twelve

Just like this morning
I woke up early
twelve years ago
the sun streamed in through the hospital window
golden, ethereal light
while you slept

I didn't know that would be the day
you would begin
your deepest sleep.

I hope you are sleeping well.

Robert Mercer 

5/30/72-8/27/07

question

Would you be embarrassed

of the station wagon

and the pitched roof house

So far from

The building of glass

that would glow

like a jewel box at night

Would you cringe

at the flowered curtains

and the plastic toys, mislaid shoes, marker drawings

strewn like fallen leaves

So far from

Lines of clean marble

and white Saarinen chairs

creating Matisse masterpiece shadows

Would you scoff at

dreams of

chickens and sunflowers

fuzzy pajamas and solitary walks in snow

So far from

Ambitions of

accolades and magnum opi monographs

black dresses and safe deposit boxed jewels

Would you be ashamed

Or

Would you have changed


Like I did?

Robert Mercer 

5/30/72-8/27/07

memorial

I don't have your grave to visit
and I never strew your ashes.
I thought it didn't matter
because I had you in my memories.
But it's been ten years
and I'm starting to realize why people carve their names on trees
and tag graffiti on bridges
and why I write down my stories.

 we'll never know what we forget
 and I know I don't want to forget you.

I hope you like it.

Robert Mercer 

5/30/72-8/27/07

The Yarn Podcast

Just in case you missed it, a couple of days ago I posted about an episode I did on The Yarn podcast.  It's been ten years since Robert's death and while so much has changed and happened, there are so many things that have remained solid. One of those things has been my friendship with Alvina Ling, who you might know as Melody from The Year of the Dog. She is also my editor, most recently for When the Sea Turned to Silver--and that book is dedicated to her.  Listen here to find out why:

 

privilege

I've been feeling old these days

tired

too many projects

too many bills

too many messages to answer, dates to schedule, responsibilities to care for, relationships to nurture, fears to conquer, insecurities to wrestle

too many wrinkles

and

not enough sleep

not enough energy

Just 

not 

enough

 

Time

is still so much more 

than was given to you.

Robert Mercer 

5/30/72-8/27/07

Everyday

There are days I don't think about
taking a shower
or what I will feed her for lunch.
I forget
to call back my mom
or to pay the electric bill.
I don't remember
that dentist appointment
or to answer that e-mail.
Everyday
there are things I don't
think about.

But there is
never
a day
I don't think of you.

Robert Mercer 

5/30/72-8/27/07

Second Haircut for Robert

Second Haircut  for Robert

a loss of vanity is a small price to pay

considering

I once thought I would go grey

with you

Robert Mercer 

5/30/72-8/27/07

time

time is not an endless resource
or a faithful friend
it is like the sunlight
she tries to grab
it slips through
marveling fingers, frustrated hands
i try to tell her it's not something you can hold
when it leaves
you can only remember it as
something
beautiful

Robert Mercer
5/30/72-8/27/07




.

moving

goodbye, bookshelves!

So, I spent Mother's Day moving. We've been moving in stages, but this was our last and final move. One of the reasons we've moved so slowly is because I've had a hard time letting go. From Robert to renovations,  there are a lot of memories and emotions about the apartment that go beyond mere homeownership for me.

But just like before, I've found solace in the quote "You only lose what you cling to." By choosing to leave the apartment, I don't lose the memories, but I do let go of the past. Which makes room for the future.

And I realize how apropos it that it was Mother's Day that I left this apartment behind. Because it's Rain Dragon that initiated our move. It's so we can give her the home we want, to be the family and mother I want us to be. Because I'm not just moving, I'm moving forward.

flaw

Whenever there is a perfect moment
a moment where the happiness
is beautiful
I realize to get to this moment
nothing in the past could change.
Everything before
Everything horrible and heartbreaking
had to happen for this
precious
perfect
moment
to exist.



I wish you could have met her.

Robert Mercer
5/30/72-8/27/07




.

moments of

ocean waves
staring faces
cold rising heat
squealing laughter
orange moons
clapping hands
round silver shining
falling snow
echoing rooms
soft steady typing
silent tears
blossoming trees
clean white buildings
waiting lines
thin passing clouds
yellow flowers

are the moments you missed
and
are the moments i missed you

Robert Mercer
5/30/72-8/27/07




.

dear friends

For those of you who read this blog, you can probably guess that the word "extrovert" would never be used in a description of me. Even though I do a lot of public speaking, it is not something that comes naturally to me. It's taken me quite a while to be able to talk fairly comfortably in front of group and I am only able to do that after preparing and practicing hours ahead of time.

Having this blog does allow me to share and communicate more than I would in person. This is sometimes good, sometimes bad. During Robert's illness and death, I chose to let my personal life and emotions seep into the cyberworld-- even harnessing its power to create a fundraiser.

I know that these are things that I put "out there" and I do acknowledge that I have blurred the lines of public and private. However, those very things that I have chosen to share are difficult for me to discuss in a public forum. Yes, I have moved forward with my life and I live each of my days as fully and with as much happiness as possible. But that doesn't mean I ever forget about Robert or wish with all my heart that he could've lived the life we so desperately wished for him. There is never a day where I do not think of him, that is not tinged with the sorrow of a love lost.

So, dear friends, this is what I ask of you. I'm so honored and touched if you feel connection to my story--real life or fiction--and I am always happy to talk to you. But please do not ask me questions about Robert in a public forum in front of a large group, consider saving it for a one-on-one conversation afterwards. Or if you wish for me to speak about Robert's Snow to a group, please ask me ahead of time so that I can emotionally prepare myself.

And I will sincerely thank you.

fortune cookie friday

"Only the one who crosses the river at night knows the value of the light of day.” -Chinese Proverb

in memory Robert Mercer, May 30th 1972 - Aug. 27th 2007

thank you

Recently, Where the Mountain Meets the Moon was awarded the Josette Frank Award for fiction by the Banks St. College of Education. I was thrilled to accept at the awards ceremony, especially when I saw the impressive list of books that were also honored.

The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate, Where the Mountain Meets the Moon, Red Sings from Treetops, Almost Astronauts, Moonshot

It was also great fun to meet and catch up with the other authors as well!

pic 1: Pamela Zagarenski, me, Joyce Sidman, Alvina Ling
pic 2:Tanya Lee Stone, me

However, the only thing I wasn't exactly thrilled about was that I was expected to make an acceptance speech. I was told it didn't have to be anything too formal, but I know that I have a tendency to stutter and blather incoherently if I try to do anything off the cuff. Also, I truly wanted everyone to know how much I appreciated the attention and honor they had given my book. So, I was a bit nervous.

But I did it.

After I gave my little speech, Alvina suggested that I post it online. At first, I thought I wouldn't...but then I realized that my thanks were incomplete; that there were so many other people I was grateful to.

So, even though this speech was addressed to the Bank Street Committee, it is also for Newbery Committee, the Indies Choice Booksellers, the Parent Choice Reviewers, the teachers, parents, librarians, and kids...this is for anyone who read Where the Mountain Meets the Moon and loved it:

Thank you so much for your great honor.

Where the Mountain Meets the Moon was a labor of love for me and everyone involved—from the wonderful editing of my friend Alvina Ling & Connie Hsu to the production and design by Alison Impey and the marketing efforts of Victoria Stapleton & Zoe Luderitz. I am truly grateful for this award.

And I suppose it is apropos that gratitude is the emotion that I feel, standing here, as it is a primary theme of the book. It is, in fact, what Where the Mountain Meets the Moon claims as the secret to happiness. Minli travels long and far to discover this; and looking back, I realize that I, too, journeyed a distance to be here today.

Because this book was perhaps a book of destiny for me. Even though it was inspired by stories I read as a child and travels to Asia as an adult, I only began to write it when pushed by my late husband Robert. Even while terminally ill, he enjoyed hearing my writing and asked me to write a fantasy—something to help him imagine he was elsewhere. And so I began.

But midway through, Robert’s life journey ended and, at my lowest points of grief and sorrow I believed that that was end of the book as well. It was suppose to be a book about hope, a book about overcoming and accomplishing the impossible—just as I had fantasized about Robert’s illness. But as his death became unflinchingly real, the unfinished story was, to me, lost.

Until one day, a friend of mine, the poet Janet Wong came to visit. She asked about the story and I shook my head.

“I couldn’t finish it before Robert died,” I said, “Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”
“No,” she said, “It’s better that you didn’t finish it because now you can change the ending.”

And the truth of her words struck me. The story, my story was not finished. It didn’t have to end because Robert was gone. It was up to me change the ending for the book, and really my life.

So, Minli’s journey is a search to change her fortune and to find happiness just as mine was as I was writing. Minli is not perfect, but she tries her best and at every point she learns and grows until finally she realizes that happiness is not a prize that can be bought or won. Happiness is a gift that is cherished, something that one is truly grateful for. Just as I am to all of you, today.

Thank you very much.

Robert Mercer, 1972-2007

lucky

When it finally sunk in that Where the Mountain Meets the Moon won a Newbery Honor, I have to admit I blew a kiss into the sky. It's no secret that the book is dedicated to Robert and my homage to what he brought to my life. And still does, in some ways.

I remember last month after my Today Show appearance, my friend Janet Wong and I decided to see a palm reader for a lark but instead of being amused, I was annoyed.


Because after hearing about Robert (another thing that bugged me was that she asked me a lot of questions about my life before telling me what she "saw") she kept telling me that that my palm indicated that I had been unlucky in love.

It took me a while to figure out why that bothered me so much. And I realize, it's because I don't believe I have been unlucky in love. With Robert, I was with someone who truly loved me, who fought with every ounce of his being to try to be with me. Robert was unlucky with life, the shortness and the pain that his life contained. But I was lucky to have him in mine.

I guess, the truth is, I don't think love can ever be unlucky. I think it's when the love disappears, when one mistakens something else for love, or when others twist their own desires in it's name--those are the things that cause misfortune. One of my favorite quotes is, "Love is, simply put, truly wishing another to be happy."

Which is why I know Robert would be so proud about the book's reception and happy for the new life I am creating; and, as the good wishes and congratulations continue to stream in from all over, I know that I am truly lucky.

THANK YOU!!

Me in the School Library Journal

There's a profile on me in this month's issue of the School Library Journal. While I'm a tad embarrassed by the complimentary things written, I think Robert would've liked it.

memorial

Haircut for Robert, May 30, 1972- August 27, 2007.

attempting rapunzel

So it's been about a year since I've last cut my hair, and it is the longest I have had it for a while. I am trying to grow it so that I can donate it, but I'm not there yet. A part of this is because of vanity--I am reluctant to cut it so that I am left looking like a shorn sheep, I want some length after I cut. However it is starting to get a bit overwhelming, I am starting to find the ends colored green and blue from getting into my paint. No wonder Rapunzel kept hers in that rope of a braid.

I have saved a lot of money from skipping salon visits, though.

remembrance

365
why should today be any different from yesterday?
the days i circled the sun
instead of you
was a revolution
without a victory

Robert Mercer, 1972-2007

things that have changed

I have a five hour layover before getting on my flight to Taiwan and the airport seems to be bringing out the melancholy in me. Somehow, airports contain the key emotions of life and death. It is the place of joyful,loving greetings and painful, tearful farewells. And in between both is the helplessness of waiting.

And because so much of my travels used to happen with Robert or away from him, I can't help sit at an empty gate without thinking of him. It has been over half a year since his actual death, but in reality I had been grieving him for many. So, the finality of his last breath was in many ways the finality of an existence I had, the end of a person I was. For better or worse, his death transformed me.

Perhaps it is those changes that fill me with an unusual fearlessness. I find myself embracing happiness that might not be easily understood, working on projects without worrying about reviews, and losing interest in promotion. And I begin to grasp that my ideas for a successful life have been redefined--I no longer pine for movie deals, 6-digit advances or even the glory of a gold sticker. The success of colleagues with better toys, larger homes and fancier cars somehow leave me cheerfully indifferent. It might be temporary, but it is strangely freeing to realize that suddenly I do not care.

Don't get me wrong, I love my work, truly appreciate accolades and still strive for greatness. But as the days go on, I find myself redefining greatness as well. Perhaps greatness is connecting to people, not impressing them. Because admiration is an emotion one rarely sees at an airport.