On the Eve of Christmas Eve

 I’ve presents wrapped but not enough.

The money’s tight; the times are tough.

The spread beneath the tree looks thin

It won’t be long til disappointment sets in.

The holiday stress has taken its toll

There are some things I can’t control.

I’ve had to change my point of view.

I’ve done the best that I can do.

Tradition, though, will not be lost.

I’ve been resourceful, defrayed some cost.

Like every year, we’ll have our ham,

The cinnamon buns and rolls with jam.

 

We’ll open presents while we feast

I’ll cross my fingers and hope at least

That it’s enough that we’re together

Despite the year we’ve had to weather.

I count my blessings. My gifts are many,

For there are those who don’t have any.

And though my kids have less this year,

We never lack for love ‘round here.

 

You can follow me on Twitter @ceceliahalbert 

At Last… My Love Has Come Along.

 

My lonely days are over, and life is like a song.

If a year could be compared to a roller coaster, 2012 would have lines a mile long because the extreme nature of the highs and lows would mark its place in roller coaster record books from now until the end of time.

The best thing about a good roller coaster is the relief of the smooth coast to the finish. There’s always the chance that the car won’t stop and the operator won’t let you off and you might have to endure the whole ride again, but as you glide to the end, your hopes are high. Your heart slows its pace and you look forward to setting foot back on steady ground.

The car does stop and the door does open.  You reach for the hand held out to you and then you step out and cling to him because he is your life.

And at last, my love has come along. My lonely days are over, and life is like a song.

Sing it, Etta. I know what song I want to dance to at midnight on New Year’s Eve.

Wine, Whine, Wine

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It occurred to me recently that I haven’t gone a day without a glass of wine for quite some time. I enjoy wine - dry reds in particular.

Wine is a luxury, yet even in my divorce-imposed frugality I figure out ways to keep a bottle in the house. I don’t buy expensive wines and I would rather do without a lot of other things… like heat, for instance - than to forego my evening glass of Cabernet Sauvignon or Shiraz. I'm thankful that the love of my life shares my fondness for the fermented grape. Our evening ritual of pouring each other a glass is a nightly reminder of how important we are to each other.

Last night my beautiful and talented thirteen-year-old daughter dissolved into a heap on the living room floor, wailing over a boy. My eleven year old son (who happens to have Asperger’s or whatever they’re calling it today) whined that she was ‘having emotions.’  He put on headphones and played Minecraft on his computer while my daughter and I worked through the rise and fall of her adolescent yet very real romance. I made her a chocolate milkshake.

And I had a glass of wine.

Visit me on Twitter (@CeceliaHalbert) or Facebook (Up the Hill by Cecelia Halbert) 

or here:www.ceceliahalbert.com

What I Know and What I Don't: Marriage and Asperger's Syndrome

I don’t know everything. In fact, the older I get, the more I wonder if I know anything at all. The strange thing is that the older I get the more people expect me to know something. They expect some measure of wisdom from me. All I can do is tell them what my experiences have led me to believe and encourage them to draw their own conclusions.

Over the last year or so, I’ve had conversations with many women who are married to men with Asperger’s Syndrome. Most of us have nearly identical stories. We feel shut out, disconnected, unimportant, frustrated, and exhausted. Most of us found the intelligence of our husbands to be attractive initially. After some time, we realized that the capacity for intelligence in our husbands was high, but the range of interests was narrow. We found it increasingly difficult to communicate and connect with our husbands.

The similarities in our marriages were striking. The differences in how we chose to handle the challenges were vastly different. I chose to end my marriage. This was not an easy decision; it was fraught with guilt. Guilt over leaving someone with a disability, guilt over tearing apart my children’s home, guilt over my own inability to cope with the challenges in my marriage, and guilt over falling in love with someone other than my husband.

Now that I’ve had time to step back and look objectively (or at least more objectively) I’ve shaken off the guilt. I now know that the most important reason for a human being to live is connection with another human being: intense emotional, spiritual, intellectual connection.  I need that. I want that. I deserve that - and so does my ex-husband. I don’t know if he’s capable of it, but I know that if he is, it’s not with me.

I had a conversation with a friend tonight who told me that he was dating someone he was starting to like, that they had nice conversations, and they had fun together. His concern was that he couldn’t see their connection being any deeper than it already was and it left him unsatisfied. “But she’s really nice,” he said, “and great with the kids.”

“It’s not enough,” I told him. “You know that. In your heart you know that. Do you want to live the rest of your life with ‘nice?’ No. You’re worth more. She deserves more. You both do. You have to keep looking until you find it, because it’s out there. I do believe it’s out there.”

I just wish the timing in my case had been better.  However, I might not have known what I had if I hadn’t gone through everything that happened. I don’t know. There’s a lot I don’t know…   but I know love when I feel it.

Visit me on Twitter (@CeceliaHalbert) or Facebook (Up the Hill by Cecelia Halbert) 

or here:www.ceceliahalbert.com
Up the Hill is available at Amazon, and other major booksellers as well as Kindle, iBooks, & Nook

Here's to me: Mrs. Robinson

"Benjamin, I am twice your age." - Anne Bancroft as Mrs. Robinson







I'm fifty. While I don't feel old per se, I am well aware of my laugh lines, my inability to read anything closer than arms' length without drugstore readers, and certain areas of my body that are beginning to droop in a discomforting way. I am never more conscious of these outward signs of aging than when garnering the attention of much younger men, which seems to happen with frightening frequency lately.

Of course, when I was busy being married and raising my children I didn't go out much alone or with girlfriends, but I go out with some regularity these days. I expect some attention from men my age. I enjoy it. We find common ground for conversation: pop culture, music, did you drink Mogen David in college too, where were you when Neil Armstrong landed on the moon...  things like that. We laugh about the glory days, enjoy slightly better vintages than Mogen David and we go home at a somewhat reasonable hour because we probably have to work the next day.

Lately, it's not so much the men my age that sit down next to me at the bar. Lately, the eyes that meet mine are a entire generation away from needing reading glasses. I'm not sure what to make of this phenomenon. I wonder if it's a widespread trend.

The other night my girlfriend and I were out in Chicago having a glass of wine in a nice bar next to Orchestra Hall before attending a concert. Two lovely gentlemen from Los Angeles sat down next to us and started up a conversation that, to me, would not have been out of the ordinary except that they were in their mid to late twenties and my friend and I have over a hundred years of living between us.

We enjoyed their enthusiasm - they were, in fact, absolutely gorgeous creatures - and as we got up to leave for the concert, they asked what time we would return. The one with the neatly trimmed beard and long eyelashes asked for my phone number. He suggested I join him at his hotel. Was I flattered? ENTIRELY. Did I go? No. Should I have?

It would have made a good story. Maybe next time.

Pre-production Jitters

Welcome to my blog!

My debut novel, Up the Hill, is just about to go into production, scheduled for an early November release. I've spent the last week or so fussing over fonts and colors for the cover and getting ready to enlist the aid of my reader-army. I've written and produced plays, but never a novel, and never something quite so personal.

Up the Hill is a snapshot of a difficult period in the life of...  well...  someone a lot like me. For years Cecelia was the wife of a man with Asperger's Syndrome. That label came late in her marriage and while it didn't solve any of her problems, it explained the reasons why she felt so frustrated and alone.

To be sure, she didn't handle her frustrations well. She made mistakes. However, I think that any woman who finds herself in a difficult marriage will be sympathetic to the lengths Cecelia goes to in order to try to make sense of her life.

In Up the Hill, you'll ride Cecelia's emotional roller-coaster. You'll laugh with her, cry with her, and you'll probably be shocked at some of her, for lack of a better word, adventures. You'll feel as close to her as do her friends, Barbara and Elaine. And I hope you'll understand her.

Ian MacLaren (aka John Watson) said in his 19th Century book Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush, “Be kind. Everyone you meet is carrying a heavy burden.” Cecelia works hard at shouldering her burden while trying to find some happiness for herself.

Watch for the release date - it's coming soon!

UPDATE - release date has been moved to late November. Stay tuned! 

Follow me on Twitter @CeceliaHalbert