Talent Show.

February 9, 2023 By danabowmancreative Leave a Comment

This is a throwback post from February 7, 2020 on Momsieblog. I thought it made a lot of sense to re-publish today. I received a few snarky comments lately on social media and I have to admit, they stung.

But we creatives? We just keep on creating. The snarky audience might always be there (oh why are there so many folks out there who seem to really love tearing other folks down?), but so is your God-given talent. I wonder which one is more important?

——-

Things At Which I am Talented:

Making sure prepositions don’t go at the end of sentences
Writing really wonky sentences
Understanding addiction
Understanding relapse
Understanding my own story is wonky but it’s the best one I’ve got
Reading reviews that weren’t thrilled with my books and then obsessing
Reading over my own writing and then thinking, “Hey, this is not that bad. Back off, people. Jeez.”
Writing really really badly some of the time
Writing some good stuff, some of the time
Figuring out how to finally turn off the humidifier in our living room which refused to turn off after I pushed the Power button like fifteen times and it would NOT, I SWEAR turn off and decided it was kind of possessed but then I just googled it because isn’t that what everyone does now and I get it and feel a tiny private moment of triumph each and every time I turn off something and hey, I take triumph where I can get it.
Run on sentences.
Repeating my children’s names so often that it ends up sounding like I’m a rapper and therefore so very cool. Sorta.
Pointedly ignoring parenting articles that tell you not to repeat your children’s names endlessly because it supposedly trains them to ignore and then you have horrible children. Pfft. My rapper name is Biggie Sighs, btw.
Having faith in my parenting. It’s terrifically wonky and it’s all I have.
Having faith in my God because without him all of it is wonky. All. Of. It.
Having very little faith in anything else. SURRENDER, DOROTHY.
Leftover night.
Collecting boxes and then tossing them down in the basement where crickets go to die. I have a thing for boxes. Every time we get an amazon delivery, I caress the box and think, “Oooo. What a nice box. I should keep it,” and then down it goes. And now our basement looks like one of those hoarders episodes. But only the basement, so it’s ok. You never know when you’re gonna need a nice box.
Tangents.
Just plugging along. Acting as if. Doing the next right thing. All of that business.

Recently, I made the silly mistake of reading negative reviews. I have written two books, and that in itself is a miracle. A straight-up gift from God. But sometimes… I like to torture myself and try to make all the people like me all of the time.

Also this: Did you know, snarky review writers, that there is a HUMAN behind the book that you didn’t like? Did you know that?

Sometimes my writing is solid. Sometimes it’s not. And that just really makes me nuts. I write about my own life, so when people don’t like it? It’s tough. It’s like standing in front of a crowd and having some people point and shrug. “Meh,” they say. “I quit half way through.”

Yep. That was a tough one.

So, this morning, as I was praying in my laundry room (my prayer closet) I came to this conclusion: My talent (or lack thereof) is not my own. It started out as God’s and then he funneled it my way. Just poured it on me, and said, “Go write about getting sober and see if you can help.” And, like so many things about faith and following, sometimes I grip onto it and say, “Mine.“

Not mine. Not perfect. Not for everyone. Not easy. And not ever enough.

Talent is tough.

But so am I.

Migraines and other remedies for my brain.

January 17, 2023 By danabowmancreative Leave a Comment

There are times when my brain tells me it’s time to head out.

It’s a stilted conversation because often I am in another room, picking socks up off the floor. Or there’s spawn asking me where the snacks are, and if we could just eat bacon for dinner (just… bacon. nothing else) and I tend to just crane my neck and make quick eye contact with my brain in that “I’ll get to you in a min” look. I use that look also for things like:

People who call me instead of texting. I don’t understand.
Small repairs in my house that would take literally like 4 minutes but won’t get done until we move.
My husband. Always the husband. It’s a mutual understanding.
Kale.

My brain, after a bit of this, tends to hunker down into a place of mild disassociation that is pleasant and yet also ominous but that’s how I like to live my life I guess.

And then finally… my brain shrugs and says, “Well. I think it’s time for a migraine” and whammo. I finally decide to listen.

Except now I can’t listen because when I have a migraine listening (or seeing. or talking) is not available to me. They are faraway skills that are packed up in a red haze that is migraining.

In third grade, we had terrariums of hermit crabs in our classroom and one time I was trying to bond with my hermit crab, and I picked it up in my palm and its response to this was to pinch down on the skin between my thumb and forefinger. It would not let go. It did not want to bond. It wanted to sever some arteries.

We poured water on it and tapped its shell and I stared at it with growing panic as I realized the hermit crab and I were now one. I was too freaked out to process anything except that it hurt and my friends finally gave up and I just sat down, attached, and terrified. That’s kinda how it feels when I migraine comes.

That’s kind of a lousy analogy because migraines hurt more than Hermie did.

There are times in my life (kinda all the time) where I get super busy, with all sorts of deadlines and to-do lists and lots of stuff going on, and for the most part I’m ok. But sometimes I forget one small fact: My brain has feelings too. I can pack it all full of information and responsibilities and not forgetting to buy creamer at the store, but once in a while it wants to talk about its feelings. I think it wants to sit outside with me on the back stoop and say things like,

“What if I can’t do all this stuff very well at all?”

“What if this is all there is? These lists? The creamer? Forgetting the creamer?”

“Is time always going to be an opponent now? And when did that happen? I don’t remember what it was like before.”

“What if… What if I’m not good enough?”

Ignoring these conversations results in me having to sleep with four pillows on my head. So, when I finally can come up for air, post-migraine, God says things like, “Perhaps you should take a few things off that list, Dana. And also, I think bacon, and only bacon, for dinner sounds delicious. Vegetables can wait. And if they get slimy it’s the circle of life.”

Will I learn from this? Probably not. It’s the circle of life. I’ll manage myself, do the healthy things, make sure to get a run in, and get proper rest and do creative things… and then I’ll forget all that and get too busy and my brain and I will grow apart. Maybe writing about it here will help set a place for this. Maybe.

But what I can do is what I managed the morning after the migraine where I walked, a bit wobbly, down the hall to get a drink of water and look in the mirror. Hair wisping out on all sides. Eyes squinty. My head felt like a glass ornament and I held it very carefully on my shoulders. I looked at my reflection, all wobbly and fragile, and I took a breath. And I thought (or God thought in me):

“You are enough.”

Here you go: My Annual Top Ten Thankfuls!

November 24, 2022 By danabowmancreative 3 Comments

I don’t really remember how long this tradition goes back in my blog. I know I’ve been posting my thankfuls wayyyy back on Momsie (the blog that started it all). Here’s one that I wrote the PROVES BRIAN AND I ARE STILL MARRIED , which was an exciting read. Also, there’s lots of badly lit pictures of Steve on that post, so there you go. Biggie Meows ALWAYS was on my thankful list, and yes I still miss him.

And as one who really understands the concept of gratitude (being in recovery is an automatic pass into Land Of The Super Grateful because we can’t help ourselves. We’ve made it out alive, after all. Not everybody gets to be so lucky) I LOVE to post my Top Ten Thankfuls. It just makes me happy.

So away we go:

10. New opportunities. I am currently working on getting certified to become a book coach with these folks. The program is a LOT. Like, I think it will take me about six months if not longer to get there. There’s homework. My sons and I work together now, muttering and typing (why do muttering and typing always seem to go together?) But the program is exciting as it is rigorous, and as a writing instructor AND a writer, I think it will be a perfect fit.

9. Running. I’ve been running at least three times a week now. I started out walking every other block, and now I am able to run it all. 🙂 I’m proud of myself for this. Last year, I had pretty much decided running was no longer possible, but I really missed it. I missed the feeling of my feet on the pavement, and that glorious and painful sprint at the end. I missed the cold mornings. So, look at me, running again. It’s a flipping miracle. Also, on the days that my run feels like I’m jogging through peanut butter I’m going to go back and read this post to, uh, adjust my attitude. I think that should be a new hashtag, btw. #peanutbutterrun

8. Um… my health? I don’t know how to sum this up, but this past year health-wise has been, to say the least, challenging. Hearing issues have been a big problem. I have tinnitus, and so my ears are always doing this weird shrieky thing (Have you seen Dumb and Dumber? The most annoying sound in the world? Yea, that. (By the way, I have actually never seen Dumb and Dumber in its entirety. My husband, however, has seen it multiple times. This pretty much sums up our marriage.) And then there’s menopause, where your hormones attack you and make you feel crazy about it. At one point, about 8 months ago, I wondered if this was just it. If I was going to feel like crud forever. Guess what? I am indeed not going to feel like crud forever! I am crud-free about 75% of the time! It’s fabulous!

7. Steve. There, I said it again. I’m grateful for him, and how much I loved him, and that my eyes still tear up pretty much anytime I think about him. I am grateful I loved my big boi so much. He was my furry muse.

6. And so… Rey.

She’s trying very hard to come in between me and my laptop.

Rey has been a great comfort to me while I grieve for Sir Meows a Lot. She comes over and presses herself up against me, and then tries to crawl in my lap which is awkward because the girl can take up SPACE. I admire her confidence. I always imagine she’s just sort of softly muttering as she attempts the lap-sneak, all “Pardon me… say… I might sit… don’t mind me I’m just gonna.., yes, HERE we go… oopsie, ok, just gonna squeeze through while I… ” and voila! Really uncomfortable cuddles! Watch this vid to get a glimpse of it in action. It is a thing of beauty.

5. My husband.

His name is Brian and he is often mentioned here. I wrote pages and pages about him in both my books. He’s a never-ending fountain of somewhat annoying but well-loved material. When I did stand-up last summer, 99.8 % of my material was under the heading: WHY. HE KEEPS DOING THIS and it was a hit. The best part is he sat there during the set and laughed too. That’s because he is generous and loving and has a lot of patience, which come to find out is shockingly necessary when you’re married to me.

4. It seems rather like I should put my sons in here too. Right? Right.

My fourteen-year old is now as tall as I am, and he is learning to drive. While this is occuring (the driving not the height), and I have the misfortune of actually being in the car with him at the same time, I have learned to practice deep-breathing and what I like to call “Shrieky-whisper-prayer-driving.” Charlie is smart and focused and will probably run a large corporation one day because his absolute passion in life is telling other people what to do. So, go forth and boss people around, my son. I adore you.

My twelve-year old, Henry, smiles and winks at me about 67% of the time as he gets out of the car to go to school. He is also smart and driven and won’t ever run a large corporation because he doesn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. He dreams of making it into the Air Force and flying planes. Without hurting anyone’s feelings. He has the attention span of a a very nice squirrel toddler on crack, but I forgive him because also he really loves my cooking. I adore you.

3. Sayings like: It’s always darkest before the dawn.

What doesn’t kill you will make you stronger.

We’re gonna keep on, keep on, keep on, keep on dancing all through the night.
We’re gonna keep on, keep on, keep on doing it right (Ok, I stole that from the Brady Bunch).

If this year had been a motivational poster, I’m the kitten.

I mean… I guess there are worse things.

Who else had this poster ?? My sister had it on her wall 🙂

Here’s the thing. It is actually pretty dark before the dawn. But then, WHAMMMO. Dawn happens. Like every day.

And, I am strong. I was doing a plank earlier and Rey came and laid ON me (Again with the “lemme just… pardon me… I’m just going to sit right on here… “) so I’m basically ready for an Ironman.

And there has been some grooving in my life lately. A lot in fact. I can’t help it. I just can’t help it.

2. Yellow Converse.

Through the magic of Tiktok (something I thought I would never hear myself say, tbh) I have found funky, colorful, creative women who thrift weird art and like to play around with clothes. Sometimes they even pair (*gasp) plaids with stripes. The whole #wearwhatyoulove thing is a hashtag I can get behind. It started when I had to get more headshots for speaking things, and I decided to bring two pairs of shoes: pointy serious ones or my yellow converse. My photographer asked me, “Which ones make you feel more like you?” Yellow converse it is. It seemed, at the time, an audacious move. But then I asked myself, “What Would Brene Do?” and I wore them. And from there, it’s been a joyride into color and texture and just loving the creativity of it all.

1. Faith. Both in God and in humanity. Perhaps this won’t make sense to some of you. Some might feel like faith is a cliche. Or a speck of something, insignificant or annoying. Some might thing also that humanity has been circling the Great Toilet Bowl of Life for a while now (social media really has a handle on that and I really do hope you saw what I did there). I completely agree. As one who has found my faith shooketh all over the place in the past year, which also, not so very coincidentally, cracked open my Pollyanna-ish views of people in high places… it’s been a lot. It’s been hard. I have been frustrated and overwhelmed and at one point, I just told God I was mad at him and I wanted to break up. I’d been duped. I didn’t sign up for this. I wanted my flannel-graph Jesus back.

But, Jesus persisted. In his most human and godlike form (no flannel unless hipster Jesus?), he sat with me through it all. And then he walked with me, read with me, prayed with me. He didn’t give up on me. I’m not going to give up on him.

Besides. He helped me get sober and for that I owe him my life. Just my life. Nothing more.

So, there you go! My Top Ten Thankfuls. I would like to add one more as a bonus. It’s my blog and I can do what I want:

You. I am grateful for you, my dear reader. You are such a blessing to me.

Have a very Happy Thanksgiving and remember:

#eatdessertfirst

Waddle on, my sober friends. I am grateful for you. You know who you are 🙂

Steve the Sobriety Cat

August 29, 2022 By danabowmancreative 1 Comment

So, Steve died three weeks ago.

And I’m not gonna say “he passed” or “we lost him” because, well, he died and it was just awful.

Is it fair to say that Steve was my soulmate? Perhaps. When I talk this way about him to my husband, Brian gets a bit blinky and tends to sort of clam up, but I think Brian’s OK with it. I have used other terms about Steve around Brian – words like, “he is my everything” and “he’s the wind beneath my wings” and so far Brian has been good about it. I mean, let’s face it, Brian has to be good about it right now because Steve just died, and arguing with me about my grief and affection for the Biggie Paws would a big fat marital no-no.

I miss my sweet Steve so much. I really do. I just have to say it.

I have written about Steve a lot. He has an entire chapter dedicated to him in my first book, Bottled – because Steve helped me get sober. YES he did and don’t argue. If you are in recovery, and you have a sobriety pet, THIS MAKES TOTAL SENSE.

In fact, if you look closely, this website has a whole page dedicated to the deliciousness that was Sir Meows A Lot.

My heart is still grieving and I think it will always. He was just that good of a cat. So, in the style of Judith Viorst (she’s one of my favorite authors ever) – here is:

The Tenth Good Thing About Steve

Steve was a weighted blanket. Anxious? He’d clamber up on you, purring, and weigh you down with girth and love.
Steve had a really big head. And body. All of him, actually. But petting his large, soft noggin was… substantial. Yes, there will be numerous points here that will mention his circumference.
In the morning, when I would head downstairs to get my coffee, my two dogs and Steve would all thump downstairs too. I used to think of it as the “Running of the Pets.” It made a lot of noise and there was some jostling. But Steve always managed to be first. Watching his large white haunches hustle down those stairs always made me smile. Steve did love his brekkie.
You could actually hear Steve jump down from a bed or a perch upstairs if someone was at the door. He was loud. He made himself known. And he needed to say hello.
Steve had a deep love for anyone who had a cat allergy. He would lay on this person (or try to) and look up at him with adoration. “I will change you,” his eyes would say. “Shhhhhhhh, my love. Allergies, shmallergies.” I always kind of judged the ones who would manage to shoo him away (Steve was persistent – usually three attempts were made). Steve and I would make eye contact and I would give a tiny nod. That person was now dead to us.
Steve did not give any f–cks. Ever. About anything.
When Steve was sick a few years ago (he had surgery – it was a lot) I slept with him in the bathroom one night because I didn’t want him to be alone. At one point he reached out his paw and just set it on my face, and I knew he appreciated the company.
Steve often would crawl up on Brian at night. Brian, a man who often has refereed to cats as *rats with more fur* would be hypnotized by Steve’s slow blinks and succumb to scritching him behind his ears for as long as Steve graced him with his presence. If Steve was a cult, then sign me up.
If anyone was ever crying in our house, Steve would show up and slowly climb up on him (Or her. Me, ok? It was often me). His warmth made it better of course, but also his look of, “Brah, why you crying? I am here. It’s chill dude. Life is hard but I am soft.” He was, as I have referred to in my book, the Jeff Spicoli of cats.

And 10. Steve was, as all pets are, generous with his love, his time, and his softness. All he wanted was food, cuddles, and a sunny spot to sleep, and I shall miss him every day.

*To clarify – my husband is not a monster. Also, rats actually make great pets.

Life is hard. Steve was soft. May we all have a Steve.

Who I was, what happened, and who I am now. With PICTURES!!

August 18, 2022 By danabowmancreative Leave a Comment

Trying to be brave and posting bare-faced.

So, it’s kind of hard to sum up addiction. Why do some folks get addicted to things… and others don’t?

I have no idea. For many years, when I first got sober, I asked myself, “Why can’t I drink? Why ME?”

Um, because I’m an alcoholic.

Yes, I know it’s circular reasoning, which, if you are a writing teacher is kind of a big no-no. But in this case? I’ll take it. I take “circular reasoning” and I’ll raise you a “Genetics are a part but there’s so much more” and leave it at that.

In the wise words of the epic rock legend, Avril Lavigne, “Why’d you have to make things so complicated?”

Because life. Life tends to be tricky.

So… I decided to share my recovery story with you…

BUT WITH PICTURES!

We begin at the beginning but more like my 20’s.

2. **This was a thing with me, and I didn’t really know it was a thing until much later. But I’m pretty sure I had a real issue with depression and anxiety from early on. I just ignored it.**

3. I never actually did the splits when depressed. I didn’t do the splits at other times either.
In my life, I don’t do the splits. I have learned that about myself.

4. **That’s me on the right. I’m mopping the floor. Generally speaking? I had the cleanest dorm room in the four state area.**

**And so… I present to you… *(drum roll please)**

And wine worked.

Until it didn’t.

Stay tuned for the rest of the story where I get sober. WITH PICTURES!