling like an outsider looking in, only to have the simple truth revealed in the time it took to smoke one cigarette.

“You know, I would like a cigarette,” I told her.

She smiled.  “Ah!  Now that’s what I’m talking about!  I’ll join you,” she said, grabbing the pack and pushing in the car’s lighter.  “I think we’re going to be good friends!”

We smoked together, she in her reckless cigarette-swinging style and me in my don’t-drop-it-it’ll-catch-the-upholstery-on-fire way.  I fought the urge to cough until my eyes watered.  I hadn’t had a cigarette since college when my roommate and I would go out for happy hour and end up staying to close down the bar.  After that many drinks, I was a good smoker.

I now found I was an unnatural smoker when sober, my hands were shaking, and I was trying to remember whether nicotine steadied that or made it worse.  But the cigarette was something else to concentrate on for the moment, something other than all the information I now had.  One thing I could tell you, I was starting to like Brandy…

~

For the final cut of Upside Down Kingdom, click on over to Amazon.

The Circle’s Influence

When describing my crazy life in D.C. to a friend of mine years ago, she remarked how she had no idea how I could live there. That’s pretty much how Upside Down Kingdom got started. 

Living in Washington, D.C., and specifically in Dupont Circle, taught me not to judge others but to accept everybody the way they are, good and bad, and love them for it. I learned to open up, and I learned to let go.

I knew then that I would carry a part of the Circle with me always, that I was forever changed. I wrote it all down, in the hopes that others would feel what I felt.

Upside Down Kingdom is my own love letter to Dupont Circle and the things that I learned there. Pick it up if you get the chance, and drop me a line and let me know what you think.

-J.B.

Oh, Writers!

I received a card from my friend and former boss, Mr. French, today. (Well, it probably came a couple days ago, but I’m lousy about checking the box.) His familiar handwriting brought back great memories of him, his ideas, and his humor. I put him in my first book, Upside Down Kingdom, as the witty head-of-the-helm, Mr. Watters. This is one of my favorite Mr. Watters scenes. While it’s fiction, it did mostly happen. With Upside Down Kingdom, the closer you got to the truth, the more bizarre it got. Be sure to check out Amy’s reaction to a promotion, which is not fiction. Oh, writers!

…

“Amy, I want you to start doing the newsletters on your own from now on,” Mr. Watters said. “I think Chad’s input is getting in the way. And the company is prepared to compensate you for this extra work.”

“Really?” I was braced for the worst and maybe this was it. I wasn’t being fired after all, not being set free, forced to abandon my lease, rid of hearing Chad complain about me every day. I was being given a raise.

“Thank you. I’ve already got a jumpstart on the newsletter,” I assured him.

“I figured as much. Chad has been reporting to me how difficult it is to work with you on the newsletters. But when I ask you to draft letters or anything of the kind for me, they’re always top-notch. Then Chad comes to me with some changes, and I could tell these changes had ‘Amy’ written all over them. I let him play his game. But taking credit for someone else’s ideas, that’s a no-no. That’s why he’s in Brussels right now.”

“What do you mean?”

He laughed. “It’s a little ploy Harvey and I invented. This week as you know, the House is set to vote on the retail legislation. There are two key Members that we have to sway our way. Harvey and his team have one, and I’m working with the Hill office on the other. But with Chad following my every step, calling the Hill office every hour for updates, wanting to talk about the upcoming election predictions, it’s a nuisance and a distraction. The kid needed a vacation, so I sent him to one of Harvey’s cousins in Brussels for a ruse.”

“A ruse?”

“He’s going to pitch Watters and Company to Larson Jones, Ted Harvey’s cousin, and get a week out of my sight in the process.”

“You just paid for him to have a vacation?” This was ludicrous and I couldn’t help it, “Send me on vacation!”

“I can’t do that. You’d enjoy yourself. Chad’s not going to have any fun—it’s not his way.”

~

Thank you, Mr. French, for a great walk down memory lane!