March 2019

March 2019

A Collaboritave platform for art, encouragement and loving life in the bay

Love is...

Inspirational Stories in our Teaspoon of Happy

Interpretations of Love in our Popcorn Perspectives Learn how to be philanthropic

Small Deeds, Great Love - Make her a cake!

Privileges by Dana Swoyer Throw it together recipes

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

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Your business could be advertised in this space...

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

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Here is our advertising plug...

As business owners, we all consider options for a dvertising…including InJoy Magazine! How do we get the word out there and reach more readers? How do we interact with more women?

As our readership continues to grow, as does our business. Up to this point, InJoy Magazine has been strictly business exchange and unpaid submissions.

However, our network is flourishing, and we are seeing a growing need for a small operational budget. We can achieve this goal by offering visibility and partnership for your business.

• InJoy Magazine has carried an average of 3,000 digital downloads each month.

• 98% are women in the local area

• 100% of those are real people in all walks of life

Discounts are available for 3 and 6 months contracts.

Contact me for a copy of our media guide and see how we can support eachother!

Izabella Dickson izabellad@injoymagazine.com

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

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InJoy Magazine

InJoy Magazine is a local independent publication dedicated to real women We feature articles, short stories, poetry, reviews and all around encouragement from local writers like you.

A new theme featured each month: April: ‘Motivate Others’ May: Thank you for your suggestions!

“New Reasons to Celebrate” June: ‘Shit no one talks about’

~ We aim to grow into the largest local publication for women in the region ~ InJoy Magazine, March 2019

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Credits and Contributors Editor/Creator Crystal Smith

Lead Contributor Chelsea Harrison

Ad Sales Manager Izabella Dickson

Social Media Manager Toby Boas

Cover Photography by Di Maitland

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

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Contents...what’s inside 10.....Pages from your words

Love Is by Jamie Hatfield

14.....Teaspoon of Happy

12.....Popcorn Perspectives

Inspirational Stories

What is Love... by Angelique Mosley

18.....How to...be philanthropic 21.....Small Deeds, Great Love

24.....Feature Article Privlidges by Dana Swoyer

34.....Photography 32.....Recipes...but, I just threw it together!

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

Top Photograph, Robert Oh, Bottom photograph, Annie Spratt

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Regular Contributors Wanted For these article types Think you have what it takes?

Join us and find out... ~ Products that bring out the best

Looking for reviews/suggestions of products that share the

views of InJoy’s encouragement and laughter

~ Our Questions, Your Advice

Looking for regular advice columnist who can answer

questions with the spirit of InJoy that may relate to all of us

~ How to...

Are you a Saavy DIYer? If so, share your secrets...and for god’s sake, someone tell me how to chalk paint that dresser!

Always looking for more of this...

Poetry Real-Life Stories Short Stories Recipies

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

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Photograph by Hannah Olinger

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

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Social Media Engagement www.injoymagazine.com

https://twitter.com/JoyStCliffe

https://www.facebook.com/injoymagazine/ https://www.facebook.com/groups/smalldeeds,greatlove/

www.instagram.com/crystal_injoy_magazine

Discover your Creative Writing potential at AACC. Did you know?

Chelsea Harrison, InJoy lead contributor, is a noncredit writing instructor at AACC. • • • •

WRI-360 Poetry: Discover Poetic Potential WRI-369 Poetry Part 2: Expand your Poetic Portfolio WTI-368 Creative Writing for Military and Veterans WRI-370 Introduction to Personal Branding

Sign up today!

www.aacc.edu/programs-and-courses/personal-enrichment/writing/ InJoy Magazine, March 2019

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In Your Words, Love is...

When I was 4, love was riding in the back seat of my grandparent’s car to get new shoes.

When I was 10 love was holding on to my brothers and sisters tight and finding comfort in my mother’s voice.

When I was 16, love was finding my own sense of freedoms, without the responsibilities I would soon find.

When I was 21, love was wrapping my soul into the wonders of being a young mother of 3.

When I was 30, love was finding myself after divorce.

When I was 32, love was embracing a new relationship and the merging of a family.

When I was in my 40’s love was watching my children become young responsible adults in spite of all my failures, real or imagined. There were many.

When I was 50, love was embarking on new dreams and transitions, new adventures and new grandchildren.

When I turn 60, love will come to me over the oceans and through the air in pictures, words and sentiment. My love will be with me as I move into that next phase of life. I see the dawning of my own retirement looming in the horizon, promises of new adventures, new hopes and dreams.

When I turn 70, will love find me in the dark recesses of my mind and comfort me? Will memories of a young girl come back with teasing flickers of days gone by?

When I pass this world, will love find me in memories, laughter and tears as I have found them in memories of loved ones long passed?

I have found love in all the stages of my life.

I am lucky in love!

By Jamie Hatfield

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

Photograph by Marta Pawlik

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In MyWords, Love is...

Print me

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

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Popcorn Perspectives

One theme, when bounced around, takes on a life of it’s own To me, love is joy To me, love is warmth To me, love is makes you think To me, love is passion To me, love is a happiness To me, love is motivating To me, love is truth and honesty To me, love is consideration To me, love is loyalty To me, love is admiration and respect To me, love changes and that’s ok To me, love is forgiveness

Love Is...

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

Love is the relief like of a baby crowning Love is not all smiles with a lack of frowning Love is strongest when it has experienced the cliffs Love is weakest when it didn't give any shits Love grows stronger everytime it is chosen Love grows weaker everytime faith is broken Love is never having to be insecure Love is what exists with anything that is endured Love is a light illuminating the dark Love is a seasonal walk in the park It's not always cozy It's not always warm But we come out together after every storm Love is you Love is me Love makes us a family

Top Photograph, Chelsea Francis: Bottom Christian Widell

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Love is..

Forehead kisses.

Love is..

Bear hugs.

Love is..

The sense of safety and security he evokes with his mere presence.

Love is..

Him seeing the scars left behind by the one who came before and wanting me still.

Love is..

Him stepping up and making my kids his kids and daring anyone to say differently.

Love is..

Him educating himself on our son’s illnesses (autism and epilepsy) so he knows exactly what’s going on.

Love is..

Finding a woman who was formerly broken, shattered and scared because of her past, Yet choosing to look beyond who she was and seeing her for who she is.

Love is..

His decision that my being his woman simply wasn’t enough and making me his wife.

Love is..

The way he shows me that love is a verb and not just a noun.

Love is..

The greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. The living, breathing, manifestation of Abba Father’s promise to me.

Love is..

My prayers answered.

Love is..

My husband Antonio K. Riley

By Angelique Mosley.

You’ll remember Angelique from last month’s article, LIfe After Divorce.

Photograph by Jelleke Vanooteg

Love Is...

My prayers answered InJoy Magazine, March 2019

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o M ur ories

Yopiring St Ins

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T y l h nt

a H f no

o o p as

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s e n i pp

Once, there was an older man, who was broke, living in a tiny house and owned a beat up car. He was living off of $99 social security checks. At 65 years of age, he decide things had to change. So he thought about what he had to offer. His friends raved about his chicken recipe. He decided that this was his best shot at making a change.

He left Kentucky and traveled to different states to try to sell his recipe. He told restaurant owners that he had a mouthwatering chicken recipe. He offered the recipe to them for free, just asking for a small percentage on the items sold. Sounds like a good deal, right?

Unfortunately, not to most of the restaurants. He heard NO over 1000 times.

Even after all of those rejections, he didn’t give up. He believed his chicken recipe was something special. He got rejected 1009 times before he heard his first yes.

With that one success Colonel Hartland Sanders changed the way Americans eat chicken. Kentucky Fried Chicken, popularly known as KFC, was born.

Remember, never give up and always believe in yourself in spite of rejection.

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

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An oldie, but goodie!

A man’s favorite donkey falls into a deep precipice. He can’t pull it out no matter how hard he tries. He therefore decides to bury it alive.

Soil is poured onto the donkey from above. The donkey feels the load, shakes it off, and steps on it. More soil is poured.

It shakes it off and steps up. The more the load was poured, the higher it rose.

By noon, the donkey was grazing in green pastures.

After much shaking off (of problems) And stepping up (learning from them), One will graze in GREEN PASTURES.

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

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Create your own inspirational meme

Print me

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

Top Photograph, Zara Walker; Bottom, Jez Timms; Right, Theodoros Doulo

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Write your mantra Print me

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

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How-to... be Philanthropic

We want to encourage you to think about giving back to your community, turning your focus outward and making an impact on someone. So…to add a little motivation, we’re going to convince you it’s good for your soul, your family and business.

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Why would we do this? It’s about a mindset of giving and helping.

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Invest. Regardless of your personal beliefs, if you’re a spiritual person (most of us are in one way or another) then you believe in some sort of karma, sewing seeds or investing. If we maintain a philosophy of constantly giving, sewing those seeds then you already believe that you’re making an investment in yourself and others. Not that receiving back is your only motivation …but we want to have the attitude of knowing our reward is greater on the other end.

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Image. It is bringing a good feeling and image to yourself, family and to your business. When you’ve impacted someone’s life, they remember it. Not all day – every day, but they see your name, they see your logo or hear about you, and their automatic response is warm and positive. You’re basically projecting this image of you – the leader and face of your business – as someone who cares and loves.

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Networking. People will remember you for your kindness. In our world, we are all about our connections and who we know.

Even if one particular person does not become a friend, they will remember your kindness and speak highly of you to others.

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Tax breaks? If your contribution are monetary, could be a much-needed tax write off. Then over a period of years, you could add all these together and showcase your ‘philanthropic nature’ for your business or portfolio.

What can we do? It’s about a mindset, keeping your eyes open for opportunities to give out.

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Volunteer time. I know, this is what we have the least of…time. But sometimes that’s

really what people need, free labor! Then bring your family and your team.

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Monetary donation. Self-explanatory, but save your receipts! Make it personal and worth it.

It’s not going to make much of a difference to your image and business if you don’t even understand what/why you’re contributing and the impact you’re making to others. Sometimes a little goes a long way.

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Keep your eyes open. This is the simplest and best advice to give. Look for and listen to where there may be a need, brainstorm how you can help with using the principles discussed. If you’re aware of a need, you can easily fulfill, jump on it!

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Maintain relationships. Look for a charity/ organization and build a relationship. Make it personal, so much so that the owner of the charity (or your contact for volunteering) will call you when they need help.

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Investing in others. Sometimes people just need a mentor. Don’t be afraid to share advice/experiences/tips/tricks even if it’s with a rival.

Remember that we are investing, netowrking and building a team. Those blessings you bestow will be returned.

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Team building. If you have a family or run a business with a team of people, get them together to unite them as a team when volunteering. Make it a fun event, wear matching t-shirts with your names or company logo, take lots of pictures and take them all to lunch afterward.

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

Photograph by Tomoko Uji

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Ideas for making my family or business philanthropic

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

Print me

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Small Deeds, Great Love

“We can do no great things.

Only small things with great love.”

Chelsea Harrison

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hat is love? In my family, love is often given by way of food. My Nana was a notoriously generous cook, and generous with her love, as well.

When I think of memories of being over her house, the memories all seem to reverberate out of the kitchen; the rest of the house is blurry, but my mind’s eye has a crystal-clear picture of the kitchen. I could probably still tell you where everything went in the drawers. I can still hear the groan and squeak of the pantry door.

Our family birthday parties always included at least two baked goods to celebrate the birthday boy or girl. A request such as “Oh, I’m so full, just a small piece, please,” would be met with her handing you a whopping half-pound slice of cake. If you were lucky, you also got at least two or three of the sugary little letters from the birthday message.

As a teenager, once I had learned that being self-conscious about my weight was a requirement, a large slice of cake became more of an insult than a treat. I got into the habit of waiting until everyone else was served, and

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

then asking to cut my slice myself. I thought I was very clever- I had beat the system.

Nana passed away when I was 22, just as I had started dating someone new (who is now my husband and father of our littles.) She was pretty ill and in an assisted living situation by then, and I felt uncomfortable bringing “some guy” around the intimate setting, even though she hinted she’d like to meet him. I regret that these two pillars in my life never got to meet. Seemingly, there is no connection between this family past and my future/present family.

Our family birthday celebrations have never really been the same without her. The cake recipe is the same, the large slices are the same, but now we all take turns cutting them for each other. In fact, at this very moment, there is one small slice of cake left on my dining room table, covered in foil. My mom baked Nana’s famous chocolate cake recipe to celebrate our winter birthdays.

And I realize now- food, nourishing each other’s bodies, that is one of the most

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common expressions of love we give every day.

My kids and my husband know who Nana is, not just by her picture on the mantle, but by the many recipes she lovingly taught me to make.

She’s there. And she’s still there at our family celebrations, in the traditional recipes we cook for each other, but also in caring gestures and unspoken kindnesses.

And when I think back to those teenage years and how clever I thought I was by only taking the tiniest serving-shaking my head! Nana had only wanted me to partake, to celebrate, to live- to have my cake and eat it, too.

https://www.facebook.com/injoymagazine/ https://www.facebook.com/groups/smalldeeds,greatlove/

So to answer this month’s question- What is Love?- love is food, a lot of the time. Love is feeding each other, and allowing others to feed us.

Here’s your Small Deeds plan of action: What: Cook for someone (can be a meal, treat, anything!)

When: Anytime this month Who: Could be members of your household, could be someone in need (elderly friend, someone who just had a baby, someone who just has a lot on her plate (so to speak!)), could even be a donation to a local food shelter Why: To show your love (remember- small deeds, great love is the name of the game!)

Where: Tell/show us on social media!

And finally, eat the damn cake!

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

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Nana’s 1234 Cake with Chocolate Icing 1 c. butter 2 c. sugar 3 c. flour 4 eggs 2 tsp. baking powder ¼ tsp. salt 1 c. milk 2 tsp. vanilla Cream butter and sugar. Add eggs one at a time, sift flour, baking powder and salt, add flour alternately with milk (start with flour, end with flour). Add vanilla. Grease pans. Bake 350 F for 1 hour (tube pan), for 25-30 minutes (layers.)

Chocolate Icing In double-boiler, add 6.5 oz. unsweetened chocolate, 4 Tbsp. butter- melt together. Combine 1 lb. confectioner’s sugar, 7 Tbsp. milk and 1 tsp. vanilla. Mix together and add chocolate mixture.

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

Photograph by Toa Heftiba

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InJoy Magazine, March 2019

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Privileges

Feature Article by Dana Swoyer

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

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W

e waited in that dim room with nothing but the gentle hum of an ultra sound machine filling the void. Black and white films hung on a view box like a map.

I’d look at her, waiting for any sign that she knew something was wrong but she just laid there, calm. Her big, blue, marble eyes were fixed to the ceiling, counting the patterns of the cork tiles. I leaned closer and in my lowest voice I tried to get her attention. “Mom. Mom, are you ok?” No answer. Not in the form of words, a look, a blink…nothing. For some people, facing reality is a challenge, but where my mother was concerned, it was one of the few things in her life she mastered so well, you’d swear she wrote the book.

Dr. Price gave a gentle knock and came in. She was a little lady working in a big mans world but she could hold her own. I had been a staff tech there for many years and worked cases with her often.

Dr. Price could be wicked mean if her radar picked up the slightest sign of weakness and I often wondered if this was real or her way of pounding her chest to establish dominance in the radiology department. Either way, one could argue that she probably earned all the ugly nicknames bestowed upon her by staff techs but the bottom line was, she was a superior Radiologist who treated her patients like gold. She deserved (and demanded) respect. I gave it to her. To tell

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

the truth, I was glad she drew the short straw and was the one getting stuck with us.

She briefly introduced herself to my mother and got straight to the point about the procedure she was about to do and why.

She immediately began gloving up, prepped my mothers skin with Betadine and a sterile drape, and instructed the tech to locate the ‘area of interest’.

The transducer wasn’t on my mothers breast for more than a few seconds when it came into view, stepping forward like some narcissistic actor at center stage. A large mass all lit up in red and blue was feasting on the arterial flow that brought it nutrition while my mom laid there getting weaker by the moment. It was literally sucking the life out of her. The thing almost looked like it was heaving breaths beneath her skin and the movement of the Doppler resembled a mouth that was gaping open and closed. It was a bastard and it was looking directly at me, laughing.

The needle came into view on the screen and with great precision, Dr. Price pierced the big bastard and I could see it recoil, as if it felt the jab. Good!

Take that you prick! I looked at Mom, who showed not even the slightest sign of pain, denying the same when Dr. Price asked how she was tolerating everything. “Oh, I’m just fine, just fine” she said, eyes still rolling up at the ceiling. I never could tell when my mother was begin stoic or just oblivious. I

know that sounds mean, but as the story moves forward, you’ll get it.

Dr. Price must have cored a dozen sections of the tumor and when she pulled the needle out, a brief exchange of glances between us conveyed a wallop of bad news. I didn’t need to read her report to know the tumor was stage four. It staked out its territory and was probably building little colonies of armies all around the inside of her body like a board game except she was never going to get a chance to roll the dice. I knew right there and then…I needed to help my mother die.

I would bring her to my house to 26

live with me. Banking at least a hundred plus years working in the medical field, I’d seen first hand what facilities for patient care could be like, and there was no way I was going to let her live the rest of her life in some clinical environment. I think it was finally sinking in to her small and simple, pickled brain that the situation rendered her with very few options. It was one of the most difficult things waiting for Mom to react to the fact that her mortality clock had been revealed.

The next several months were, to say the least, a challenge. I felt blessed to be able to help my mother, but my emotions were a InJoy Magazine, March 2019

hot mess. I was on an island all alone with her because, other than my children, our closest family was 1200 miles away.

This is entirely because all those years ago my mother made a really bad life changing decision that would negatively affect our lives forever. She decided when I was six to leave my father rather abruptly. My two older brothers and I woke up in a strange car with a strange man driving to a place far away. That man ended up being a real life boogey man who taught us how to take a punch (and other various forms of abuse) and he taught our mom how to drink – a lot. Their marriage lasted about ten years,

but my mother spent the rest of her life with her tongue stuck in the bottle, and we got hit with the collateral damage. Anyway, being little kids was really, really rough for us and that carried through well into our adult years.

But that’s a different story for a different day.

Figuring out how to help my mother understand she was now experiencing the last day of everything was hard. Even harder was how my kids almost immediately started staying at their dads house because, well, let’s face it, living in a house with a dying grandma was icky.

It wasn’t that hard for them, because the relationship my

Cover Photograph, Roman Kraft, Above by Steffen Trommer

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mother had with her grandchildren was almost cordial.

She smoked. She drank. She wasn’t the grandma you grow up longing for and sadly, left no legacy behind for my kids to miss. Surely she had regrets now and I felt cold hearted leaving her alone to deal with it. My heart was breaking and it was her fault. My kids weren’t sleeping in their beds or sitting at the dinner table anymore and I blamed her completely but never told anyone, least of all her. I guess I took comfort knowing that even though my ex and I couldn’t get it right, he was a good father and I was grateful he lived a short ten minute drive away.

Nonetheless, I knew how this scene would roll. My kids were young, impressionable, teenagers and this was going to set a new way of life that would lead to them living primarily there now, and it speared my heart. But she was my mom, and I had to do what I had to do. I still feel guilty for the resentment that built inside me toward my mom because if it wasn’t for her…

The point is, because of that really bad, selfish, horrible decision our mother made, it all came full circle and there I was, alone. With her. Mom was moving in and my kids were moving out. WTF. And so began the journey none of us would have ever guessed she’d be on two weeks prior, and I was there to hold her steady. We both adapted to our new lifestyle if you could call it that. Big Bastard dictated when

InJoy Magazine, March 2019

y mom m s a w ...she we would be at which facility for which procedure performed by which doctor and what chemicals were going to be dumped into her fragile body. Looking back I guess I’d say I was entirely grateful and I suppose cowardly too, that my mom was slightly simple with how she faced the diagnosis and mortality before her. She never really verbalized acknowledgement, but she wanted to “fight like a tiger”, as she put it to the Oncologist in response to the options he presented her with.

She opted for getting the most quality out of her limited time.

We began the process of trying to take deaths foot off the accelerator, hoping it would let her just coast a while and I was feeling blessed she had (borrowed) time to get things in order. Things like really looking at spring as it started waking up, memorizing sounds or smells, and taking in the faces of friends and family. Her long

distance sister and brothers would arrange to visit while she still felt good…and had hair.

Even my kids reluctantly agreed they would see their Grandma for short visits after school or an occasional dinner.

My mom’s apartment was small but very cute and always clean. Smoky, but clean. She had a knack of fitting ten pounds of flour into a five pound bag and making it look like it was straight out of a country home magazine.

We kept as much as we could, particularly all things that were dear, but the reality was we were doubled up on everything and had nowhere to put it. Mom always loved a good rummage sale and now she was hosting a dandy. Her entire life was being sold on the lawn, but she engaged with flocks of people all day and seemed to thoroughly enjoy the socializing. The day was sunny and warm, the tulips lingered and the bleeding hearts were budding… It was a lovely day to forget she was rummaging her life a dollar at a time because she was dying.

Spring ended far too quickly and before we knew it fall was setting in. All summer long there were visits from people, all with the unspoken intent to see her before she goes.

Nobody, especially my mother, addressed the elephant in the room.

The cancer wheel kept spinning and treatments plodded along, but she was never one for stamina and was getting

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tuckered out. She waited to tell me her secret until we were in the room for another appointment with Dr. Scott. I’ll always remember how he made a point to sit at eye level or below, looking up to my mother whenever they talked. “I just want to take a little break for the holidays” she told him after discussing what could be expected if she continued treatment or probable if she quit. And with pooling, kind, meaningful eyes, Dr. Scott took both of my mothers tiny hands into his very large, warm and gentle ones and said; “Well, my dear, sweet Joyce…that is a very brave thing to do.” And for the first time since discovering she had terminal breast cancer, my mother’s lip quivered a little, but she didn’t cry. I tried not to but I couldn’t see across the room.

So that was that. She decided right before the holidays to stop pushing back and just let deaths dark, hooded shadow begin it’s decent upon her. My sadness grew knowing it was inevitable now but I felt angry with myself for being inwardly angry at her – again - because this was another bad decision in my opinion. It was the InJoy Magazine, March 2019

holidays damn it! Who wants a visit from the morgue for Christmas?! It was all about me.

She spent a lot more time in bed, with the cat curled up on top of her fifteen hours a day while I spent time sneaking off to the funeral home to discuss things she wouldn’t. Even this far into it, the closest she ever came to acknowledging anything would come in the form of casual little comments. “This is the only picture of me I like”, she would say. That was her way of picking out her obituary photo.

Or she’d say, “I would never want anyone to see my feet, Dana.” My mothers feet were gnarly and twisted with bunions and hammer toes from younger years and pointy heels. Once she referenced the idea of visitation by saying, “Why would anybody want people standing in line to look up their nose like that?” My job was to hear what she said but know what she meant, and I did.

Things were becoming far more difficult to handle. I’d get up in the morning extra early, get ready for work and then help her tend to personal morning things. I’d lift her out of bed and back again so she could use the bedside potty chair that had now become a piece of furniture, set her nightstand up with all kinds of the comfort stuff you leave a dying person for the morning, and then leave for work knowing hospice would come in two hours. One day hospice wasn’t able to come. When I

got home, Mom was hollering my name. Panic stricken, I ran to her room and almost tripped on our great big golden retriever who occupied the entire space of her doorway. His droopy jowls were spreading out onto the floor while he moaned and agonized with great drama. Not because he was sick but because he was worried.

Apparently, when too much time had gone by, he got into the garbage, fished out a piece of old pizza, and laid it by her bed. He stayed there, whining and groaning, trying to convince her to eat.

My brothers lived in Buffalo and I did my best to update them daily about her condition. I also vented a lot about how expensive it was every time I walked out the door, because cancer kills bank accounts too. I’d explain that she had no money and had no policy or anything that would indicate she had gotten her final expenses in order. Our oldest brother was too drunk all the time to make the trip more than once, but thank God for my brother Greg who did his best to come as often as possible. Greg was there the last two weeks of her life. I remember him wheeling her to the fireplace so she could have a smoke (don’t get me started).

With him on one side and me on the other, she leaned close to the fire to exhale and without looking at us said, “I picked a bad time to save up for this didn’t I?” Now my brother got it.

Told you so.

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The cat suddenly stopped going near her room for those two weeks. If I picked her up and set her on the bed, she hopped off immediately as if something startled her. It was like she could sense ‘it’ coming for Mom and didn’t want to go with her. You could tell Mom was on the home stretch. Once in a while she’d speak with clarity but most times she was just babbling. Like the time she asked who was standing in the corner with the big blue balloon. Not wanting to confuse her I played stupid, neither going along with it or reasoning that there was nothing there.

One afternoon, I noticed the cat back in her room. Not on her bed though, no, this time she was sitting close by on the floor. She was sitting on her hind legs playing with an invisible string dangling just above her head and every once in a while she purred and rubbed against the air like something was petting her. There was nothing (I could see) there. Mom slept on. She began ‘actively dying’ as the morphine had finally taken her somewhere between here and there. We stayed by her side for hours on end and finally, the hospice nurse convinced us to take a nap, stating this could take hours or days. We both fell asleep for almost twenty minutes when the nurse came and wiggled my toe.

True to moms fashion, she tiptoed away when we were InJoy Magazine, March 2019

both asleep sometime between 3:00 and 3:30 a.m., which happens to be the window of time each of us were born.

Before getting my brother, I went into her room. She looked so very tiny. It was oddly calm in the room and the gold halo of light from the lamp was somehow comforting. The nurse and I tidied her up a little and I picked up a quilt that my Gramma had sewn by hand many years ago. While I was tucking it around her I was stopped in my tracks. There, before me, were my momma’s feet. They were no longer buckled on top of themselves.

With the exception of a little bunion, her toes were soft and long, petite and pretty. I leaned in, kissed her on the forehead for a long moment, and told her so.

Helping my mother die was the hardest thing I never thought I’d have to do. She succumbed to breast cancer with fierce courage, fear, faith, heartache, wonder and mystery. It was an incredible honor and privilege that she allowed me to be with her through such an important journey.

Later that day, my Aunt Sharon told me how they grew up during the Great Depression.

My Gramma had somehow gotten a hold of an old, military weather balloon. She would let my mother, aunt and uncles send it high into the sky, and take turns winding it back down again. It was blue.

Dana Swoyer discovered her writing interests in the fifth grade when she wrote a poem, “What is Spring”. The poem was an assignment that was published in the local newspaper. Small but significant, that publication was the catalyst that encouraged her to write from that day forward.

To make ends meet, she put her writing dreams on the back burner and earned her degree as a Licensed Radiographer in 1992. In 2002, she also earned credentials as a Licensed Massage Therapist.

Now an empty nester, Dana is more passionate about writing than ever before. She skillfully accommodates any genre, but her favorite material often has a cheeky humor that brings any circumstance to the bright side of the road. She writes with truth and grit, often leaving her readers wondering if they just read a story about themselves. That is her intention.

She enjoys life with her husband and long time companion Jeff at their home in Ipswich, Massachusetts. When she isn’t writing, she can be found sitting at her potter’s wheel, painting, gardening, or combing the shores of New England, gathering treasures and inspiration.

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FOR A MOMENT OF QUIET REFLECTION

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..but I just threw it together...

At-home French

Dip (Easy!)

1/4lb Deli roast beef (Per sandwic h) Bakery rolls Provolone cheese -Au Jus Sauce1 Cup beef broth 3 Tbs (or so) flour 2 Tbs soy sauce salt pepper garlic powder Pre-heat your oven to about 300 degres .

Assemble the sand wiches open-face st yle on a cookie sheet, and bake just until sandwiches are war m and cheese is m elted.

You’re not baking the sandwiches, ju st heat them up.

Bring your broth an d soy to a boil and slowly add sprinkle s of flour while whi sking until sauce slightly thickens. You wan t it the consistancy of oran ge juice (not water and not gravy). Salt an d pepper and garlic to taste.

Serve with tater to ts, sweet potato frie s or your favorite veggie !

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Perfect chili every time Chili is known as the perfect snowed in weekend meal, but the best time to make chili is when the peppers and tomatos are fresh off the vine. Here’s a simple way to get great chili in winter without getting teary from chopping peppers for hours.

Just throw all this in a pot

1lb hamburger or finely chopped steak 1 can kidney beans 1 can black beans 1 can chili (pinto) beans 1 can diced tomatos 1/2 onion (optional) 3 to 5 Tbs chili powder (be generous) 1 Tbs onion powder 1 Tsp paprika (be sparing) Salt and Pepper 3 8oz cans V8 (we prefer the low sodium kind) 1/2 bottle bloody mary mixer (just the mixer, not the alcohol...unless you want)

Tryin’ to be healthy stir-fry 1/2 Chicken Breast About 10 Brussel Sprouts 1/4 Zuchinni 1/4 Onion Old Bay Seasonings Lowry’s Garlic Salt Tiny splash oil

Let simmer in crock pot or stove for 1-3 hours. Chili is best served with Fritos chips, cheddar cheese and sour cream. Leftover chili is often more flavorful than the 1st day!

Slice chicken into small bite size pieces, then cook on hot skillet with splash of oil. Season with your prefered seasoning to taste. Cook until chicken is white. Or to make it super easy, use pre-cooked chicken.

Once chicken is cooked throughly, add quartered sprouts, quartered zuchninni and diced onions. Cook about 5-7 min until hot but still crispy.

Serve with wedge of quesadilla...or whatever!

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InJoy’s Local Photograph Submissions

Photograph by Jeanne Burton Fryer. thank you for another wonderful submission!

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Send us more!

April’s Photography theme of the month “Pets in Winter” Did you have a fun winter with your pet?

Send us pictures of your pets (or any other random animal) in the snow, rain or sunshine (yeah, I know we didn’t get much snow).

We’ll showcase them here

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Spring has arrived

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