Nadine Feldman, Author

celebrating strong female characters and whatever else strikes my fancy

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The War of Art: Winning the Inner Creative Battle by Steven Pressfield

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First, I must apologize to the blogger who brought this book to my attention. I read a number of blogs and did not note where this recommendation came from. If you’re out there and happen to read this, let me know and I will give you proper acknowledgement. In the immortal words of Texas Governor and Presidential wannabe Rick Perry, “Oops.”

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With this blog, I hope to encourage women, especially those of us who are 50+, to go for our dreams. For me, that means writing my books, but yours may be different. When I share information, even if it’s aimed at writers, I think it may work for a broader spectrum of people. I think that The War of Art by Steven Pressfield is one of those books. It even seems natural, after writing last week about my current weight loss journey, to discuss The War of Art next…yes, I think it can help with weight loss, too.

Let’s face it. Regardless of our dream or vision for our lives, we will have challenges. We get on the scale and see a plateau. We work hard on a book and struggle to find a publisher or, if we self-publish, struggle to find readers. My late mother-in-law Jenny, a fine artist, gave up on trying to display her work and ended up making it only for herself.

Steven Pressfield also had his share of disappointments and even disasters as a writer. A film he made with great pride and excitement bombed. He was left in the lobby of an agent who had sent him out to wait, then forgot about him…and that happened when he was in his 40s, after years of having manuscripts go nowhere.

Yet this author of The Legend of Bagger Vance and other novels persevered. Not only did he succeed, but in The War of Art he tells us wannabes how to persevere as well.

The first phase of the book talks about Resistance. Often, when we are working toward a goal, we will find ourselves struggling to meet it. We get busy doing other things. We run out of money. We decide that our work sucks and we shouldn’t bother. Pressfield would argue that whenever we find ourselves straying from that goal, we are encountering our Resistance. Often that resistance gets stronger as we get closer to our goal.

Think of it, ladies. For those of you who have given birth, isn’t there a moment toward the end, just before that beautiful child comes into the world, where you say to yourself something like, “I can’t do this!”? It happened for me as my daughter was starting to move into the birth canal. I announced that I couldn’t give birth, and I was ready right then for the C-section. She came out a few minutes later. Though this metaphor is mine, I think the ultimate creative process — birth — carries within it these elements of resistance that Pressfield writes about.

Writing about weight loss last week, I mentioned my fear of success. Someone asked me recently, “Why do we do that?” What a great question! Pressfield discusses the fear of success at length in his book, a culprit for many a creative person. I cringe at the ways I’ve sabotaged success over the years — sending out queries with typos, not following up on leads, not accepting help that was offered.

So what’s the answer to the question of “Why do we do that?” I have no idea. If we want to handle our resistance and fear, though, what if we tweaked the question? Let’s switch the “why” to “how,” and we may be on to something.

“How do we do that?” We stop writing. We eat the whole darn pie and give up on our diets. We fill our lives with food/drink/sex/work and all other manner of methods to avoid doing what our souls would have us do. Then we can move on to, “How do we NOT do that?” This is what Pressfield’s second section is about.

The second section is a blueprint for professionalism. For a writer who deals with periodic discouragement such as myself, it means getting butt in chair and writing, even if we think it sucks, and especially if we think it sucks. If we’re going back to school, signing up for the next semester can give us a moment of peace. If we want to lose weight, then taking a walk or preparing a lovely but healthful meal helps us stay on track. We listen to our fears, our pain, and our desire for self-sabotage, but we make a decision to do the opposite. In other words, we, in the words of Dr. Phil, behave our way to success. When we do the work that our soul needs, we feel nourished inside. Easy? Hell, no. But I think of a song by Tim McGraw in which he sings, “Temptations may come, that ain’t no sin. You get stronger every time that you don’t give in.”

In part three, Pressfield gets more spiritual. He points out the mysterious thing that happens when we do what our soul longs for. Something happens. The story we struggle with starts to open up and characters start telling US what they’re going to do. After several weeks of a plateau, our body’s metabolism suddenly kicks into gear and we start losing weight. We want to sign up for that conference that we can’t afford, and we end up getting a scholarship or benefactor to help us pay for it.  Our wishful thinking alone doesn’t bring about change, but our longing combined with action creates opportunities.

I read The War of Art during a time of deep self-doubt. As I’ve worked on Blood and Loam, a novel that pushes every button I have inside of me, I wanted to quit. Pressfield reminded me that it’s just my resistance, and the more powerful the resistance, the more I need to finish. Oh, yeah, that again! So I sat down and went back to work…and I will finish the novel. If I need a little help, I’ll just go read The War of Art one more time.

I’m Buried in Books — What a Way to Go!

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I’m buried in books today. Surrounding me are piles of The Foreign Language of Friends as I ready them for book contests. Entry forms are accompanied by stacks of one, two, or three copies, depending on the requirements of the contest. It’s a busy time of year, with plenty of deadlines early on. I also got the crazy notion a few days ago to enter Blood & Loam into Amazon’s Breakthrough Novel Award contest. That means getting all the polishing done in the next few weeks, all while I have to leave my home periodically to let possible buyers parade through. I tell myself I must be crazy, but I have made it a rule to follow my intuition at all times, so I’m up for the challenge!

On my iPad, via Kindle, I’m reading Twin-Bred by Karen Wyle, a wonderful sci-fi book. In Wyle’s fictional world, humans are cohabiting a planet with a species called Tofa, and prejudice and miscommunication abound. In a special project, human and Tofa babies are gestated in host mothers as twins, in the hopes that the special twin bond will help the two species learn how to bridge their differences. It’s a good read, and I especially love the scenes of the little kids as they start to grow up and play, acting like the little kids they are, and not the world saviors they’re expected to become.

Karen is part of my online writing group, the Blooming Late gals of She Writes. If you’re a woman over 40, come on over and visit if you get a chance. There’s a lot of talent in this group!

In addition, Julia Cameron’s new book, The Prosperous Heart, came out last week. Like her masterwork The Artist’s Way, the new book offers simple exercises to unblock us, this time from blocks to prosperity. Though the use of money is examined, this is more a book about feeling that sense of having “enough” in our lives.

I bought it mainly because I want Julia to keep doing what she’s doing, but I didn’t think there would be much for me. I was wrong. These gentle but powerful exercises are already starting to unlock parts of my brain, giving me new and surprising ideas for marketing my work as well as the work of other writers who deserve to have readers find them. Though Cameron’s process is spiritual, it is also practical, which appeals to my active left brain. The book does NOT promote positive thinking, but rather positive action. As I go along, I’ll keep you posted on my progress with this 12-week program.

Speaking of positive thinking, Barbara Ehrenreich, author of the laudable Nickel and Dimed, has written some not-so-positive things about the positive thinking movement that now pervades our workplaces, churches, and financial institutions in her book Bright-Sided: How the Relentless Promotion of Positive Thinking is Undermining America. In coming days, I’ll write more about this book, which I’m still “chewing” on. I don’t agree with all of it, but she makes some excellent points that are worth examining.

Finally, as I promised last week, I’ll write more about Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles. Last week, when I wrote about my weight loss intentions for the year, some readers resonated with my fear of success. “Why do we do that?” a reader asked. Well, maybe we can figure that out. Pressfield’s book provides a great foundation for examining this block, which seems particularly difficult for women. Whether we’re losing weight, writing books, or have other goals, Pressfield’s advice can help us move beyond self-sabotage.

At any rate, these and other books that I’m reading should make for some lively discussion. What are you reading?

Homecoming: A Novel By Sue Ann Bowling

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I only knew about Homecoming because its author, Sue Ann Bowling, is in my online writing group. I read it because I want to read everything my buddies are writing…but wow, what a pleasant surprise! Surprise because Homecoming falls under the category of science fiction, a genre I seldom read.

Bowling has the science chops, with degrees in physics and geophysics, but the real strength of her writing comes from her characterizations — which is the main reason I’m including it here on this blog as a recommended book. While some may be put off initially by the otherworldliness of the setting, Bowling does a good job of explaining her imaginary world, leaving us with what is simply a great story. My advice to readers: hang with it and enjoy the journey. Anything that doesn’t make sense at first will be explained! In other words, you don’t have to like sci fi to enjoy this book.

Homecoming centers around the story of Snowy, a young slave boy who has suffered unfathomable abuse at the hands of his masters. Snowy has unusual abilities and gifts that he works hard to keep a secret. As events unfold that move him toward freedo, his biggest challenge is overcoming the mental and psychological effects of the slavery. Sweet and beautiful, loyal to his friends, and yet deeply wounded, Snowy’s journey is a touching one.

Help comes in the form of unlikely heroes: Derik, who, after a wild past, still struggles with inner demons; Lai, one of the few survivors of a race of people with special gifts, whose love for, and loss of, a woman named Cloudy has left him eternally bereft; and Marna, whose identity I will keep shrouded rather than spoil too much of the story. At the same time, Snowy will have to fight for respect, and his enemies are powerful, including Lai’s son, Zhaim. It won’t be easy!

My only caution regarding this book is its scenes, though not overly graphic, of sexual abuse and violence. These are essential to the story and help the reader get into the mindset of slaves and slave owners, and so are not gratuitous in any way.

I hope that we will see much more of Snowy in the future! Bowling’s next novel, Tourist Trap, continues the saga, and I look forward to reading it as well.

For more information on Sue Ann, visit her website at http://sueannbowling.com/. Who knows? Maybe I’ll end up a fan of sci fi after all.

Thursday Books & Blogs

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Good morning! As we prepare for another visit to our future hometown, we are also in the midst of listing our Houston house for sale. This morning the photographer comes, so the house is eerily tidy. The new house deal remains alive at this time — yay! Yeah, I’ve made peace with whatever happens, as I mentioned yesterday, but I won’t kid you. It’s a cool house, and I really hope it works out. We’ll see!

This coming weekend is my birthday weekend (Sunday is the day!), and I’ve given myself the present of taking a yoga workshop with the legendary Angela Farmer. Angela, now over 70, has been a dynamic force in expanding “feminine” yoga, yoga that expands on ancient traditions taught primarily by males for males. I took a class from her back in 2004 during a conference, and I treasure several moments from that class. I also thought it would be a great way to meet some people in the community in an intimate setting.

By the way, if you like yoga and haven’t seen the Yogawoman DVD, I highly recommend it. Angela Farmer appears in this video as one of many female yoga pioneers.

In books, this past week I finished The Time Travel Journals: Shipbuilder by Marleen Dotterer. The shipbuilder refers to Thomas Andrews, who oversaw the building of the Titanic. In this captivating tale, Sam Altair, a scientist experimenting with time travel, accidentally sends himself back to 19o6. Worse, he unwittingly takes with him Casey Wilson, a university student. I won’t go into how they connect to Andrews, but I will tell you that Dotterer handles time travel in a way I haven’t seen before. Altair and Wilson, rather than trying to avoid changing history, actively work to do so. The tension builds gradually to a powerful climax, and there’s a sweet love story, too! I loved it, and I hope you will, too.

Here’s another treat for you: The Art of an Improbable Life, a blog by Becky Green Aaronson and her husband, Jeffrey, who have created for themselves a unique, rich life that spans the globe. In this blog, you’ll find gorgeous photos and interesting essays. This week’s post shares the story of Lori Robinson, “Africa’s Beautiful Bag Lady,” and it’s a good one. Check it out if you get a chance.

I’m going to suspend Friday Fiction for now, but it will  return sometime after the holiday season. I’m currently revising Blood and Loam and will start posting it once I feel that it’s ready for viewing. Unfortunately, it’s been taking me longer than I expected! This has been a difficult, challenging novel to write, requiring more research than what I’m used to and punching all my personal buttons. If I can pull it off, it will be a fascinating book, but it’s demanding more of me as a writer than anything I’ve ever done.

Have a great weekend! Next week I’ll be sharing adventures from Washington State — I’ll try to include plenty of pics.

Spontaneous Happiness by Dr. Andrew Weil

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Now that the holiday season is upon us, some of us may be in a funk. The holiday blues are so prevalent that they are almost a cliche. Years ago, when I volunteered at a crisis hotline, the phone lines were busy in the month of December! So, what do we do? If you’re like many Americans, you may be running to your doctor for a course of antidepressant medication.

Depression is a real problem in our society, and those whose lives are compromised by depression may need medication. I don’t want to imply that depressed people don’t need medical treatment — it can be lifesaving.

However, Dr. Andrew Weil, in his new book Spontaneous Happiness, suggests that those of us who have mild to moderate depression try non-drug treatments first. He expresses a concern (and I agree with him) that people are turning to antidepressant medication when they are experiencing normal sadness, such as when a loved one dies or when they are diagnosed with illness. It feels as though we think we should be happy all the time, and when we’re not, we’re doing something wrong!

I learned of the brilliant Dr. Weil many years ago in my search for physical health. Dr. Weil, as many of you know, is a pioneer in the field of integrative medicine, where traditional medicine is blended with nutrition, exercise, breath, and other holistic methods to create increased health and well-being.

What many of us didn’t know is that Dr. Weil has experienced dysthemia, a low to moderate level of depression, on many occasions over the years. In Spontaneous Happiness, Dr. Weil combines scientific study with his own personal experience to create an intimate and thoughtful book about depression and anxiety. As I read it, I felt as though I had found a kindred spirit, a fellow introverted writer whose creativity leaves him vulnerable to depressive episodes. His attempts to balance necessary social interaction with his need for solitude caused me to nod my head in understanding. Like Dr. Weil, I am prone to reclusiveness and have to work at getting out and being with people. Even my kindergarten report card reports this attribute!

Harvard-educated, Dr. Weil approaches research with an analytical mind, offering solutions that, in his view, meet rigorous criteria. For example, he notes that St. John’s Wort has been shown ineffective at treating major depression — but in many studies, is useful for mild to moderate depression. This information can help a confused reader sort out treatment options available.

Readers familiar with Weil’s work will recognize many of the tried and true remedies he recommends: plenty of Omega 3 fish oil and Vitamin D, for example. For some time now, hubby and I have included weekly servings of wild-caught salmon in our diets to ensure that we get plenty of Omega 3s. Weil also indicates that he is working on the sustainability issue by working to develop algae-based sources of Omega 3s that will hopefully protect salmon populations.

Diet, exercise, daily breathing exercises, meditation, social interaction, and thoughtful use of supplements provide the cornerstone of Dr. Weil’s program. After several chapters designed to provide a foundation for understanding, he offers an eight-week program to improve mood. It’s safe and it’s sensible. Though I know and practice most of the principles, I did learn a few tricks that may help me. More than anything, though, I felt less alone. Thumbs up to Dr. Weil! I loved the book.

 

 

 

 

Free Friday Fiction: The Foreign Language of Friends, Ch. 9

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Boats on the Water
A perfect day!

Good morning, everyone! Greetings again from Washington State. We seem to have found the “perfect” house. We saw it online first and were excited about it, but this time the pictures actually match the hype! Of course, there’s the little matter of selling the house in Houston, but that’s another story. In the meantime, these photos are a little gift ordered up by the local chamber of commerce. 🙂

PT Full Moon
Full moon reflecting on the water

Meanwhile, the ladies at The Foreign Language of Friends are getting more stressed out about their lives. In this chapter, Ellen starts to recognize the value of having someone to talk to. If you’re just joining this blog, I post new chapters each Friday…or, you can purchase the entire book for the low, low price of $1.99 on Amazon.com! A print version will be available soon.

CHAPTER NINE – JUNE 28

After the latest emergency room scare, Ellen’s father returned to the nursing home, his hip not broken, though he was badly bruised. She re­minded herself that the fall was not serious, but it didn’t ease her worries. She spent the bulk of the day working on the new writing job, then de­cided to visit her parents to make sure they were okay. Part of her wanted to keep working and avoid facing them, but her sense of duty overruled. She scolded herself for her resentment. After all, she no longer had to care for them 24/7, right? Yet she felt bone weary. Though she had always assumed she would have children, she felt relieved not to have that responsibility, too. Just an hour, she told herself. Go see them for an hour. You owe them that much. Eventually, she coaxed herself outside, to the car, and over to The Venice.

Taking a deep breath, she opened one of the ornate double doors and went inside. She listened to the sound of her shoes clop, clop, clopping on the shiny floors. She regretted changing from her usual shorts and tank top to a slacks outfit with pumps, wishing she didn’t feel the need to impress the staff. Did she really think that dressing up would make her look like a better daughter, not some mean ungrateful child who put her parents away?

The building nearly shouted its scrubbed bacterial-free environ­ment. Sunlight streamed in, some of it shining in the eyes of the residents, whose wheelchairs hadn’t moved since after breakfast. They were lined up along the walls, staring vacantly ahead, many of them restrained, and no one seeming to pay attention to anything but their own mysterious inner thoughts. From time to time one of the residents screamed. Even so, the entire staff looked oh so cheerful, and how was she today, and wasn’t it a great day? Ellen wanted to throw up.

Heading toward her parents’ room, she reminded herself to be grate­ful. The Venice offered her parents care that Ellen was ill-equipped to pro­vide. Cleaning women bustled up and down the halls all day. Her parents were fed well, with meals far more sumptuous than Ellen could ever conceive of, much less execute. It ought to be good, for all this place costs. Thankfully, her parents had lived a frugal lifestyle, so staying in the home was not a problem. They had always played by the rules, working hard, sacrificing, putting away for a rainy day. She wished they had saved a little less and celebrated life a little more. They had always planned to travel but never did, and by the time they were ready Mother’s disease had robbed them of their opportunity. Her father gave up after that, leaving Ellen to suddenly play the role of parent to the people who had raised her.

She found them side by side, in their wheelchairs, holding hands, smiling like shy children who have fallen in love for the first time. Ellen breathed a sigh of relief. At least they knew each other today.

“How are you doing, guys?” she asked, keeping her voice bright and cheery. Must be the effect of this place, she thought. I’m starting to talk like the staff.

“Hello,” her father said, leaning his forehead toward her as she kissed it. “They’re not very nice in this place. I seem to have hurt myself, and now I can’t walk at all.”

“What happened?” she asked, though she already knew. She had learned to play this game with her parents to find out how well their brains were working on a given day.

“I’m not sure. I think someone pushed me,” he said. “There’s a man down the hall who has tried to break into our room, and I think it might have been him.”

“Is that right?” Ellen asked. She pulled up a chair, studying her moth­er, who sat silently, staring at nothing. “Mom, is that what happened?”

Her mother turned toward her, gazing at Ellen with vacant, gray eyes. “Are you the girl who’s bringing me my lunch?” she asked. “Because if that’s the case, I want you to make sure it’s hot this time. The food is never hot.”

“No, Mom, it’s Ellen.”

“Ellen who?”

“Your daughter.”

“Oh?” Her mother studied Ellen more closely. “I don’t have a daugh-

ter.” She recoiled, her childlike face filled with suspicion. “Who are you, really? What do you want from me?”

Ellen stepped back at the sound of her mother’s agitation. It wasn’t the first time that her mother didn’t recognize her, but she had never lashed out before. “Sorry,” she mumbled. Rattled and helpless, she stood up and backed away, not knowing what to do. Before she knew it, she had rushed out of the room and run to the nurses’ desk. She stood there, wide-eyed, feeling suddenly foolish.

“Oh, hi, Ellen,” said Virginia. The head nurse, who looked to be in her mid-fifties, had been reviewing a file, where every page lay in perfect alignment with the others. When she saw Ellen, she closed it and placed it in a basket. Every item on her desk had found its perfect place, with noth­ing extraneous creating clutter. Ellen knew Virginia to be a no-nonsense woman who had worked at the facility for years and always spoke with authority. “Your father is doing much better than expected. He must have amazing bones for a man his age.”

“He’s pretty bruised, though.”

“Well, remember the CAT scan that they did – all clear, so he’ll be fine. All that bruising will be gone in a few weeks, and he’s already forgot­ten what happened.”

“He thinks he was attacked,” Ellen said ruefully. “He’s getting para­noid.”

Virginia closed the file she had been working on and stood up, a knowing look on her face. She walked over to Ellen and placed one hand on hers. “It’s part of the process, dear. It doesn’t happen to everyone, but it’s not unusual.”

Ellen swallowed hard to try to rid herself of the lump in her throat. “And Mother? She was afraid of me today.”

“I know. That one’s harder because she’s so young. Your father could go on for years the way he is, but your mother…You can’t take it personally, Ellen. She just can’t help it. I’m so sorry. This must be so hard on you.”

“Yeah.” She bit her lip, knowing she could say no more without choking up. She thanked Virginia and left the facility, wincing less at the sound of her shoes, knowing that the real noise was the guilt in her own head. When she got to the car and turned the key in the ignition, she knew she couldn’t go home just yet. She decided to drive to Sláinte before going to her quiet, empty home. A nice chamomile tea would calm her down.

She was surprised to find Julia there, sitting alone, Spanish book on the table, her fingers flipping absently through the pages, a melted iced tea next to her.

“Julia?” Ellen asked.

Instantly, Julia’s face changed, and a bright smile appeared. “Ellen, it’s great to see you! Would you care to join me?”

“Sure,” Ellen said. “I’ll get some tea.”

“I’d be happy to upgrade if you want. The wine is pretty good here.”

“Oh, I don’t…” Ellen thought about her day and decided to aban­don the anti-Alzheimer’s campaign, at least for a day. She hadn’t had a drink in, how long? A couple of years? But stress wasn’t good for the brain, right? “Sure, yeah, that sounds good, actually. Tell you what, I’ll buy the first round. What do you want?”

“Oh, just get the happy hour white for me, that will be fine. And thanks.”

Ellen stood in line for the drinks, amused that Julia wanted the cheap drink when everyone knew she could afford the best. Maybe she thinks I’m poor, she thought, then pushed the negativity from her mind. Julia knew this place, so she knew the wine. There would be no reason for her not to get what she wanted. When her turn came, she ordered two of the whites and paid ten dollars, plus the coins in her pocket for the tip jar. After she threw them in, she realized that she hadn’t paid attention to the amount. Was it enough? Too much? Doubtful, she pulled another dollar from her wallet and dropped it in, just to be sure.

“Studying hard?” Ellen asked as she took a seat and handed Julia her glass.

“Thanks for the drink. Well, not really. I thought it would be good for me to come out here, that maybe I could focus more than at home, but everything blurs together. Class is harder than I thought.” She sipped the wine and smiled. “I’ve had great wines all over the world, but this is one of my favorites. It comes from a little winery not far from Austin.”

“It is good,” Ellen agreed, and truthfully. “That’s really tasty.”

“Cheers,” Julia said, raising her glass. “Or, I guess I should say, salud. I guess I’m learning the important words, anyway: vino and cerveza. I’ll be able to drink freely in any Spanish-speaking country.” They both laughed. Then Julia’s face turned serious. “You look like you had a rough day,” she said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Ellen stared at her glass, thinking. No one knew her story. She had no family to tell, and there was no point bringing it up to work contacts. No one ever talked about anything personal. “I’m not sure,” she said, fi­nally. “I mean, I guess it wouldn’t hurt anything, but I don’t know. I don’t know you that well.”

“Well.” Julia cleared her throat. “Look, you’re right. We don’t know each other well. But maybe that’s a good thing. And, despite how some of our fellow classmates have decided to judge me, I really am a good listener. Try me.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Ellen said. “Mickey seems very sweet, but she’s young, and it sounds like she has some things on her mind. I’m sure you were just the nearest target.”

“I suppose,” Julia said with a wry smile, “but it still hurts. I have had a lucky life, I know, but I need friends, too. I have bad days and fears just like everyone else. Money doesn’t change that. But let’s not talk anymore about me. What about you?”

Ellen took a sip of wine, taking in Julia’s statement. “I guess I never thought of it that way. I mean, you’re right, we all have needs.”

Julia nodded. “Thanks for recognizing that. It means a lot to me. But you…what is it?”

“My parents both have Alzheimer’s Disease,” Ellen said. She won­dered if she had ever said those words aloud before. “I put them in a nurs­ing home recently, and they’re not doing very well. Today my mom accused me of lying about being her daughter.” Tears welled in her eyes, and when she looked at Julia, she saw tears in hers, too.

“Oh, no, that’s so sad. So that’s what you were talking about that first night in class.”

Ellen reddened, remembering how she almost didn’t go back to class after that. “I guess it sounded pretty weird, huh?”

Julia took another sip of the wine. “Not weird, just…well, maybe a little. They have a great cheese plate here. Want to split one?”

Ellen nodded, laughing a little. “Sure, I guess…telling this story is new to me. I mean, yes to the cheese plate.” They both laughed again, and she felt herself relaxing a little. “But as you can imagine, I’m a little nervous about the whole thing. I’m only thirty-five, but I may have a ticking time bomb inside of me, and yeah, that scares me a lot.” She took a deep breath. “A lot. Listen, I’d rather you didn’t tell the others, okay?”

“It’s just between you and me,” Julia said, holding up her glass for a toast. “To new friends and to keeping confidences. And hope for a future when science understands Alzheimer’s.”

“Salud,” Ellen said, and they drank together.

They sat in Sláinte for hours, eating cheese, ordering more wine, and sharing. “So, what made you sign up for class?” Ellen asked.

“The brochure,” Julia said, rolling her eyes, and they laughed again. “Seriously, I needed something to do. My husband travels all the time — he’s been spending more and more time in Paris these days – and I get sick of playing tennis all day, to tell you the truth. I love it, but I would like a little more from life.”

“Why not study French?” Ellen asked.

Julia stared at her wine glass. “Hmm, that’s a good question. Well, we’re also looking at getting a little place in Belize, so Spanish would come in handy there, I guess. French would make more sense though, ultimately, wouldn’t it?” She looked up at Ellen, her eyes wide with confusion. “I’m going to have to think about that. I mean, I could say it was Belize, or I could also say that Spanish comes in handy in Houston, but that isn’t really the truth. I don’t know. It sounds crazy, but I’m a little sick of Paris. I can’t believe I’m saying that.”

“I’m sorry,” Ellen said.

“Why, what did you do?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I brought up something painful. You seem so sad.”

Julia grinned, and her facial muscles relaxed. “No, I’m glad you brought it up. I don’t know the answer to your question, but I’m happy you asked. I think it will help me to think about it. But I have a question for you, my friend.”

“What’s that?” Ellen asked, taking another sip of wine.

“How come you apologized for something that wasn’t your problem?”

Ellen nearly spat out the wine. “Oh, God, I did, didn’t I? It’s a bad habit I have. When Daddy started going downhill, he would get really agitated. At first I argued with him, but then I learned to keep the peace. I would just say ’I’m sorry’ to him until he calmed down. I’ve been doing it for so long now, that it’s practically a reflex. I’m sorry I said I’m sorry.” At that, both women started to giggle.

“We’re a mess!” Julia said, gasping the words out through her laughter.

Ellen glanced around and saw that some of the other customers were looking their way, some curious, some grinning. “Oh, Lord, everyone’s looking at us. They probably think we’re really drunk or something.”

Julia held up the empty bottle that they had graduated to when they realized that one glass wouldn’t cut it. “I think we are,” she said, and they descended into another round of giggles.

“We should get Mickey and Claire drunk,” Ellen said. “Then maybe we could all get along.”

Julia nearly shrieked with laughter. “Could you imagine Claire Malone out of control? Now that would be something to see!”

“Mickey, too. So young, yet so uptight. Scary.”

“We probably shouldn’t talk about our study group this way,” Julia said. “It’s not very nice.”

“Nope,” Ellen said. “But let’s do it anyway. I like them, don’t get me wrong. They’re just – I don’t know. Whose idea was this study group, anyway?”

Julia raised her hand. “That would be me. But you know, I do this a lot. I throw people together at dinner parties, and everyone ends up happy about it. I’m sure we’ll all find a way to get along.”

“If we don’t kill each other first,” Ellen said. Then she looked at her watch.

It was eight o’clock. “Oh, my God,” she said. “I still have to get some work done tonight. Julia, it was great. Thanks for being here.”

“My pleasure,” Julia said. “I enjoyed the company.”

As Ellen left, grateful to have walked, she wondered how long Julia would stay at Sláinte. Julia had everything, and yet she was still alone. The money is nice, Julia had admitted, but it doesn’t mean I don’t bleed.

We all bleed, Ellen thought. Every one of us. We are all lonely in our own way, and we all carry burdens. Understanding that somehow made her own feel lighter.