Rejection. Who needs it? Mary Buckham says we do. In an interview I did with the accomplished writer and successful writing teacher, she spoke about dealing with rejection and managing the uncertainty of a writer’s life. She shared an encouraging reality: those challenges prove you’re in the game. You are truly in the business of writing. You have engaged the clutch, the car can move forward.
When she told of losing one of her sons to SIDS, Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, and how she had to follow her dream of writing not only to fulfill herself, but for her son and what his dreams might have been, tears welled in my eyes. And a dormant bulb ticked on in my mental chandelier.
Of course, pursuing her dream also included her five other children, as they were there for the sacrifices, balances, compromises, collaborations, late dinners, and undone laundry that is part of having two artists for parents. Yet, ardently, rigorously structuring her life in order to write was directly related to honoring her son.
Am I respecting Rosie by living my dream? We were sisters yet I don’t even know what her dream was. She checked out at the age of forty-nine years and four days, over16 years ago. She had worked on Alaskan fishing boats, in a busy studio as a photographer, and was in optician school when she died. She had drifted, looking, never seeming to find an answer. What did she give up on? And why? Do I honor her by staying the course, no matter how difficult? The African folktale, “The Cowtail Switch,” says a person is not really dead as long as they are remembered. Does that go for dreams too?
My father died relatively young, a bit shy of age sixty-six, the decades of smoking had done irreparable damage by the time he quit in his early sixties. He resented quitting, actually, but his emphysema gave him no choice by then. What about his dreams? He gave up on a dream of professional golfing in order to take care of his wife and three children. At one time, he was a ‘scratch’ golfer, meaning he had a zero handicap, meaning he was really good. I shake my head remembering one occasion he tried to teach me a ‘natural’ swing when I was around thirteen. After a series of golf balls hit our Great Dane/Labrador dog, knocked over a couple tall droopy sunflowers, and ended up lost in the blackberry bushes, Dad gave up and went in the house. Do his and Rosie’s dreams live on in me when I pursue mine even though I can only guess at what theirs were?
My Mom was ninety-one when she died. She, and my dad, told me I could do anything, being President was just one option. She wanted to be a social worker. One of her teachers strongly encouraged Mom to go to college. Yes college was a nice idea – yet regular people got jobs and got married. Will I carry her dreams with me now that she has passed on by living mine fully, as she would want me to? Have I already done so without making the conscious connection, as I worked many years in social services and graduated from college in my forties.
By living my dreams, pursuing heart-driven goals, and delving into what I feel passionate about, do those other peoples’ wishes find a path as well? Am I the vessel for more than just me?
Storyteller and sublime harpist, Patrick Ball, tells about going to college in pursuit of a law degree. Then when his father died suddenly, he walked away from that legal career as he realized that law was his father’s dream; Patrick went looking for his own, and found it in music. Yet by doing so, did he carry his father’s even further?
Grandpa Alfred, my Mom’s father, died at age thirty-nine of tuberculosis. In 1937, all that could be done then was put TB patients in a sanitarium and wait. Like Doc Holliday fifty years before him, there was no cure for TB. In fact, Doc was about the same age as Alfred. What a mysterious scourge TB was: Doc’s mother had also died of it.
Dreams. Alfred married a French girl he met in eastern France where he was stationed in World War I. Big dreams when he brought her back to the U.S. four years later and started a family, as well as a furrier business in downtown Seattle. Then died when his children were thirteen, nine, and four. Dreams. My mother tells of the family moving to Cle Elum to be near the sanitarium; Mom, being the eldest, usually fixed dinner as her mother was over at the hospital every night till dusk. Then one evening, her mother came home, sat down on the porch step and remained there. Mom watched her mother through the screen door, then after a few minutes, she came out of the cabin. It took a moment or two before ma Grandmere’ quietly said, “He’s gone,” as she looked over across the field on the other side of the road. Wondering where the dream had gone?
Dreams in the laboratory, dreams in the courtroom, dreams in the typewriter, dreams over in the next valley, dreams on the stage, dreams taking off on a journey, dreams unspoken in the secret place in one’s heart.
Where do dreams go that are released, abandoned, forsaken, or denied? Are they inherited? Do they collect in a big pool somewhere? A gigantic cosmic canning jar?
Can others’ dreams live on in me even if my dreams are different than theirs? Yet, maybe all dreams are much the same: what makes us feel alive, what gives us hope, what compels us to tell the stories about them, what pulls our eyes to the horizon? What makes us aspire to better? What keeps us in the game? Dreams.
Meggie May
May 9, 2021 at 7:02 pmThanks for making me wonder about being true to myself, Mary.
Mary
May 9, 2021 at 7:05 pmMy privilege, Meg. Keep up the great photography. Thanks for reading~
Shirley Routliffe
May 9, 2021 at 7:24 pmLike this very much Mary😊
Shirl
Mary
May 9, 2021 at 7:25 pmBless you, Shirl~
Naomi Wark
May 9, 2021 at 7:57 pmMary,
This is a beautifully written piece. I can relate to a parent dying too young from smoking, (at 65), I am intrigued by the history of your grandparents and TB, especially as I complete my historical fiction. Most of all, you remind me, and others, of the importance to follow their dreams and live each day to the fullest. Only by dreaming can we better ourselves and the world. Your words are (as always), a gift to many.
Mary
May 9, 2021 at 9:05 pmNaomi, thank you very much. It is good to hear from you. I also have a historical fiction in progress, with some tidbits I learned from my grandmother. Let’s meet up over the summer, as things settle into however they settle. Best to you.
Beverly Allen
May 9, 2021 at 8:56 pmNice….thanks. 🌹
Mary
May 9, 2021 at 9:07 pmHey you! Thanks for taking the time to read and comment. I send you 3 my best~
Kathy Bennett
May 9, 2021 at 9:49 pmTerrific thought piece Mary. It really got me thinking about what my dreams were and are. Loved it!
Mary
May 9, 2021 at 9:59 pmThank you, super roommate. Delighted to hear it. Indeed, my dreams/aspirations now are so different than 25 years ago when I thought being a good employee, stable parent, accomplishing goals, be they mine or my boss’s, were my dreams…. Peace & light to you, Kathy.
Eileen Hanna
May 9, 2021 at 10:46 pmMary, that was remarkable. Your writing is powerful; what a gift! It reminded me of my dreams – the many, many dreams I’ve had over the years. I agree with you – those dreams have kept me going. Some have come true, some continue to motivate me, some have gone by the wayside and fizzled out. I don’t regret having dreams that didn’t come true; I’m glad that my dreams, even my fantasies kept me reaching forward. I love how you connected YOUR dreams with those of your ancestors. It just feels right.
Mary
May 10, 2021 at 4:45 pmEileen~ Thank you. I am so happy to hear that. Fascinating how things change and evolve with time and maturity, mishaps and successe. Hug to you~
Terra Lea Dennis
May 10, 2021 at 7:55 amLovely and lyrical Mary. I especially enjoyed your metaphors of the dormant bulb going on in your mental chandelier, and the cosmic canning jar of dreams! Thank you for something to chew on today!
Mary
May 10, 2021 at 4:47 pmBon jour Terra Lea. Excellenbt and thank you. I was so pleased when the cosmic canning jar came right through my typing fingers. I love how the muse works. You have helped me so much.
Donna M. Rudiger
May 10, 2021 at 4:41 pmAhhhh, Mary…..your new abode by the water suits you well and the creative miracles of the water of life are flowing through you in a new and deeper way. This piece reminded me, once again, that the only person who keeps me from my dreams and goals is me! Thank you for a finely articulated reminder, woven in a fabulous story of your family history. Keep writing, my friend!
Mary
May 10, 2021 at 4:49 pmThank you, Donna. We keep writing, for sure. yes, I am where I am supposed to be now. I watched the special on Amy Tan this week. Family, stories, human truth. Best to you~~
Aletha Riter
May 10, 2021 at 5:14 pmAs always…well worth the read. I’m sure when your novel comes out I’ll be devouring it.😁 You have an eloquence of writing my dear. Dreams… I wish I could just be able to dream at night…
Mary
May 10, 2021 at 5:48 pmThank you so much, Aletha. Another idea – remembering dreams. Hug to you.
Greg Deer
May 10, 2021 at 7:34 pmBeautiful piece Mary.. I lost my Mom before my youngest was born.. A dream unfulfilled..
Mary
May 10, 2021 at 8:57 pmThank you, Greg. I am so pleased you liked this. Music. Dreams. Love.
S.S.
May 10, 2021 at 8:41 pmS.S.
I can put a face to the people, but I never knew their life story. How absolutely touching. What better vessel to have been chosen than you.
Mary
May 10, 2021 at 8:59 pmSistah! Maybe you remember poor Camper, our dog, and the golf balls. Yes, indeed you knew the people. Blessings upon you.
Joan Cronk
May 12, 2021 at 5:24 pmLove this Mary! You have such a way of drawing us in when you write. As you wrote about your family I could see each of them as I remembered them. Took me right back to the kitchen of the old house on the river with you, your Mom and Grandma. I loved it there as a kid. And making grafrete’s (sp?) in the waffle iron…oh so good! Amazing the stories of our lives and dreams. Some dreams we make and some will be forever unreached. So love reading your blog my friend. Enjoy that beautiful place you call home for me. Hugs!
Mary
May 12, 2021 at 6:47 pmJoan, how delightful. You and S.S. knew my family and the old house on the river. Thank you. And gaufrettes! I remember bringing some to Mr.Prigg’s class at Central School. Ah, dreams~ Hug to you, Joan~