“…But I find that thy will knows no end in me. And when old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart; and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders.”
— Rabindranath Tagore
This is our 148th edition—12 years and four months. How I have loved these years. I always knew I wanted to write—and especially write for women. I did not know when I began the magazine that I would meet so many wonderful women—really amazing women—all with stories to tell. (I have a special place in my heart for all the women warriors I met in Flint.) I did not know I would so enjoy connecting women with other women –connecting women to ideas and organizations they may have not known about. Even compliments about a recipe we published gave me joy. It is true I do not know all of you, dear readers. But I feel I know you—you have been as present in my life these past 12 years as the air I breathe.
My life went into this publication, and I was lucky enough to have had an impressive and talented staff bring the magazine to life—and loyal advertisers who provided the opportunity to publish every month.
But it is time to take a much-needed hiatus. How long will this hiatus be? I don’t know—I refer you to the poem above. I do know if and when I return and whether my words appear in a blog, a book or another magazine — they will be new.
In the past 12 years, I survived a train wreck, fell in love, got married, my dad died, my husband Rich was diagnosed with multiple myeloma and underwent a stem cell transplant, sales manager and friend Romona Gainey was diagnosed with the same cancer and also underwent a stem cell transplant a year later.
Diane Pearson, who wrote poignantly of her battle with breast cancer in her popular “Journey Back to Myself” columns died less than two years after we met — I still think of her every day. My mom died unexpectedly, my sister Anne died after a valiant three- month effort to survive and be strong enough for a heart transplant.
Through it all, I shared these moments with you—and we never missed a deadline. For those who don’t remember, every edition was dedicated to my best friend, Roe, who died in 2004 from breast cancer. Friends for nearly 50 years, we were soul-mates, and she was my biggest cheerleader. Her name appeared with a magic wand on the editorial page of every edition.
On a lighter side, I gained and lost 20 or 30 pounds—several times, changed hairstyles, became active in theater after a 37- year hiatus and sang my first solo in a musical this year at the age of 70.
I am going to dance into a new country—full of song, adventure and serendipity. Instead of chasing after the idea of being perfect in everything I do—I am just going to be.
I have ideas and thoughts unexpressed—they rest like books on a shelf in my brain. I either have to make room for another shelf or put thoughts to words to paper—in my own way and in my own time. I want to go with my heart instead of my mind.
Thank you, dear readers for these 12 years and four months. I will cherish the memories in my heart forever.
From my heart to yours,