Zelda, Carol and me
September 17, 2008
The smell of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies swells up to greet me as I enter Carol Gardner's home. You may know her as Zelda -- the books and greeting cards with the funny bulldog. This is our first meeting -- we've been connected by Colleen Sell who edits the A CUP OF COMFORT books. I have a story in two of Colleen's compilations -- MOTHERS & SONS and WRITERS.
Carol and I have read each others' websites, and now we want to hear the stories. We make ourselves comfortable on the black leather L-shaped couch, surrounded by poster-sized Zelda pictures with inspiring sayings. Zelda as a boxer. Zelda in a wickedly funny red spiky wig and black vest. Zelda in a tux. Remember, Zelda is a bulldog.
We trade stories. I open "I love the way Zelda came to be..."
Carol, her short blond hair tucked behind her ears, tells me that she was in the middle of a divorce, and her attorney said "Get a therapist or get a dog." She got Zelda.
A few months later, it's Christmastime and a friend tells her about a pet contest. So Carol plops a Santa hat on Zelda, and applies bath bubbles to the bulldog's chin, and snaps the winning photo. The caption was something like this: "I got a dog for my man -- not a bad trade." Carol had spent the past decade or so in advertising. She tells me you have to be daring and different and smart.
It's my turn.
"I've always been in radio," I say.
"No," Carol says, "begin at the beginning."
Thoughts swim nervously over where to begin. It is not an easy story to tell and we have just met. People wince. Cry. Turn away.
But then, I feel like I've known Carol all my life.
Her eyes fill with tears, and her arms get goosebumps as I tell the complete story. I begin with the romantic beginnings of my maternal grandparents. My grandmother was born in Peru, and was the top RN in the ER at a NY hospital. My grandfather was born in Sydney Australia, and played his Stradivarius for royalty around the world, finally settling in NY. They were introduced by my grandmother's sister, who played piano at age four at Carnegie Hall. It was a first marriage for both of them -- and they were both well over forty. My mother was born when my grandmother was nearly fifty, and her brother came along five years later. It was a romantic home, filled with music and magic and healing.
I skip ahead in the narrative here so as not to bog down the blog -- to the place where my mother chooses a tall, dark handsome pedophile, casting aside my father and cutting him out completely. And she and the stepfather, my little brother and I move to the Jersey suburbs -- close enough to my grandmother for weekend visits, but far enough away that she doesn't know that my violent handsome stepfather is raping me. My beautiful mother becomes alcoholic, schizophrenic and suicidal.
I tell Carol of the magical interactions that I've had with authors, who have each, in their own way, gifted me with their wisdom, in a caring way, so I could transcend the trauma.
She prompts me, "You've written a book about that."
"Yes, a memoir, BookMark. It's in the hands of my agent, looking for a publisher."
Carol says thousands of people could be inspired by the book.
And the wisdom I've been graced with -- I want to teach that, so others can transcend the trauma.
I survived because of my Books.
Carol survived because of her Bulldog.
From our brokenness comes humor and healing and inspiration.
And the fresh cookie with melting chocolate chips -- that helps, too.
The smell of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies swells up to greet me as I enter Carol Gardner's home. You may know her as Zelda -- the books and greeting cards with the funny bulldog. This is our first meeting -- we've been connected by Colleen Sell who edits the A CUP OF COMFORT books. I have a story in two of Colleen's compilations -- MOTHERS & SONS and WRITERS.
Carol and I have read each others' websites, and now we want to hear the stories. We make ourselves comfortable on the black leather L-shaped couch, surrounded by poster-sized Zelda pictures with inspiring sayings. Zelda as a boxer. Zelda in a wickedly funny red spiky wig and black vest. Zelda in a tux. Remember, Zelda is a bulldog.
We trade stories. I open "I love the way Zelda came to be..."
Carol, her short blond hair tucked behind her ears, tells me that she was in the middle of a divorce, and her attorney said "Get a therapist or get a dog." She got Zelda.
A few months later, it's Christmastime and a friend tells her about a pet contest. So Carol plops a Santa hat on Zelda, and applies bath bubbles to the bulldog's chin, and snaps the winning photo. The caption was something like this: "I got a dog for my man -- not a bad trade." Carol had spent the past decade or so in advertising. She tells me you have to be daring and different and smart.
It's my turn.
"I've always been in radio," I say.
"No," Carol says, "begin at the beginning."
Thoughts swim nervously over where to begin. It is not an easy story to tell and we have just met. People wince. Cry. Turn away.
But then, I feel like I've known Carol all my life.
Her eyes fill with tears, and her arms get goosebumps as I tell the complete story. I begin with the romantic beginnings of my maternal grandparents. My grandmother was born in Peru, and was the top RN in the ER at a NY hospital. My grandfather was born in Sydney Australia, and played his Stradivarius for royalty around the world, finally settling in NY. They were introduced by my grandmother's sister, who played piano at age four at Carnegie Hall. It was a first marriage for both of them -- and they were both well over forty. My mother was born when my grandmother was nearly fifty, and her brother came along five years later. It was a romantic home, filled with music and magic and healing.
I skip ahead in the narrative here so as not to bog down the blog -- to the place where my mother chooses a tall, dark handsome pedophile, casting aside my father and cutting him out completely. And she and the stepfather, my little brother and I move to the Jersey suburbs -- close enough to my grandmother for weekend visits, but far enough away that she doesn't know that my violent handsome stepfather is raping me. My beautiful mother becomes alcoholic, schizophrenic and suicidal.
I tell Carol of the magical interactions that I've had with authors, who have each, in their own way, gifted me with their wisdom, in a caring way, so I could transcend the trauma.
She prompts me, "You've written a book about that."
"Yes, a memoir, BookMark. It's in the hands of my agent, looking for a publisher."
Carol says thousands of people could be inspired by the book.
And the wisdom I've been graced with -- I want to teach that, so others can transcend the trauma.
I survived because of my Books.
Carol survived because of her Bulldog.
From our brokenness comes humor and healing and inspiration.
And the fresh cookie with melting chocolate chips -- that helps, too.
Labels: BookMark, bulldog, Carol Gardner, Peru, Stradivarius, Sydney, transcending the trauma, Zelda
posted by Diana Page Jordan @ 6:15 PM
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