Crystal Klimavicz's Blog

Throughout my adolescent years, I was ‘forced’ to make weekly trips to visit my grandparents just like so many other close-knit families of that day. The adults would talk, laugh and bicker, and then we would all eat dinner around the small kitchen table. As I grew older, and more insolent I’ll admit, I became […]

We may have all heard of the expression, "having a cross to bear", and perhaps many of us have lived through that adage as a result of a personal tragedy or difficult life circumstances. If you know what the moniker "Zipper Club" means, then I am sorry. Sorry, because I understand much of what you may have gone through. Although I did not undergo open heart surgery myself, I watched it happen to my six year-old daughter and know how emotionally stressful this experience can be.

Last summer, my husband and I moved just outside of Charleston, South Carolina to escape the traffic of the big-city and head to the beach. Though we did not know it at the time, Charleston happens to be the home of MUSC--the Medical University of South Carolina--one of the leading hospitals for pediatric cardiology in the nation, both in patient reviews and surgical statistics. Their doctors are renowned, their reputation is practically unequalled, and once we discovered our daughter's condition, it was apparent that we could not have relocated to a more ideal place.

This July, a primary care doctor who saw our daughter for something so benign as swimmer's ear, suggested that we have her heart murmur checked out--it was a condition that we had always been told was "nothing to be concerned about". One week later, she and I were sitting in a pediatric office, waiting for the specialist to see us after what would be the first of many echocardiograms she would have over the next six weeks. When I heard the pediatric cardiologist say the dreaded words, "your daughter needs open heart surgery, or her condition will eventually cause her heart to give out and she will die", I was blindsided. In an instant, my body felt numb and my world seemed to shift from the seismic force of his words.

As time seemed to drag by over the following weeks, we all waited for her scheduled surgery. I did my best to allow my faith in God to give me peace. Yet, through my Master's in Health Care, spending years working near doctors and a knowledge of surgical complications, mistakes, and MERSA, my own heart gasped in fear at the 'what-ifs' of her operation. By the date of surgery, an eerie calmness had settled over me--a calmness that faintly hid a swirling cesspool of worry, anxiety and loss inside for something that hadn't even happened to our family.

Now, we are almost two weeks after a very, successful open-heart surgery at MUSC where I stood face-to-face with the smiling surgeon who saw a side of my daughter that I will never see, and one who subsequently saved her life. I am finally remembering how to smile, laugh and simply breathe. My daughter is growing stronger every day, and she is once again becoming the witty, playful little girl whom I so dearly love.

Equally as important, though, is that through this experience I have learned once again that in every tragedy and in pain there is still hope, grace and love. For our friends and neighbors--people here who we have known only for a year--helped us, fed us, and prayed for us during this time. One friend stayed by my side as my husband and I sat in the waiting room outside of ICU. I told her later that I was Linus and she was my security blanket--a blanket that I desperately wanted to hide under and try to escape. Yet, through it all, I have never felt more grateful and honored to be a part of a true community on Daniel Island through the gifts we were bestowed.

Now, as a lifelong member of the "Zipper Club", my daughter has proven how strong she is and perhaps so have I. Just as important, my faith in people and humanity has been raised through the graciousness and kindness we received. Though not personally in the Zipper club, I certainly feel a kindred spirit to anyone who has suffered through this experience, and I hope that I will someday be able to 'pay forward' such love...

To someone else who will have no choice but to bear the cross of worry and pain, and someone who will need to be reminded that even in the darkness, there can still be light.

My first novel of inspiration was Gone With the Wind, by Margaret Mitchell. I read it in the eighth grade in just a week during spring break, and I can remember thinking upon completing the final page… “That was awesome, but I could do that.” I loved Scarlett for her fire and passion, I hated Melanie for her lack of the same, and I knew that Rhett would someday come and sweep me off my feet. The fact that I can still conjure up those feelings now thirty years later is a tribute to Mitchell for her strong portrayal of powerful and unforgettable characters.Pearl Buck and James Clavell are two other writers whom I adored. Extremely different in their writing styles and yet unique in their ability to transcend time and bring the reader to a different era, I loved all of their works. Tai-Pan is an epic novel about the time when people travelled the world on the ‘seven seas’, as American and European traders moved into Hong Kong in the year 1842. The Good Earth, ‘slightly’ shorter in length (smile), has been in my hands many times over the years, as I dreamily envisioned the rice patty fields in China in the early twentieth century.Books for me have been like music to most people. We may remember songs that bring us back to a different time in our own lives, usually a time that made us happy and was more carefree, yet a good book will always be able to transport me. The time that I read Buck and Clavell’s books brings me back to a day when the whole world was before me in my youth and anything seemed possible… even if finances, family and life would soon prove different and steer me down an altered path to my heart’s desire.


It took only thirty years for me to come back around to doing what I truly love, and I am grateful for the opportunity to do so as I write today. Since then, I have read hundreds of books that have inspired me (The Kite Runner), books that have infuriated me (Gone Girl) and books that have brought me back to my days of dreams of far-off places and lands (Memoirs of a Geisha Girl). Writing and reading are now intertwined in my psyche and both allow me to feel, explore and grow. I love that the written word can induce such passion in people, and hope that my books will do the same for those seeking readers who are looking to escape as they read them.

What books have inspired you over the years? Which stories have moved you you? What novel(s) can you recommend as inspirational, for whatever reason, to those of us who love and adore the written prose?

Having received positive feedback on my last blog, which was somewhat self-sacrificing to say the least, I decided to continue my 'quest-for-perfection' endeavor in this follow-up post.

If anyone takes the time to read many online blogs, they will see that there are often questions asked of readers at the end. These questions are intended to be thought-provoking, inspiring, and to hopefully encourage a discussion between reader and writer that will begin a long-lasting relationship. However, in the vein of shaking things up a little, in doing things differently and not always taking the same path as I stated last week, I decided to pose my inquisitions to readers right from the start.

Do you often feel that you are living your life the 'right' way, or do you never feel that way at all? Do you have regrets, not about the past, but about the here and now? Have you ever felt that everything is just as it should be, and then just one moment later discovered how wrong you were and saw everything in your life fall to pieces?

Well, I am sacrificially here to say that you are, by no means, alone. I freely admit that there have been a number of times throughout my life where I've stopped and taken a good look around, and with arms across my chest and a decisive firm nod, wholeheartedly believed that I was doing everything right. That powerful if rather conceited feeling may have lasted a week, or a day, or perhaps only a few minutes, before something happened. Something that was able to shake me up the most, just when I thought I had it all right. The proverbial rug was yanked out from under my size seven feet, and my world came crumbling down.

Undoubtedly, it was the result of some event or comment from the world around me that precipitated such a deflating change. Something that reached out and 'smacked me 'upside of the head', as my grandmother used to say, reminding me how very wrong I was. You see, in this era that we live in, where Social Media can be both a blessing a curse, we are bombarded on all sides by pressures and commitments to be the perfect parent, spouse, child, or friend. All we need to do is peek on Facebook to see how wonderful and grand everyone else's lives are, and how very perfect they seem to be. We are privy to the amazing vacations they take, to the awards their children earn, to the new updo's at the salon, and the milestones that mark their family's sweet and precious moments. Sometimes, we may even turn away from those posts with feelings of inadequacy, ineptness, feeling alone and worthless, and wondering in our own naivety how everyone else seems to have it all and be doing everything 'just right'.

What I hope this blog will do is to serve as a reminder for us all, that people are not posting the 'other' moments in their lives that would show us all wrong those feelings truly are. Remember that the scenarios and circumstances that would show us that we are all human, sinners at times, and certainly not perfect, are omitted from social sharing. From the hurtful arguments that occur between spouses and end badly, to the disastrous family connections that drive loved ones apart, to the losses at sports games or spelling bees, or those individual family moments that would, if posted, prove how alike in our inherent fallacies we truly are.

None of us has it all figured out. None of us knows what really happens after we leave this crazy Earth. And, as much as we may sometimes feel that we are the only ones who are doing everything wrong, try to remember that you are no less (and no more) than anyone else, no matter how good their lives may appear. Ultimately, keep in mind that no one on this planet is doing it right, all of the time.

Having received positive feedback on my last blog, which was somewhat self-sacrificing to say the least, I decided to continue my ‘quest-for-perfection’ endeavor in this follow-up post.

If anyone takes the time to read many online blogs, they will see that there are often questions asked of readers at the end. These questions are intended to be thought-provoking, inspiring, and to hopefully encourage a discussion between reader and writer that will begin a long-lasting relationship. However, in the vein of shaking things up a little, in doing things differently and not always taking the same path as I stated last week, I decided to pose my inquisitions to readers right from the start.

Do you often feel that you are living your life the ‘right’ way, or do you never feel that way at all? Do you have regrets, not about the past, but about the here and now? Have you ever felt that everything is just as it should be, and then just one moment later discovered how wrong you were and saw everything in your life fall to pieces?

Well, I am sacrificially here to say that you are, by no means, alone. I freely admit that there have been a number of times throughout my life where I’ve stopped and taken a good look around, and with arms across my chest and a decisive firm nod, wholeheartedly believed that I was doing everything right. That powerful if rather conceited feeling may have lasted a week, or a day, or perhaps only a few minutes, before something happened. Something that was able to shake me up the most, just when I thought I had it all right. The proverbial rug was yanked out from under my size seven feet, and my world came crumbling down.

Undoubtedly, it was the result of some event or comment from the world around me that precipitated such a deflating change. Something that reached out and ‘smacked me ‘upside of the head’, as my grandmother used to say, reminding me how very wrong I was. You see, in this era that we live in, where Social Media can be both a blessing a curse, we are bombarded on all sides by pressures and commitments to be the perfect parent, spouse, child, or friend. All we need to do is peek on Facebook to see how wonderful and grand everyone else’s lives are, and how very perfect they seem to be. We are privy to the amazing vacations they take, to the awards their children earn, to the new updo’s at the salon, and the milestones that mark their family’s sweet and precious moments. Sometimes, we may even turn away from those posts with feelings of inadequacy, ineptness, feeling alone and worthless, and wondering in our own naivety how everyone else seems to have it all and be doing everything ‘just right’.

What I hope this blog will do is to serve as a reminder for us all, that people are not posting the ‘other’ moments in their lives that would show us all wrong those feelings truly are. Remember that the scenarios and circumstances that would show us that we are all human, sinners at times, and certainly not perfect, are omitted from social sharing. From the hurtful arguments that occur between spouses and end badly, to the disastrous family connections that drive loved ones apart, to the losses at sports games or spelling bees, or those individual family moments that would, if posted, prove how alike in our inherent fallacies we truly are.

None of us has it all figured out. None of us knows what really happens after we leave this crazy Earth. And, as much as we may sometimes feel that we are the only ones who are doing everything wrong, try to remember that you are no less (and no more) than anyone else, no matter how good their lives may appear. Ultimately, keep in mind that no one on this planet is doing it right, all of the time.

Do as I say, not as as I do… I find it ironic that if you type this saying into Google’s search engine, the Wikipedia site pops up under the word “Hypocrisy”. This word comes from the Greek hypokrisis, which has numerous, interconnected meanings including but not limited to ‘jealous’, ‘play-acting’ and ‘coward’. This ties in nicely to a recent tweet that I posted concerning my son, or rather concerning my (sometimes self-berated and often times overrated) parenting abilities on his behalf. To my sixty-five followers on Twitter I admitted to my own hypocrisy in a simple truth as the title of this blog infers – that if he continues to do the same thing, he will continue to get the same results, and that I should better listen to my own words.

When I later reread my post, I began to question my ability to follow my own given advice even further. For not only would it be unacceptable to impart such wisdom to my child without actually following it, but it would also as the word implies, be a true act of cowardice. I realized that here I am as a mother, trying to teach my ten year old son that if he doesn’t change his behavior or actions, things won’t get better, and then realizing that I do not at all live by them.

Once I reflected on and understood how wide the chasm was between my “saying” and my “doing”, it’s frankly amazing that I could even have said this to him with a straight face. Here are some keen examples of my shortcomings, to name just a few… I sometimes wonder why my extended family doesn’t reach out to me more, yet how often do I initiate the conversation. I still bite my nails, a terrible habit that my mother said I was literally born doing, yet I wonder why I never allow myself a manicure. I still haven’t finished my second novel, yet I continue to sign up for and volunteer for more extracurricular activities than any unpaid person ever should. I will stop here, for my list of my grievances could undoubtedly go on and on (and on), but I believe my point has been made and in my defense, I’d rather not continue.

So for 2015, I foresee a year filled with challenges and accomplishments as my children and I struggle to learn, grow and survive in this crazy world. I have decided that my New Year’s resolution will not just be to finish my second book, or prepare better dinners for my family. Now that I’m acutely aware of how much better off my children will be if I adhere to my advice, I resolve to lead by example and to not be a coward as a person or as a mother. My resolution will be to listen closely to my words as I try with the best of abilities to raise my children to be wonderful, responsible and caring citizens on our planet. My personal desire is that I will not have been a hypocrite, nor behaved as a coward in front of those whom I love.

As the psychologist Jonathan Haidt once wrote, “Enlightenment and wisdom require us all to take the logs out of our own eyes, and escape from our ceaseless, petty, and divisive moralism.” Let’s hope that I am able to do the same… Do you also struggle with being the best parent, and person, that you can be? Do you ever find yourself not living by the advice you give?

I have moved often in my life. I’m sure some would say far too much. I get bored easily, I abhor the very nature of anything that resembles routine, and thrive on new experiences that open my mind and challenge my heart. For those of you who are “nomadic” by nature, you understand this feeling of restlessness. It’s one that eats into your daily life like a small rodent, gnawing through the hard shell of a nut to seek the pleasures inside, only to immediately hunger for another fresh nut once that one has been consumed.

I recently moved away from Atlanta, Georgia where my husband, daughter, son and I, had lived for almost fourteen years. He and I relocated there when we were young and hopeful, climbing the corporate ladder and naive enough to think that we would actually make it to the top. Over the years, I formed some wonderful friendships in northern Atlanta with women whom I care about dearly today. Friends who have taken care of my children when I’ve been sick, who have stayed late into the night to help clean up my house at the end of a party, and who have picked up my children from school when I got too caught up in the frantic existence of that over-achievers life that I sometimes fall into.

Yet despite these more than handful of close-knit friendships, I knew in my heart that living in Georgia was never the “right” life for me. How did I know? I truly cannot say, other than through that small gut feeling inside, that feeling of constant emptiness within that whispered “there’s something moooore…”, this despite the overabundance of activities and life, and wonderful people all around me.

So one day out of the blue, I told my husband that it was “now are never”, that with two virtual careers that can work anywhere, a rising kindergardener, and a restless woman inside our home, it was time for us to move. We uprooted our children from their home and school. We talked up the advantages of starting over, the thrill of meeting new friends, and the excitement of moving someplace new. We built it up so much, there were days that I wondered how reality could ever meet up to the expectations we had created, to the grand stories of a new life that we had told.

Yet, somehow, some way, it did. We moved to a beautiful place called Daniel Island, in South Carolina, where other transients like ourselves who were seeking a simpler, better life, welcomed us with open arms and warm smiles. Our children have already made wonderful friends, we ride our bikes back and forth to school every day, and I can smell the sweet salty air rolling off the Wando River. It’s an ocean smell that’s reminiscent of my childhood home in Maine and puts a smile on my face, knowing that I am back near the water where I belong.

Do I miss my friends in Atlanta? More than anything. Yes, I have already met new friends here, and so have my children, and life here on Daniel Island feels near perfect every day. The only mar in this new-found life is the absence of those friends who have known me for years, who have helped me when I was in need, and picked me up when I was down… those friends who knew me well enough to understand that although they would miss me, they were happy for me to find what was missing, to find my contentment.

 

 

An “old” childhood friend of mine, David Barter, happened to find me on Facebook one day when he saw that I had written a novel that was recently published. David and I had lived on the same road in Woolwich as kids. I moved there from Bath after my parent’s divorce when my mother and her new husband built a new house on the other end of Montsweag Road. It was about a mile way from the Barter’s home, which was nothing then by ‘country’ standards.

With only a handful of kids on that road, David and I soon became friends. We zipped around on our bikes together, played hide-and-go-seek, and stayed outside until well after dark as children did in those days. We rode the same bus to school, from elementary up to high school, and shared the kindred spirit of all outlier students who were eventually bussed back into the Bath school system. Not once since those high school days, however, have our paths crossed as he and I grew up and went our separate ways. I moved to Atlanta for my husband’s job, and he eventually moved back across the old Carlton Bridge to settle with his family in Phippsburg.

When David learned that I would be back in Maine this summer, he and his wife Katrina offered to host a book signing for me in their home with wine and hors d’oeuvres and a full spread that would have rivaled that of any chef’s. They invited their neighbors; friends whom I could clearly see have become a great part of their lives. They all laughed knowingly and patted each other on the backs, full of smiles and good cheer; it was a wonderful evening that I felt privileged to share. The Barters and their friends are a true example of the Maine spirit that lives and breathes inside of Maine natives; the spirit of connectivity and compassion, of grateful giving, and of a thoughtfulness that I’m sure folks from other states will swear that they also have, yet the Barters are proof that Mainers have it and much more.

Ironically, my own family and I had unknowingly driven past the Barter’s home numerous times as we headed to Popham Beach during our annual summer pilgrimages back to Maine. Yet the real irony in this story it tied to the theme of my book that “Sometimes, everyone just needs to let go.” Through a family tragedy, my main characters are forced to learn how to let go of their past, of holding onto control, and of the pain. Entitled Falling Through Trees, it’s a story about sisters, family secrets, and learning what can be the most difficult of life lessons, that of moving on.

Most if not all writers write from their hearts and through their own experiences, and there were pieces of my own past that I needed to let go. Yet the fallout of that was I lost touch with good people and old childhood friends in the process. I was reminded of that through a lovely evening spent in the Barter’s home. Seeing my childhood friend again after all these years showed me that although some things should be “let go”, there are equally as many things that we need to dearly, and forever, hold onto.

 

A lovely coastal  town in Maine provides the setting for more than half of Falling Through Trees, and it’s no coincidence that I am a Maine native. My formative years were spent in Bath, before heading over the Old Carlton Bridge to Woolwich where I spent the remainder of my childhood days.

This past week, my own family and I have been vacationing in Maine. After the first hectic day of getting settled into ‘vacation-mode’, unpacking our things, and surveying our new surroundings, I soon remembered why I loved living here. There is a charm, a quaintness, and a feeling of “real life” here that I have truly missed. Some say that New Englanders, Mainers perhaps even more so, can be rather cold, aloof and markedly reserved. However, as with everything, there are two sides of the picture, and I can see a group of people who are true – to themselves and towards others – without any guile or fake sense of interactions. Maine people, as the old Humpty Dumpty brand potato chip slogan used to say, are as real as anything and “What you see is what you get!”.

We have one more day here to appreciate the rugged beauty of the Maine waters, and the numbing feel of the ocean I will admit, yet I am already feeling the loss of being “home” that I know I will feel once we board the plane to fly back to Atlanta. Our week has been filled with great friends and family, country breakfasts, lots of beer and meat-filled barbecues. Our children have spent countless hours jumping into the clean refreshing waters of Thomas Pond, and laughing with their friends and cousins, many of whom they only see once a year.

In between all of this fun, I managed to sneak in a number of book signings during the week for Falling Through Trees, and gratefully put my first novel into more than forty new homes and readers from all over the United States. Thank you to all of those who took a chance on a new, unknown author and purchased my book.

If you are looking for a great summer read with some drama written in and haven’t already, I hope you’ll pick up your own copy of Falling Through Trees…  and I hope my little family comes back to Maine soon to enjoy all that Maine has to offer everyone who crosses its borders.

Maine… the way life should be.

A lovely coastal Maine town provides the setting for more than half of Falling Through Trees, and it’s no coincidence that I am a Maine native from Bath. This coming week, I have a number of Book Signings set up from Bath to Portland, so come check them out:

Bath Book Shop on Front Street, Thursday from 11:30am-1:30pm, and
Cafe Creme again on Thursday from 2pm-4pm.

If you are looking for a great summer read with some drama written in, I hope you’ll come pick up your copy of Falling Through Trees at one of these great Maine venues!

Crystal Klimavicz