And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.
A few days ago, someone said something to me that I not only never thought would be said, but I also never imagined it being said.
“Well, Kathie, you sure know how to make lemonade out of lemons.”
Cliché or not, it still made my jaw drop.
I’ve also been told recently, “I am amazed about your resilience and power to snap back to yourself after the world fell apart.”
What?
And finally, one of the writers I asked to read my new novel (release date 2/18/27) and write a cover blurb for it said this in her email, “To write so deeply about grief and not have it feel heavy is miraculous (or maybe it’s just the work of seasoned, talented writer!)”
Me? Really?
Of course, nobody saw me right after my HVAC unit bit the dust on an 89-degree day, just a couple days after my car was totaled in the accident. There were lemons. There was falling into my recliner and staring blankly at the ceiling while tears fell silently down my cheeks and soaked my shirt. And as for miraculous…I don’t even know how to approach that one.
So let me tell you…
In high school, my friends called me by the nickname, “Tombstone”. Why? Because I was always so grave.
My parents called me Sarah Bernhardt and rolled their eyes. For those who don’t know, Sarah Bernhardt was an internationally famous 19th-century French stage actress known for her highly emotional roles, expressive body language, and larger-than-life off-stage persona. I personally prefer to think that I may have been like her because she was flamboyant, scandalous, and didn’t care what anyone thought of her. She flaunted societal norms, did the unexpected, and had high-profile affairs.
But I don’t think my parents meant that.
I wrote about dark subjects, with characters often dying, when I was in high school. My characters generally live now, but the dark subjects remain. When I was in 7th grade, my parents were called in for a conference because I handed in a short story in my English class. It was about a teenage prostitute who agreed to a gangbang because her mother needed the money. When her mother found out what she did, she freaked, and so my main character ran screaming out of the house and got promptly hit by a bus.
Yeah.
So I’m really not used to seeing myself as positive. Early on in my writing career, I submitted a short story to a literary magazine without reading all of the submission guidelines. The story was returned to me, with a black-markered, all capitals, message on the bottom of the rejection slip. “DON’T EVER SUBMIT HERE AGAIN!” it screamed.
My story was about a woman who was a cutter and went to more and more extreme lengths until she deliberately put herself in a situation where she knew a man would kill her. I looked back at the guidelines. “Oh,” I said. The magazine wanted literary stories, yes, but they wanted stories with positive endings. I thought about that for a bit, and then shrugged. The woman wanted to die, she died, positive ending.
(And just so you know, that particular story ended up being published in another magazine and anthologized. When I married Michael and my name changed, I returned to the original magazine with literary stories with positive endings. The same editor took every one, and once told me he was always delighted to see a Kathie Giorgio story on his desk. No, I never enlightened him.)
But now…lemonade, resilience, and miracles.
I know exactly where it comes from.
This blog, of course. Or it’s predecessor, really, Today’s Moment Of Happiness Despite The News, where I challenged myself to write a moment of happiness every day for a year. I defined a moment of happiness, not as a gratitude-type sentiment, but as a moment when I smiled involuntarily. This challenge began in late 2016 and throughout 2017, in a particularly dark period, which I didn’t know would get darker. It started because I was assaulted by a man in a particular red hat, and I made national news. After I started the daily blog, Michael lost his job twice, taking our health insurance with it, Olivia was bullied so badly in school, we had to move her to a new school, and I was diagnosed with breast cancer.
The daily blog taught me a very important thing. You have to look for happiness. You have to notice happiness. If your senses are wide open, and your mind is too, you will find it. You can’t wait for it. You search for it.
I thought 2017 was the darkest year of my life, and that it would remain so. It did earn that ranking, until January 17, 2024, when Michael stepped into the intersection of 6th and State in Milwaukee, and our world blew apart.
I am so relieved that I didn’t know that 2017 was a training session for 2024, and I’m still in training today.
But those comments I received this week made me smile involuntarily. They make me happy. They are evidence of change and of strength, and always of a mind that is open and ready to receive.
I don’t think I’m a whole new person. I think I’ve always been me, but just perceived differently by others. Which is why I’m still here.
A few weeks ago, when Olivia graduated with her Masters degree, there was a ceremony where each graduate stood and offered thanks to those who helped along the way. By far, my favorite (besides my daughter, of course) was a young woman who got to the microphone, and belted out, “I want to thank ME! I am grateful for ME! I’m grateful for my hard work, my resilience, and I made it!”
I cheered.
And so this week, my moment of happiness is more than a moment. It’s a lifetime. I am so happy I am who I am.
And now I’m going to go be flamboyant and scandalous. I’m going to flaunt societal norms, do the unexpected, and have high-profile affairs.
Well, maybe not all that.
But I will go make some lemonade.
And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.
