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GANE Insight: Kim Jorgensen Gane's Blog

I'm no longer directionally challenged--I have a clear vision to celebrate #MOREin2014 via GANEPossible.com. Preempting my novel in progress, Bluebirds, I'm very close to releasing my first GANE Possible publication (prescriptive "Dr. Mom" nonfiction), Beating the Statistics: A Mother's Quest to Reclaim Fertility, Halt Autism & Help Her Child Grow From Behavior Failure to Behavior Success. I'm also working on completing my memoir, My Grandfather's Table: Learning to Forgive Myself First.

It took a lifetime to get here. This blog documents my quest to self-fulfillment through my writing, and ultimately to shifting my focus to Beating the Statistics & My Grandfather's Table and speaking about them. They are the wellness and the memoir parts of my journey that had to be told, so that Bluebirds can one day be the meaningful, but fictional *story* it aspires to be.

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Bluebirds Bring More Than Happiness; Omen Of My Long-Awaited Son

4/25/2012

26 Comments

 
Picture
I can still see their black silhouettes--bats soared overhead against the dark of the night sky.  The yard beyond was illuminated by a big farm light that buzzed on a pole, though it wasn’t much of a farm anymore.  Pieces had been sold off over the years to encroaching industry; plastics companies that left mounds and mounds of synthetic scraps of all shapes and colors.  Bits and pieces my brother and I would collect to play with as money or food or just to inspect and toss at the fence.

We played for endless hours at my grandparent’s house.  We ate small, firm green pears until our bellies ached and we climbed the graceful, swaying willow tree, with the beckoning low branches that met at its base, stretching up like a welcome hug.  Except for the bats, this was the place I felt safest.  It was the place I felt most loved and where all our family came to gather.  Cousins, aunts, uncles and all of us, around big lace-covered tables laden with my grandmother’s delicious, aromatic cooking and colored by the loot from my grandfather’s garden.

Mornings after I slept in the room that had been my mother’s, we woke to the smell of breakfast cooking.  Thin, almost rubbery pancakes were plentiful to roll around fat sausage links and dip into sticky maple syrup that dripped down my chin.  We drank sugary, milky children’s tea from my grandmother’s dainty porcelain cups, dotted with exquisite painted violets.  I remember many summer afternoons when my grandfather and I walked in his garden; his bare, hairless knees peeked out from his shorts as a corduroy-slippered foot pressed a pitchfork into the loamy soil, turning it to reveal clumps of sweet, round new potatoes.  It was my job to fish them from the earth and carry them enfolded in my shirt to my grandmother who scrubbed them and later served them doused in salty, buttery goodness.  My grandfather’s large, firm finger disappeared into the soil alongside a fat carrot that would be left submerged until it matched or exceeded in girth and length.  He handed me round, firm but yielding tomatoes, still warm from the sun.  I bit into them like apples, and their juices dripped down in scarlet rivers off my filthy elbow.   I was covered in dirt, pink cheeked and tow headed and nothing mattered but the bees and the bounty. 

I remember my grandfather’s fondness for birds—budgies—I later learned this was an English thing when I was finally able to visit my maternal grandparents’ homeland, after they both were gone.  He always kept bird feeders among the forsythias in view of the front picture window, and was proud of the many varieties he attracted; cardinals, my favorite, orioles, canaries, his favorite, gold finches and every other kind and color imaginable.  A firm believer in hard work and a daily nap, he would lie back on the sofa, smoke his pipe and watch the birds.  Once all the smoke-rings had wasped away and the scent of the blue-tinned, apple wood tobacco had faded, he would close his eyes in the stillness, only the ticking clock and his snores disturbed the cool silence I treasured. 

Perhaps that’s why bluebirds came to tell me after six long years that my son would finally be; perhaps my grandfather sent them.  Two days in a row, two bluebirds came to the feeder outside my kitchen window.  I knew they were a sign; an omen that everything would be OK.  We had just closed our restaurant and financially our future was very uncertain.  There was the work trip to Britain my husband wouldn’t have been allowed to embark on without me, but otherwise there was only uncertainty:  temperature charting, endless research on endometriosis and polycystic ovarian syndrome, chiropractic visits, drastic dietary adjustments, yoga, chakra balancing, progesterone cream, cleansing and fistfuls of supplements filled my days when our teenage daughters were in school.  Failure and fear filled my thoughts, until I saw those bluebirds and experienced the lush, colorful spring of London.  Suddenly my chronically acidic pH was perfectly in balance, and hope was my friend.  This was April.  And by June, I would have cause to take a pregnancy test again; prayerful that this time would turn out better than the loss we experienced two years before.

The bluebirds weren’t the only sign my grandfather sent.  When I finally gave birth to the boy I’d waited so very long to hold, my grandfather, dead at 100 years of age just the year before, came to me in a deeply vivid, drug-induced dream.  Not the bent over, feeble, occasionally sound minded, but impish and twinkle-eyed nonetheless grandfather, but the Grandpa of my youth.  The one who sported Elvis Costello glasses, a dapper seer-sucker suit and a straw hat; all of his five-foot-four-inch frame with its great, strong farm hands the size of a man’s over six feet tall, with their “educated thumbs” that could crack walnuts and put every man in our family on his knees during the required, humbling handshake greeting.      

Perhaps it was merely a memory of when I was not yet two and my baby brother was born; the hospital halls were lined with backless, vinyl, mustard-toned benches, and the hushed nurses hurried along in their skirts, white hosiery and clunky white shoes, not the scrubs and white Birkenstocks worn by my actual nurses.  Someone else was with him.  Man or woman, I’ll never know, because my husband woke me, thinking I was having a nightmare.  But I wasn’t.  I was deliriously happy to see the Grandpa of my youth, so very proud to show him my baby boy and grateful for the chance to thank him for the bluebirds.

Photo courtesy of:  Sandysphotos2009 (20100415_86  Uploaded by Snowmanradio) [CC-BY-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

26 Comments
Anna link
4/24/2012 11:55:40 pm

Kim- I'm speechless (and wiping tears from my eyes). <3

Reply
Kim Gane link
4/25/2012 04:08:59 pm

Anna & Lola: Thank you both so much for following along, my faithful readers. You are both such wonderful women to have in my life. --Kim

Reply
Lola
4/25/2012 03:20:02 am

Absolutely amazing! Thanks for sharing, Kim.

Reply
Kim Gane link
4/25/2012 04:14:03 am

I'm still crying, too. Gosh, I miss him. Thanks so very much for reading, my friends.

Reply
Jeff Hoover
4/25/2012 04:49:07 am

I knew you could act.
I knew you could sing.
You can write.
Fantastic!

Reply
Kim Gane link
4/25/2012 05:15:16 am

THANK YOU, Jeff!!! I have so much respect for you, it means the world. xo

Reply
James Kirk
4/25/2012 04:55:47 am

That was beautiful.

Reply
Kim Gane link
4/25/2012 05:16:12 am

Bless you, James.

Reply
Lainey link
4/25/2012 07:35:40 am

I had happy tears the second I started reading! You should enter this in a contest!!!!!!! Fantastical!!!!!! xoxoxo

Reply
Kim Gane link
4/25/2012 07:53:35 am

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, Lainey!! I've submitted it for Syndication consideration with BlogHer. Hopefully maybe for Father's Day?? Keep your fingers crossed!

Reply
Bro
4/25/2012 12:47:34 pm

Awesome, sister!

Reply
Kim Gane link
4/25/2012 04:06:58 pm

Dad & Bro, thanks so much for stopping by. We were so very lucky to have had him in our lives. And I am lucky to have you, too. Love you both, so very much. --Kim

Reply
Dad
4/25/2012 03:16:25 pm

Reply
Darlene
4/25/2012 07:09:04 pm

That was unbelievable! Kim it truly made me
Feel your experience. Thank you for sharing your beautiful, descriptive, story.

Reply
AuntieLeen link
4/26/2012 01:21:33 pm

Honey! What beautiful pictures you draw with your words. I love and admire you dear one.

Reply
Kim Gane link
4/26/2012 05:14:00 pm

Darlene, Thank you so much for stopping by again. I appreciate the feedback and am so happy you enjoyed my story.

And Auntie Leen!! SO wonderful to hear from you! Thank you so much for visiting and you must know I love and admire you right back. XOXO I MISS you!!

Reply
AuntiLeen link
12/17/2012 03:33:25 pm

I miss you too sweetheart. Have a Merry Christmas. XO XO XO

Sara
4/28/2012 09:43:01 am

Beautiful mom. Lots of tears.

Reply
Kim Gane link
4/28/2012 01:13:51 pm

THANK YOU, Sweetie! I appreciate the evidence that you were here! (O; Love you. --Mom

Reply
Mom
5/4/2012 10:02:50 am

Wow, sweetheart! That was wonderful. It didn't make me cry though. It sent me back to such a wonderful place and time. I'm so happy you remember so many of the wonderful experiences that your grandparents provided you. So many adults and children never have had this kind of freedom in play and learning about the simple pleasures from someone who loved life so much. You also described my childhood to a tee. Thank you for your tribute to this wonderful man. I love you so! Mom

Reply
Kim Gane link
5/4/2012 01:20:48 pm

SO glad you loved it, Mom! I knew you would, and I'm glad it took you back in such a happy, positive way. Love you!

Reply
Kim Gane link
12/12/2012 03:05:27 am

As I work toward finishing the novel I started years ago on this very topic, I'm remembering more about my grandfather and his birds and connecting more pieces. There are signs or themes in our lives that repeat themselves over and over if we're paying attention... if we're still enough to listen for them; to receive them.

When I was a little girl, I had a gold necklace with a tiny enameled bluebird pendant of blue and pink. I can feel myself fingering it, and I remember a conversation with my grandfather when I asked him whether he'd ever seen bluebirds at his feeders. He said that he had, but in all the years they lived there, I never did happen along at the right time. I know now that's why he sent bluebirds for me. Otherwise, how would I have known they were from him. The person who treasured me and believed in me, and saw in me what I couldn't quite see in myself.

I know this is what I'm meant to do, and the signs have been leading me here all along. Stay tuned, my wonderful friends....

Reply
Kim Gane link
1/31/2013 04:48:10 am

As I was writing the final scene yesterday for Bluebirds (still much more work to do, I'm jumping around a bit, as I'm inspired)--in my cave of an office in our crappy rental that's within walking distance of my beloved Lake Michigan, where I belong--I looked out the single 2' x 3' window to ponder a word; repeat a phrase. In that instant, I saw the first brilliant red cardinal I've seen in the five months since our return home from two years in San Diego. He perched briefly on the small section of giant pine that's visible from my desk, looked at me, and flew off. Our ongoing dialog continues through birds. Grampa approves.

Reply
Kim Jorgensen Gane link
2/27/2013 11:17:51 am

Here's a back cover blurb for Bluebirds:

"Author Lynette Bower, six years into a battle with infertility, is wrestling with the idea of adoption versus continuing to fight her body to do what it's supposed to do. Her husband wants her to stop all infertility treatments and pursue adopting an Asian baby. We meet her on the table, receiving her third and final in vitro procedure. As she's about to leave, a chance meeting with a NICU nurse, who appears (and just as quickly disappears) suspiciously old-fashioned, puts her on a path to meet a terminally ill little boy who will change the course of her life and the way she looks at it forever."

Reply
Anita
2/27/2013 03:31:09 pm

Kim, I am in awe of you, my amazing friend. You are a painter with words. I felt I was there with you in each step of this excerpt. I could literally close my eyes and PICTURE each event with vivid clarity. You my dear were born to be an AUTHOR. I cannot wait to purchase Bluebirds and read it in its' fabulous whole.

Reply
Kim Jorgensen Gane link
3/15/2013 02:40:58 pm

Oh gosh, Anita. I'm so lucky to have your friendship and support. Your words mean the world to me. They will fire me on, and keep me writing and finishing to meet my goal. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. xo

Reply



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    Write2TheEnd | 

    Kim Jorgensen Gane

    Author|Award-Winning Essayist|Freelance CommercialWriter|GANE
    Empowered Wellness Advocate, Facilitator, Speaker

    Kim is a freelance writer, living and working on Michigan’s sunset coast with her husband, youngest son, a standard poodle and a gecko. She’s been every-mom, raising two generations of kids over twenty-seven years. Kim writes on a variety of topics including parenting  through midlife crisis, infertility, health and wellness, personal empowerment, politics, and about anything else that interests her, including flash fiction and her novel in progress, Bluebirds.  Oh, and this happened!

    Kim was selected as a BlogHer '13 Voices of the Year Honoree in the Op Ed category for this post, an excerpt of which has been adapted for inclusion in the book, 51%: Women and the Future of Politics, to be released late 2014.  Visit her Wordpress About page to see her CV.
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*GANEPossible.com is an anecdotal website and in no way intends to diagnose, treat, prevent or otherwise influence the medical decisions of its readers. I am not a doctor, I do not recommend going off prescribed medications without the advice and approval of a qualified practitioner, and I do not recommend changing your diet or your exercise routine without first consulting your doctor. These are merely my life experiences, and what has and hasn't worked for me and my family. You must be your own best medical advocate and that of your children, and seek to find the practitioner with whom you have the best rapport and in whose advice and care you can entrust your health and medical decisions.


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I Blog with Integrity, please treat my content with integrity: Copyright © 2020, Kimberly Jorgensen Gane, This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License..