Posts Tagged ‘#Cinderella’




The battle for identity…          

            … one story at a time.



Except that it’s not my birthday this time. Or maybe it’s the birthday present that keeps on giving.


‘Cause it will. Being able to walk NORMALLY for the first time in my life?? I’d call that a gift tantamount to a miracle. Nah, let’s just call it what it is—a MIRACLE.

By this time tomorrow I will be in hospital and in the operating room.

By noon, I’ll be in recovery or on my way to my own room. And by late afternoon, they’ll have me on my feet for the first try at taking a step!

Do you know how excited this makes me? How happy I am to finally be having this surgery???


All this to say that, combined with my recent year-long writing frenzy, the blog will be on actual break through August. Other than my July Man Blitz, which has been deferred to August this year, and reviews as I am able, my time will be devoted to rest and recovery—both the Knewbie Knee-bie and my brain!



“Maybe you have to know the darkness to truly appreciate the light.”—Madeline L’Engle



#Blogwords, Special Edition, Robin E. Mason, Knewbie Knee, Summer Break, #R&R, July Man Blitz, #kneereplacement, #arthroplasty, #osteoarthritis, #greermemorialhospital, #steadmanhawkinsofthecarolinas, #cinderella, #watchmerun


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Knees. What’s a knee?


“The knee joint joins the thigh with the leg and consists of two articulations: one between the femur and tibia, and one between the femur and patella. It is the largest joint in the human body. The knee is a mobile trocho-ginglymus, which permits fexion and extension, as well as slight internal and external rotation.


“The knee is a hinge type synovial joint, which is composed of three functional compartments: the femoropatellar articulation, consisting of the patella, or kneecap, and the patellar groove on the front of the femur through which it slides; and the medial and lateral femorotibial articulations linking the femur, or thigh bone, with the tibia, the main bone of the lower leg. The joint is bathed in synovial fluid which is contained inside the synovial membrane called the joint capsule…

“The knee is one of the most important joints of our body. It plays an essential role in movement related to carrying the body weight in horizontal (running and walking) and vertical (jumps) directions.

“At birth, a baby will not have a conventional knee cap, but a growth formed of cartilage. By the time that the child is 3-5 years of age, ossification will have replaced the cartilage with bone.”

(definition found on Wikipedia.)


I hadn’t realized our precious knees are the largest joint in the body!



And cartilage. What is cartilage?


“Cartilage is a thin, elastic tissue that protects the bone and makes certain that the joint surfaces can slide easily over each other. Cartilage ensures supple knee movement. There are two types of joint cartilage in the knees: fibrous cartilage (the meniscus) and hyaline cartilage. Fibrous cartilage has tensile strength and can resist pressure. Hyaline cartilage covers the surface along which the joints move. Cartilage will wear out over the years. Cartilage has a very limited capacity for self-restoration.” (definition found on Wikipedia)



So what do these wondrous joints do?


[The knee] … “acts as a hinge that allows your lower leg and foot to swing easily forward or back as you walk, run, or kick. A healthy knee allows almost 150 degrees of movement. But unlike a simple hinge like one on a jewelry box, for example, in which any wobble is undesirable, the knee slightly rotates and moves from side to side, as well.”



Imagine stairs. We’d not be able to climb or descend stairs without this magnificent joint.




You get the picture. Our knees are designed, like the rest of our bodies for a purpose.

And when they don’t do what they’re supposed to…..

Then it’s time for replacement. An artificial knee. Arthroplasty.

Not a fun day.

Unless you’ve waited as long as I have. Forty years, give or take a few weeks. My poor little knees were messed up from the beginning and when I was seventeen, I had a tendon moved to where it’s supposed to be. Think surgical staples. Even then the kneecap was already cracked and damaged. Even then, the surgeon told us I’d likely need further surgery, possibly full replacement. Well, it’s time.

The interim years have been rough, compounding an already tenuous condition. For a multitude of reasons, I just put up with it. Compromised everything I did to accommodate knees that don’t work the way they should. And a few months ago, I couldn’t any more. While I am not immobile, I’m hardly walking, and certainly not without pain.

I feel like Cinderella at the ball. All the things I’ll be able to do. Like climb steps. Or go down them. I don’t know the last time I could do either without contorting myself, and leaning (heavily) on a railing. Or somebody. And God help me when there is no railing.

The rest of my body doing things it’s not designed to do. My wrists and shoulders especially. And my back. Squat to lift? No way. Sit on the floor with the kids to play a game or work a puzzle? Not possible. Well, possible but getting up nearly is. Impossible. And it’s really not pretty to watch. Take a hot soaky bath? I wish. In the category of getting up from the floor, I can’t get myself out of the tub.

So, yeah, I’m pretty stoked! I am not discounting the weeks of discomfort and pain. Then again, I’ve been in discomfort and pain for so long… This pain and discomfort is different. There’s an end in sight, a purpose to the pain, a resolution from this discomfort.

And my birthday? In hospital? What about cake? Presents? Balloons? Let’s face it, there’s not much celebration for birthday when you’re in my age bracket. (shhh, I’m not really that old and I’ll deny it all day long!) So what celebration? Learning to walk again? Learning to walk correctly? I’ll take it! Let me say that again, I’LL TAKE IT!

So at the time of this posting, I will have checked in to this lovely facility, surgery behind me, and recovery underway. I’ll be home tomorrow and the real work begins. Well, first REST begins. And I can’t wait to see what’s in store!

So yeah, Happy Birthday to me today! So send me a card (birthday or get well) bring me flowers, bake me a cake—I’ve a brand new knee to celebrate!


#kneereplacement, #arthroplasty, #osteoarthritis, #happybirthdaytome, #greermemorialhospital, #steadmanhawkinsofthecarolinas, #cinderella, #watchmerun

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The month of October is a special time for me:

my debut novel, my baby,


 tessa cover - front - 092314

will be released IN PRINT on Halloween!





I think we all know the story of Cinderella. The name “has, by analogy, come to mean one whose attributes were unrecognized, or one who unexpectedly achieves recognition or success after a period of obscurity and neglect.” [Wikipedia] My favorite retelling is the movie, Everafter, with Drew Barrymore. In this particular version, her name is Danielle, and she is the apple of her father’s eye. He is widowed, remarries, and dies soon after. Nasty wicked stepmother, of course, banishes Danielle to live as one of the servants. Yeah, yeah, we know all that!


Talk about mixed up identity roles! If ever a story told of hidden identity, I think this is it! With Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) specifically, perhaps with all mental illness, there is a question of identity. Certainly, with our spiritual aspect considered. For if we truly know who we are in Christ, we rise and conquer, we have no such struggles. Right? Don’t I wish it were so! Would that it were that easy.


But it’s not.


We are all created for a purpose. Papa God wrote our design specs at the foundation of the world, and He knew our journey from the beginning of time. He programmed each of us to fulfill that purpose, with talents and abilities, and desires specific to that purpose. Psalm 37:4, “Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desire of you heart.” I believe that the desire of our heart is what it is because He put it there. Because it’s what He wants for us.


God never intended us to walk around, head drooping, woe-begotten, “poor, pitiful me.” Rather, “The joy of the Lord is my strength and my song!” Nehemiah 8:10. I think sometimes, we think we have to be happy in order to be strong. But that’s backwards. It’s not our happiness at all. It’s His. His joy that IS our strength. It’s not about us at all, but about Him. It’s always about Him.


Funny thing about that, though. When we make it about Him, He makes it about us!


So if it’s so simple and straightforward, what’s the problem?


The problem is this little thing called free will. I know I don’t want somebody “loving” me cause I say they have to. I mean, that’s not love anyway, right? If they don’t choose to love me, then it’s empty and meaningless.


Same with God. He gave us free will because otherwise our relationship is empty and meaningless.


Enter plethora of complications. There is an enemy, you know, the one that struts around, thinking he’s “all that.” He’s not, he’s nothing. He makes noise, roars “like a lion” but he’s nothing. He has no power at all. At all. “Yup. You read that right. Hell truly has no power. Satan is a liar, that’s it. That’s his “super power.” Pretty lame. He lied right there in the Garden of Eden, “Did God really say that?”” [see post: Depression, 051114]


Interesting that quote came from my post on depression. Then again, that’s kinda the point. Lies. The enemy lies to us. Tells us we are not who God says we are. Tells us we aren’t worthy. Or, that we’re too good for God, don’t need Him. Or… countless other vain imaginations. He burdened me with the unworthy one, the not good enough.


I had to try extra hard, just so I’d have some meager scrap of attention. At least that’s how I felt. Kinda like a kid who throws a tantrum for the attention. I mean, negative attention is better than none, right? I’ve seen the memes that say neglect causes the same emotional damage as physical pain. Interesting.


I felt I had to hide who I was. I had to hide how invaluable I was. I had to – wear a mask. Of something else, anything else. I had to try to be something I’m not. No wonder I had such a hard time trying to achieve and accomplish anything. Anything. No wonder I felt so at home when I started theatre! I got to be someone else. And I got accolades for it. Not to mention, I’m good at it! wink wink


When I was a little girl, Cinderella aired on TV once a year. It was a family tradition to watch it. It starred Leslie Ann Warren, and in it she sang a song that drives this point.



Whatever I want to be. But only “in my own little corner, in my own little world.”


We all wear masks at times. We put on the proverbial happy face so our kids don’t know there’s a tragedy. Or we tone down our own exuberance when a loved one is facing a tragedy. Or the fight we just had with spouse or kids, we hide that when we get to work. Or church.


But what about the times we hide our pain from the very ones God has placed in our lives to help us with that pain? What about, the times we hide our pain from ourselves. What does that look like? It looks like multiple personalities. Or bipolar disorder. Or depression. It looks like alcoholism and drug abuse. Smoking even. It’s a mask. It’s all masks that we wear. And, I dare say, we all wear them at some time or another.


It’s only when we dare to peel the masks back, and begin to search our own soul that we can hope to find who we are. Our real and true identity. But only in light of God’s Word. How can we expect to know who He says we are, if we don’t, oh I dunno, ask Him? It’s a process, and it can be painful, grueling even, but I’m here to tell ya, it’s worth it. There’s nothing like it, nothing can compare to discovering who and what you were created to be and do. Discovering the anointing He has placed on your life, and within you.


And to be honest, it’s scary. And not just a little bit. I’m soaring into this life He’s had for me all along, and frankly, it’s terrifying. Exhilarating, but frightening at the same time. Why? Because it’s new, it’s unknown, it’s unfamiliar territory. Because I have to let go of all my “safety nets” and leave ye olde comfort zone behind. It stinks there anyway, I’m glad to leave it behind. But this new place, this soaring business – what if my parachute doesn’t open? What if I crash and burn? What if? What if? What if?


What if it works? What if it’s everything we dreamed it’d be? What if it’s more? What if Papa God is the parachute? What if He navigates our flight, and we soar places we never imagined? What if we actually learn to live as the person He designed us to be? What if?




If you haven’t already, be sure to stop by and like my Facebook page, follow me on Twitter, on my blog! Please leave me a comment, let me know you’re here!









#cinderella, #everafter, #drewbarrymore, #leslieannwarren, #myownlittlechair, #Godspurpose, #parachute

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In light of my current endeavor to publish my Tessa in print (woo hoo!) I dedicate this week’s blog post to her. The above is my revised (and in progress) blurb. I offer you now, a few excerpts to whet your appetite. Details of the release shall be forthcoming, as well as my cover reveal and a release party contest!! All the up-to-date scoop will be on my Facebook page:


Be sure to stop by and pay me a visit, and like my page whilst you’re there! Always happy to have visitors and new friends!





Cassie had not been an excitable child. But at Christmastime the wonder and enchantment of the season overtook her usual unruffled demeanor. In spite of the fact that Marni played down the folderol and hoopla of the holidays, Cassie was as eager for Christmas morn as the rest of her fourth grade class.
And in spite of the fact that her mother kept her to a set schedule, Cassie was allowed to stay up past bedtime on Christmas Eve to watch for Santa’s sleigh in the sky. And in spite of the fact that she was up late, she always woke early, before the sun, anxious to get to her brightly wrapped gifts under the brightly decorated Christmas tree.

This year it was different, though. This year, Mommie was married. To Mr. Heath – Daddy, she was allowed to call him Daddy now. And this year, there was a baby coming.
Cassie padded down the hall in her silky soft pink slippers to Mommie’s room. But when she peaked in through the open door, Marni was not there.
Why didn’t they come get me? Cassie’s brow furrowed, hoping that all the gifts were not opened already.
But there was no one in the living room. Gifts unopened, they lay just as they were last night, and no sign that Santa had come either. Cassie checked the breakfast room. Still no sign of anyone.
Mrs. Dudek was in the kitchen, though, nursing a cup of coffee.
“Merry Christmas, little one!”
“Where’s Mommie?”
“They’ve gone to the hospital. The baby’s coming.”
“But what about my presents?”
“You’ll have a baby brother or sister for your Christmas present.”
Cassie tried to smile, but she wanted to open the bright red gift with her name on it. She wanted her Barbie Dream House from Santa. She wondered why he hadn’t come.”



Tessa’s nightmares started again, reliving the moment Connie went over. Living it as herself going over the edge, falling, perpetually falling, hitting the bottom only to fall again.
Marrying Stewart after all, being in her Chinese silk wedding gown, all bloody and ragged from falling. And always with Howie looking on.

In some of the nightmares, she pushed Connie over. In some of them, Connie pushed her over the edge.
The worst dreams, though, were that the wedding was taking place as planned. Except that Connie had become her, and was marrying Stew. She was shut out of her own wedding day, no one could see her, no one could hear her. She tried over and again to engage, to dance with her groom, her new husband. But he, this man in her dreams, only had eyes for the other her. She ran and ran, around and round the entire wedding party and festivities, the cake, the bouzouki players, her family, her friends – HER friends.
And always, she flew off the top of the mountain, her body smashing and thudding against every outcrop on the way down.”



Marni Miller was an exotic creature. Five-foot-nine and slender. Sleek black hair that she wore long and straight. And ice blue eyes.
Now, those blue eyes were snowflakes, misted and adrift. And scared. How can I tell Pop? This will kill him.
After graduation last year, Marni had remained at home to attend Valley Community College. As an art major, she knew she was a deep disappointment to her Pop; he wanted her to go into law or medicine, a generation before her time. But law did not appeal to Marni, and medicine – there was simply too much science and biology for a free spirit such as herself.
Except that now, some of that biology would have served her well. Particularly the reproductive chapters. Marni was not naïve. She knew about sex, and knew how this had happened. She just wished she knew more about the months ahead of her. Marni wished she knew about the immediate hours ahead of her, facing her Pop, but no text book could begin to address the nuances of her relationship with her father.”



Upwards of 200 guests gathered in Barclay Hall, clustered around the linen covered table. In the center stood a seven-tiered illusion in sugar.   Marzipan zoo animals marched around each layer, with yellow and pink frosting balloons bobbing in and out. The tiny top tier held a single yellow candle, nestled in a bed of pink florettes.

Upwards of 200 guests sang out, “Happy Birthday Sweet Connie. Happy birthday to you.”

Cassie sang along because she knew she wasn’t allowed not to. She knew the cake was meant for her too. She knew that Mommie and Heath had presents for her at home. And several of the guests bade her Happy Birthday as well.

But she wanted her own party. She was eleven now, she had her own friends. Mommie had let her invite a few of them to come over after school last week and Gina had made a cake. But there were no candles on it and they didn’t sing. It wasn’t really a party.


Dressed in look-alike pinafores and smocks, Cassie stood behind Connie’s beribboned high chair and helped blow out the candle. While Connie smashed her dimpled little fingers into a yellow giraffe, Cassie stole away with her china plate, and a tea cup of lemonade. Secreted on the velvet settee under the sweeping staircase, Cassie listened to the festivities of her half-sister’s first birthday. She opened her book and escaped to Misselthwaite Manor.”




Oh, darling, thank God you’re alive!” Cassie was still in shock, and this display of affection from Marni rippled through her in waves of numb bewilderment.

Marni continued, “I was so afraid it was you! I don’t know what I’d do if you had died and Cassie had lived.”

Cassie collapsed, the receiver clattered to the floor. The Police Constable picked it up, spoke into the phone in sketchy English while two medics lifted Cassie onto a stretcher.

“Mrs.” The Constable began. “Lady have black out. You to call later time.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you.” The phone clicked off. In New York, on U.S. soil, Marni made ready to fly to Greece to claim the body of the daughter she had never wanted. A part of her was relieved that this unwanted person was no longer a millstone around her neck, a part of her felt great guilt at that truer sentiment. But a deeper part of her mourned the loss of a child she wished she could have loved.”












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